canto 1. lines 209, 210.)

The same author (Dr. Grey,) quotes from Dr. James Young, (Sidrophel vapulans, p. 29,) that Cardan, a celebrated astrologer lost his life to save his credit; for having predicted the time of his own death, he starved himself to verify it: or else being sure of his art, he took this to be his fatal day, and by those apprehensions made it so. The prophecy of George Wishart, the Scottish martyr, respecting the death of cardinal Beatoun, is a striking feature in a catalogue of coincidences. In such light may be cited the stories of the predicted death of the duke of Buckingham, in the time of Charles I., that of lord Lyttleton in later days, and many others.

Lord Bacon, who, on many points illuminated the sixteenth with the light of the nineteenth century, after referring in his chapter on prophecies (see his Essays) to the fulfilment of many remarkable fulfilments, delivers his opinion on that point in the following words:--“My judgment is, that they ought all to be despised, and ought to serve but for winter talk by the fireside. Though when I say despised, I mean for belief.----That that hath given them grace, and some credit consisteth in these things. 1st. that men mark when they hit, and never when they miss; as they do, also of dreams. 2d. that probable conjectures and obscure traditions many times turn themselves into prophecies: while the nature of man which coveteth divination, thinks it no peril to foretell that, which indeed they do but collect.----The 3d. and last (which is the great one) is, that almost all them, being infinite in number, have been impostures, and by idle and crafty brains, merely contrived and feigned after the event passed.”

J. W. H.

EASTER DAY.

The editor is favoured with a hint, which, from respect to the authority whence it proceeds, is communicated below in its own language.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Harley street, March 22, 1826._

Sir,--Before I slip from town for the holidays, let me observe that it may be useful, and more useful perhaps than you imagine, to many of your readers, if you were to mention the _earliest_ day whereon Easter can occur: for, as not only movable feasts, but law terms, and circuits of judges, and the Easter recess of parliament, depend on this festival, it influences a vast portion of public business, and of the _every-day_ concerns of a great number of individuals in the early season of the year.

The _earliest possible_ day whereon Easter can happen, in any year, is the 22d of March. It fell on that day in 1818, and cannot happen on that day till the year 2285.

The _latest possible_ day whereon Easter can happen, is the 25th of April.

We can have no squabble this year concerning the _true time_ of Easter. The result of the papers on that subject in the first volume of your excellent publication, vindicated the time fixed for its celebration, in this country, upon those principles which infallibly regulate the period.

In common with all I am acquainted with, who have the pleasure of being acquainted with your _Every-Day Book_, I wish you and your work the largest possible success. I am, &c.

ALPHA.

P.S. It occurs to me that you may not be immediately able to authenticate my statement; and, therefore, I subscribe my name for your _private_ satisfaction.

---- ------.

_Easter King._

As the emperor, Charles V., was passing through a small village in Arragon, on Easter-day, he was met by a peasant, who had been chosen the paschal, or Easter king of his neighbourhood, according to the custom of his country, and who said to him very gravely, “Sir, it is I that am king.” “Much good may it do you, my friend,” replied the emperor, “you have chosen an exceedingly troublesome employment.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 43·95.

[104] Antiquarian Repertory.

[105] Drake’s Shakespeare and his Times.

[106] Hitchins’s Cornwall.

[107] Hasted’s Kent, 1790.

[108] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

[109] Maitland.

[110] Brand.

[111] Rome in the Nineteenth Century.

~March 27.~

EASTER MONDAY.

This is the day for choosing churchwardens in the different parishes, and for merry-making afterwards.

_From the “Mirror of the Months.”_

Now, at last, the Easter week is arrived, and the poor have for once in the year the best of it,--setting all things, but their own sovereign will, at a wise defiance. The journeyman who works on Easter Monday should lose his _caste_, and be sent to the Coventry of mechanics, wherever that may be. In fact, it cannot happen. On Easter Monday ranks change places; Jobson is as good as sir John; the “rude mechanical” is “monarch of all he surveys” from the summit of Greenwich-hill, and when he thinks fit to say “it is our royal pleasure to be drunk!” who shall dispute the proposition? Not I, for one. When our English mechanics accuse their betters of oppressing them, the said betters should reverse the old appeal, and refer from Philip sober to Philip drunk; and then nothing more could be said. But now, they _have_ no betters, even in their own notion of the matter. And in the name of all that is transitory, envy them not their brief supremacy! It will be over before the end of the week, and they will be as eager to return to their labour as they now are to escape from it; for the only thing that an Englishman, whether high or low, cannot endure patiently for a week together, is, unmingled amusement. At this time, however, he is determined to try. Accordingly, on Easter Monday all the narrow lanes and blind alleys of our metropolis pour forth their dingy denizens into the suburban fields and villages, in search of the said amusement, which is plentifully provided for them by another class, even less enviable than the one on whose patronage they depend; for of all callings, the most melancholy is that of purveyor of pleasure to the poor.

During the Monday our determined holiday-maker, as in duty bound, contrives, by the aid of a little or not a little artificial stimulus, to be happy in a tolerably exemplary manner. On the Tuesday, he _fancies_ himself happy to-day, because he _felt_ himself so yesterday. On the Wednesday he cannot tell what has come to him, but every ten minutes he wishes himself at home, where he never goes but to sleep. On Thursday he finds out the secret, that he is heartily sick of doing nothing; but is ashamed to confess it; and then what is the use of going to work before his money is spent? On Friday he swears that he is a fool for throwing away the greatest part of his quarter’s savings without having any thing to show for it, and gets gloriously drunk with the rest to prove his words; passing the pleasantest night of all the week in a watchhouse. And on Saturday, after thanking “his worship” for his good advice, of which he does not remember a word, he comes to the wise determination, that, after all, there is nothing like working all day long in silence, and at night spending his earnings and his breath in beer and politics! So much for the Easter week of a London holiday-maker.

But there is a sport belonging to Easter Monday which is not confined to the lower classes, and which fun forbid that I should pass over silently. If the reader has not, during his boyhood, performed the exploit of riding to the turn-out of the stag on Epping-forest--following the hounds all day long at a respectful distance--returning home in the evening with the loss of nothing but his hat, his hunting whip, and his horse, not to mention a portion of his nether person--and finishing the day by joining the lady mayoress’s ball at the Mansion-house; if the reader has not done all this when a boy, I will not tantalize him by expatiating on the superiority of those who have. And if he _has_ done it, I need not tell him that he has no cause to envy his friend who escaped with a flesh wound from the fight of Waterloo; for there is not a pin to choose between them.

EPPING HUNT.

In 1226, king Henry III. confirmed to the citizens of London, _free warren_, or liberty to hunt a circuit about their city, in the warren of Staines, &c.; and in ancient times the lord mayor, aldermen, and corporation, attended by a due number of their constituents, availed themselves of this right of chace “in solemn guise.” From newspaper reports, it appears that the office of “common hunt,” attached to the mayoralty, is in danger of desuetude. The Epping hunt seems to have lost the lord mayor and his brethren in their corporate capacity, and the annual sport to have become a farcical show.

A description of the Epping hunt of Easter Monday, 1826, by one “Simon Youngbuck,” in the _Morning Herald_, is the latest report, if it be not the truest; but of that the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ cannot judge, for he was not there to see: he contents himself with picking out the points; should any one be dissatisfied with the “hunting of that day,” as it will be here presented, he has only to sit down, in good earnest, to a plain matter-of-fact detail of all the circumstances from his own knowledge, accompanied by such citations as will show the origin and former state of the usage, and such a detail, so accompanied, will be inserted--

“For want of a better _this_ must do.”

On the authority aforesaid, and that, without the introduction of any term not in the _Herald_, be it known then, that before, and at the commencement of the hunt aforesaid, it was a cold, dry, and dusty morning, and that the huntsmen of the east were all abroad by nine o’clock, trotting, fair and softly, down the road, on great nine-hand skyscrapers, nimble daisy-cutting nags, flowing-tailed chargers, and ponies no bigger than the learned one at Astley’s; some were in job-coaches, at two guineas a-day; some in three-bodied nondescripts, some in gigs, some in cabs, some in drags, some in short stages, and some in long stages; while some on no stages at all, footed the road, smothered by dust driven by a black, bleak north-easter full in the teeth. Every gentleman was arrayed after his own particular taste, in blue, brown, or black--in dress-coats, long coats, short coats, frock coats, great coats, and no-coats;--in drab-slacks and slippers;--in gray-tights, and black-spurred Wellingtons;--in nankeen bomb-balloons;--in city-white cotton-cord unmentionables, with jockey toppers, and in Russian-drill down-belows, as a _memento_ of the late czar. The ladies all wore a _goose-skin_ under-dress, in compliment to the north-easter.

At that far-famed spot, the brow above Fairmead bottom, by twelve o’clock, there were not less than three thousand merry lieges then and there assembled. It was a beautiful set-out. Fair dames “in purple and in pall,” reposed in vehicles of all sorts, sizes, and conditions, whilst seven or eight hundred mounted members of the hunt wound in and out “in restless ecstasy,” chatting and laughing with the fair, sometimes rising in their stirrups to look out for the long-coming cart of the stag, “whilst, with off heel assiduously aside,” they “provoked the caper which they seemed to hide.” The green-sward was covered with ever-moving crowds on foot, and the pollard oaks which skirt the bottom on either side were filled with men and boys.

But where the deuce is the stag all this while? One o’clock, and no stag. _Two_ o’clock, and no stag!--a circumstance easily accounted for by those who are in the secret, and the secret is this. There are buttocks of boiled beef and fat hams, and beer and brandy in abundance, at the Roebuck public-house low down in the forest; and ditto at the Baldfaced Stag, on the top of the hill; and ditto at the Coach and Horses, at Woodford Wells; and ditto at the Castle, at Woodford; and ditto at the Eagle, at Snaresbrook; and if the stag had been brought out before the beef, beer, bacon, and brandy, were eaten and drank, where would have been the use of providing so many good things? So they carted the stag from public-house to public-house, and showed him at threepence a head to those ladies and gentlemen who never saw such a thing before, and the showing and carting induced a consumption of eatables and drinkables, an achievement which was helped by a band of music in every house, playing hungry tunes to help the appetite; and then, when the eatables and drinkables were gone, and paid for, they turned out the stag.

Precisely at half-past two o’clock, the stag-cart was seen coming over the hill by the Baldfaced Stag, and hundreds of horsemen and gig-men rushed gallantly forward to meet and escort it to the top of Fairmead bottom, amidst such whooping and hallooing, as made all the forest echo again; and would have done Carl Maria Von Weber’s heart good to hear. And then, when the cart stopped and was turned tail about, the horsemen drew up in long lines, forming an avenue wide enough for the stag to run down. For a moment, all was deep, silent, breathless anxiety; and the doors of the cart were thrown open, and out popped a strapping four-year-old red buck, fat as a porker, with a chaplet of flowers round his neck, a girth of divers coloured ribbons, and a long blue and pink streamer depending from the summit of his branching horns. He was received, on his alighting, with a shout that seemed to shake heaven’s concave, and took it very graciously, looking round him with great dignity as he stalked slowly and delicately forward, down the avenue prepared for him; and occasionally shrinking from side to side, as some supervalorous cockney made a cut at him with his whip. Presently, he caught a glimpse of the hounds and the huntsmen, waiting for him at the bottom, and in an instant off he bounded, sideways, through the rank, knocking down and trampling all who crowded the path he chose to take; and dashing at once into the cover, he was out of sight before a man could say “Jack Robinson!” Then might be seen, gentlemen running about without their horses, and horses galloping about without their gentlemen; and hats out of number brushed off their owners’ heads by the rude branches of the trees; and every body asking which way the stag was gone, and nobody knowing any thing about him; and ladies beseeching gentlemen not to be too venturesome; and gentlemen gasping for breath at the thoughts of what they were determined to venture; and myriads of people on foot running hither and thither in search of little eminences to look from; and yet nothing at all to be seen, though more than enough to be heard; for every man, and every woman too, made as loud a noise as possible. Meanwhile the stag, followed by the keepers and about six couple of hounds, took away through the covers towards Woodford. Finding himself too near the haunts of his enemy, man, he there turned back, sweeping down the bottom for a mile or two, and away up the enclosures towards Chingford; where he was caught nobody knows how, for every body returned to town, except those who stopped to regale afresh, and recount the glorious perils of the day. Thus ended the _Easter Hunt_ of 1826.

The Minervalia was a Roman festival in March, commencing on the 19th of the month, and lasting for five days. The first day was spent in devotions to the goddess; the rest in offering sacrifices, seeing the gladiators fight, acting tragedies, and reciting witticisms for prizes. It conferred a vacation on scholars who now, carried schooling money, or presents, called Minerval, to their masters.

According to Cicero there were five Minervas.

1. Minerva, the mother of Apollo.

2. Minerva, the offspring of the Nile, of whom there was a statue with this inscription:--“I am all that was, is, and is to come; and my veil no mortal hath yet removed.”

3. Minerva, who sprung armed from Jupiter’s brain.

4. Minerva, the daughter of Jupiter and Corypha, whose father Oceanus invented four-wheeled chariots.

5. Minerva, the daughter of Pallantis, who fled from her father, and is, therefore, represented with wings on her feet, in the same manner as Mercury.

The second Minerva, of Egypt, is imagined to have been the most ancient. The Phœnicians also had a Minerva, the daughter of Saturn, and the inventress of arts and arms. From one of these two, the Greeks derived their Minerva.

Minerva was worshipped by the Athenians before the age of Cecrops, in whose time Athens was founded, and its name taken from Minerva, whom the Greek called Ἁθηνη. It was proposed to call the city either by her name or that of Neptune, and as each had partizans, and the women had votes equal to the men, Cecrops called all the citizens together both men and women; the suffrages were collected; and it was found that all the women had voted for Minerva, and all the men for Neptune; but the women exceeding the men by one voice, Athens was called after Minerva. A temple was dedicated to her in the city, with her statue in gold and ivory, thirty-nine feet high, executed by Phydias.

It would be as difficult for most persons, who think Mr. Matthews acts easily, to act as he does, as it would be difficult to make such persons comprehend, that his ease is the result of labour, and that his present performance is the result of greater labour than his exhibitions of former years. An examination of the process by which he has attained the extraordinary ability to “_command_ success,” would be a fatiguing inquiry to most readers, though a very curious one to some. He has been called a “mimic;” this is derogation from his real powers, which not only can represent the face, but penetrate the intellect. An expert swimmer is not always a successful diver: Mr. Matthews is both. His faculty of observation “surpasses show.” He leaves the features he contemplates, enters into the mind, becomes joint tenant of its hereditaments and appurtenances with the owner, and describes its secret chambers and closets. This faculty obtained lord Chesterfield his fame, and enabled him to persuade the judgment; but he never succeeded by his voice or pen in raising the passions, like Mr. Matthews, who, in that respect, is above the nobleman. The cause of this superiority is, that Mr. Matthews is the creature of feeling--of excitation and depression. This assertion is made without the slightest personal knowledge or even sight of him off the stage; it is grounded on a generalized view of some points in human nature. If Mr. Matthews were not the slave of temperament, he never could have pictured the Frenchman at the Post Office, nor the gaming Yorkshireman. These are prominences seized by his whole audience, on whom, however, his most delicate touches of character are lost. His high finish of the Irish beggar woman with her “poor child,” was never detected by the laughers at their trading duett of “Sweet Home!” The exquisite pathos of the _crathur’s_ story was lost. To please a large assemblage the points must be broad. Mr. Matthews’s countenance of his host drawing the cork is an excellence that discovers itself, and the entire affair of the dinner is “pleasure made easy” to the meanest capacity. The spouting child who sings the “Bacchanal Song” in “Der Freischütz” from whence the engraving is taken, is another “palpable hit,” but amazingly increased in force to some of the many who heard it sung by Phillips. The “tipsy toss” of that actor’s head, his rollocking look, his stamps in its chorus, and the altogetherness of his style in that single song, were worth the entirety of the drama--yet he was seldom encored. To conclude with Mr. Matthews, it is merely requisite to affirm that his “At Home” in the year 1826, evinces rarer talent than the merit of a higher order which he unquestionably possesses. He is an adept at adaptation beyond compeer.

COLESHILL CUSTOM.

They have an ancient custom at Coleshill, in the county of Warwick, that if the young men of the town can catch a hare, and bring it to the parson of the parish before ten o’clock on Easter Monday, the parson is bound to give them a calve’s head, and a hundred eggs for their breakfast, and a groat in money.[112]

RIDING THE BLACK LAD.

An account of an ancient usage still maintained under this name at Ashton-under-Lyne, will be found in the annexed letter.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Ashton-under-Lyne, March, 1826._

Sir,

A singular custom prevails at this town on Easter Monday. Every year on that day a rude figure of a man made of an old suit of clothes stuffed with rags, hay, &c. is carried on a horse through all the streets. The people who attend it call at every public-house, for the purpose of begging liquor for its thirsty attendants, who are always numerous. During its progress the figure is shot at from all parts. When the journey is finished, it is tied to the market cross, and the shooting is continued till it is set on fire, and falls to the ground. The populace then commence tearing the effigy in pieces, trampling it in mud and water, and throwing it in every direction. This riot and confusion are increased by help of a reservoir of water being let off, which runs down the streets, and not unfrequently persons obtain large quantities of hay, rags, &c. independent of that which falls from the effigy. The greatest heroes at this time are of the coarsest nature.

The origin of this custom is of so ancient a nature that it admits of no real explanation: some assert that it is intended as a mark of respect to an ancient family--others deem it a disrespect. Dr. Hibbert considers it to have the same meaning as the gool-riding in Scotland, established for the purpose of exterminating weed from corn, on pain of forfeiting a wether sheep for every stock of gool found growing in a farmer’s corn. Gool is the yellow flower called the corn Marygold.

It is further supposed, that this custom originated with one of the Assheton’s, who possessed a considerable landed property in this part of Lancashire. He was vice-chancellor to Henry VI., who exercised great severity on his own lands, and established the gool or guld riding. He is said to have made his appearance on Easter Monday, clad in black armour, and on horseback, followed by a numerous train for the purpose of claiming the penalties arising from the neglect of farmers clearing their corn of the “carr gulds.” The tenants looked upon this visit with horror, and tradition has still perpetuated the prayer that was offered for a deliverance from his power:--

“Sweet Jesu, for thy mercy’s sake, And for thy bitter passion; Save us from the axe of the Tower, And from Sir Ralph of Assheton.”

It is alleged that, on one of his visits on Easter Monday, he was shot as he was riding down the principal street, and that the tenants took no trouble to find out the murderer, but entered into a subscription, the interest of which was to make an effigy of disgrace to his memory. At the present day, however, the origin is never thought of. The money is now derived from publicans whose interest it is to keep up the custom. An old steel helmet was used some years ago, but it is now no more; a tin one is used instead.

This custom is applied to another purpose. The occupation of the last couple married in the old year are represented on the effigy. If a tailor, the shears hang dangling by his side; if a draper, the cloth yard, and so on. The effigy then at the usual time visits the happy couple’s door, and unless the bearers are fed in a handsome manner, the dividing gentlemen are not easily got rid of. Some authors state that it is the first couple in the new year; but this is incorrect, as there is always great pressing for marrying on new year’s day, in order to be sufficiently early in the year.

Such is the custom of _Blake Lad Monday_--or _Riding the Black Lad_, a custom which thousands annually witness, and numbers come from great distances to see. It is the most thronged, and the most foolish, day the Ashtonians can boast of.

C. C.----G. M. R. C. S. E.

* * * * *

It is observed by the historian of “Manchester and Salford,” that the most prevalent of several traditions, as to the origin of this custom, is, that it is kept up to perpetuate the disgraceful actions of sir Ralph Ashton, who in the year 1483, as vice-constable of the kingdom, exercised great severity in this part of the country. From a sum issued out of the court to defray the expense of the effigy, and from a suit of armour, which till of late it usually rode in, together with other traditional particulars, there is another account of the custom. According to this, in the reign of Edward III., at the battle of Neville’s Cross, near Durham, his queen, with the earl of Northumberland as general, gained a complete victory over the Scots, under David, king of Scotland, and in this battle one Thomas Ashton of Ashton-under-Lyne, of whom no other particulars are known, served in the queen’s army, rode through the ranks of the enemy, and bore away the royal standard from the Scottish king’s tent. For this act of heroism, Edward III. knighted him; he became sir Thomas Ashton, of Ashton-under-Lyne; and to commemorate his valour, he instituted the custom above described, and left ten shillings yearly (since reduced to five) to support it, with his own suit of black velvet, and a coat of mail, the helmet of which yet remains.”[113] It will be observed in our correspondent’s account, that the helmet has at last disappeared.

“OLD VINEGAR,”

and

“_Hard Metal Spoons_.”

William Conway, who cried “hard metal spoons to sell or change,” is mentioned by Mr. J. T. Smith, as “a man whose cry is well-known to the inhabitants of London and its environs;” but since Mr. Smith wrote, the “cry” of Conway has ceased from the metropolis, and from the remembrance of all, save a few surviving observers of the manners in humble life that give character to the times. He is noticed here because he introduces another individual connected with the history of the season. Adopting Mr. Smith’s language, we must speak of Conway as though his “cry” were still with us. “This industrious man, who has eleven walks in and about London, never had a day’s illness, nor has once slept out of his own bed; and let the weather be what it may, he trudges on, and only takes his rest on Sundays. He walks, on an average, twenty-five miles a day; and this he has done for nearly forty-four years. His shoes are made from old boots, and a pair will last him about six weeks. In his walks he has frequently found small pieces of money, but never more than a one pound note. He recollects a windmill standing near Moorfields, and well remembers _Old Vinegar_.”[114] Without this notice of Conway, we should not have known “Old Vinegar,” who made the rings for the boxers in Moorfields, beating the shins of the spectators, and who, after he had arranged the circle, would cry out “mind your pockets all round.” He provided sticks for the cudgel players, whose sports commenced on Easter Monday. At that time the “Bridewell boys” joined in the pastime, and enlivened the day by their skill in athletic exercises.

WETTING THE BLOCK.

_For the Every-Day Book._

The first Monday in March being the time when shoemakers in the country cease from working by candlelight, it used to be customary for them to meet together in the evening for the purpose of _wetting the block_. On these occasions the master either provided a supper for his men, or made them a present of money or drink; the rest of the expense was defrayed by subscriptions among themselves, and sometimes by donations from customers. After the supper was ended, the block candlestick was placed in the midst, the shop candle was lighted, and all the glasses being filled, the oldest hand in the shop poured the contents of his glass over the candle to extinguish it: the rest then drank the contents of theirs standing, and gave three cheers. The meeting was usually kept to a late hour.

This account of the custom is from personal observation, made many years ago, in various parts of Hampshire, Berkshire, and the adjoining counties. It is now growing into disuse, which I think is not to be regretted; for, as it is mostly a very drunken usage, the sooner it is sobered, or becomes altogether obsolete the better.

A SHOEMAKER.

N.B. In some places this custom took place on Easter Monday.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·32.

[112] Blount.

[113] Aikin’s Manchester.

[114] Smith’s Ancient Topography of London, 1815, 4to.

~March 28.~

EASTER TUESDAY.

Formerly, “in the Easter holidays, was the _Clarke’s-ale_ for his private benefit, and the solace of the neighbourhood.”[115] Our ancestors were abundant drinkers; they had their “bride-ales,” “church-ales,” and other sort of ales, and their feats of potation were so great as to be surprising to their posterity; the remainder of whom, in good time, shall be more generally informed of these regular drinking bouts. “Easter-ale” was not always over with Easter week. Excessive fasting begat excessive feasting, and there was no feast in old times without excessive drinking. A morning head-ache from the contents of the tankard was cured by “a hair of the same dog,”--a phrase well understood by hard-drinkers, signifying that madness from drinking was to be cured by the madness of drinking again. It is in common use with drinkers of punch.

* * * * *

Some of the days in this month seem

“For talking age and youthful lovers made.”

The genial breezes animate declining life, and waft “visions of glory” to those who are about to travel the journey of existence on their own account. In the following lines, which, from the “Lady’s Scrap Book,” whence they were extracted, appear to have been communicated to her on this day, by a worthy old gentleman “of the old school,” there is a touch of satirical good humour, that may heighten cheerfulness.

NO FLATTERY

From J. M---- Esq.

To Miss H---- W----.

_March 28, 1825._

I never said thy face was fair, Thy cheeks with beauty glowing; Nor whispered that thy woodland air With grace was overflowing.

I never said thy teeth were white, In hue were snow excelling; Nor called thine eye, so blue, so bright, Young Love’s celestial dwelling.

I never said thy voice so soft, Soft heart but ill concealing; Nor praised thy sparkling glances oft, So well thy thoughts revealing.

I never said thy taper form Was, _Hannah_, more than handsome; Nor said thy heart, so young, so warm, Was worth a monarch’s ransom.

I never said to young or old I felt no joy without thee: _No, Hannah, no_, I never told A single lie about thee.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·70.

[115] Aubrey.

~March 29.~

MARCH MORNINGS.

_For the Every-Day Book._

There are frequently mornings in March, when a lover of nature may enjoy, in a stroll, sensations not to be exceeded, or, perhaps, equalled by any thing which the full glory of summer can awaken:--mornings, which tempt us to cast the memory of winter, or the fear of its recurrence out of our thoughts. The air is mild and balmy, with, now and then, a cool gush by no means unpleasant, but, on the contrary, contributing towards that cheering and peculiar feeling which we experience only in spring. The sky is clear, the sun flings abroad not only a gladdening splendour, but an almost summer glow. The world seems suddenly aroused to hope and enjoyment. The fields are assuming a vernal greenness,--the buds are swelling in the hedges,--the banks are displaying amidst the brown remains of last year’s vegetation, the luxuriant weeds of this. There are arums, ground-ivy, chervil, the glaucous leaves, and burnished flowers of the pilewort,

“The first gilt thing, Which wears the trembling pearls of spring;”

and many another fresh and early burst of greenery. All unexpectedly too, in some embowered lane, you are arrested by the delicious odour of violets--those sweetest of Flora’s children, which have furnished so many pretty allusions to the poets, and which are not yet exhausted; they are like true friends, we do not know half their sweetness till they have felt the sunshine of our kindness; and again, they are like the pleasures of our childhood, the earliest and the most beautiful. Now, however, they are to be seen in all their glory--blue and white--modestly peering through their thickly clustering leaves. The lark is carolling in the blue fields of air; the blackbird and thrush are again shouting and replying to each other from the tops of the highest trees. As you pass cottages, they have caught the happy infection. There are windows thrown open, and doors standing a-jar. The inhabitants are in their gardens, some cleaning away rubbish, some turning up the light and fresh-smelling soil amongst the tufts of snowdrops and rows of glowing yellow crocuses, which every where abound; and the children, ten to one, are busy peeping into the first bird’s-nest of the season--the hedge-sparrow’s, with its four blue eggs, snugly, but unwisely, built in the pile of old pea-rods.

In the fields the labourers are plashing and trimming the hedges, and in all directions are teams at plough. You smell the wholesome, and we may truly say, aromatic soil, as it is turned up to the sun, brown and rich, the whole country over. It is delightful as you pass along deep hollow lanes, or are hidden in copses, to hear the tinkling gears of the horses, and the clear voices of the lads calling to them. It is not less pleasant to catch the busy caw of the rookery, and the first meek cry of the young lambs. The hares are hopping about the fields, the excitement of the season overcoming their habitual timidity. The bees are revelling in the yellow catkins of the sallow. The woods, though yet unadorned with their leafy garniture, are beautiful to look on. They seem flushed with life. Their boughs are of a clear and glossy lead colour, and the tree-tops are rich with the vigorous hues of brown, red, and purple; and if you plunge into their solitudes, there are symptoms of revivification under your feet, the springing mercury, and green blades of the blue-bells--and perhaps, above you, the early nest of the missel-thrush perched between the boughs of a young oak, to tinge your thoughts with the anticipation of summer.

These are mornings not to be neglected by the lover of nature; and if not neglected, then, not to be forgotten, for they will stir the springs of memory, and make us live over again times and seasons, in which we cannot, for the pleasure and the purity of our spirits, live too much.

_Nottingham._

W. H.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·12.

~March 30.~

KITTY FISHER.

On the 30th of March, 1759, this celebrated female issued a singular advertisement through the “_Public Advertiser_,” which shows her sensitiveness to public opinion. She afterwards became duchess of Bolton.

TO ERR is a blemish entailed upon mortality, and indiscretion seldom or never escapes without censure, the more heavy, as the character is more remarkable; and doubled, nay trebled, by the world, if that character is marked by success: then malice shoots against it all her stings, and the snakes of envy are let loose. To the humane and generous heart then must the injured appeal, and certain relief will be found in impartial honour. Miss Fisher is forced to sue to that jurisdiction to protect her from the baseness of little scribblers, and scurvy malevolence. She has been abused in public papers, exposed in print shops, and, to wind up the whole, some wretches, mean, ignorant, and venal, would impose upon the public by daring to publish her memoirs. She hopes to prevent the success of their endeavours, by declaring that nothing of that sort has the slightest foundation in truth.

C. FISHER.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·67.

~March 31.~

JOHN HAMPDEN.

This celebrated man wrote a letter to sir John Elliott, on this day, in the year 1631, which is deposited in the British Museum.[116] At its date, which was long before “the troubles of England,” wherein he bore a distinguished part, it appears that he was absorbed by constant avocation, and attention to the business of others. The letter has been obligingly transcribed and communicated by our kind correspondent, T. A. It is curious from its style and sentiments, and is here printed, because it has not before been published. The commencing and concluding words are given _fac-simile_, from the original. It is addressed thus,

_To my honoured and deare friend Sr._ JOHN ELLIOTT _at his lodging in the Tower_.

Tis well for mee that letters cannot blush, else you would easily reade mee guilty. I am ashamed of so long a silence and know not how to excuse it, for as nothing but businesse can speake for mee, of w^{ch} kinde I have many advocates, so can I not tell how to call any businesse greater than holding an affectionate correspondence with so excellent a friend. My only confidence is I pleade at a barr of loue, where absolutions are much more frequent then censures. Sure I ame that conscience of neglect doth not accuse mee; though euidence of fact doth. I would add more but y^{e} entertainment of a straunger friend calls upon mee, and one other unsuitable occasion hold mee excused: therefore, deare friend, and if you vouchsafe mee a letter, lett mee begg of you to teach mee some thrift of time; that I may imploy more in yo^{r} service who will ever bee

Hampd. March 31, 1631.

Command my service to y^{e} souldier if not gone to his colours.

THE SUN IN MARCH.

We may now see the great luminary at half-past five in the morning if “we shake off dull sloth,” and set our faces to be greeted by his, at his rising, in the open air. Lying a bed is a sad destroyer of health, and getting up early a vast improver of time. It is an old and a _true_ saying, that “an hour in the morning before breakfast, is worth two all the rest of the day.”

* * * * *

In “The Examiner” of the 31st of March, 1822, there is the following pleasant little story.

THE WONDERFUL PHYSICIAN.

One morning at daybreak a father came into his son’s bedchamber, and told him that a wonderful stranger was to be seen. “You are sick,” said he, “and fond of great shows. Here are no quack-doctors now, nor keeping of beds. A remarkable being is announced all over the town, who not only heals the sick, but makes the very grass grow; and what is more, he is to rise out of the sea.” The boy, though he was of a lazy habit, and did not like to be waked, jumped up at hearing of such an extraordinary exhibition, and hastened with his father to the door of the house, which stood upon the sea-shore. “There,” said the father, pointing to the sun, which at that moment sprung out of the ocean like a golden world, “there, foolish boy, you who get me so many expenses with your lazy diseases, and yourself into so many troubles, behold at last a remedy, cheap, certain, and delightful. Behold at last a physician, who has only to look in your face every morning at this same hour, and you will be surely well.”

PROVINCIAL MEDICAL PRACTICE.

Country people who are unusually plain in notion, and straight forward in conduct, frequently commit the care of their health to very odd sort of practitioners.

A late celebrated empiric, in Yorkshire, called the _Whitworth Doctor_, was of so great fame as to have the honour of attending the brother of lord Thurlow. The name of this _doctor_ was Taylor: he and his brother were _farriers_ by profession, and to the last, if both a two-legged and a four-legged patient were presented at the same time, the _doctor_ always preferred the four-legged one. Their _practice_ was immense, as may be well imagined from the orders they gave the druggist; they dealt principally with Ewbank and Wallis, of York, and a _ton_ of Glauber’s salt, with other articles in proportion, was their usual order. On a Sunday morning the _doctors_ used to bleed gratis. The patients, often to the number of an hundred, were seated on benches round a room, where troughs were placed to receive the blood. One of the _doctors_ then went and tied up the arm of each patient, and was immediately followed by the other who opened the vein. Such a scene is easier conceived than described. From their medical practice, the nice formality of scales and weights was banished; all was “_rule of thumb_.” An example of their practice may elucidate their claim to celebrity: being sent for to a patient who was in the last stage of a consumption, the learned doctor prescribed _a leg of mutton_ to be boiled _secundum artem_, into very strong broth, a _quart_ of which was to be taken at proper intervals: what might have been its success is not to be related, as the patient died before the first dose was got down. As _bone-setters_ they were remarkably skilful, and, perhaps, to their _real merit_ in this, and the _cheapness_ of their medicines, they were indebted for their great local fame.

* * * * *

The “Public Ledger” of the 31st of March, 1825, contains

_A crooked Coincidence_.

A pamphlet published in the year 1703, has the following strange title:--“The deformity of sin cured, a sermon, preached at St. Michael’s, Crooked Lane, before the Prince of Orange; by the Rev. James Crookshanks. Sold by Matthew Dowton, at the Crooked Billet, near Cripplegate, and by all other Booksellers.” The words of the text are, “Every crooked path shall be made straight.” The Prince before whom it was preached was deformed in his person.

A SEASONABLE EPITAPH

_on the late_

J. C. MARCH, _Esq_.

Death seemed so envious of my clay, He bade me march and marched away; Now underneath the vaulted arch, My corpse must change to dust and _March_.

J. R. P.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·22.

[116] Addit. MSS. 5016.

On April, in old kalendars, is drawn A gallant hawker, pacing on a lawn, Holding a bell’d and hooded fowl of prey, Ready to loose him in the airy way. For daily, now, descends the solar beam, And the warm earth seems in a waking dream; Insects creep out, leaves burst, and flowers rise, And birds enchant the woods, and wing the skies; Each sentient being a new sense receives, And eloquently looks, to each, it lives.

The name of this month is before observed to have been derived from the verb _aperire_,[117] which signifies to open, because seeds germinate, and at this season flowers begin to blow; yet Macrobius affirms that it is derived from a Greek word signifying _aphrilis_, or descended from Venus, or, born of the scum of the sea, because Romulus dedicated the month to Venus. This may be the real derivation; the former is the most natural.

* * * * *

“April,” says the author of the _Mirror of the Months_, “is spring--the only spring month that we possess--the most juvenile of the months, and the most feminine--the sweetest month of all the year; partly because it ushers in the May, and partly for its own sake, so far as any thing can be valuable without reference to any thing else. It is, to May and June, what ‘sweet fifteen,’ in the age of woman, is to passion-stricken eighteen, and perfect two-and-twenty. It is worth two Mays, because it tells tales of May in every sigh that it breathes, and every tear that it lets fall. It is the harbinger, the herald, the promise, the prophecy, the foretaste of all the beauties that are to follow it--of all, and more--of all the delights of summer, and all the ‘pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious autumn.’ It is fraught with beauties that no other month can bring before us, and

‘It bears a glass which shows us many more.’

Its life is one sweet alternation of smiles and sighs and tears, and tears and sighs and smiles, till it is consummated at last in the open laughter of May.”

By the same hand we are directed to observe, “what a sweet flush of new green has started up to the face of this meadow! And the new-born daisies that stud it here and there, give it the look of an emerald sky, powdered with snowy stars. In making our way to yonder hedgerow, which divides the meadow from the little copse that lines one side of it, let us not take the shortest way, but keep religiously to the little footpath; for the young grass is as yet too tender to bear being trod upon; and the young lambs themselves, while they go cropping its crisp points, let the sweet daisies alone, as if they loved to look upon a sight as pretty and as innocent as themselves.” It is further remarked that “the great charm of this month, both in the open country and the garden, is undoubtedly the infinite _green_ which pervades it every where, and which we had best gaze our fill at while we may, as it lasts but a little while,--changing in a few weeks into an endless variety of shades and tints, that are equivalent to as many different colours. It is this, and the budding forth of every living member of the vegetable world, after its long winter death, that in fact constitutes _the spring_; and the sight of which affects us in the manner it does, from various causes--chiefly moral and associated ones; but one of which is unquestionably physical: I mean the sight of so much tender green after the eye has been condemned to look for months and months on the mere negation of all colour, which prevails in winter in our climate. The eye feels cheered, cherished, and regaled by this colour, as the tongue does by a quick and pleasant taste, after having long palated nothing but tasteless and insipid things.--This is the principal charm of spring, no doubt. But another, and one that is scarcely second to this, is, the bright flush of blossoms that prevails over and almost hides every thing else in the fruit-garden and orchard. What exquisite differences and distinctions and resemblances there are between all the various blossoms of the fruit-trees; and no less in their general effect than in their separate details! The almond-blossom, which comes first of all, and while the tree is quite bare of leaves, is of a bright blush-rose colour; and when they are fully blown, the tree, if it has been kept to a compact head, instead of being permitted to straggle, looks like one huge rose, magnified by some fairy magic, to deck the bosom of some fair giantess. The various kinds of plum follow, the blossoms of which are snow-white, and as full and clustering as those of the almond. The peach and nectarine, which are now full blown, are unlike either of the above; and their sweet effect, as if growing out of the hard bare wall, or the rough wooden paling, is peculiarly pretty. They are of a deep blush colour, and of a delicate bell shape, the lips, however, divided, and turning backward, to expose the interior to the cherishing sun. But perhaps the bloom that is richest and most _promising_ in its general appearance is that of the cherry, clasping its white honours all round the long straight branches, from heel to point, and not letting a leaf or a bit of stem be seen, except the three or four leaves that come as a green finish at the extremity of each branch. The other blossoms, of the pears, and (loveliest of all) the apples, do not come in perfection till next month.”

* * * * *

SPRING.

The beauties of the seasons are a constant theme with their discoverers--the poets. Spring, as the reproductive source of “light and life and love,” has the preeminence with these children of nature. The authors of “_The Forest Minstrel_ and other poems,” William and Mary Howitt, have high claims upon reflective and imaginative minds, in return for the truth and beauty contained in an elegant volume, which cultivates the moral sense, and infuses a devotional spirit, through exquisite description and just application. The writers have traversed “woods and wilds, and fields, and lanes, with a curious and delighted eye,” and “written not for the sake of writing,” but for the indulgence of their overflowing feelings. They are “members of the Society of Friends,” and those who are accustomed to regard individuals of that community as necessarily incapable of poetical impression, will be pleased by reading from Mr. Howitt’s “Epistle Dedicatory” what he says of his own verses, and of his helpmate in the work:--

And now ’tis spring, and bards are gathering flowers; So I have cull’d you these, and with them sent The gleanings of a nymph whom some few hours Ago I met with--some few years I meant-- Gathering “true-love” amongst the wild-wood bowers; You’ll find some buds all with this posy blent, If that ye know them, which some lady fair Viewing, may haply prize, for they are wond’rous rare.

Artists have seldom represented friends--“of the Society of Friends,”--with poetical feeling. Mr. Howitt’s sketch of himself, and her whom he found gathering “true-love,” though they were not clad perhaps “as worldlings are,” would inspire a painter, whose art could be roused by the pen, to a charming picture of youthful affection. The habit of some of the young men, in the peaceable community, maintains its character, without that extremity of the fashion of being out of fashion, which marks the wearer as remarkably formal; while the young females of the society, still preserving the distinction prescribed by discipline, dress more attractively, to the cultivated eye, than a multitude of the sex who study variety of costume. Such lovers, pictured as they are imagined from Mr. Howitt’s lines, would grace a landscape, enfoliated from other stanzas in the same poem, which raise the fondest recollections of the pleasures of boyhood in spring.

Then did I gather, with a keen delight, All changes of the seasons, and their signs: Then did I speed forth, at the first glad sight Of the coy spring--of spring that archly shines Out for a day--then goes--and then more bright Comes laughing forth, like a gay lass that lines A dark lash with a ray that beams and burns, And scatters hopes and doubts, and smiles and frowns, by turns.

On a sweet, shining morning thus sent out, It seem’d what man was made for, to look round And trace the full brook, that, with clamorous route, O’er fallen trees, and roots black curling, wound Through glens, with wild brakes scatter’d all about; Where not a leaf or green blade yet was found Springing to hide the red fern of last year, And hemlock’s broken stems, and rustling rank grass sere.

But hazel catkins, and the bursting buds Of the fresh willow, whisper’d “spring is coming;” And bullfinches forth flitting from the woods, With their rich silver voices; and the humming Of a new waken’d bee that pass’d; and the broods Of ever dancing gnats, again consuming, In pleasant sun-light, their re-given time; And the germs swelling in the red shoots of the lime.

All these were tell-tales of far brighter hours, That had been, and again were on their way; The breaking forth of green things, and of flowers, From the earth’s breast; from bank and quickening spray Dews, buds, and blossoms; and in woodland bowers, Fragrant and fresh, full many a sweet bird’s lay, Sending abroad, from the exultant spring, To every living heart a gladsome welcoming.

_Howitt._

[117] Vol. i. p. 407.

~April 1.~

ALL FOOL’S DAY.

In the first volume of the present work, (p. 409,) there is an account of the singular usage of fool-making to-day, which may be further illustrated by a few lines from an almanac of 1760:--

The first of April, some do say, Is set apart for All Fool’s-day; But why the people call it so, Nor I, nor they themselves, do know. But on this day are people sent On purpose for pure merriment; And though the day is known before, Yet frequently there is great store Of these forgetfuls to be found, Who’re sent to flance Moll Dixon’s round; And having tried each shop and stall, And disappointed at them all, At last some tell them of the cheat, And then they hurry from the street, And straightway home with shame they run, And others laugh at what is done. But ’tis a thing to be disputed, Which is the greatest fool reputed, The man that innocently went, Or he that him designedly sent.

_Poor Robin._

* * * * *

The custom of making April fools prevails all over the continent. A lady relates that the day is further marked in Provence by every body, both rich and poor, having for dinner, under some form or other, a sort of peas peculiar to the country, called _pois chiches_. While the convent of the Chartreux was standing, it was one of the great jokes of the day to send novices thither to ask for these peas, telling them that the fathers were obliged to give them away to any body who would come for them. So many applications were in consequence made in the course of the day for the promised bounty, that the patience of the monks was at last usually exhausted, and it was well if the vessel carried to receive the pease was not thrown at the head of the bearer.

* * * * *

There is an amusing anecdote connected with the church of the convent of the Chartreux, at Provence. It was dedicated to St. John, and over the portico were colossal statues of the four evangelists, which have been thrown down and broken to pieces, and the fragments lie scattered about. The first time Miss Plumptre with her party visited this spot, they found an old woman upon her knees before a block of stone, muttering something to herself:--when she arose up, curiosity led them to inquire, whether there was any thing particular in that stone; to which she replied with a deep sigh, _Ah oui, c’est un morceau de Saint Jean_, “Ah yes, ’tis a piece of Saint John.” The old lady seemed to think that the saint’s intercession in her behalf, mutilated as he was, might still be of some avail.

* * * * *

In Xylander’s Plutarch there is a passage in Greek, relative to the “Feast of Fools,” celebrated by the Romans, to this effect, “Why do they call the Quirinalia the Feast of Fools? Either, because they allowed this day (as Juba tells us) to those who could not ascertain their own tribes, or because they permitted those who had missed the celebration of the Fornacalia in their proper tribes, along with the rest of the people, either out of negligence, absence, or ignorance, to hold their festival apart on this day.”

* * * * *

The Romans on the first day of April abstained from pleading causes, and the Roman ladies performed ablutions under myrtle trees, crowned themselves with its leaves, and offered sacrifices to Venus. This custom originated in a mythological story, that as Venus was drying her wetted hair by a river side, she was perceived by satyrs, whose gaze confused her:--

But soon with myrtles she her beauties veiled, From whence this annual custom was entail’d.

_Ovid._

NEWCASTLE.

_Extract from the Common Council Book._

“April 1, 1695. All-Saints’ parish humbly request the metal of the statue, towards the repair of their bells.”

This refers to a statue of James II. pulled down from the Exchange in consequence of lord Lumley having entered the town and declared for a free parliament. It was an equestrian figure in copper, of the size of Charles I. at Charing-cross. The mob demolished the statue, dragged it to the quay, and cast it into the river. As the parish of All-Saints desired to turn the deposit to some account, the parish of St. Andrews petitioned for a share of the spoil, and it appears by the subjoined extract from the council books, that each was accommodated.

“Ordered that All-Saints have the metal belonging to the horse of the said statue, except a leg thereof, which must go towards the casting of a new bell for St. Andrew’s parish.”

A print of the statue was published “on two large sheets of Genoa paper,” price 5_s._ by Joseph Barber of Newcastle. There is an engraving from it in “Local Records, by John Sykes, bookseller, Newcastle, 1824,” a book which consists of a chronological arrangement of curious and interesting facts, and events, that have occurred exclusively in the counties of Durham and Northumberland, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and Berwick, with an obituary and anecdotes of remarkable persons. The present notice is taken from Mr. Sykes’s work.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·17.

~April 2.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 2d of April 1755, Severndroog castle, on the coast of Malabar, belonging to Angria, a celebrated pirate, was taken by commodore James. His relict, to commemorate her husband’s heroism, and to testify her affectionate respect to his memory, erected a tower of the same name on Shooters-hill, near Blackheath, where it is a distinguished land-mark at an immense distance to the circumjacent country.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·37.

~April 3.~

SIGNS OF THE SEASONS.

It is noticed on this day in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the birds are now arriving daily, and forming arrangements for the hatching and nurture of their future young. The different sorts of nests of each species, adapted to the wants of each, and springing out of their respective instincts, combined with the propensity to construct, would form a curious subject of research for the natural historian. Every part of the world furnishes materials for the aërial architects: leaves and small twigs, roots and dried grass, mixed with clay, serve for the external; whilst moss, wool, fine hair, and the softest animal and vegetable downs, form the warm internal part of these commodious dwellings:--

Of vernal songsters--some to the holly hedge, Nestling, repair, and to the thicket some; Some to the rude protection of the thorn Commit their feeble offspring: the cleft tree Offers its kind concealment to a few, Their food its insects, and its moss their nests: Others apart, far in the grassy dale Or roughening waste, their humble texture weave: But most in woodland solitudes delight, In unfrequented glooms or shaggy banks, Steep, and divided by a babbling brook, Whose murmurs soothe them all the livelong day, When by kind duty fixed. Among the roots Of hazel, pendent o’er the plaintive stream, They frame the first foundation of their domes, Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid, And bound with clay together. Now ’tis naught But restless hurry through the busy air, Beat by unnumbered wings. The swallow sweeps The slimy pool, to build the hanging house Intent: and often from the careless back Of herds and flocks a thousand tugging bills Pluck hair and wool; and oft, when unobserved, Steal from the barn a straw; till soft and warm, Clean and complete, their habitation grows.

_Thomson._

* * * * *

The cavern-loving wren sequestered seeks The verdant shelter of the hollow stump, And with congenial moss, harmless deceit, Constructs a safe abode. On topmost boughs The glossy raven, and the hoarsevoiced crow, Rocked by the storm, erect their airy nests. The ousel, lone frequenter of the grove Of fragrant pines, in solemn depth of shade Finds rest; or ’mid the holly’s shining leaves, A simple bush the piping thrush contents, Though in the woodland concert he aloft Trills from his spotted throat a powerful strain, And scorns the humbler quire. The lark too asks A lowly dwelling, hid beneath a turf, Or hollow, trodden by the sinking hoof; Songster of heaven! who to the sun such lays Pours forth, as earth ne’er owns. Within the hedge The sparrow lays her skystained eggs. The barn, With eaves o’erpendant, holds the chattering tribe: Secret the linnet seeks the tangled copse: The white owl seeks some antique ruined wall, Fearless of rapine; or in hollow trees, Which age has caverned, safely courts repose: The thievish pie, in twofold colours clad, Roofs o’er her curious nest with firmwreathed twigs, And sidelong forms her cautious door; she dreads The taloned kite, or pouncing hawk; savage Herself, with craft suspicion ever dwells.

_Bidlake._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 43·37.

~April 4.~

CHEAP WEATHER GUIDE.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Cornhill, March, 1826._

Sir,--The following observations on the leechworm were made by a gentleman who kept one several years for the purpose of a weather-glass:

A phial of water, containing a leech, I kept on the frame of my lower sash window, so that when I looked in the morning I could know what would be the weather of the following day. If the weather proves serene and beautiful, the leech lies motionless at the bottom of the glass, and rolled together in a spiral form.

If it rains, either before or after noon, it is found crept up to the top of its lodging, and there it remains till the weather is settled. If we are to have wind, the poor prisoner gallops through its limped habitation with amazing swiftness, and seldom rests till it begins to blow hard.

If a storm of thunder and rain is to succeed, for some days before it lodges, almost continually, without the water, and discovers very great uneasiness in violent throes and convulsions.

In the frost, as in clear summer weather, it lies constantly at the bottom; and in snow, as in rainy weather, it pitches its dwelling upon the very mouth of the phial.

What reasons may be assigned for these circumstances I must leave philosophers to determine, though one thing is evident to every body, that it must be affected in the same way as that of the mercury and spirits in the weather-glass. It has, doubtless, a very surprising sensation; for the change of weather, even days before, makes a visible alteration upon its manner of living.

Perhaps it may not be amiss to note, that the leech was kept in a common eight-ounce phial glass, about three-quarters filled with water, and covered on the mouth with a piece of linen rag. In the summer the water is changed once a week, and in the winter once a fortnight. This is a weather-glass which may be purchased at a very trifling expense, and which will last I do not know how many years.

I am, &c.

J. F.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 44·82.

~April 5.~

SWALLOWS IN 1826.

Our friend J. H. H. whose letter on wild-fowl shooting, from Abbeville, is in vol. i. p. 1575, with another on lark shooting in France in the present volume, p. 91, writes from Southover, near Lewes, in Sussex, on this day, 1826, “How delightful the country looks! I shall leave you to imagine two swallows, the first I have seen, now preening themselves on the barn opposite, heartily glad that their long journey is at an end.” The birds come to us this year very early.

_Pump with two Spouts._

In a letter of the 5th of April, 1808, to Dr. Aikin, inserted in his “Athenæum,” Mr. Roots says,--“In the year 1801, being on a tour through the Highlands of Scotland, I visited the beautiful city of Glasgow, and in passing one of the principal streets in the neighbourhood of the Tron church, I observed about five-and-twenty or thirty people, chiefly females, assembled round a large public pump, waiting their separate turns for water; and although the pump had two spouts for the evacuation of the water behind and before, I took notice that one of the spouts was carefully plugged up, no one attempting to fill his vessel from that source, whilst each was waiting till the rest were served, sooner than draw the water from the spout in question. On inquiry into the cause of this proceeding, I was informed by an intelligent gentleman residing in the neighbourhood, that though one and the _same_ handle produced the _same_ water from the _same_ well through _either of the spouts_, yet the populace, and even better informed people, had for a number of years conceived an idea, which had been handed down from father to son, that the water when drawn from the hindermost spout would be of an _unlucky_ and _poisonous_ nature; and this vulgar prejudice is from time to time kept afloat, inasmuch, as by its being never used, a kind of dusty fur at length collects, and the water, when suffered from curiosity to pass through, at first runs foul; and this tends to carry conviction still further to these ignorant people, who with the most solemn assurances informed me, it was certain death to taste of the water so drawn, and no argument could divest them of their superstitious conceit, though the well had been repeatedly cleaned out, before them, by order of the magistrates, and the internal mechanism of the pump explained. We need not be surprised at the bigotted ignorance of the ruder ages, either in this country or in less civilized regions, when we witness facts so grossly superstitious obtaining in our own time.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 45·67.

~April 6.~

SPRING.

This period of the year is so awakening to intellectual powers, that for a few days some matters of fact are occasionally deferred in favour of imaginative and descriptive effusions occasioned by the season.

THE POET’S PEN.

(_From the Greek of Menecrates._)

I was an useless reed; no cluster hung My brow with purple grapes, no blossom flung The coronet of crimson on my stem; No apple blushed upon me, nor (the gem Of flowers) the violet strewed the yellow heath Around my feet, nor Jessamine’s sweet wreath Robed me in silver: day and night I pined On the lone moor, and shiver’d in the wind. At length a poet found me. From my side He smoothed the pale and withered leaves, and dyed My lips in _Helicon_. From that high hour I SPOKE! My words were flame and living power, All the wide wonders of the earth were mine, Far as the surges roll, or sunbeams shine; Deep as earth’s bosom hides the emerald; High as the hills with thunder clouds are pall’d. And there was sweetness round me, that the dew Had never wet so sweet on violet’s blue. To me the mighty sceptre was a wand, The roar of nations peal’d at my command; To me the dungeon, sword, and scourge were vain, I smote the smiter, and I broke the chain; Or tow’ring o’er them all, without a plume, I pierced the purple air, the tempest’s gloom, Till blaz’d th’ Olympian glories on my eye, Stars, temples, thrones, and gods--infinity.

_Pulci_

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·84.

~April 7.~

SAINTS.

Our old acquaintance with the saints is not broken: but they are sad intruders on the beauties of the world, and we part from them, for a little while, after the annexed communication of an attempt to honour them.

SERMON AT ST. ANDREW’S.

_For the Every-Day Book._

The following anecdote, under the article “Black Friars,” in Brand’s “History of Newcastle-upon-Tyne,” as a specimen of the extreme perversion of mind in the Romish clergy of former times, is curious, and may amuse your readers as much as it has me.

Richard Marshall, who had been one of the brethren, and also prior of the house, in the year 1521, at St. Andrew’s, Scotland, informed his audience there, that _Pater noster_ should be addressed to God and not to the saints. The doctors of St. Andrew’s, in their great wisdom, or rather craftiness, appointed a preacher to oppose this tenet, which he did in a sermon from Matt. v. 3. “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” “Seeing,” says he, “we say good day, _father_, to any old man in the street, we may call a saint, _pater_, who is older than any alive: and seeing they are in _heaven_, we may say to any of them, ‘_hallowed_ be thy name;’ and since they are in the _kingdom_ of heaven, we may say to any of them ‘_thy kingdom come_:’ and seeing their will is _God’s will_, we may say, ‘_thy will_ be done,’” &c. When the friar was proceeding further, he was hissed and even obliged to leave the city. Yet we are told, the dispute continued among the doctors about the _pater_. Some would have it said to God _formaliter_, to the saints _materialiter_; others, to God _principaliter_, to the saints _minus principaliter_; or _primario_ to God, _secundario_ to the saints; or to God _strictè_, and to the saints _latè_. With all these distinctions they could not agree. It is said, that Tom, who was servant to the sub-prior of St. Andrew’s, one day perceiving his master in trouble, said to him, “Sir, what is the cause of your trouble?” The master answered, “We cannot agree about the saying of the _pater_.” The fellow replied, “To whom should it be said but to God alone?” The master asks, “What then shall we do with the _saints_?” To which Tom rejoined, “Give them _ave’s_ and _crede’s_ enough, that may suffice them, and too well too.” The readers of the _Every-Day Book_ will probably think that Tom was wiser or honester than his master.

J. F.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·10.

~April 8.~

FLOWERS.

On this day in the “Perennial Calendar,” Dr. Forster observes, that it may be proper to notice the general appearance of the wild and less cultivated parts of nature at this time. In the fields, the bulbous crowfoot, _ranunculus bulbosus_, begins to blow. Daisies become pretty common, and dandelions are seen here and there by road sides, and in fields, on a warm soil, are pretty abundant. The pilewort, _ficaria verna_, still decorates the thickets and shady green banks with its bright yellow stars of gold. It may be observed generally, that the flowers found at this time belong to the primaveral Flora; those of the vernal being as yet undeveloped. By the sides of rivers, streams, and ponds, along the wet margins of ditches, and in moist meadows, and marshes, grows the marsh marigold, _caltha palustris_, whose golden yellow flowers have a brilliant effect at a small distance.

Prolific gales Warm the soft air, and animate the vales. Woven with flowers and shrubs, and freshest green, Thrown with wild boldness o’er the lovely scene A brilliant carpet, of unnumbered dyes, With sweet variety enchants the eyes. Thick are the trees with leaves; in every grove The feathered minstrels tune their throats to love.

_Kleist._

DOMESTIC ANTIQUITIES,

and a

LETTER OF LORD THURLOW’S.

A gentleman indulges the editor with the following account of a singular household utensil, and a drawing of it, from whence a correct engraving has been made; together with a letter from the late lord chancellor Thurlow, which from his distinguished hand on a singular occurrence, merits preservation.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_April 3, 1826._

Sir,--I shall be happy to communicate any thing in my power, connected with antiquities to the _Every-Day Book_, which I have taken from the beginning and been highly pleased with; and, first, I send you a drawing for insertion, if you think it worthy, of a carving, in my possession, on an ancient oak board, two feet in diameter.

It represents the letters ~I. h. c.~ in the centre, surrounded by this legend, viz.

“_An harte that is wyse wyll obstine from sinnes and increas in the workes of God._”

As this legend reads backward, and all the carving is incuse, it was evidently intended to give impression to something; I imagine pastry.

An original letter is now before me, from lord chancellor Thurlow, to a Norfolk farmer, who had sent him a hare, and two and a half brace of partridges, enclosed in a large turnip of his own growth. The farmer had not any personal knowledge of his lordship, but, being aware he was a Norfolk man, he rightly conceived that his present would be looked upon with more interest on that account. The following is a copy of the chancellor’s letter:--

_Bath, Dec. 31, 1778._

Sir,--I beg you will accept of my best thanks for your agreeable present. It gave me additional satisfaction to be so remembered in my native country; to which I, in particular, owe every sort of respect, and all the world agrees to admire for superiority in husbandry.

I am, Sir,

Your most obliged

And obedient servant,

THURLOW.

Having transcribed his lordship’s answer, you are at liberty to do with that, and the drawing of my carving, as you please; with this “special observance,” that you do not insert my name, which, nevertheless, for your satisfaction, I subscribe, with my abode.

Believe me, Sir, &c.

ETA.

* * * * *

⁂ The editor is gratified by the confidence reposed in him by the gentleman who wrote the preceding letter. He takes this opportunity of acknowledging similar marks of confidence, and reiterates the assurance, that such wishes will be always scrupulously observed.

It is respectfully observed to possessors of curiosities of any kind, whether ancient or modern, that if correct drawings of them be sent they shall be faithfully engraven and inserted, with the descriptive accounts.

The gradual disappearance of many singular traces of our ancestors, renders it necessary to call attention to the subject. “Apostle Spoons,” of which there is an engraving in vol. i. p. 178, have been dropping for the last thirty years into the refiner’s melting-pot, till sets of them are not to be purchased, or even seen, except in cabinets. Any thing of interest respecting domestic manners, habits, or customs, of old times, is coveted by the editor for the purpose of recording and handing them down to posterity.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·72.

~April 9.~

AN APRIL DAY.

Some verses in the “Widow’s Tale,” are beautifully descriptive of the season.

All day the lowhung clouds have dropt Their garnered fulness down; All day that soft grey mist hath wrapt Hill, valley, grove, and town. There has not been a sound to-day To break the calm of nature; Nor motion, I might almost say, Of life or living creature; Of waving bough, or warbling bird, Or cattle faintly lowing; I could have half believed I heard The leaves and blossoms growing. I stood to hear--I love it well, The rain’s continuous sound, Small drops, but thick and fast, they fell, Down straight into the ground. For leafy thickness is not yet Earth’s naked breast to screen, Though every dripping branch is set With shoots of tender green. Sure, since I looked at early morn, Those honeysuckle buds Have swelled to double growth; that thorn Hath put forth larger studs; That lilac’s cleaving cones have burst, The milkwhite flowers revealing; Even now, upon my senses first Methinks their sweets are stealing. The very earth, the steamy air, Is all with fragrance rife; And grace and beauty every where Are flushing into life. Down, down they come--those fruitful stores! Those earth-rejoicing drops! A momentary deluge pours, Then thins, decreases, stops; And ere the dimples on the stream Have circled out of sight, Lo! from the west, a parting gleam Breaks forth of amber light. But yet behold--abrupt and loud, Comes down the glittering rain; The farewell of a passing cloud, The fringes of her train.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·17.

~April 10.~

THE SEASON.

Art, as well as nature, is busily occupied in providing for real wants or natural desires. To gratify the ears and eyes of the young, we have more street organs and shows in spring than in the autumn, and the adventures of that merry fellow “Punch in the Puppet-show,” are represented to successive crowds in every street, whence his exhibitors conceive they can extract funds for the increase of their treasury.

A kind hand communicates an article of curious import, peculiarly seasonable.

PUNCH IN THE PUPPET SHOW.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--I do not know, whether in the absence of more interesting matter, a few remarks on an old favourite may be allowed. The character I am about to mention, has I am sure at one time or another delighted most of your readers, and I confess to be still amused with his vagaries--I mean “that celebrated wooden Roscius, _Mister Punch_.” It is very difficult to trace accurately the origin and variation of any character of this description; and I shall, therefore, only offer some unconnected notices.

In some of the old mysteries, wherein you are so well read, “the devil” was the _buffoon_ of the piece, and used to indulge himself most freely in the gross indecencies tolerated in the earlier ages. When those mysteries began to be refined into moralities, the _vice_ gradually superseded the former clown, if he may be so designated; and at the commencement of such change, frequently shared the comic part of the performance with him. The _vice_ was armed with a dagger of lath, with which he was to belabour the devil, who, sometimes, however, at the conclusion of the piece, carried off the _vice_ with him. Here we have something like the club wielded by Punch, and the wand of harlequin, at the present time, and a similar finish of the devil and Punch, may be seen daily in our streets.

About the beginning of the sixteenth century the drama began to assume a more regular form, and the vice, in his turn, had to make way for the clown or fool, who served to fill up the space between the acts, by supposed extemporaneous witticisms; holding, occasionally, trials of wit with any of the spectators who were bold enough to venture with him. The last play, perhaps, in which the regular fool was introduced, was “The Woman Captain” of Shadwell, in the year 1680. Tarleton, in the time of Shakspeare, was a celebrated performer of this description. The fool was frequently dressed in a motley or party-coloured coat, and each leg clad in different coloured hose. A sort of hood covered his head, resembling a monk’s cowl: this was afterwards changed for a cap, each being usually surmounted with the neck and head of a cock, or sometimes only the crest, or comb; hence the term _cockscomb_. In his hand he carried the bauble, a short stick, having at one end a fool’s head, and at the other, frequently a bladder with peas or sand, to punish those who offended him. His dress was often adorned with morris-bells, or large knobs. We may observe much similarity to this dress, in the present costume of Punch. He degenerated into a wooden performer, about the time that the regular tragedy and comedy were introduced, i. e. in the beginning of the sixteenth century. Strolling players were prohibited a few years afterwards, and some of those performers who had not skill or interest enough to get a situation in any established company, went about the country with puppet shows, or “motions,” as they were then called, wherein Punch was a prominent character, though not by that name, which was a subsequent importation, originally Policinello, or Punchinello; and when this name was introduced from the continent, some modifications were made also in the character to whom the name was attached. The civil wars, and subsequent triumph of puritanism, depressed theatrical proceedings, and Punch with other performers was obliged to hide himself, or act by stealth; but in the jovial reign of Charles II., he, and his brother actors, broke out with renewed splendour, and until the time of George I. he maintained his rank manfully, being mentioned with considerable _respect_ even by the “Spectator.” About this time, however, harlequinades were introduced, and have been so successfully continued, that poor Punch is contented to walk the streets like a snail, with his house on his back, though still possessing as much fun as ever.

Pantomime, in its more extended sense, was known to the Greek and Roman stages, being introduced on the latter by Pylades and Bathyllus, in the time of Augustus Cæsar. From that time to the present, different modifications of this representation have taken place on the continent, and the lofty scenes of ancient pantomime, are degenerated to the _bizarre_ adventures of harlequin, pantaloon, zany, pierrot, scaramouch, &c.

The first pantomine performed by grotesque characters in this country, was at Drury-lane theatre, in the year 1702. It was composed by Mr. Weaver, and called “The Tavern Bilkers.” The next was performed at Drury-lane in 1716, and it was also composed by Mr. Weaver, in imitation of the ancient pantomime, and called “The Loves of Mars and Venus.”

In 1717, the first harlequinade, composed by Mr. Rich, was performed at the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, called, “Harlequin Executed.” This performer, who acted under the name of Lun, was so celebrated for his taste in composing these entertainments, and for his skill, as a harlequin, that they soon became established in the public favour. He flourished until the year 1761, and all his productions succeeded.

The harlequin on the French stage differed from ours, for he had considerable license of speech, somewhat similar to the theatric fools of the sixteenth century. Many of the witticisms of Dominique, a celebrated harlequin in the time of Louis XIV. are still on record; it is said, indeed, that before his time, harlequin was but a grotesque ignorant character, but that he being a man of wit, infused it into his representation, and invented the character of Pierrot as a foolish servant, to fill up the piece. The old character of zany was similar to our modern clown, who now is generally the possessor of all the wit in the performance. The name of pantaloon is said to have been derived from the watch-word of the Venetians, _pianta leone;_ if so, (which is doubtful) it must have been applied in derision of their fallen state, as compared with their former splendour. A more doubtful origin has been given of the name of harlequin; a young Italian actor of eminence in this style of character, came to Paris in the time of Henry III. of France, and having been received into the house of the president, Achilles de Harlai, his brother actors, are said to have called him harlequino, from the name of his master. There was a knight called Harlequin, an extravagant dissipated man, who spent his substance in the wars of Charles Martel, against the Saracens, and afterwards lived by pillage. Tradition says he was saved from perdition in consequence of his services against the infidels, but condemned for a certain time to appear nightly upon earth, with those of his lineage.

But, as to derivations, some have derived the term merry-andrew, from the time of the Druids, _an Drieu_, i.e. Arch-Druid,--others, from the celebrated Andrew Borde, the writer and empiric. The merry-andrew used at fairs to wear a patched coat like the modern harlequin, and sometimes a hunch on his back. It has been remarked that the common people are apt to give to some well-known facetious personage, the name of a favourite dish; hence, the jack-pudding of the English; the _jean-potage_ of the French; the _macaroni_ of the Italians, &c.

A word or two more about Punch, and I have done. There are some hand-bills in the British Museum, of the time of queen Ann, from whence I made a few extracts some time ago. They principally relate to the shows at Bartlemy fair, and I observe at “Heatly’s booth,” that “the performances will be compleated with the merry humors of sir John Spendall and Punchinello;” and James Miles, at “the Gun-Musick booth,” among other dances &c., exhibited “a new entertainment between a scaramouch, a harlequin, and a punchinello, in imitation of bilking a reckoning,--and a new dance by four scaramouches, after the Italian manner,” &c.

The famous comedian Edwin, (the Liston of his day) acted the part of Punch, in a piece called “The Mirror,” at Covent-garden theatre: in this he introduced a burlesque song by C. Dibdin, which obtained some celebrity; evidently through the merit of the actor, rather than the song, as it has nothing particular to recommend it.

Can’t you see by my hunch, sir, Faddeldy daddeldy dino, I am master Punch, sir, Riberi biberi bino, Fiddeldy, diddeldy, faddeldy, daddeldy, Robbery, bobbery, ribery, bibery, Faddeldy, daddeldy, dino, Ribery, bibery, bino. That merry fellow Punchinello, Dancing here, you see, sir, Whose mirth not hell Itself can quell He’s ever in such glee, sir, Niddlety, noddlety, niddlety, noddlety, niddlety, noddlety, nino. Then let me pass, old Grecian, Faddeldy, daddeldy, dino. To the fields Elysian, Bibery, bibery, bino. Fiddledy, diddledy, faddledy, daddledy, Robbery, bobbery, ribery, bibery, Faddledy, daddledy, dino, Ribery, bibery, bino. My ranting, roaring Pluto, Faddledy, daddledy, dino, Just to a hair will suit oh, Bibery, bibery, bino. Faddledy, daddledy, &c. Each jovial fellow, At Punchinello, Will, laughing o’er his cup roar, I’ll rant and revel, And play the devil, And set all hell in an uproar, Niddlety, noddlety, nino. Then let me pass, &c.

I therewith conclude this hasty communication, begging you to shorten it if you think proper.

I am, &c.

W. S----.

* * * * *

Edwin’s song in the character of Punch is far less offensive than many of the songs and scenes in “Don Juan,” which is still represented. This drama which is of Italian origin, the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, in his volume on “Ancient Mysteries,” has ventured to conjecture, may have been derived from the adventures of the street Punch. The supposition is somewhat heightened by Edwin’s song as the Punch of Covent-garden.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·32.

~April 11.~

ISLINGTON PARISH DINNER.

In March, an anonymous correspondent obligingly enclosed, and begged my acceptance of a ticket, for a parish dinner at Islington, on the 11th of April, 1738. It would have been rudeness to decline the civility, and as the editor was not prepared to join the guests at the great dinner, “not where they eat, but where they are eaten,” he appropriates the ticket to the use for which it was intended by the donor, T. H. of St. John-street.

It would do the reader’s heart good to see this ticket--“printed from a copper plate,” ten inches high, by seven inches wide--as large as a lord mayor’s ticket, and looking much better, because engraved by Toms, a fine firm artist of “the good old _school_,” which taught truth as an essential, and prohibited refinements, not existing in nature or sensible objects, as detraction of character.

It would do the reader’s heart good, I say, to see the dinner ticket I am now looking at. First, above the invitation--which is all that the lover of a dinner first sees--and therefore, because nothing precedes it, “above _all_,”--is a capital view of the _old_ parish church, and the churchyard, wherein “lie the remains” of most of the company who attended the parish dinner--it being as certain that the remains of the rest of the company, occupy other tenements, of “the house appointed for all living,” as that they all lived, and ate and drank, and were merry.

This is not a melancholy, but a natural view. It may be said, there is “a time for all things,” but if there be any time, wherein we fear to entertain death, we are not fully prepared to receive him as we ought. It is true, that with “the cup of kindness” at our lips, we do not expect his friendly “shake,” before we finish the draught, yet the liquor will not be the worse for our remembering that his is a previous engagement; and, as we do not know the hour of appointment, we ought to be ready at _all_ hours. The business of life is to die.

I am not a member of a parish club, but I have sometimes thought, if I could “do as others do,” and “go to club,” I should elect to belong to an old one, which preserved the minutes of its proceedings, and its muniments, from the commencement. My first, and perhaps last, serious motion, would be, “That each anniversary dinner ticket of the club, from the first ticket to the last issued, should be framed and glazed, and hung on the walls of the club room, in chronological order.” Such a series would be a never-failing source of interest and amusement. If the parish club of Islington exists, a collection of its tickets so disposed, might be regarded as annals of peculiar worth, especially if many of its predecessors in the annual office of “stewards for the dinner,” maintained the consequence of the club in the eyes of the parish, by respectability of execution and magnitude in the anniversary ticket, commensurate with that of the year 1738, with Toms’s view of the old parish church and churchyard. I regret that these cannot be here given in the same size as on the ticket; the best that can be effected, is a reduced fac-simile of the original, which is accomplished in the accompanying engraving. Let any one who knows the new church of Islington, compare it with the present view of the old church, and say which church he prefers. At this time, however, the present church may be more suitable to Islington, grown, or grown up to, as it is, until it is a part of London; but who would not wish it still a village, with the old edifice for its parish church. That Islington is now more opulent and more respectable, may be very true; but opulence monopolizes, and respectability is often a vain show in the stead of happiness, and a mere flaunt on the ruins of comfort. The remark is, of course, general, and not of Islington in particular, all of whose opulent or respectable residents, may really be so, for aught I know to the contrary. Be it known to them, however, on the authority of the old dinner ticket, that their predecessors, who succeeded the inhabitants from whose doings the village was called “merry Islington,” appear to have dined at a reasonable hour, enjoyed a cheerful glass, and lived in good fellowship.

Immediately beneath the view of the old church on the ticket, follows the stewards’ invitation to the dinner, here copied and subjoined verbatim.

~St. Mary, Islington.~

SIR,

You are desir’d to meet many others, NATIVES of this place, on TUESDAY, y^{e} 11th Day of April, 1738, at Mrs. ELIZ. GRIMSTEAD’S, y^{e} ANGEL & CROWN, in y^{e} upper Street, about y^{e} Hour of ONE; Then, & there w^{th.} FULL DISHES, GOOD WINE, & GOOD HUMOUR, to improve & make lasting that HARMONY, and FRIENDSHIP which have so long reigned among us.

_Walter Sebbon_

_John Booth_

_Bourchier Durell_

_James Sebbon_

STEWARDS.

N.B.--THE DINNER will be on the Table peremptorily at TWO.

_Pray Pay the Bearer Five Shillings._

* * * * *

“Merry Islington!”--We may almost fancy we see the “jolly companions, every one,” in their best wigs, ample coats, and embroidered waistcoats, at their dinner; that we hear the bells ringing out from the square tower of the old church, and the people and boys outside the door of the “Angel and Crown, in y^{e} Upper Street,” huzzaing and rejoicing, that their betters were dining “for the good of the parish”--for so they did: read the ticket again.

England is proverbially called “the ringing island,” which is not the worst thing to say of it; and our forefathers were great eaters and hard drinkers, and that is not the worst thing to say of _them_; but of our country we can also tell better things, and keep our bells to cheer our stories; and from our countrymen we can select names among the living and the dead that would dignify any spot of earth. Let us then be proud of our ancient virtue, and keep it alive, and add to it. If each will do what he can to take care that the world is not the worse for his existence, posterity will relate that their ancestors did well in it.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·60.

~April 12.~

SIGN OF RAIN.

One of the “Hundred Mery Tales” teacheth that, ere travellers depart their homes, they should know natural signs; insomuch that they provide right array, or make sure that they be safely housed against tempest. Our Shakspeare read the said book of tales, which is therefore called “Shakspeare’s Jest Book;” and certain it is, that though he were not skilled in learning of the schoolmen, by reason that he did not know their languages, yet was he well skilled in English, and a right wise observer of things; wherein, if we be like diligent, we, also, may attain unto his knowledge. Wherefore, learn to take heed against rain, by the tale ensuing.

_Of the herdsman that said, “Ride apace, ye shall have rain.”_

A certain scholar of Oxford, which had studied the judicials of astronomy, upon a time as he was riding by the way, there came by a herdman, and he asked this herdman how far it was to the next town; “Sir,” quoth the herdman, “it is rather past a mile and an half; but, sir,” quoth he, “ye need to ride apace, for ye shall have a shower of rain ere ye come thither.” “What,” quoth the scholar, “maketh ye say so? there is no token of rain, for the clouds be both fair and clear.” “By my troth,” quoth the herdsman, “but ye shall find it so.”

The scholar then rode forth, and it chanced ere he had ridden half a mile further, there fell a good shower of rain, that the scholar was well washed, and wet to the skin. The scholar then turned him back and rode to the herdman, and desired him to teach him that cunning. “Nay,” quoth the herdman, “I will not teach you my cunning for naught.” Then the scholar proffered him eleven shillings to teach him that cunning. The herdman, after he had received his money, said thus:--“Sir, see you not yonder black ewe with the white face?” “Yes,” quoth the scholar. “Surely,” quoth the herdman, “when she danceth and holdeth up her tail, ye shall have a shower of rain within half an hour after.”

By this ye may see, that the cunning of herdmen and shepherds, as touching alterations of weathers, is more sure than the judicials of astronomy.

* * * * *

Upon this story it seemeth right to conclude, that to stay at home, when rain be foreboded by signs natural, is altogether wise; for though thy lodging be poor, it were better to be in it, and so keep thy health, than to travel in the wet through a rich country and get rheums thereby.

_Home._

Cling to thy home! If there the meanest shed Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thine head, And some poor plot, with vegetables stored, Be all that pride allots thee for thy board, Unsavoury bread, and herbs that scatter’d grow, Wild on the river’s brink or mountain’s brow, Yet e’en this cheerless mansion shall provide More heart’s repose than all the world beside.

_Leonidas of Tarentum._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·76.

~April 13.~

BIRDS.

About this time, according to Dr. Forster, whose observations on the migrations and habits of birds, are familiar to most persons acquainted with the natural history of our island, the bittern, _ardea stellata_, begins to make a booming noise in marshy places at eventide. The deep and peculiar hollow tone of this bird in the breeding season, can hardly be mistaken for that of any other: it differs essentially from the note of the same bird when on the wing.

The bittern booms along the sounding marsh, Mixt with the cries of heron and mallard harsh.

The bittern sits all day hid among the reeds and rushes with its head erect; at night it rises on the wing, and soars to a vast height in a spiral direction. Those who desire to see it must pursue a swampy route, through watery fens, quagmires, bogs, and marshes. The heron, _ardea major_, has now a nest, and is seen sailing about slowly in the air in search of its fishy prey, travelling from one fish pond to another, over a large tract of country. It is a bird of slow and heavy flight, though it floats on large and expansive wings.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 46·57.

~April 14.~

SPRING.

Genial weather at the commencement of the year, dresses the meadows with the common and beautiful flowers that delight childhood.

_The Cowslip._

Cowslip, of all beloved, of all admired! Thee let me sing, the homely shepherd’s pride; Fit emblem of the maid I love, a form Gladdening the sight of man; a sweet perfume, Sending its balmy fragrance to the soul Daughter of Spring and messenger of May, Which shall I first declare, which most extol, Thy sovereign beauties, or thy sovereign use? With thee the rural dame a draught prepares, A nectarous draught, more luscious to my taste Than all thy boasted wine, besotted Bacchus! Maidens with thee their auburn tresses braid; Or, with the daisy and the primrose pale, Thy flowers entwining, weave a chaplet fair, To grace that pole round which the village train Lead on their dance to greet the jocund May; Jocund I’ll call it, for it lends a smile To thee, who never smil’st but once a year. I name thee not, thou poor unpitied wretch! Of all despised, save him whose liberal heart Taught him to feel your wrongs, and plead your cause, Departed Hanway! Peace be to his soul! Great is that man, who quits the path of fame, Who, wealth forsaking, stoops his towering mind From learning’s heights, and stretches out his arm To raise from dust the meanest of his kind. Now that the muse to thee her debt has paid, Friend of the poor and guardian of the wronged, Back let her pleased return, to view those sports, Whose rude simplicity has charms for me Beyond the ball or midnight masquerade. Oft on that merry morn I’ve joined their throng, A glad spectator; oft their uncouth dance Eyed most attentive; when, with tawdry show, Illsorted ribbons decked each maiden’s cap, And cowslip garlands every rustic hat.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·44.

~April 15.~

SEASONABLE.

_To the Reader._

On Saturday, the 15th of April, 1826, No. 68, and Part XVII., of the _Every-Day Book_, forming No. 16, and Part IV. of the second volume, were published by Messrs. HUNT and CLARKE, of Tavistock-street, Covent-garden. As the removal of the office from Ludgate-hill may be an event of as much interest to the friends of the work as any other belonging to the day it is recorded here with the following explanation which was printed on the wrapper of the _part_:--

“This step relieves me from cares and anxieties which so embarrassed my progress, in conducting and writing the work, as to become overwhelming; and Messrs. Hunt and Clarke will publish it much earlier than hitherto.

“To subscribers the present arrangement will be every way beneficial.

“They will have the _Every-Day Book_ punctually at a proper hour; and, as I shall be enabled to give it the time and attention essential to a thorough fulfilment of its plan, my exertions will, henceforth, be incessantly directed to that end. I, therefore, respectfully and earnestly solicit the friends of the work to aid me by their contributions. At the present moment they will be _most_ acceptable.

“CORRESPONDENTS will, from this day, be pleased to address letters and parcels to me, at Messrs. Hunt and Clarke’s, Tavistock-street, Covent-garden.

W. HONE.”

☞ SIX INDEXES, with a Preface, Title-page, and Frontispiece to the first volume, will be ready for delivery before the appearance of the next sheet; and I hope the labour by which I have endeavoured to facilitate reference to _every_ general and particular subject, may be received as somewhat of atonement, for the delay in these essentials. To guard against a similar accident, I have already commenced the index to the second volume.

W. HONE.

_April 15, 1826._

⁂ VOLUME I. _contains 868 octavo pages, or 1736 columns, illustrated by_ One Hundred and Seventy engravings: _Price 14s. in boards_.

PROGRESS OF THE SEASON.

_Song Birds._

If we happen to be wandering forth on a warm still evening during the last week in this month, and passing near a roadside orchard, or skirting a little copse in returning from our twilight ramble, or sitting listlessly on a lawn near some thick plantation, waiting for bed time, we may chance to be startled from our meditations (of whatever kind they may be) by a sound issuing from among the distant leaves, that scares away the silence in a moment, and seems to put to flight even the darkness itself;--stirring the spirit, and quickening the blood, as no other mere sound can, unless it be that of a trumpet calling to battle. That is the nightingale’s voice. The cold spells of winter, that had kept him so long tongue-tied, and frozen the deep fountains of his heart, yield before the mild breath of spring, and he is voluble once more. It is as if the flood of song had been swelling within his breast ever since it last ceased to flow; and was now gushing forth uncontroullably, and as if he had no will to controul it: for when it does stop for a space, it is suddenly, as if for want of breath. In our climate the nightingale seldom sings above six weeks; beginning usually the last week in April. I mention this because many, who would be delighted to hear him, do not think of going to listen for his song till after it has ceased. I believe it is never to be heard after the young are hatched.--Now, too, the pretty, pert-looking blackcap first appears, and pours forth his tender and touching love-song, scarcely inferior, in a certain plaintive inwardness, to the autumn song of the robin. The mysterious little grasshopper lark also runs whispering within the hedgerows; the redstart pipes prettily upon the apple trees; the golden-crowned wren chirps in the kitchen-garden, as she watches for the new sown seeds; and lastly, the thrush, who has hitherto given out but a desultory note at intervals, to let us know that he was not away, now haunts the same tree, and frequently the same branch of it, day after day, and sings an “English Melody” that even Mr. Moore himself could not write appropriate words to.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·16.

~April 16.~

C. L., whose papers under these initials on “Captain Starkey,”[118] “The Ass, No. 2,[119]” and “Squirrels,”[120] besides other communications, are in the first volume, drops the following pleasant article “in an hour of need.”

THE MONTHS.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Rummaging over the contents of an old stall at a half _book_, half _old iron shop_, in an alley leading from Wardour-street to Soho-square yesterday, I lit upon a ragged duodecimo, which had been the strange delight of my infancy, and which I had lost sight of for more than forty years:--the “QUEEN-LIKE CLOSET, or RICH CABINET:” written by Hannah Woolly, and printed for R. C. & T. S. 1681; being an abstract of receipts in cookery, confectionary, cosmetics, needlework, morality, and all such branches of what were then considered as female accomplishments. The price demanded was sixpence, which the owner (a little squab duodecimo of a character himself) enforced with the assurance that his “own mother should not have it for a farthing less.” On my demurring at this extraordinary assertion, the dirty little vendor reinforced his assertion with a sort of oath, which seemed more than the occasion demanded: “and now (said he) I have put my soul to it.” Pressed by so solemn an asseveration, I could no longer resist a demand which seemed to set me, however unworthy, upon a level with his dearest relations; and depositing a tester, I bore away the tattered prize in triumph. I remembered a gorgeous description of the twelve months of the year, which I thought would be a fine substitute for those poetical descriptions of them which your _Every-Day Book_ had nearly exhausted out of Spenser. This will be a treat, thought I, for friend HONE. To memory they seemed no less fantastic and splendid than the other. But, what are the mistakes of childhood!--on reviewing them, they turned out to be only a set of common-place receipts for working the seasons, months, heathen gods and goddesses, &c. in _samplars_! Yet as an instance of the homely occupations of our great-grandmothers, they may be amusing to some readers: “I have seen,” says the notable Hannah Woolly, “such Ridiculous things done in work, as it is an abomination to any Artist to behold. As for example: You may find in some Pieces, _Abraham_ and _Sarah_, and many other Persons of Old time, Cloathed, as they go now a-daies, and truly sometimes worse; for they most resemble the Pictures on Ballads. Let all Ingenious Women have regard, that when they work any Image, to represent it aright. First, let it be Drawn well, and then observe the Directions which are given by Knowing Men. I do assure you, I never durst work any Scripture-Story without informing my self from the Ground of it: nor any other Story, or single Person, without informing my self both of the Visage and Habit; As followeth.

“If you work _Jupiter_, _the Imperial feigned God_, He must have long Black-Curled-hair, a Purple Garment trimmed with Gold, and sitting upon a Golden Throne, with bright yellow Clouds about him.”

_The Twelve Months of the Year._

_March._

Is drawn in Tawny, with a fierce aspect, a Helmet upon his head, and leaning on a Spade, and a Basket of Garden Seeds in his Left hand, and in his Right hand the Sign of _Aries:_ and Winged.

_April._

A Young Man in Green, with, a Garland of Mirtle, and Hawthorn-buds; Winged; in one hand Primroses and Violets, in the other the Sign _Taurus_.

_May._

With a Sweet and lovely Countenance, clad in a Robe of White and Green, embroidered with several Flowres, upon his Head a garland of all manner of Roses; on the one hand a Nightingale, in the other a Lute. His sign must be _Gemini_.

_June._

In a Mantle of dark Grass green, upon his Head a garland of Bents, Kings-Cups, and Maiden-hair; in his Left hand an Angle, with a box of Cantharides, in his Right the Sign _Cancer_, and upon his arms a Basket of seasonable Fruits.

_July._

In a Jacket of light Yellow, eating Cherries; with his Face and Bosom Sunburnt; on his Head a wreath of Centaury and wild Tyme; a Scythe on his shoulder, and a bottle at his girdle: carrying the Sign _Leo_.

_August._

A Young Man of fierce and Cholerick aspect, in a Flame-coloured Garment; upon his Head a garland of Wheat and Rye, upon his Arm a Basket of all manner of ripe Fruits, at his Belt a Sickle. His Sign _Virgo_.

_September._

A merry and chereful Countenance, in a Purple Robe, upon his Head a Wreath of red and white Grapes, in his Left hand a handful of Oats, withall carrying a Horn of Plenty, full of all manner of ripe Fruits, in his Right hand the Sign _Libra_.

_October._

In a Garment of Yellow and Carnation, upon his head a garland of Oak-leaves with Akorns, in his Right hand the Sign _Scorpio_, in his Left hand a Basket of Medlars, Services, and Chesnuts; and any other Fruits then in Season.

_November._

In a Garment of Changeable Green and Black upon his Head, a garland of Olives with the Fruit in his Left hand, Bunches of Parsnips and Turnips in his Right. His Sign _Sagittarius_.

_December._

A horrid and fearful aspect, clad in Irish-Rags, or course Freez girt unto him, upon his Head three or four Night-Caps, and over them a Turkish Turbant; his Nose red, his Mouth and Beard clog’d with Isicles, at his back a bundle of Holly, Ivy or Misletoe, holding in fur’d Mittens the Sign of _Capricornus_.

_January._

Clad all in White, as the Earth looks with the Snow, blowing his nails; in his Left Arm a Bilet, the Sign _Aquarius_ standing by his side.

_February._

Cloathed in a dark Skie-colour, carrying in his Right hand the Sign _Pisces_.

The following receipt, “_=T=o dress up a Chimney very fine for the Summer time, as I have done many, and they have been liked very well_,” may not be unprofitable to the housewives of this century.

“First, take a pack-thred and fasten it even to the inner part of the Chimney, so high as that you can see no higher as you walk up and down the House; you must drive in several Nails to hold up all your work; then get good store of old green Moss from Trees, and melt an equal proportion of Bees-wax and Rosin together and while it is hot, dip the wrong ends of the Moss in it, and presently clap it upon your pack-thred, and press it down hard with your hand; you must make hast, else it will cool before you can fasten it, and then it will fall down; do so all round where the pack-thred goes, and the next row you must joyn to that, so that it may seem all in one; thus do till you have finished it down to the bottom: then take some other kind of Moss, of a whitish-colour and stiff, and of several sorts or kinds, and place that upon the other, here and there carelessly, and in some places put a good deal, and some a little; then any kind of fine Snail-shels, in which the Snails are dead, and little Toad stools, which are very old, and look like Velvet, or _any other thing that was old and pretty_; place it here and there as your fancy serves, and fasten all with Wax and Rosin. Then for the Hearth of your Chimney, you may lay some Orpan-Sprigs in order all over, and it will grow as it lies; and according to the Season, get what flowers you can, and stick in as if they grew, and a few sprigs of Sweet-Bryer: the Flowers you must renew every Week; but the Moss will last all the Summer, till it will be time to make a fire; and the Orpan will last near two Months. A Chimney thus done doth grace a Room exceedingly.”

One phrase in the above should particularly recommend it to such of your female readers, as, in the nice language of the day, have done growing some time: “little toad stools, &c. and any thing that is _old and pretty_.” Was ever antiquity so smoothed over? The culinary recipes have nothing remarkable in them, besides the costliness of them. Every thing (to the meanest meats) is sopped in claret, steeped in claret, basted with claret, as if claret were as cheap as ditch water. I remember Bacon recommends opening a turf or two in your garden walks, and pouring into each a bottle of claret, to recreate the sense of smelling, being no less grateful than beneficial. We hope the chancellor of the exchequer will attend to this in his next reduction of French wines, that we may once more water our gardens with right Bourdeaux. The medical recipes are as whimsical as they are cruel. Our ancestors were not at all effeminate on this head. Modern sentimentalists would shrink at a cock plucked and bruised in a mortar alive, to make a cullis; or a live mole baked in an oven (_be sure it be alive_) to make a powder for consumption.--But the whimsicalest of all are the directions to servants--(for this little book is a compendium of all duties,)--the footman is seriously admonished not to stand lolling against his master’s chair, while he waits at table; for “to lean on a chair, when they wait, is a particular favour shown to any superior servant, as the chief gentleman, or the waiting woman when she rises from the table.” Also he must not “hold the plates before his mouth to be defiled with his breath, nor touch them on the right [inner] side.” Surely Swift must have seen this little treatise.

C. L.

Hannah concludes with the following address, by which the self-estimate which she formed of her usefulness, may be calculated:--

“_Ladies_, I hope you’re pleas’d and so shall I If what I’ve writ, you may be gainers by; If not; it is your fault, it is not mine, Your benefit in this I do design. Much labour and much time it hath me cost, Therefore I beg, let none of it be lost. The money you shall pay for this my book, You’ll not repent of, when in it you look. No more at present to you I shall say, But wish you all the happiness I may.”

H. W.

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 16th of April, 1788, died, at the age of eighty-one, the far-famed count de Buffon, a man of uncommon genius and surprising eloquence, and often styled the “French Pliny,” because, like that philosopher, he studied natural history. Buffon was, perhaps, the most astonishing interpreter of nature that ever existed.[121] His descriptions are luminous and accurate, and every where display a spirit of philosophical observation; but the grand defect of his work is want of method, and he rejects the received principles of classification, and throws his subjects into groups from general points of resemblance. It may be more strongly objected, that many of his allusions are reprehensible; and, as regards himself, though he pretended to respect the ties of society, he constantly violated private morals. As an instance of his vanity, it is reported that he said, “the works of eminent geniuses are few; they are only those of Newton, Bacon, Leibnitz, Montesquieu, and _my own_.” He was ennobled by patent; and no less distinguished by academical honours, than by his own talents. He left a son, who, in 1793, was guillotined under Robespierre.[122]

BUBBLES.

Worthless speculations, in recent times, have distressed and ruined thousands by their explosion; and yet this has happened with the experience of former sufferers before us as matter of history. In the reign of James I., speculators preyed on public credulity under the authority of the great seal, till the government interposed by annulling the patents. In the reigns of Anne and George I., another race of swindlers deluded the unthinking with private lotteries and schemes of all sorts. The consequences of the South Sea bubble, at a later period, afflicted every family in the nation, from the throne to the labourer’s hut. So recently as the year 1809, there were similar attempts on a less scale, with similar results. The projects of 1824-5, which lingered till 1826, were mining companies.

* * * * *

In the reign of George I., a Mr. Fallowfield issued “proposals for making iron,” wherein he introduces some reflections on the miscarriages of Mr. Wood’s project of “making iron with _pulverised ore_.” Fallowfield had obtained a patent for making iron with _peat_, but delayed some time his putting it in practice, because of the mighty bustle made by Mr. Wood and his party. The proceedings of the latter projector furnish a fact under the present day.

It appears from the following statement, that Mr. Wood persisted till his scheme was blown into air by his own experiments.

April 16, 1731. “The proprietors assert that the iron so _proposed_ to be made, and which they actually _did make_ at Chelsea, on Monday, the 16th instant, is not brittle, but tough, and fit for all uses, and is to be manufactured with as little waste of metal, labour, and expense, as any other iron; and that it may and can be made for less than 10_l._ a ton, which they will make apparent to any curious inquirer.”

Whether this “call” upon the “curious inquirer” was designed to introduce “another call” upon the shareholders is not certain, but the call was answered by those to whom it was ostensibly addressed; for there is a notice of “Mr. Wood’s operators failing in their last trial at Chelsea, the 11th instant (May;) their iron breaking to pieces when it came under the great hammer.”[123] They excused it by saying the inspectors had purposely _poisoned_ the iron! Had the assertion been true, Wood’s project might have survived the injury; but it died of the poison on the 3d of May, 1731, notwithstanding the affirmations of the proprietors, that “they actually did make iron at Chelsea, on Monday the 16th of April.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·95.

[118] Vol. i 965.

[119] Ibid. 1358.

[120] Ibid. 1386.

[121] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.

[122] General Biog. Dict.

[123] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~April 17.~

CHRONOLOGY.

Sir William Davenant, the reviver of the drama after the restoration of Charles II., and patentee of the theatre in Lincoln’s-inn-fields, died on the 17th of April, 1668. He was the son of an innkeeper at Oxford, where he was born in 1605; and after studying at Lincoln-college, became a page to Greville, lord Brooke, a literary nobleman, who encouraged his attainments. He cultivated acquaintance with the poetic muse, and the eminent wits of his time. His imagination, depraved by sensuality, was unequal to extensive flights in pure regions. He wrote chiefly to the taste of the court, prepared masques for its entertainment, and, on the death of Ben Jonson, had the honour of the laureateship. He served in the army of Charles I. against the parliament; was made lieutenant-general of the ordnance, knighted by the king at the siege of Gloucester, and, on the decline of the royal cause, retired to France, where he became a Roman catholic. In attempting to conduct a French colony to Virginia, he was captured by a parliament cruiser, and imprisoned in Cowes Castle, where he employed himself on “Gondibert,” a heroic poem, which he never finished. On this occasion his life was saved by Milton; and, when public affairs were reversed, Davenant repaid the service by protecting Milton.[124]

* * * * *

Davenant’s face was deformed by the consequences of vicious indulgence. The deficiency of feature exemplified in his portrait, is referred to by a note on a celebrated line in lord Byron’s “Curse of Minerva.”

_Davenant and Shakspeare._

Pope is said to have placed Davenant, as a poet, above Donne;[125] but, notwithstanding the authority, it is questionable whether Pope’s judgment could have so erred. He is further said to have observed, that Davenant “seemed fond of having it taken for truth,” that he was “more than a poetical child of Shakspeare;” that he was Shakspeare’s godson; and that Shakspeare in his frequent journies between London and his native place, Stratford-upon-Avon, used to lie at Davenant’s, the Crown, in Oxford. He was very well acquainted with Mrs. Davenant; and her son, afterwards sir William, was supposed to be more nearly related to him than as a godson only. One day when Shakspeare had just arrived, and the boy sent for from school to him, a head of one of the colleges (who was pretty well acquainted with the affairs of the family) met the child running home, and asked him, whither he was going in so much haste? The boy said, “To my godfather, Shakspeare.” “Fie, child,” says the old gentleman, “why are you so superfluous? have you not learned yet that you should not use the name of God _in vain_?” The imputation is very doubtful.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·00.

[124] General Biog. Dict.

[125] Spence.

~April 18.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On this day, in the year 17 , there was a solemn mock procession, according to the fashion of the times, in ridicule of freemasonry, by an assemblage of humourists and rabble, which strongly characterises the manners of the period. Without further preface, a large broadside publication, published at the time, is introduced to the reader’s attention, as an article of great rarity and singular curiosity.

The year wherein this procession took place, is not ascertainable from the broadside; but, from the mode of printing and other appearances, it seems to have been some years before that which is represented in a large two-sheet “Geometrical View of the Grand Procession of Scald Miserable Masons, designed as they were drawn up over against Somerset-house, in the Strand on the 27th of April, 1742. Invented, and engraved, by A. Benoist.”

It should be further observed, that the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ is not a mason; but he disclaims any intention to discredit an order which appears to him to be founded on principles of good-will and kind affection. The broadside is simply introduced on account of its scarcity, and to exemplify the rudeness of former manners. It is headed by a spirited engraving on wood, of which a reduced copy is placed below, with the title that precedes the original print subjoined.

The engraving is succeeded by a serio-comic Address, commencing thus:--

THE REMONSTRANCE _of the Right Worshipful the_ GRAND MASTER, &c. _of the_ SCALD MISERABLE MASONS.

WHEREAS by our Manifesto some time past, dated from our Lodge in Brick-street, WE did, in the most explicite manner, vindicate the ancient rights and privileges of this society, and by incontestable arguments evince our superior dignity and seniority to all other institutions, whether Grand-Volgi, Gregorians, Hurlothrumbians, Ubiquarians, Hiccubites, Lumber-Troopers, or Free-Masons; yet, nevertheless, a few persons under the last denomination, still arrogate to themselves the usurped titles of Most Ancient and Honourable, in open violations of truth and justice; still endeavour to impose their false mysteries (for a premium) on the credulous and unwary, under pretence of being part of our brotherhood; and still are determin’d with drums, trumpets, gilt chariots, and other unconstitutional finery, to cast a reflection on the primitive simplicity and decent economy of our ancient and annual peregrination: WE therefore think proper, in justification of Ourselves, publicly to disclaim all relation or alliance whatsoever, with the said society of Free-Masons, as the same must manifestly tend to the sacrifice of our dignity, the impeachment of our understanding, and the disgrace of our solemn mysteries: AND FURTHER, to convince the public of the candour and openness of our proceedings, WE here present them with a key to our procession; and that the rather, as it consists of many things emblematical, mystical, hieroglyphical, comical, satirical, political, &c.

AND WHEREAS many, persuaded by the purity of our constitution, the nice morality of our brethren, and peculiar decency of our rites and ceremonies, have lately forsook the gross errors and follies of the Free-Masonry, are now become true _Scald Miserables_: It cannot but afford a most pleasing satisfaction to all who have any regard to truth and decency, to see our procession increased with such a number of proselytes; and behold those whose vanity, but the last year, exalted them into a borrowed equipage, now condescend to become the humble cargo of a sand-cart.

[Then follows the following:]

A KEY or EXPLANATION of _the Solemn and Stately Procession of the_ SCALD MISERABLE MASONS.

_Two Tylers_, _or Guarders_,

In yellow Cockades and Liveries, being the Colour ordained for the Sword Bearer of State. They, as youngest enter’d ’Prentices, are to guard the Lodge, with a drawn Sword, from all Cowens and Eves-droppers, that is Listeners, lest they should discover the incomprehensible Mysteries of Masonry.

_A Grand Chorus of Instruments_,

To wit. Four Sackbutts, or Cow’s Horns; six Hottentot Hautboys; four tinkling Cymbals, or Tea Canisters, with broken Glass in them; four Shovels and Brushes; two Double Bass Dripping-pans; a Tenor Frying-pan; a Salt-box in Delasol; and a Pair of Tubs.

_Ragged enter’d ’Prentices_,

Properly cloathed, giving the above Token, and the Word, which is Jachin.

_The Funeral of Hyram_,

Six stately unfledg’d Horses with Funeral Habilaments and Caparisons, carrying Escutcheons of the arms of _Hyram Abiff_, viz. a Master’s lodge, drawing, in a limping halting posture, with Solemn Pomp, a superb open hearse, nine Foot long, four Foot wide, and having a clouded Canopy, Inches and Feet innumerable in perpendicular Height, very nearly resembling a Brick Waggon: In the midst, upon a Throne of Tubs raised for that Purpose, lays the Corps in a Coffin cut out of one entire Ruby; but, for Decency’s sake, is covered with a Chimney-sweeper’s Stop-cloth, at the head of a memorable Sprig of Cassia.

Around in mournful Order placed, the loving, weeping, drunken Brethren sit with their Aprons, their Gloves they have put in their Pockets; at Top and at Bottom, on every side and every where, all round about, this open hearse is bestuck with Escutcheons and Streamers, some bearing the Arms, some his Crest, being the Sprig of Cassia, and some his Motto, viz. Macbenah.

_Grand band of Musick as before._

_Two Trophies_

Of arms or achievements, properly quarter’d and emblazon’d, as allow’d by the college of arms, showing the family descents, with some particular marks of distinction, showing in what part of the administration that family has excelled. That on the right, the achievement of the right worshipful _Poney_, being _Parte Perpale_, Glim, and Leather-dresser, viz. the Utensils of a Link and Black-shoe-Boy: That on the left the trophy of his excellency, ---- ---- Jack, Grand-master elect, and Chimney-sweeper.

_The Equipage_

Of the Grand-master, being neatly nasty, delicately squaled, and magnificently ridiculous, beyond all human bounds and conceivings. On the right the Grand-master _Poney_, with the Compasses for his Jewel, appendant to a blue Riband round his neck: On the left his excellency ---- ---- Jack, with a Square hanging to a white Riband, as Grand-master elect: The Honourable Nic. Baboon, Esq.; senior grand Warden, with his Jewel, being the Level, all of solid gold, and blue Riband: Mr. Balaam van Assinman, Junior Warden, his Jewel the Plumb-Rule.

_Attendants of Honour._

The Grand Sword Bearer, carrying the Sword of State. It is worth observing, This Sword was sent as a Present by _Ishmael Abiff_ (a relation in direct Descent to poor old _Hyram_) King of the Saracens, to his grace of Wattin, Grand-Master of the Holy-Lodge of St. John of Jerusalem in Clerkenwell, who stands upon our list of Grand-masters for the very same year.

_The Grand Secretary, with his Insignia_, &c.

_Probationists and Candidates_ close the whole Procession.

Tickets to be had, for three Megs a Carcass to scran their Pannum-Boxes, at the Lodge in Brick-Street, near Hide-Park Corner; at the Barley-Broth Womens at St. Paul’s Church-Yard, and the Hospital-Gate in Smithfield; at Nan Duck’s in Black-Boy-Alley, Chick-Lane; &c. &c. &c.

NOTE. No Gentlemen’s Coaches, or whole Garments, are admitted in our Procession, or at the Feast.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 47·22.

~April 19.~

SPRING.

This open day may be devoted to the contemplation of appearances and products of the season, presented to us by ministering bards: the first to be ushered in, is an offering from a hand whence nothing can be proffered that will not be especially acceptable.

_For the Every-Day Book_

THE BLACKTHORN.

The April air is shrewd and keen; No leaf has dared unfold, Yet thy white blossom’s radiant sheen, Spring’s banner, I behold. Though all beside be dead and drear, Undauntedly thy flowers appear.

Thou com’st the herald of a host Of blooms which will not fail, When summer from some southern coast Shall call the nightingale. Yet early, fair, rejoicing tree, Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.

All other trees are wont to wear, First leaves, then flowers, and last, Their burden of rich fruit to bear When summer’s pride is past: But thou,--so prompt thy flowers to show, Bear’st but the harsh, unwelcome sloe.

So oft young genius, at its birth, In confidence untried, Spreads its bright blossoms o’er the earth, And revels in its pride; But when we look its fruit to see, It stands a fair, but barren tree.

So oft, in stern and barbarous lands, The bard is heard to sing, Ere the uncultured soul expands, In the poetic spring; Then, sad and bootless are his pains, And linked with woe his name remains.

Therefore, thou tree whose early bough All blossomed meets the gale, Thou stirrest in my memory now Full many a tearful tale: And early, fair, rejoicing tree, Sad are the thoughts inspired by thee.

W. HOWITT.

Passing the eye from the hedge-row to the earth, it lights on the “wee-tipp’d” emblem of “modesty” sung by poets of every clime wherein it blows:--

_The Daisy._

There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field, In gay but quick succession shine; Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to nature dear, While moon and stars their courses run Wreaths the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on his way, And twines December’s arms.

The purple heath, the golden broom, On moory mountains catch the gale, O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale;

But this bold floweret climbs the hill, Hides in the forests, haunts the glen, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox’s den.

Within the garden’s cultured round, It shares the sweet carnation’s bed; And blooms on consecrated ground In honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild bee murmurs on its breast, The blue fly bends its pensile stem, Lights o’er the skylark’s nest.

’Tis Flora’s page:--in every place In every season fresh and fair It opens with perennial grace, And blossoms every where.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The rose has but a summer reign, The daisy never dies.

_Montgomery._

The flower aptly described by Mr. Montgomery as “companion of the sun,” is not forgotten by a contemporary “child of song,” from whom, until now, no illustration has graced these pages: the absence may be apologized for, by opening one of his views of nature immediately.

_Day Break in the Country._

Awake! awake! the flowers unfold, And tremble bright in the sun, And the river shines a lake of gold,-- For the young day has begun. The air is blythe, the sky is blue, And the lark, on lightsome wings, From bushes that sparkle rich with dew, To heaven her matin sings. Then awake, awake, while music’s note, Now bids thee sleep to shun, Light zephyrs of fragrance round thee float For the young day has begun.

I’ve wandered o’er yon field of light, Where daisies wildly spring, And traced the spot where fays of night Flew round on elfin wing: And I’ve watch’d the sudden darting beam Make gold the field of grain, Until clouds obscur’d the passing gleam And all frown’d dark again. Then awake, awake, each warbling bird, Now hails the dawning sun, Labour’s enlivening song is heard,-- For the young day has begun.

Is there to contemplation given An hour like this one, When twilight’s starless mantle’s riven By the uprising sun? When feather’d warblers fleet awake, His breaking beams to see, And hill and grove, and bush and brake, Are fill’d with melody. Then awake, awake, all seem to chide Thy sleep, as round they run, The glories of heaven lie far and wide,-- For the young day has begun.

_R. Ryan._

Our elder poets are rife in description of the spring; but passing their abundant stores to “Rare Ben,” one extract more, and “the day is done.”

Whence is it-------------------- ------------- Winter is so quite forced hence And lock’d up under ground, that ev’ry sense Hath several objects; trees have got their heads, The fields their coats; that now the shining meads Do boast the paunse, lily, and the rose; And every flower doth laugh as zephyr blows? The seas are now more even than the land; The rivers run as smoothed by his hand; Only their heads are crisped by his stroke. How plays the yearling, with his brow scarce broke, Now in the open grass; and frisking lambs Make wanton ’saults about their dry suck’d dams? Who, to repair their bags, do rob the fields? How is’t each bough a several musick yields? The lusty throstle, early nightingale, Accord in tune, tho’ vary in their tale; The chirping swallow, call’d forth by the sun, And crested lark doth his division run: The yellow bees the air with murmur fill, The finches carol, and the turtles bill.

_Jonson._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·52.

~April 20.~

DUCHESS OF EXETER’S WILL.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--A notice of St. Katherine’s church, near the tower, having already appeared in your first volume, induces me to subjoin, from “Testamenta Vetusta,” by Nicholas Harris Nicolas, Esq.,[126] the will of the duchess of Exeter, who was buried at the east end of the church now no longer existing.

I am, Sir, &c.

I. E----TT.

“Ann Holland, Dutchess of Exeter, April 20, 1457. My Body to be buried in the Chapel of the Chancel of the Church of St. Katharine’s, beside the Tower of London, where the Corpse of my Lord and husband is buried, and I forbid my executors to make any great feast, or to have a solemn hearse, or any costly lights, or largess of liveries, according to the glory or vain pomp of the world, at my funeral, but only to the worship of God, after the discretion of Mr. John Pynchebeke, Doctor in Divinity, one of my Executors. To the Master of St. Katharines, if he be present at the dirige and mass on my burial day, vi_s._ viii_d._; to every brother of that College being then present, iii_s._ iv_d._; to every priest of the same College then present, xx_d._; to every Clerk then present, xii_d._; to every Chorister, vi_d._; to every Sister then present, xx_d._; to every bedeman of the said place, viii_d._; I will that my executors find an honest priest to say mass and pray for my soul, my lords soul, and all Christian souls, in the Chapel where my Body be buried, for the space of seven years next after my decease; and that for so doing he receive every year xii marks, and daily to say Placebo, Dirige, and Mass, when so disposed.” The duchess’s will was proved on the 15th of May, 1458.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 49·10.

[126] Nichols and Son, 2 vols. royal 8vo.

~April 21.~

A SPRING DIVERSION

_Of the Recorder of London_.

Leaving “hill and valley, dale and field,” we turn for “a passing time” to scenes where, according to the authority subjoined by a worthy correspondent, we find “disorder--order.”

ANCIENT PICKPOCKETS.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_April 15, 1826._

Sir,--The following notice of an ancient school for learning how to pick pockets is, I conceive, worthy notice in the _Every-Day Book_.

I am, Sir, &c.

T. A.

_Kennington._

In the spring of 1585, Fleetwood, the recorder of London, with some of his brother magistrates, spent a day searching about after sundry persons who were receivers of felons. A considerable number were found in London, Westminster, Southwark, and the suburbs, with the names of forty-five “masterless men and cutpurses,” whose practice was to rob gentlemen’s chambers and artificers’ shops in and about London. They also discovered seven houses of entertainment for such in London; six in Westminster, three in the suburbs, and two in Southwark. Among the rest they found out one Watton, a gentleman born, and formerly a merchant of respectability but fallen into decay. This person kept an alehouse at Smart’s quay, near Billingsgate; but for some disorderly conduct it was put down. On this he began a new business, and opened his house for the reception of all the cutpurses in and about the city. In this house was a room to learn young boys to cut purses. Two devices were hung up; one was a pocket, and another was a purse. The pocket had in it certain counters, and was hung round with hawks’ bells, and over them hung a little sacring bell.[127] The purse had silver in it; and he that could take out a counter without any noise, was allowed to be a public _foyster_;[128] and he that could take a piece of silver out of the purse without noise of any of the bells, was adjudged a clever _nypper_.[129] These places gave great encouragement to evil doers in these times, but were soon after suppressed.[130]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·77.

[127] A small bell used in the ceremony of the mass, and rung on the elevation of the consecrated host.

[128] A pickpocket.

[129] A pickpurse, or cutpurse, so called from persons having their purses hanging in front from their girdle.

[130] Maitland.

~April 22.~

A JEW IS A THIEF!

“So runs the proverb; so believes the world.”

At least so say a great many who call themselves Christians, and who are willing to believe all evil of the Jews, who, in compliment to their own questionable goodness, they “religiously” hate, with all the soul of “irreligion.” The following account of an individual of the Jewish persuasion, well known to many observers of London characters, may disturb their position: it is communicated by a gentleman who gives his name to the editor with the article.

THE JEW NEAR JEWIN-STREET.

_For the Every-Day Book._

They who are in the habit of observing the remarkable beings that perambulate the streets of this metropolis, either for profit or pleasure, must have observed “J. Levy,” not, to use a common phrase, “an _every-day_ character,” but one who, for singularity of personal appearance, oddity of dress, simplicity of manner, and constant industry, deserves a place in your _Every-Day Book_.

For the last eighty years has Levy trudged the streets of “London and its environs,”--followed, latterly, by a dirty lame Jew boy, carrying a huge mahogany closed-up box, containing watches manufactured by makers of all degrees, from Tomkin to Levy of Liverpool--with jewellery of the most costly kind, to trinkets of Birmingham manufacture; and, strange to say, though his dealings have been extensive to a degree beyond imagination, he has hitherto given universal satisfaction.

A few evenings since, as I was smoking my accustomed “_every-day_ cigar,” at a respectable house in Jewin-street, and looking quietly at the different sorts of persons forming the company assembled, a violent thumping upon the floor of the passage leading to the parlour, which was continued at an interval of every third second, announced the approach of some one who clearly imagined himself of no little importance, and thoroughly disturbed the quaker-like serenity of appearance which then prevailed in the room. “How is my dear good lady, and all her little ones? and her respectable husband?” inquired the stranger on the outside. Without waiting for a reply to the two questions, the door was suddenly thrown wide open, and in came a tall thin figure of a man, with a face plainly denoting that it had seen at least ninety winters, and bearing a beard of a dirty gray colour, some inches in length, and divided in the centre, but coming from under and above the ears, over which was tied a gaudy red and yellow silk handkerchief, and a huge pair of heavy costly-looking silver spectacles, which “ever and anon” he raised from his nose. He wore a coat which had once been blue, the skirts whereof almost hung to the ground, and were greatly in the fashion of a Greenwich pensioner’s; a velvet waistcoat with a double row of pearl buttons, to which was appended, through one of the buttonholes, a blue spotted handkerchief, reaching down to his knees, a pair of tight pantaloons, which evidently had been intended for another, as they scarcely gained the calf of his leg, and from the fobs whereof were suspended two watch-chains with a profusion of seals; and, on his head, was a hat projecting almost to points in the centre and back, but narrow in the sides. In his right hand a huge but well-made stick, wielded and pushed forward upon the ground by a powerful effort, had been the noisy herald of his approach.

On entering the room, he cast an inquiring look upon his astonished and quiet auditors, and stood for a moment to see the effect of his appearance: then, after an awful pause, lifting his spectacles to his nose, and almost thrusting his old but piercing eyes over the cases, with a tiger-like step he advanced to the full front of a quiet, inoffensive, Jack-Robinson-sort-of-a-man who was smoking his pipe, and, throwing his stick under his left arm, he took off his huge hat, thereby discovering a small velvet cap on the top of his head, and holding out his right hand he exclaimed, “Well, my good friend, how are you? my eyes are weak, but I can always, yes, always, discern a good friend: how are you? how is your good lady? I hope she is in good health, and all the little ones.” The astonished “Christian” looked as if he could have swallowed the pipe from which he was smoking, on being thus addressed by the bearded descendant of Moses, and being absolutely deprived of speech, cast an inquiring look of dismay around on his neighbours, who so far from commiserating his feelings, actually expressed by smiling countenances, the pleasure they took in the rencontre. This was adding oil to the fire, when suddenly turning full in the face of the Jew, who still held out his hand for a friendly shrug, he exclaimed with a voice of phrenzy, “My wife knows thee not! I know thee not! My children know thee not! Leave me! go!” The Jew’s hand was quickly withdrawn, while his alarmed countenance expressed the terror of his poor soul. The humiliated Jew said not a word, but quietly took his seat in the further corner of the room, and thence cast his eyes on a clock which was affixed to the wall, as if afraid of looking on a living object. He remained some minutes in this pitiable situation. At last, he took from his pocket, three or four watches, which he regularly applied to his ear, and afterwards wound up; then laying them upon the table, he triumphantly looked at the company, and--by his eyes--boldly challenged them to produce a wealth, equal to that he exposed to their view. Apparently satisfied, in his own mind, of his superiority as to wealth, over the man who had so cruelly denied all knowledge of him, he called in a kind, but a suppressed voice to the servant in attendance,--“Well, my dear! bring me a glass of good gin and water, sweet with sugar, mind little girl, and I will gratefully thank you; it will comfort my poor old heart.” “You shall have it, sir,” said the admiring girl, directing her attention to the exposed jewellery. They were the first kind words heard in that room by poor Levy, and they seemed to draw tears from his eyes; for, from his pocket, he brought forth as many handkerchiefs, of the most opposite and glowing colours, as the grave digger in Hamlet casts off waistcoats, all of which he successively applied to his eyes. The girl quickly returned with the required gin and water, and, after repeated stirring and tasting, casting an eager look at her, he, with the most marked humility, begged “one little, _little_ bit more sugar, and it would be _beautifuls_,” which was of course granted, and the girl at parting was more liberally rewarded by the poor despised Jew, than by any other person in the room. Commiserating the feelings of a seemingly poor, and ancient man, whose religion and singularity of manner were his only crime, I spoke to him, and was highly delighted to find him infinitely superior to any about him; that is to say, so far as I could judge, for the greater number plainly showed, that they considered silence a sign of wisdom; probably it was so--with them.

Upon Levy leaving the room, I found he had lived in one house, in the neighbourhood, for upwards of sixty years, and borne an irreproachable character; that no man has ever called on him a second time for money due; that from goodness of heart, he has often gave away the fruits of his industry, and deprived himself of personal luxuries, to add to the comforts of others, without considering whether they were Jew or Gentile; that in his own house, he is liberal of his wine, and of attention to his guests; and that he does not deny, though he is far from publishing, that he has acquired wealth. And, yet, this honourable and venerable man, after having reached his ninety-third year, because of his eccentric costume and appearance, was deprived of the comforts of passing a happy hour, after the fatigues of the day. This I trust for the credit of christianity, and for his sake, is not a circumstance of “_every-day_.”

E. W. W.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·67.

~April 23.~

ST. GEORGE’S DAY.

1826. _King’s birth-day kept._

For an account of St. George the patron saint of England, and how he fought and conquered a cruel dragon, and thereby saved the princess of Sylene from being devoured, see vol. i. p. 496-502.

* * * * *

On St. George’s day, people of fashion were accustomed, even to the beginning of the nineteenth century, to wear coats of cloth of blue, being the national colour in honour of the national saint. This, however, seems to be a reasonable conjecture for the custom. Mr. Archdeacon Nares, and other antiquaries, are at a loss for the real origin of the usage, which is ancient. In old times there were splendid pageants on this festival.

* * * * *

At Leicester, the “riding of the George” was one of the principal solemnities of the town. The inhabitants were bound to attend the mayor, or to “ride against the king,” as it is expressed, or for “riding the George,” or for any other thing to the pleasure of the mayor and worship of the town. St. George’s horse, harnessed, used to stand at the end of St. George’s chapel, in St. Martin’s church, Leicester.[131]

* * * * *

At Dublin, there are orders in the chain book of the city, for the maintenance of the pageant of St. George to the following effect:--

1. The mayor of the preceding year was to provide the emperor and empress with their horses and followers for the pageant; that is to say, the emperor with two doctors, and the empress with two knights and two maidens, richly apparelled, to bear up the train of her gown.

2. The mayor for the time being was to find St. George a horse, and the wardens to pay 3_s._ 4_d._ for his wages that day; and the bailiffs for the time being were to find four horses with men mounted on them well apparelled, to bear the pole axe, the standard, and the several swords of the emperor and St. George.

3. The elder master of the guild was to find a maiden well attired to lead the dragon, and the clerk of the market was to find a golden line for the dragon.

4. The elder warden was to find four trumpets for St. George, but St. George himself was to pay their wages.

5. The younger warden was obliged to find the king of Dele, (Sylene,) and the queen of Dele, (Sylene,) as also two knights, to lead the queen, and two maidens in black apparel to bear the train of her gown. He was also to cause St. George’s chapel to be well hung with black, and completely apparelled to every purpose, and to provide it with cushions, rushes, and other requisites, for the festivities of the day.[132]

These provisions and preparations refer to the narrative of the adventures of St. George already given in vol. i. p. 497.

St. George’s day at the court of St. James’s is a grand day, and, therefore, a collar day, and observed accordingly by the knights of the different orders.

_Collar of S. S._

This is an opportunity for mentioning the origin of the collar worn by the judges.

This collar is derived from S^{ts}. Simplicius and Faustinus, two Roman senators, who suffered martyrdom under Dioclesian. The religious society or confraternity of St. Simplicius wore silver collars of double S. S.; between which the collar contained twelve small pieces of silver, in which were engraven the twelve articles of the creed, together with a single trefoil. The image of St. Simplicius hung at the collar, and from it seven plates, representing the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost. This chain was worn because these two brethren were martyred by a stone with a chain about their necks, and thus thrown into the Tiber. Sir John Fenn says, that collars were in the fifteenth century ensigns of rank, of which the fashions ascertained the degrees. They were usually formed of S. S. having in the front centre a rose, or other device, and were made of gold or silver, according to the bearer. He says, that knights only wore a collar of S. S; but this is a mistake.

At the marriage of prince Arthur, son of Henry VII., in 1507, “Sir Nicholas Vaux ware a collar of Esses, which weyed, as the goldsmiths that made it reported, 800 pound of nobles.” The collar worn by the judges is still a collar of S. S. divested of certain appendages.[133]

* * * * *

The mint mark in 1630, under Charles I., was St. George; in the reign of James I. it was a cross of St. George, surmounting a St. Andrew’s cross.[134]

“GOD SAVE THE KING.”

The origin of this air has exercised the researches of numberless individuals; whether it has been thoroughly ascertained seems doubtful; but it may be suitable to introduce a translation of the words into the Welsh language, by a celebrated antiquary of the principality, Dr. Owen Pugh. It is printed, verbatim, from a private copy which the editor was favoured with by Dr. Pugh in the course of the last summer.

CORONI SIOR IV.

DUW cadwa erom ni, Mewn fyniant, clod, a bri, Ein Brenin SIOR;

Hir yna o lesâad Teyrnasa àr ei wlad, Ein gobaith da, ein tad, Ein haelav bor.

Ei syn elynion o Bob màn gàn warth àr fo Aent hwy i lawr;

Dilëa di mòr iawn Amcanion brad sy lawn, Ac yna deua dawn Dainoni mawr.

Màl haul o dirion des Tròs BRYDAIN taena les Hir oes ein ior;

Ein breintiau, er ein mael, Areilied ev yn hael, A delo ìni gael Oes hir i SIOR!

IDRISON.

_Myhevin, 5, 1820._

* * * * *

St. George’s day was selected at a very early period for the establishment of horse-races. An obliging correspondent communicates some interesting particulars of their institution.

EARLY HORSE RACING.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Kennington, April 16, 1826._

Sir,--The following notice of an ancient race, formerly held near Chester, is, I conceive, worthy preservation in your interesting work, which, I hope, in course of time, will treasure up records of every custom, game, or ancient observance, formerly so common in “merry England.”

Mr. Lysons, in his “Magna Brittania,” says, there are some old articles of a race for two bells among the corporation records, the earliest date of which was in 1512.

CHESTER RACES.

In 1609 or 10, Mr. William Lester, mercer, being mayor of Chester, and Mr. Robert Ambrye or Amory, ironmonger, sheriff of the city, at his, the last mentioned person’s, own cost, did cause three silver bells to be made of good value, which bells he appointed to be run for with horses “upon _St. George’s Day_, upon the Roode Dee from the new tower to the netes, there torning to run up to the watergate, that horse which come first there to have the beste bell; the second to have the seconde bell for that year putting in money, and for to--and shuerties to deliver in the bells that day twelvemonth.” The other bell was run for the same day upon the like conditions. This gave rise to the adage of “bearing the bell.” The bells and a bowl seem to have been brought down to the course with great pomp, as the following copy shows, carefully transcribed from the original among the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum.[135]

“The maner of the showe, that is, if God spare life and healthe, shall be seene by all the behoulders upon S^{ct} George’s day next, being the 23d of Aprill 1610, and the same with more addytion, to continew, being for the kyng’s crowne and dignitye, and the homage to the kynge and prynce, with that noble victor St. George, to be continued for ever, God save the Kynge.

_It._ ij men in greene evies,[136] set with worke upon their other habet, with black heare and black beards, very awgly to behould, and garlands upon their heads, with great clubbs in their hands, with firr[137] works to scatter abroad, to mantain way for the rest of the showe.

_It._ one on horseback with the buckler and head-peece of St. George, and iij men to guide him, with a drum before him, for the hon. of England.

_It._ one on horsebacke called Fame, with a trumpet in his hand, and iij to guide him, and he to make an oration with his habit, in pompe.

_It._ one called Mercury, to descend from above in a cloude, his winges and all other matters in pompe, and heavenly musicke with him, and after his oration spoken, to ryde on horsebacke with the musicke before him.

_It._ j called Chester, with an oration and drums before him, his habit in pompe.

_It._ j on horseback, with the kynge’s armes upon a shield in pompe.

_It._ j on horseback, concerninge the kyng’s crowne and dignity, with an oration in pompe.

_It._ j on horseback with a bell dedicated to the kinge, being double gilt, with the kyng’s armes upon, carried upon a septer in pompe, and before him a noise of trumpets in pompe.

_It._ one on horseback, with the Prince’s armes upon a shield in pompe.

_It._ one on horseback, with an oration from the prynce in pompe.

_It._ j on horseback, with the bell dedicated to the princes. Armes upon it, in pompe, and to be carried on a septer, and before the bell, a wayte of trumpetts.

_It._ j on horseback, with a cup for Saint George, caried upon a septer in pompe.

_It._ j on horseback, with an oracyon for St. George, in pompe.

_It._ St. George himselfe on horseback, in complete armour, with his flag and buckler in pompe, and before him a noyse of drums.

_It._ one on horseback called Peace, with an oration in pompe.

_It._ one on horseback called Plentye, with an oration in pompe.

_It._ one on horseback called Envy, with an oration, whom Love will comfort, in pompe.

_It._ one on horseback called Love, with an oration, to maintain all in pompe.

_It._ The maior and his brethren, at the Pentis of this Cittye, with their best apparell, and in skarlet, and all the orations to be made before him, and seene at the high crosse, as they passe to the roodeye, whereby grent shall be runne for by their horses, for the ij bells on a double staffe, and the cuppe to be runne for by the rynge in the same place by gennt, and with a great mater of shewe by armes, and thatt, and with more than I can recyte, with a banket after in the Pentis to make welcome the gennt: and when all is done, then judge what you have seene, and soe speake on your mynd, as you fynde. The actor for the p’sent.

ROBART AMORY.”

Amor is love and Amory is his name that did begin this pomp and princelye game, the charge is great to him that all begun, let him be satisfyed now all is done.

Notwithstanding Mr. Amory exerted himself and entertained the citizens so well in 1610, it was ordered in 1612, “that the sports and recreations used on St. George’s day, should in future be done by the direction of the mayor and citizens, and not of any private person.[138]” No authority has occurred in my researches on this subject, for tracing the gradual alterations by which the bell and the bowl of these ancient races, have been converted to the ordinary prizes at similar meetings. They are now held the first entire week in May, which comes as near the original time (old St. George’s day) as possible. They generally attract a vast assemblage of the fashionable world, and the city subscribes liberally to keep up the respectability of the races.

I am, Sir, &c.

~A.~

OLD GUILDFORD CHURCH.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Mr. Editor,--In “A Tour through the whole Island of Great Britain,” 4 vols. 12mo., there is the following notice of an accident on St. George’s day, which you will oblige a constant reader by inserting in the _Every-Day Book_.

J. H.

On Wednesday the 23d of April, 1740, the upper church at Guildford, in Surrey, fell down. It was an ancient building, and not long before, seven hundred and fifty pounds were expended upon it in repairs. There was preaching in it on the Sunday before, and workmen were employed in taking down the bells, who, providentially, had quitted the spot about a quarter of an hour before the accident happened, so that not one person received any hurt, though numbers were spectators. Three bells had been taken down, and the other three fell with the steeple, which broke the body of the church to pieces, though the steeple received but little damage by the fall.

SPRING IN THE CITY,

and

JEMMY WHITTLE.

At Laurie and Whittle’s print-shop “nearly opposite St. Dunstan’s church, Fleet-street,” or rather at Jemmy Whittle’s, for he was the manager of the concern--I cannot help calling him “Jemmy,” for I knew him afterwards, in a passing way, when _every_ body called him Jemmy; and after his recollection failed, and he dared no longer to flash his merriment at the “Cock,” at Temple-bar, and the “Black Jack,” in Portugal-street, but stood, like a sign of himself, at his own door, unable to remember the names of his old friends, they called him “_poor_ Jemmy!”--I say, I remember at Jemmy Whittle’s there was always a change of prints in spring-time. Jemmy liked, as he said, to “give the public something alive, fresh and clever, classical and correct!” One print, however, was never changed; this was “St. Dunstan and the Devil.” To any who inquired why he always had “that _old_ thing” in the window, and thought it would be better out, Jemmy answered, “No, no, my boy! that’s _my_ sign--no change--church and state, you know!--no politics, you know!--I hate politics! there’s the church, you know, [pointing to St. Dunstan’s,] and here am I, my boy!--it’s _my_ sign, you know!--no change, my boy!” Alas, how changed! I desired to give a copy of the print on St. Dunstan’s day in the first volume of the _Every-Day Book_, and it could not be found at “the old shop,” nor at any printsellers I resorted to. Another print of Jemmy Whittle’s was a favourite with me, as well as himself; for, through every mutation of “dressing out” his window it maintained its place with St. Dunstan. It was a mezzotinto, called

“In summer’s heat, and winter’s cold.”

During all seasons this print was exhibited, “fresh, and fresh.” At that time prints from the Flemish and Dutch masters, and humorous matters of all kinds, were public favourites. From my early liking to the “Laughing Boy,” and because, with the merit of good design, it is a superior specimen of popular taste at the time I speak of, a copy is at the service of that reader, who may perhaps think with “poor Jemmy Whittle,” that an agreeable subject is always in season, and that as a worse might have been presented, this speaking relatively, is really very pretty.

I am now speaking of five and thirty years ago, when shop windows, especially printsellers’, were set out according to the season. I remember that in spring-time “Jemmy Whittle,” and “Carrington Bowles, in St. Paul’s Church-yard,” used to decorate their panes with twelve prints of flowers of “the months,” engraved after Baptiste, and “coloured after nature,”--a show almost, at that time, as gorgeous as “Solomon’s Temple, in all its glory, all over nothing but gold and jewels,” which a man exhibited to my wondering eyes for a halfpenny.

Spring arrives in London--and even east of Temple-bar--as early as in the country. For--though there are neither hawthorns to blossom, nor daisies to blow--there is scarcely a house “in the city,” without a few flower pots inside or outside; and when “the seeds come up,” the Londoner knows that the spring is “come to town.” The almanac, also, tells him, that the sun rises earlier every day, and he makes his apprentices rise easier; and the shop begins to be watered and swept before breakfast; and perchance, as the good man stands at his door to look up, and “wonder what sort of a day it will be,” he sees a basket with primroses or cowslips, and from thence he hazards to assert, at “the house he uses” in the evening, that the spring is very forward; which is confirmed, to his credit, by some neighbour, who usually sleeps at Bow or Brompton, or Pentonville or Kennington, or some other adjacent part of “the country.”

To the east of Temple-bar, the flower-girl is “the herald of spring.” She cries “cowslips! sweet cowslips!” till she screams “bow-pots! sweet, and pretty bow-pots!” which is the sure and certain token of full spring in London. When _I_ was a child, I got “a bow-pot” of as many wall-flowers and harebells as I could then hold in my hand, with a sprig of sweet briar at the back of the bunch, for a halfpenny--_such_ a handful; but, now, “they can’t make a ha’penny bow-pot--there’s nothing under a penny;” and the penny bow-pot is not half so big as the ha’penny one, and somehow or other the flowers don’t smell, to _me_, as they used to do.----

It will not do however to run on thus, for something remains to be said concerning the patron of the day; and, to be plain with the reader, the recollections of former times are not always the most cheering to the writer.

ST. GEORGE.

There are some circumstances in the history of Russia which abate our pretensions to our celebrated saint. In that country he is much revered. His figure occurs in all the churches, represented as usual, riding on a horse, and piercing a dragon with his lance. This device also forms part of the arms of the Russian sovereign, and is on several of the coins. Certain English historians have conjectured, that Ivan Vassilievitch II., being presented with the garter by queen Elizabeth, assumed the George and the dragon for his arms, and ordered it to be stamped upon the current money. But it does not appear that the tzar was created a knight of the garter; and it is certain that the sovereigns of Moscow bore this device before they had the least connection with England. In Hackluyt, vol. i. p. 255, Chanceler, the first Englishman who discovered Russia, speaks of a despatch sent in 1554, from Ivan Vassilievitch to queen Mary:--“This letter was written in the Moscovian tongue, in letter much like to the Greeke letters, very faire written in paper, with a broade seale hanging at the same, sealed in paper upon waxe. This seale was much like the broad seale of England, having on the one side the _image of a man on horseback in complete harnesse fighting with a dragon_.”

Russian coins of a very early date represent the figure of a horseman spearing a dragon; one particularly, of Michael Androvitz appears to have been struck in 1305, forty years before the institution of the order of the garter in England. From this period, numerous Russian coins are successively distinguished by the same emblem. Various notions have been put forth concerning the origin of the figure; but it seems probable that the Russians received the image of St. George and the dragon either from the Greeks or from the Tartars, by both of whom he was much revered; by the former as a christian saint and martyr, and by the latter as a prophet or a deity. We know from history, that in the fourth or fifth century he was much worshipped amongst the Greeks; and that afterwards the crusaders, during their first expedition into the Holy Land, found many temples erected to his honour. The Russians, therefore, who were converted to christianity by the Greeks, certainly must have received at the same time a large catalogue of saints, which made an essential part of the Greek worship, and there can be no reason to imagine that St. George was omitted.

In a villa of prince Dolgorucki, near Moscow, is an old basso-relievo of St. George and the dragon, found in a ruined church at Intermen, in the Crimea; it had a Greek inscription almost erased, but the words ΑΙΟΟ ΓΕΟΡΓΟΟ, or St. George, and the date 1330, were still legible. As it appears from this basso-relievo that he was worshipped in the Crimea so near the court of Russia when the great dukes resided at Kiof, his introduction into that country is easily accounted for.

Still, it is very likely that the Russians received from the Tartars the image of a horseman spearing a serpent, as represented upon their most ancient coins, and which formed a part of the great duke’s arms, towards the beginning of the sixteenth century. The Russians had none before they were conquered by the Tartars; and soon after they were brought under the Tartar yoke, they struck money. The first Russian coins bear a Tartar inscription, afterwards, with Tartar letters on one side, and Russian characters on the other; and there is still preserved in the cabinet of St. Petersburgh, a piece of money, exhibiting a horseman piercing a dragon, with the name of the great duke in Russian, and on the reverse a Tartar inscription.

The story of a saint or a deity spearing a dragon, was known all over the east; among the Mahometans, a person called Gergis or George, under a similar figure, was much revered as a prophet; and similar emblems have been discovered among many barbarous nations of the east. Whether these nations took it from the Greeks, or the latter from them, cannot be ascertained; for of the real existence of such a person as St. George, no positive proofs have ever been advanced.

But whether the Russians derived St. George from the Greeks or the Tartars, it is certain that his figure was adopted as the arms of the grand dukes, and that the emblem of the saint and the dragon, has been uniformly represented on the reverse of the Russian coins.

With respect to the arms, Herberstein, in his account of his embassy to Moscow in 1518, under Vassili Ivanovitch, has given a wooden print of that prince, at the bottom of which are engraved his arms, representing thus--

a naked man on horseback, piercing a serpent with his lance. The equestrian figure in this device has a Tartar-like appearance, and is so coarse and rude, that it seems to have been derived from a people in a far more uncivilized state of society than the Greeks: add to this, that the Greeks always represented St. George clad in armour.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·27.

[131] Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities.

[132] Ibid.

[133] Ibid.

[134] Ibid.

[135] Harl. MSS. 2150. f. 356.

[136] Ivy.

[137] Fire.

[138] Corporation Records.

~April 24.~

ST. MARK’S EVE.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

JOE BROWN--THE CHURCH WATCH.

Sir,--As you solicit communications of local usages or customs, I send you some account of the “Watching the church” on St. Mark’s E’en, in Yorkshire. According to the superstitions of some other counties, the eve of St. John’s day is the privileged night for unquiet spirits to revisit the upper world, and flit over the scenes of their mortal existence. But, in Yorkshire, it was believed by the superstitious and the peasantry within these twenty years, and is so still perhaps, that if a person have the hardihood to place himself within the porch of the church, or in a position which commands the church door, on the ghostly e’en of St. Mark, (it must be St. Mark, O. S.,) he will see the souls of those whose bodies are to be buried at that church the following year, approach the church in the dead waste and middle of the night. The doors are flung open by some invisible hand just at twelve o’clock, and the spirits enter in the rotation their mortal bodies are to die in. This hour is an epitome of the year; those who are to die soon, enter the first--and those who will almost survive the year, do not approach until nearly one o’clock, at which time the doors are carefully closed and secured as they were in the day. Another remarkable feature in the shadowy pageant is this; those that come to an untimely end, are represented by their ghostly proxies, in the very article of dissolution. If a person is to be hanged, or to hang himself, as Burns says in his “Tam O’Shanter,”

“Wi’ his last gasp his gab will gape.”

If the person is to be drowned, his representative will come as if struggling and splashing in water, and so on in other cases of premature death. I must likewise mention, that the “church-watcher” pretends he is fixed in a state of impotence to his seat, during the ghostly hour, and only receives the use of his powers of locomotion when the clock strikes one. Another peculiarity attends this nocturnal scene: the souls of those who are to be seriously indisposed, likewise join the procession; they peep into the church, face about, and return to their wonted residences in their slumbering mortal habitations. But the souls of the _condemned_ enter the church, and are not observed to return.

When a boy at home, I recollect a man who was said to watch the church; his name was “Joe Brown.” This man used to inspire my youthful fancy with great awe. I was not the only one who regarded him with fear: he contrived by a certain mysterious behaviour, to impress weak and youthful minds with feelings which bordered upon terror. His person is vividly imprinted on my memory; his face was broad, his features coarse, and he had what is called a hare-lip, which caused him to speak through the nose, or to _snaffle_, as they term it in Yorkshire. He never would directly acknowledge that he watched the church; but a mysterious shrug or nod tended to convey the assertion. Two circumstances which took place in my remembrance, served to stamp his fame as a ghost-seer. At the fair-tide, he quarreled with a young man, who put him out of the room in which they were drinking; he told his antagonist that he would be under the sod before that day twelve months, which happened to be the case. The other circumstance was this; he reported a young man would be drowned, who lived in the same street in which my father’s house was situated. I well recollect the report being current early in the year. On Easter Sunday, a fine young man, a bricklayer’s apprentice went to bathe in the river Ouse, (which runs by C----d, my native town,) and was drowned; this fulfilled his prediction, and made him be regarded with wonder. Whether excited by the celebrity such casual forebodings acquired him, or whether a knavish propensity lurked at the bottom of his affected visionary abstractedness, this last of the “church-watchers” turned out an arrant rogue; the latter years of his execrable existence were marked with rapine and murder. For a time he assumed the mask of religion, but the discipline of the sect he joined was too strict to suit his dishonest views. He was expelled the society for mal-practices, quickly joined himself to another, and afterwards associated with a loose young man, who, if alive, is in New South Wales, whither he was transported for life. They commenced a system of petty plunder, which soon increased to more daring acts of robbery and burglary. They withdrew to a distance from C----d for a time; a warrant was out against them for a burglary, of which they were the suspected perpetrators. They went to a small town where they were not known, and assumed the disguise of fortune-tellers. “Old Joe” was the “wise man,” and affected to be dumb, whilst his younger confederate, like a flamen of old, interpreted his mystic signs. They lodged at a house kept by two aged sisters, spinsters. They found that these females were possessed of a little money, and kept it in a box. One night they gave their hostesses sweetened ale, in which they had infused a quantity of laudanum. One of the poor women never woke again, but the other lived. These men were taken up and examined, but liberated for want of proof. They afterwards were suspected of having shot the Leeds and Selby carrier in the night; at length they were taken for stealing some hams, and in consequence of their bad character, sentenced to transportation for life. The termination of Joe’s life was remarkable; Sampson like, he drew destruction on his own head. When about to be embarked for Botany Bay, Joe, either touched by conscience, or through reluctance to leave England, made a confession of his crimes. He and his companion were removed from the Isle of Wight to York castle. Joe alone was put on his trial, and, though not convicted on his own confession, corroborating circumstances of his guilt were produced, and the sister of the poisoned female appeared against him. He was found guilty of the murder, and executed at York, at the Lent assizes of 1809. Sir Simon Le Blanc was the judge.

I have dwelt longer, perhaps, on the vile actions of this last of the “church-watchers” than will be amusing to the reader; but he seemed completely identified with the local superstitions of the county. In some degree he made them subservient to further his roguish designs, by assuming the goblin appearance of the “Barguest,” and, with his auxiliary, turned it to no bad account. This preternatural appearance alarmed the superstitious, who fled, pursued by the supposed demon. In their panic haste they would leave their doors or gates open, and the rogues never failed to turn these oversights to good account, plundering the house or robbing the premises. This statement is strictly true, they robbed several people in this novel and ingenious manner. By the by, it may be observed, that the “Barguest” is an out-of-door goblin, believed by the vulgar to haunt the streets and lanes of country towns and villages. Its alleged appearance indicates death, or some great calamity.

I am, Sir, &c.

J. P.

* * * * *

On Monday, April 24, 1825, the late Henry Fuseli, Esq., R. A. was buried in St. Paul’s cathedral, and a circumstance occurred at his funeral which ought to be known. A gentleman, whose intimacy with Mr. Fuseli seems to have been overlooked by the managers of the funeral, was desirous of paying the last sad tribute of respect to the remains of his friend. He waited the arrival of the body at the cathedral gate, and, after the authorized mourners had alighted, joined with others in following the procession. At the instant that the train from the mourning coaches had entered the great west doors, they were slammed to from within against all who bore not the undertaker’s habiliments of woe, and it was announced that the rest were to go round to the north door. At that door admittance was refused to all who would not pay “twopence a piece.” Those who “paid twopence” were thus permitted to hasten and rejoin the train. The corpse on being borne down the stairs of the vault was then followed as before. Here the door of the vault was suddenly thrust against all who were not mourners, _ex officio_, and a shilling demanded from each of the sympathizing attendants who had not on the funeral garments. Compliance with this further exaction qualified them to see the “funeral performed.” This was personally communicated to the editor by the gentleman referred to.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 48·97.

~April 25.~

ST. MARK.[139]

St. Mark’s day was anciently kept a fast through all the country, and no flesh eaten upon it. Also upon this, and the three first days of Cross, or the Rogation week, there were processions by the prior and monks of Durham to one of the parish churches, and a sermon preached at each. Upon Holy Thursday was a procession with two crosses, borne before the monks, and each in rich copes; the prior in one of cloth of gold, so massy that his train was supported. Shrines and relics were also carried. Of the two litanies performed twice in the year, the greater and the less, the first, on St. Mark’s day, was instituted by Gregory on account of a pestilence, called also the _black cross_, from the black clothes worn from weeping and penance; or “peraventure, because they covered the crosse and auters with blessed hayres.” The smaller litany was sung three days before the Ascension, and was called the rogations, processions, &c., because then a general procession was made, the cross borne, and bells rung. In the procession of some churches there was a dragon with a great tail filled full of chaff, which was emptied on the third day, to show that the devil after prevailing the first and second day, before and under the law, was on “the thyrde day of grace, by the passion of Jhesu criste, put out of his reame.”[140]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 49·57.

[139] See vol. i. p. 512, 521, &c.

[140] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

~April 26.~

A LAND STORM.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--Permit me to call your attention to the following description of a storm, which may be acceptable to the readers of the _Every-Day Book_.

I am, Sir, &c.

J. W.

COLONEL BEAUFOY’S ACCOUNT

_of a Remarkable Storm._

On Sunday, the 26th of April, 1818, about half-past twelve o’clock, the neighbourhood of Stanmore was visited by a tremendous storm of hail, rain, and wind, accompanied by some unusual phenomena. The elevated situation of Bushey heath afforded me peculiar facilities for viewing its progress and effects, which occupied in space about five miles in a direct line, and in time about twenty minutes. The morning had been close and sultry, the heavens sufficiently clear to enable me to observe the transit of the sun over the meridian, the wind variable, the barometer 29,000 inches, the thermometer 61°, the hygrometer 52°, and the variation of the needle 24° 41′ 46′′ west. I shortly observed the heavens in the south-east quarter much overcast, and some dense black clouds forming in that direction, which immediately discharged rain in torrents, followed by tremendous hail, lightning, and thunder. In about half an hour the fury of the storm had somewhat abated, when my attention was attracted to the south-east by an amazing commotion among the clouds, which appeared to roll over and into each other with considerable rapidity. Beneath these dark clouds there appeared a small white one, moving with surprising velocity towards the north-west; at the same time whirling round in a horizontal direction with prodigious quickness, accompanied with a horrid noise, which I can only compare to a stunning and most discordant whistle. The form of this white cloud was, in the first instance, that of a very obtuse cone with its apex downwards, which, during its rotary motion, occasionally approached and retired from the earth; the tail of the cone elongating continually as it receded, but on approaching the surface of the ground expanding like the lower part of an hour-glass; when it appeared to collect all the surrounding air into its immediate vortex, as it rebounded with such violence as to root up trees, unroof houses and hayricks, throw down walls and in short every thing that impeded its progress. The effects were, however, exceedingly partial and irregular, depending apparently on the distance of the mouth of the funnel from such objects as chanced to come in the course of direction; as also on the area included within the vortex, at the times it exerted its powers of destruction. This whirlwind appears to have commenced near Mrs. Dickson’s farm, situated about one mile to the west of the village of Kenton, in Middlesex; and from thence proceeded in a north by west direction, by compass, over Bellemont, through the orchard adjoining the widow Woodbridge’s cottage, over Mr. Roberts’s field, Mr. Riddock’s nursery, Mr. Martin’s pleasure-grounds, Mr. Utterson’s plantations, and the marquis of Abercorn’s to Mr. Blackwell’s premises, where it changed its direction from north by west, to north by east, passing over Bushey village, through Mr. Bellas’s farm and orchard, and finally exhausting its fury about a mile and a half further. At Mr. Dickson’s farm it removed some ridge tiles, and part of the thatch of outhouses and hayricks; and on reaching widow Woodbridge’s orchard it had obtained much greater force, as it levelled the fruit trees and tore away a greater part of the tiling of the cottage, against which it carried a wooden building several feet with great violence. In passing through Mr. Roberts’s field it blew down eleven large elms, the breadth of the tornado at this place not exceeding one hundred yards, as was evident from the trifling injury sustained by the other trees to the right and left. Crossing the road leading to Stanmore, it entered Mr. Riddock’s nursery, where it did considerable injury to the young trees, and almost entirely stripped one side of the house, carrying away the thatch of the hayricks, and unroofing some of the outhouses. A large may-bush that stood in front of the greenhouse of Mr. Martin was rooted up, but neither the building nor glass received the smallest injury; while a shed at the back of the house, and likewise the cow-house which almost adjoined, had many tiles carried away. It next entered Mr. Utterson’s plantations, and destroyed fifty trees, appearing to have selected particular ones to wreak its fury; for while one was torn up by the roots, those around it were untouched, and some were broken in two places as though they had been twice subjected to the action of the vortex. On approaching Mr. Utterson’s cottage the storm divided into two parts, one proceeded to the right, the other to the left, as was shown by the thatch remaining undisturbed, while trees standing both in front and behind the house were thrown down. At the extremity of the house the storm seems to have again united, as it tore away some wooden paling though completely sheltered by the building, stripping the tiles of lower outhouses, and throwing down a considerable part of the garden wall. At the marquis of Abercorn’s it passed close by an elm, one of whose branches it carried away, the remainder being untouched; and it then threw down about seventy-five yards of garden wall, and leaving an interval of the same extent uninjured, destroyed thirty more; this seems to imply that the storm had here a second time divided. Near this spot one of the marquis’s workmen was thrown down by the violence of the wind, and after being rolled over repeatedly, was at length compelled to hold by the grass to prevent his being carried further. In passing over the dovehouse the pigeons were whirled to the ground, and a quantity of paling was torn up and blown to a great distance. The current of wind now proceeded across the road to Mr. Blackwell’s brick-kiln, tearing from its hinges and tumbling into a ditch a fieldgate; levelling sixty-five feet of the garden wall in one direction, and also the upper part of another wall running in right angles, in the opposite. The outhouses at this place were much damaged, but the dwelling-house was not touched. After leaving the garden it assailed a large beech, which measured at the base eighteen feet in circumference. My eye happened to be fixed on this tree at the moment; the wind commenced by giving its large head a considerable twist, and in an instant tore it up by the roots. After passing over the gravel pits at Harrow Weald, and a part of the village of Bushey, where it nearly unroofed a house, it continued its course without doing any further mischief until it reached Mr. Bellas’s farm. At this place its effects were very destructive among the fruit-trees and large elms, besides tearing away the tiles and thatch of the house, buildings, and ricks; for here the storm appears to have contracted to a width of sixty yards, and its impetuosity to have increased in proportion as its breadth diminished. After passing in a north by east direction about a mile and a half further than Mr. Bellas’s farm, its fury most probably subsided, as the only further mischief I have been able to trace was the destruction of two small elms in a hedgerow, and whose support had been weakened by digging away the earth from their roots. I observed when the clouds or vapour from which all this storm proceeded, enveloped the upper part of the cone in which Mr. Blackwell burns his bricks, the cone appeared to be surrounded with a thick mist, and most violently agitated. I also observed that in its passage over the gravel pits, it tore up the earth and gravel, not in a uniform manner, but, as it were, by jumps, leaving intervals between the various points of contact of sometimes one hundred yards and upwards; and the dreadful whistling noise continued unabated until the cessation of the storm. This phenomena was at one time within less than a quarter of a mile of my house; but the trees in the garden were not much affected by it, though I have reason to believe, from the testimony of several persons, on whose veracity I can rely, that the violence of the storm was such as to force them to lay hold of hedges to prevent their being thrown down. Mr. Blackwell, in particular, mentioned that in returning from church with one of his children, in order to secure himself and boy from being carried away, he was obliged to hold by a stake. It is further stated on the most respectable authority, that cattle were seen lifted, or rather driven, from one end of the field to the other. There is reason to believe that one or more meteoric stones fell during the storm; for one of the late marquis of Abercorn’s gardeners told me he had observed “a large stone about the size of his fist, descend in nearly a perpendicular direction, after a very dazzling flash of lightning, not followed by thunder.” At my request he readily showed the spot on which it apparently fell; but the place being full of holes the search was unsuccessful; or it might have fallen into a pond situated near the place. I, as well as others, after a flash of lightning, heard a noise similar to the firing of a large rocket, or resembling a number of hard substances shot out of a cart.[141]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 49·35.

[141] Thomson’s Annals.

~April 27.~

A SPRING WALK ON THE SURREY HILLS.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--Having, like Falstaff, “babbled o’ green fields,” I resolved to visit them; and a few mornings ago, taking with me a certain talisman with his majesty’s head thereon, I bent my steps through the now populous town of Walworth, famous, like London, for its “Sir William,” and in whose history are many things well worthy your notice. Proceeding thence through Camberwell, I ascended the hill at whose foot quietly stands the Sunday resort of many town immured beings, the public-house yclept “the Fox-under-the-Hill.” Here the works of man are intruding on the country in villas of various shapes and dimensions, the sight of which would make the former possessors of the land, if they loved their fields, and could look around them, feel as did the American chief, who dining one day with some British officers at a house which commanded a view of the vast lakes and forests formerly the inheritance of his fathers, was observed to eye the scene before him with melancholy scrutiny.--“Chieftain,” remarked General ----, “you are sad!” “I am;” was his answer, “and how can I be otherwise, when I think of the time when all I look on was the property of my nation; but ’tis gone; the white men have got it, and we are a houseless and a homeless people. The white man came in his bark, and asked leave to tie it to a tree; it was given him--he then asked to build him a hut; it was granted--but how was our kindness repaid? his hut became a fort, his bark brought in her womb the children of the thunder to our shores--they drove us from forest to forest, from mountain to mountain, they destroyed our habitations and our people, they rooted up our trees, and have left us but the desert--I _am_ sad; and how can I be otherwise?” I return from this digression to ascend Herne Hill, the Elysium of many of our merchants and traders, whose dwellings look the abodes of happy mortals,--beings, seeking, in retirement from the busy world, to repay themselves for the anxieties and fatigues of life with peace and competence.

O, how blest is he who here Can calmly end life’s wild career; He who in the torrid zone, Hath the spirit’s wasting known, Or pin’d where winter ’neath the pole, Through the body wrings the soul, Losing in this peaceful spot Memory of his former lot. And O, how happy were it mine, To build me here, ere life decline, A cot, ’mid these sequestered grounds, With every year three hundred pounds.

Gentlemen of Herne Hill I envy you--but I am not a money-getting man, so it is useless to wish for such a treasure. Proceeding onward, I wind down the southern declivity of this lovely Olympus--it _has_ been, ere now, to me, a Parnassus, but that is past, and the hoofs of Lancefield’s steeds have superseded those of Pegasus.--On the left a quiet green lane, such as Byron would have loved, leads to Dulwich, famous for its college, and the well paid and well fed inhabitants thereof, and its gallery of pictures. On the right is an opening as yet unprofaned by brick and mortar--the only place now left, from whence a traveller can view the soft scenery around. I go down this vista, and am rewarded with a beauteous prospect of variegated hills, vallies, meadows, &c. &c. I again approach the steep, retracing my path; and descending further, green fields and still greener hedges are on each side of me, studded with various wild flowers. At every step I hear the rich music of nature; the sky-lark is above me singing, heedless if the gled[142] be in the blue cloud; and at least a score of robins with their full bright eyes, and red bosoms, hopping about me, singing as stout as if it was winter, and looking quite as bold. There is a mixture of cheerfulness and melancholy in their song, which to me is pleasing; now loud and shrill, and now a long rolling sound like the rising of the wind. Advancing, I come in sight of the New Church of Norwood with its unsightly steeple. Ichabod! the glory of the church has departed. I never observe the new churches on the Surrey side of the river, without imagining their long bodies and short steeples look, from a distance, like the rudders of so many sailing barges. Where is the grand oriel--the square tower? what have we in their stead? a common granary casement, and a shapeless spire. I again move onward rather tired, and turning to the left, after a short uphill journey with a charming view on all sides, arrive at “the Woodman,” where the talisman I spoke of showed its power, by instantly procuring me good eating and other refreshing solace. Here a man might sit for an hour unwearied, better in head and heart from the loveliness of the scenery beneath him; and here I repose,--

Inhaling as the news I read The fragrance of the Indian weed.

You are, I have heard, no smoker; yet there is “a something” in a pipe which produces that tranquillity of mind you so much need; if alone it is a companion, bringing quiet thoughts and pleasing visions; it is a good friend if not abused, and is, above all, a promoter of digestion--no bad quality. Below me, yet wearing its livery of brown, lies the wood, the shadowy haunt of the gypsey tribe ere magisterial authority drove them away. Many a pleasant hour have I spent in my younger days with its Cassandras, listening to their prophetic voices, and looking at their dark eyes.

O, the dusky hands are ne’er forgot, That my palm trac’d, Of her I clasp’d, in that calm spot, Around the waist; I feel the thrill Of her fingers still, Her dark eyes on me beam, O, what joyous thoughts my bosom fill Of that sweet dream.

But--as the song says--

“Farewell to Glenowen For I must be going.”

I proceed; Sydenham lies before me, beyond it in softened distance, Beckenham and Bromley meet the eye, with Dulwich below--and half hidden, and afar off, is smoky London, with the Abbey towers and St. Paul’s dome looking gloomily grand. In the foreground lies a rich variety of upland and dale, studded with snow white dwellings. Leaving the wood on my left, I reach the reservoir of the canal, and read no less than three boards threatening with the severest penalties all intruders. Again I am surrounded with sky-larks; I watch one leave the grass, he is up nearly a quarter of an hour, and here I meet a man with a dozen or more nests of young birds, blackbirds, thrushes, and robins, which is very early for the latter. Pacing slowly up a quiet lane to the left of the canal, I arrive at a few delightful cottages on the brow of the hill; below them to the south--

A lovely prospect opens wide, Wave-like hills on every side, By human hands diversified.

Somewhere near the canal, at a brickmaker’s hut, poor Dermody, the Irish poet, retired sick, and in poverty. Turning to the left I view Forest Hill, the sweetest haunt of my poetic hours, but here, as at every other desirable spot for meditation, frowns the warning board, placed by the hand of envious monopoly--

“The law will punish all who enter here.”

Nun Head Hill, the favourite resort of smoke-dried artisans, and other Londoners, is taken from them, and a narrow path is all that remains for their Sunday promenade. Ruminating on the change I move on, and espying a gap in the hedge, enter a field, where, reclining on the long grass, I muse, till, like the shadowy kings in Macbeth, my cares and sorrows pass before me. I listen! it is the music of heaven--numerous skylarks tower aloft, the best I have yet heard; ye that wish for good ones catch them here--which advice, if they heard, would doubtless bring them down on me with beak and claw. Hark! it is the tit-lark, the harbinger of the nightingale; he is just come over, and the other will quickly follow: he drops from the tallest tree, and sings till earth receives him. His song is short, but very sweet; nothing can equal his rising “Weet--weet--weet--weet--weet--weet--weet,” and dying “Feer--feer--feer--feer--feer--feer--feer,” and his lengthened “Snee----jug--jug--jug.” It is from him that the best notes of your canaries are obtained; he will sing till July. About the fifteenth, the fowler will go out, and the nightingale will sell his freedom for a meal-worm--how many of us mortals do the same to gratify our appetites! The bird now caught will be a good one, which is more than I can say of the mortal. He will not yet have paired with the hen, she not having made her appearance. The males arrive first, at least so say the catchers, but I doubt if they emigrate at all. The tame ones in cages when they leave off song get extremely fat, and are half stupid till the season returns; perhaps the wild ones do the same, and retire into secrecy during the winter. I merely surmise that such may be the case.

Evening drawing on, and the wind edging round to the northward, I bend my course through Peckham, and again enter the busy haunts of man, where, reaching my home, I sit down and write this for your columns, hoping it may be acceptable.

I am, Sir, &c.

J.

_Kent Road,_

_April 14, 1826._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 50·20.

[142] Hawk.

~April 28.~

CHRONOLOGY.

In 1658, during this month, the accomplished colonel Richard Lovelace died in the Gatehouse at Westminster, whither he had been committed for his devotion to the interests and fortunes of the Stuart family. His celebrity is preserved by some elegant poems; one is especially remarkable for natural imagery, and beautiful expression of noble thought:--

When love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at my grates; When I lye tangled in her haire, And fettered with her eye, The birds that wanton in the aire Know no such libertye.

When flowing cups ran swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our carelesse heads with roses crowned, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe, When healths and draughts goe free, Fishes, that tipple in the deepe, Know no such libertie.

When, linnet-like, confined I With shriller note shall sing The mercye, sweetness, majestye, And glories of my king; When I shall voyce aloud how good He is, how great should be, Th’ enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such libertie.

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron barrs a cage, Mindes, innocent and quiet, take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love, And in my soule am free, Angels alone, that soare above, Enjoy such libertie.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 50·21.

~April 29.~

THE APRIL OF 1826.

This month is remarkable for the endurance of great suffering by many thousands of English artisans.

In a “Statement to the Right Hon. Robert Peel, by the Hand-loom Weavers of Blackburn,” they say--

“Our dwellings are totally destitute of every comfort.

“Every article of value has disappeared, either to satisfy the cravings of hunger, or to appease the clamour of relentless creditors.

“Thousands who were once possessed of an honest independence gained by laborious industry, are now sunk in the lowest depths of poverty.

“Were the humane man to visit the dwellings of four-fifths of the weavers, and see the miserable pittance which sixteen hours’ hard labour can procure, even of those who are fully employed, divided between the wretched parents and their starving little ones, he would sicken at the sight.

“When we look upon our starving wives and children, and have no bread to give them, we should consider ourselves still more degraded than we are, as undeserving the name of Englishmen, were we to withhold our complaint from his majesty’s government, or to abstain from speaking in proper terms of what we consider the present unparalleled distress which exists among the weavers; and we implore you, sir, by all the ties which bind the patriot to his country, by that anxiety for the welfare of England which you have frequently evinced, to use that influence which you possess with his majesty’s government towards procuring an amelioration of the condition of the most injured and oppressed class of his majesty’s subjects.”

The rev. Joseph Fletcher of Mile-end corroborates these statements by local acquaintance with the districts, and affirms of his own knowledge, that “the recent causes of commercial distress have produced unparalleled misery.”

“In the town of Blackburn and its vicinity, it has reached its highest point of aggravation. At the present crisis, upwards of seven thousand looms are unemployed in Blackburn, and nearly fourteen thousand persons have been compelled to depend on the bounty of the inhabitants; and as, according to the late census, Blackburn contains about twenty-one thousand inhabitants, two-thirds of the population are in a state of utter destitution.

“The remaining number of the middle and higher classes of society, bears a far less proportion to the population than in any part of the kingdom, while the same disproportion exists amidst a teeming and immense population in the villages and hamlets of the district.

“Thus, the accessible sources of relief are diminished, and the means of alleviation are not in the power of those whose very dependence for their own supply rests on the destitute themselves.”

* * * * *

The pleasure of the very poor man, while he endures the privations of his ordinary condition, is the mere absence of bodily disease; and he patiently awaits the time when his life shall depart, and his body shall be buried at the parish expense, and his family shall walk from his funeral into the workhouse. This is his state in the best of times; but, in a season of general calamity to his class, when the barely sufficient sources of existence fail, his death is no provision for his wife and children; then the poor are rated for the maintenance of the poor; whole parishes became paupers; and the district must necessarily be supported by voluntary contributions throughout the country.

The dwelling of the very poor man is always cheerless; but the abode of indigence, reduced to starvation, is a cave of despair. Thousands of families are perishing for lack of food at the moment when this is written. From him who has a little, a little is required--and from him who has much, much is required--that the plague of famine be stayed. The case is beyond the reach of legislation, but clearly within the power of associated benevolence to mitigate. A cry of hunger is gone forth--is the ear deaf, that it cannot hear?--are the hands that have been often effectually stretched forth, shortened that they cannot save?

THE POOR MAN’S HOME.

“_Home is home, though it is never so homely._” Exceptions to this position are taken by ELIA, who, as regards the poor man, deems it a “fallacy,” to which “crowded places of cheap entertainment, and the benches of alehouses, if they could speak, would bear mournful testimony.”--“To them the very poor man resorts for an image of the home, which he cannot find at home. For a starved grate, and a scanty firing, that is not enough to keep alive the natural heat in the fingers of so many shivering children with their mother, he finds in the depth of winter always a blazing hearth, and a hob to warm his pittance of beer by. Instead of the clamours of a wife, made gaunt by famishing, he meets with a cheerful attendance beyond the merits of the trifle which he can afford to spend. He has companions which his home denies him, for the very poor man can ask no visiters. He can look into the goings on of the world, and speak a little to politics. At home there are no politics stirring but the domestic. All interests, real or imaginary, all topics that should expand the mind of man, and connect him with a sympathy to general existence, are crushed in the absorbing consideration of food to be obtained for the family. Beyond the price of bread, news is senseless and impertinent. At home there is no larder. Here there is at least a show of plenty; and while he cooks his lean scrap of butcher’s meat before the common bars, or munches his humble cold viands, his relishing bread and cheese with an onion, in a corner, where no one reflects upon his poverty, he has sight of the substantial joint providing for the landlord and his family. He takes an interest in the dressing of it; and while he assists in removing the trivet from the fire, he feels that there is such a thing as beef and cabbage, which he was beginning to forget at home. All this while he deserts his wife and children. But what wife, and what children? Prosperous men, who object to this desertion, image to themselves some clean contented family like that which they go home to. But look at the countenance of the poor wives who follow and persecute their good man to the door of the public-house, which he is about to enter, when something like shame would restrain him, if stronger misery did not induce him to pass the threshold. That face, ground by want, in which every cheerful, every conversable lineament has been long effaced by misery,--is that a face to stay at home with? is it more a woman, or a wild cat? alas! it is the face of the wife of his youth, that once smiled upon him. It can smile no longer. What comforts can it share? what burdens can it lighten? Oh, it is a fine thing to talk of the humble meal shared together. But what if there be no bread in the cupboard? The innocent prattle of his children takes out the sting of a man’s poverty. But the children of the very poor do not prattle. It is none of the least frightful features in that condition, that there is no childishness in its dwellings. Poor people, said a sensible old nurse to us once, do not bring up their children; they _drag_ them up. The little careless darling of the wealthier nursery, in their hovel is transformed betimes into a premature reflecting person. No one has time to dandle it, no one thinks it worth while to coax it, to soothe it, to toss it up and down, to humour it. There is none to kiss away its tears. If it cries, it can only be beaten. It has been prettily said, that a babe is fed with milk and praise. But the aliment of this poor babe was thin, unnourishing; the return to its little baby-tricks, and efforts to engage attention, bitter ceaseless objurgation. It never had a toy, or knew what a coral meant. It grew up without the lullaby of nurses; it was a stranger to the patient fondle, the hushing caress, the attracting novelty, the costlier plaything, or the cheaper off-hand contrivance to divert the child; the prattled nonsense, (best sense to it,) the wise impertinencies, the wholesome lies, the apt story interposed, that puts a stop to present sufferings, and awakens the passion of young wonder. It was never sung to, no one ever told to it a tale of the nursery. It was dragged up, to live or to die as it happened. It had no young dreams. It broke at once into the iron realities of real life. A child exists not for the very poor as any object of dalliance; it is only another mouth to be fed, a pair of little hands to be betimes inured to labour. It is the rival, till it can be the co-operator, for food with the parent. It is never his mirth, his diversion, his solace; it never makes him young again, with recalling his young times. The children of the very poor have no young times. It makes the very heart to bleed to overhear the casual street-talk, between a poor woman and her little girl, a woman of the better sort of poor, in a condition rather above the squalid beings which we have been contemplating. It is not of toys, of nursery books, of summer holidays (fitting that age); of the promised sight, or play; of praised sufficiency at school. It is of mangling and clear starching, of the price of coals, or of potatoes. The questions of the child, that should be the very outpourings of curiosity in idleness, are marked with forecast and melancholy providence. It has come to be a woman, before it was a child. It has learned to go to market; it chaffers. It haggles, it envies, it murmurs; it is knowing, acute, sharpened; it never prattles. Had we not reason to say that the home of the very poor is no home?”[143]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 49·02.

[143] New Monthly Magazine, March, 1826.

~April 30.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 30th of April, 1745, the battle of Fontenoy was fought between the allied armies of England, Holland, and Austria, under the command of the duke of Cumberland, and a superior French army, under marshal count De Saxe. Here the advantage of the day was to the French; the duke of Cumberland left his sick and wounded to the humanity of the victors, and Louis XV. obtained the mastery of the Netherlands.

The battle was commenced with the formal politeness of a court minuet. Captain Lord Charles Hay, of the English guards, advanced from the ranks with his hat off; at the same moment, lieutenant count D’Auteroche, of the French guards, advanced also, uncovered, to meet him. Lord Charles bowed:--“Gentleman of the French guards,” said he, “fire!” The count bowed to lord Charles. “No my lord,” he answered, “we never fire first!” They again bowed; each resumed his place in his own ranks; and after these testimonies of “high consideration,” the bloody conflict commenced, and there was a carnage of twelve thousand men on each side.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 50·57.

Also, in calendars, the month of May Is marked the month of Love--two lovers stray, In the old wood-cuts, in a forest green, Looking their love into each other’s eyes And dreaming happiness that never dies; And there they talk unheard, and walk unseen, Save by the birds, who chant a louder lay To welcome such true lovers with the May.

*

The month of May was deemed by the Romans to be under the protection of Apollo; and it being the month wherein they made several expiations, they prohibited marrying in May. On the first day of May the Roman ladies sacrificed to _Bona Dea_, the Good Goddess, or the Earth, represented in the _Frontispiece_ to the first volume of the _Every-Day Book_, with the zodiacal signs of the celestial system, which influences our sphere to produce its fruits in due order.

* * * * *

It is in May that “Spring is with us once more pacing the earth in all the primal pomp of her beauty, with flowers and soft airs and the song of birds every where about her, and the blue sky and the bright clouds above. But there is one thing wanting, to give that happy completeness to her advent, which belonged to it in the elder times; and without which it is like a beautiful melody without words, or a beautiful flower without scent, or a beautiful face without a soul. The voice of man is no longer heard, hailing her approach as she hastens to bless him; and his choral symphonies no longer meet and bless _her_ in return--bless her by letting her behold and hear the happiness that she comes to create. The soft songs of women are no longer blended with her breath as it whispers among the new leaves; their slender feet no longer trace _her_ footsteps in the fields and woods and wayside copses, or dance delighted measures round the flowery offerings that she prompted their lovers to place before them on the village green. Even the little children themselves, that have an instinct for the spring, and feel it to the very tips of their fingers, are permitted to let May come upon them, without knowing from whence the impulse of happiness that they feel proceeds, or whither it tends. In short,

‘All the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday:’

while man, man alone, lets the season come without glorying in it; and when it goes he lets it go without regret; as if ‘all seasons and their change’ were alike to him; or rather, as if he were the lord of all seasons, and they were to do homage and honour to him, instead of he to them! How is this? Is it that we have ‘sold our birthright for a mess of pottage?’--that we have bartered ‘our being’s end and aim’ for a purse of gold? Alas! thus it is:

‘The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away--a sordid boon!’

--But be this as it may, we are still able to _feel_ what nature is, though we have in a great measure ceased to _know_ it; though we have chosen to neglect her ordinances, and absent ourselves from her presence, we still retain some instinctive reminiscences of her beauty and her power; and every now and then the sordid walls of those mud hovels which we have built for ourselves, and choose to dwell in, fall down before the magic touch of our involuntary fancies, and give us glimpses into ‘that imperial palace whence we came,’ and make us yearn to return thither, though it be but in thought.

‘Then sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor’s sound! We _in thought_ will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the MAY!’”[144]

[144] Mirror of the Months.

~May 1.~

_St. Philip and St. James._[145]

MAY DAY.

As we had some agreeable intimacies to-day last year, we will seek our country friends in other rural parts, this “May morning,” and see “how they _do_.”

To illustrate the custom of going “a Maying,” described in volume i., a song still used on that occasion is subjoined:--

THE MAYER’S CALL.

Come, lads, with your bills, To the wood we’ll away, We’ll gather the boughs, And we’ll celebrate May.

We’ll bring our load home, As we’ve oft done before, And leave a green bough, At each good master’s } good neighbour’s } door. pretty maid’s }

To-morrow, when work’s done, I hold it no wrong, If we go round in ribands, And sing them a song.

Come, lads, bring your bills, To the wood we’ll away, We’ll gather the boughs, And we’ll celebrate May.

There is a rural ditty chanted in villages and country towns, preparatory to gathering the May:--

THE MAY EVE SONG.

If we should wake you from your sleep, Good people listen now, Our yearly festival we keep, And bring a Maythorn bough.

An emblem of the world it grows, The flowers its pleasures are, But many a thorn bespeaks its woes, Its sorrow and its care.

Oh! sleep you then, and take your rest, And, when the day shall dawn, May you awake in all things blest-- A May without a thorn.

And when, to-morrow we shall come Oh! treat us not with scorn; From out your bounty give us some-- Be May without a thorn.

May He, who makes the May to blow, On earth his riches sheds, Protect thee against every woe, Shower blessings on thy heads.

After “bringing home the May,” here is another lay:--

THE MAYER’S SONG.

On the Mayers deign to smile, Master, mistress, hear our song, Listen but a little while, We will not detain you long.

Life with us is in its spring, We enjoy a blooming May, Summer will its labour bring, Winter has its pinching day.

Yet the blessing we would use Wisely--it is reason’s part-- Those who youth and health abuse, Fail not in the end to smart.

Mirth we love--the proverb says, Be ye merry but be wise, We will walk in wisdom’s ways, There alone true pleasure lies.

May, that now is in its bloom, All so fragrant and so fair, When autumn and when winter come, Shall its useful berries bear.

We would taste your home-brew’d beer,-- Give not, if we’ve had enough,-- May it strengthen, may it cheer, Waste not e’er the precious stuff.

We of money something crave, For ourselves we ask no share, John and Jane the whole shall have, They’re the last new married pair.

May it comfort to them prove, And a blessing bring to you; Blessings of connubial love, Light on all like morning dew.

So shall May, with blessings crown’d, Welcom’d be by old and young, Often as the year comes round, Shall the May-day song be sung.

Fare ye well, good people all, Sweet to-night may be your rest, Every blessing you befall, Blessing others you are blest.

As the day advances, a ballad suitable to the “village sports” is sung by him who has the honour to crown his lass as the “May-day queen.”--

THE WREATH OF MAY.

This slender rod of leaves and flowers, So fragrant and so gay, Produce of spring’s serener hours, Peculiarly is May.

This slender rod, the hawthorn bears, And when its bloom is o’er, Its ruby berries then it wears, The songster’s winter store.

Then, though it charm the sight and smell, In spring’s delicious hours, The feather’d choir its praise shall tell, ’Gainst winter round us lowers.

O then, my love, from me receive, This beauteous hawthorn spray, A garland for thy head I’ll weave, Be thou my queen of May.

Love and fragrant as these flowers, Live pure as thou wert born, And ne’er may sin’s destructive powers, Assail thee with its thorn.

One more ditty, a favourite in many parts of England, is homely, but there is a prettiness in its description that may reconcile it to the admirers of a “country life:”--

THE MAY DAY HERD.

Now at length ’tis May-day morn, And the herdsman blows his horn; Green with grass the common now, Herbage bears for many a cow.

Too long in the straw yard fed, Have the cattle hung their head, And the milk did well nigh fail, The milk-maid in her ashen pail.

Well the men have done their job, Every horn has got its knob; Nor shall they each other gore, Not a bag, or hide, be tore.

Yet they first a fight maintain, Till one cow the mastery gain; They, like man, for mastery strive, They by others’ weakness thrive.

Drive them gently o’er the lawn, Keep them from the growing corn; When the common they shall gain, Let them spread wide o’er the plain.

Show them to the reedy pool, There at noon their sides they’ll cool, And with a wide whisking tail, Thrash the flies as with a flail.

Bring them gently home at eve, That their bags they may relieve, And themselves of care divest, Chew the cud and take their rest.

Now the dairy maid will please, To churn her butter, set her cheese; We shall have the clotted cream, The tea-table’s delightful theme.

Raise the song, then, let us now, Sing the healthful, useful cow, England well the blessing knows, A land with milk that richly flows.

May-day is a _Spring_ day.

Spring--“the _innocent_ spring,” is the firstling of revolving nature; and in the first volume, is symbolized by an infant. In that engraving there is a sort of appeal to parental feeling; yet an address more touching to the heart is in the following little poem:--

_A Mother to her First-born._

’Tis sweet to watch thee in thy sleep, When thou, my boy, art dreaming; ’Tis sweet, o’er thee a watch to keep, To mark the smile that seems to creep O’er thee like daylight gleaming.

’Tis sweet to mark thy tranquil breast, Heave like a small wave flowing; To see thee take thy gentle rest, With nothing save fatigue opprest, And health on thy cheek glowing.

To see thee now, or when awake, Sad thoughts, alas! steal o’er me; For thou, in time, a part must take, That may thy fortunes mar or make, In the wide world before thee.

But I, my child, have hopes of thee, And may they ne’er be blighted!-- That I, years hence, may live to see Thy name as dear to all as me, Thy virtues well requited.

I’ll watch thy dawn of joys, and mould Thy little mind to duty-- I’ll teach thee words, as I behold Thy faculties like flowers unfold, In intellectual beauty.

And then, perhaps, when I am dead, And friends around me weeping-- Thoul’t see me to my grave, and shed A tear upon my narrow bed, Where I shall then be sleeping!

BARTON WILFORD.

* * * * *

The Maypole nearest to the metropolis, that stood the longest within the recollection of the editor, was near Kennington-green, at the back of the houses, at the south corner of the Workhouse-lane, leading from the Vauxhall-road to Elizabeth-place. The site was then nearly vacant, and the Maypole was in the field on the south side of the Workhouse-lane, and nearly opposite to the Black Prince public-house. It remained till about the year 1795, and was much frequented, particularly by milk maids.

* * * * *

A delightfully pretty print of a merry-making “round about the _Maypole_,” supplies an engraving on the next page illustrative of the prevailing tendency of this work, and the simplicity of rural manners. It is not so sportive as the dancings about the Maypoles near London formerly; there is nothing of the boisterous rudeness which must be well remembered by many old Londoners on May-day.

It is a pleasant sight, to see A little village company Drawn out upon the first of May To have their annual holiday:-- The pole hung round with garlands gay; The young ones footing it away; The aged cheering their old souls With recollections and their bowls; Or, on the mirth and dancing failing, Their oft-times-told old tales re-taleing.

*

The innocent and the unaspiring may always be happy. Their pleasures like their knitting needles, and hedging gloves, are easily purchased, and when bestowed are estimated as distinctions. The late Dr. Parr, the fascinating converser, the skilful controverter, the first Greek scholar, and one of the greatest and most influential men of the age, was a patron of May-day sports. Opposite his parsonage-house at Hatton, near Warwick, on the other side of the road, stood the parish Maypole, which on the annual festival was dressed with garlands, surrounded by a numerous band of villagers. The doctor was “first of the throng,” and danced with his parishioners the gayest of the gay. He kept the large crown of the Maypole in a closet of his house, from whence it was produced every May-day, with fresh flowers and streamers preparatory to its elevation, and to the doctor’s own appearance in the ring. He always spoke of this festivity as one wherein he joined with peculiar delight to himself, and advantage to his neighbours. He was deemed eccentric, and so he was; for he was never proud to the humble, nor humble to the proud. His eloquence and wit elevated humility, and crushed insolence; he was the champion of the oppressed, a foe to the oppressor, a friend to the friendless, and a brother to him who was ready to perish. Though a prebend of the church with university honours, he could afford to make his parishoners happy without derogating from his ecclesiastical dignities, or abatement of self-respect, or lowering himself in the eyes of any who were not inferior in judgment, to the most inferior of the villagers of Hatton.

* * * * *

Formerly a pleasant character dressed out with ribands and flowers, figured in village May-games under the name of

The Jack-o’-the-Greens would sometimes come into the suburbs of London, and amuse the residents by rustic dancing. The last of them, that I remember, were at the Paddington May-dance, near the “Yorkshire Stingo,” about twenty years ago, from whence, as I heard, they diverged to Bayswater, Kentish-town, and adjoining neighbourhoods. A Jack-o’-the-Green always carried a long walking stick with floral wreaths; he whisked it about in the dance, and afterwards walked with it in high estate like a lord mayor’s footman.

* * * * *

On this first of the month we cannot pass the poets without listening to their carols, as we do, in our walks, to the songs of the spring birds in their thickets.

TO MAY.

Welcome! dawn of summer’s day, Youthful, verdant, balmy May! Sunny fields and shady bowers, Spangled meads and blooming flowers, Crystal fountains--limpid streams, Where the sun of nature beams, As the sigh of morn reposes, Sweetly on its bed of roses! Welcome! scenes of fond delight, Welcome! eyes with rapture bright-- Maidens’ sighs--and lovers’ vows-- Fluttering hearts--and open brows! And welcome all that’s bright and gay, To hail the balmy dawn of May!

_J. L. Stevens._

* * * * *

The most ancient of our bards makes noble melody in this glorious month. Mr. Leigh Hunt selects a delightful passage from Chaucer, and compares it with Dryden’s paraphrase:--

It is sparkling with young manhood and a gentle freshness. What a burst of radiant joy is in the second couplet; what a vital quickness in the comparison of the horse, “starting as the fire;” and what a native and happy case in the conclusion!

The busy lark, the messenger of day, Saleweth[146] in her song the morrow gray; And fiery Phœbus riseth up so bright, That all the orient laugheth of the sight; And with his stremès drieth in the greves[147] The silver droppès hanging in the leaves; And Arcite, that is in the court real[148] With Theseus the squier principal, Is risen, and looketh on the merry day; And for to do his observance to May, Remembring on the point of his desire, He on the courser, starting as the fire; Is risen to the fieldès him to play, Out of the court, were it a mile or tway. And to the grove, of which that I you told, By àventure his way he gan to hold, To maken him a garland of the greves, Were it of woodbind or of hawthorn leaves, And loud he sung against the sunny sheen: “O May, with all thy flowers and thy green, Right welcome be thou, fairè freshè May: I hope that I some green here getten may.” And from his courser, with a lusty heart, Into the grove full hastily he start, And in a path he roamed up and down.

Dryden falls short in the freshness and feeling of the sentiment. His lines are beautiful; but they do not come home to us with so happy and cordial a face. Here they are. The word morning in the first line, as it is repeated in the second, we are bound to consider as a slip of the pen; perhaps for mounting.

The morning-lark, the messenger of day, Saluteth in her song the morning gray; And soon the sun arose with beams so bright, That all the horizon laughed to see the joyous sight He with his tepid rays the rose renews, And licks the drooping leaves, and dries the dews; When Arcite left his bed, resolv’d to pay Observance to the month of merry May: Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode, That scarcely prints the turf on which he trod: At ease he seemed, and prancing o’er the plains, Turned only to the grove his horses’ reins, The grove I named before; and, lighted there, A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair Then turned his face against the rising day, And raised his voice to welcome in the May “For thee, sweet month, the groves green liveries wear, If not the first, the fairest of the year: For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, And Nature’s ready pencil paints the flowers: When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on. So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight, Nor goats with venom’d teeth thy tendrils bite, As thou shalt guide my wandering steps to find The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind.” His vows address’d, within the grove he stray’d.

“How poor,” says Mr. Hunt, “is this to Arcite’s leaping from his courser ‘with a lusty heart.’ How inferior the common-place of the ‘fiery steed,’ which need not involve any actual notion in the writer’s mind, to the courser ‘starting as the fire;’--how inferior the turning his face to ‘the rising day,’ and ‘raising his voice,’ to the singing ‘loud against the sunny sheen;’ and lastly, the whole learned invocation and adjuration of May, about guiding his ‘wandering steps’ and ‘so may thy tender blossoms’ &c. to the call upon the fair fresh May, ending with that simple, quick-hearted line, in which he hopes he shall get ‘some green here;’ a touch in the happiest taste of the Italian vivacity. Dryden’s genius, for the most part, wanted faith in nature. It was too gross and sophisticate. There was as much difference between him and his original, as between a hot noon in perukes at St. James’s, and one of Chaucer’s lounges on the grass, of a May morning. All this worship of May is over now. There is no issuing forth in glad companies to gather boughs; no adorning of houses with ‘the flowery spoil;’ no songs, no dances, no village sports and coronations, no courtly-poetries, no sense and acknowledgment of the quiet presence of nature, in grove or glade.

O dolce primavera, o fior novelli, O aure o arboscelli, o fresche erbette, O piagge benedette, o colli o monti, O valli o fiumi o fonti o verde rivi, Palme lauri ed olive, edere e mirti; O gloriosi spirti de gli boschi; O Eco, o antri foschi o chiare linfe, O faretrate ninfe o agresti Pani, O Satiri e Silvani, o Fauni e Driadi, Naiadi ed Amadriadi, o Semidee, Oreadi e Napee,--or siete sole.

_Sannazzar._

O thou delicious spring, O ye new flowers, O airs, O youngling bowers; fresh thickening grass, And plains beneath heaven’s face; O hills and mountains, Vallies, and streams, and fountains; banks of green, Myrtles, and palms serene, ivies, and bays; And ye who warmed old lays, spirits o’ the woods, Echoes, and solitudes, and lakes of light; O quivered virgins bright, Pans rustical, Satyrs and Sylvans all, Dryads, and ye That up the mountains be; and ye beneath In meadow or flowery heath,--ye are alone.

“This time two hundred years ago, our ancestors were all anticipating their May holidays. Bigotry came in, and frowned them away; then debauchery, and identified all pleasure with the town; then avarice, and we have ever since been mistaking the means for the end.--Fortunately, it does not follow, that we shall continue to do so. Commerce, while it thinks it is only exchanging commodities, is helping to diffuse knowledge. All other gains,--all selfish and extravagant systems of acquisition,--tend to over-do themselves, and to topple down by their own undiffused magnitude. The world, as it learns other things, may learn not to confound the means with the end, or at least,(to speak more philosophically,) a really poor means with a really richer. The veriest cricket-player on a green has as sufficient a quantity of excitement, as a fundholder or a partizan; and health, and spirits, and manliness to boot. Knowledge may go on; must do so, from necessity; and should do so, for the ends we speak of: but knowledge, so far from being incompatible with simplicity of pleasures, is the quickest to perceive its wealth. Chaucer would lie for hours looking at the daisies. Scipio and Lælius could amuse themselves with making ducks and drakes on the water. Epaminondas, the greatest of all the active spirits of Greece, was a flute-player and dancer. Alfred the Great could act the whole part of a minstrel. Epicurus taught the riches of temperance and intellectual pleasure in a garden. The other philosophers of his country walked between heaven and earth in the colloquial bowers of Academus; and ‘the wisest heart of Solomon,’ who found every thing vain because he was a king, has left us panegyrics on the spring and ‘the voice of the turtle,’ because he was a poet, a lover, and a wise man.”[149]

* * * * *

Aubrey remarks, that he never remembers to have seen a Maypole in France; but he says, “in Holland, they have their May-booms, which are streight young trees, set up; and at Woodstock, in Oxon, they every May-eve goe into the parke, and fetch away a number of hawthorne-trees, which they set before their dores: ’tis pity that they make such a destruction of so fine a tree.”

* * * * *

As the old antiquary takes us to Woodstock, and a novel by the “Great Unknown,” bears that title, we will “inn” there awhile, agreeably to an invitation of a correspondent who signs Ωνωφιλτατος, and who promises entertainment to the readers of the _Every-Day Book_, from an account of some out-of-the-way doings at that place, when there were out-of-the-way doings every where. Our friend with the Greek name is critical; for as regards the “new novel,” he says, that “_Woodstock_ would have been much better if the author had placed the incidents before the battle of Worcester, and supposed that Charles had been drawn over to England to engage in some plot of Dr. Rochecliffes, which had proved unsuccessful. This might have spared him one great anachronism, (placing the pranks of the merry devil of Woodstock in 1651, instead of 1649,) at the same time that it would throw a greater air of probability over the story; for the reader who is at all acquainted with English history, continually feels his pleasure destroyed by the recollection that in Charles’s escapes after the battle of Worcester, he never once visited Woodstock. Nor does the merry devil of Woodstock excite half the interest, or give us half the amusement he would have done, if the author had lately read the narrative I am now about to copy. He seems to have perused it at some distance of time, and then to have written the novel with imperfect recollection of the circumstances.--But let me begin my story; to wit, an article in the ‘British Magazine’ for April, 1747, which will I suppose excite some curiosity, and is in the following words:--

“THE GENUINE HISTORY

_of the_

“GOOD DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK,

“_Famous in the world in the year 1649 and never accounted for, or at all understood to this time._”

The teller of this “Genuine History” proceeds as hereafter verbatim.

Some original papers having lately fallen into my hands under the name of “Authentic Memoirs of the Memorable Joseph Collins of Oxford, commonly known by the name of Funny Joe, and now intended for the press,” I was extremely delighted to find in them a circumstantial and unquestionable account of the most famous of all invisible agents, so well known in the year 1649, under the name of the good devil of Woodstock, and even adored by the people of that place for the vexation and distress it occasioned some people they were not much pleased with. As this famous story, though related by a thousand people, and attested in all its circumstances beyond all possibility of doubt by people of rank, learning, and reputation, of Oxford and the adjacent towns, has never yet been accounted for or at all understood, and is perfectly explained in a manner that can admit of no doubt in these papers, I could not refuse my readers their share of the pleasure it gave me in reading.

As the facts themselves were at that time so well known that it would have been tedious to enumerate them, they are not mentioned in these papers; but that our readers may have a perfect account of the whole transaction, as well as the secret history of it, I shall prefix a written account of it, drawn up and signed by the commissioners themselves, who were the people concerned, and which I believe never was published, though it agrees very well with the accounts Dr. Plot and other authors of credit give of the whole affair. This I found affixed to the author’s memorial, with this title:--

“_A particular account of the strange and surprising apparitions and works of spirits, which happened at_ Woodstock, _in_ Oxfordshire, _in the months of_ October _and_ November, _in the year of our Lord Christ 1649, when the honourable the commissioners for surveying the said manor-house, park, woods, and other demesnes belonging to that manor, sat and remained there. Collected and attested by themselves._

“The honourable the commissioners arrived at Woodstock manor-house, October 13th, and took up their residence in the king’s own rooms. His majesty’s bed-chamber they made their kitchen, the council hall their pantry, and the presence chamber was the place where they sat for despatch of business. His majesty’s dining-room they made their wood yard, and stowed it with no other wood but that of the famous royal oak[150] from the high park, which, that nothing might be left with the name of the king about it, they had dug up by the roots, and bundled up into faggots for their firing.

“October 16. This day they first sat for the despatch of business. In the midst of their first debate there entered a large black dog (as they thought) which made a terrible howling, overturned two or three of their chairs, and doing some other damage, went under the bed, and there gnawed the cords. The door this while continued constantly shut, when after some two or three hours, Giles Sharp, their secretary, looking under the bed, perceived that the creature was vanished, and that a plate of meat which one of the servants had hid there was untouched, and showing them to their honours, they were all convinced there could be no real dog concerned in the case; the said Giles also deposed on oath that to his certain knowledge there was not.

“October 17. As they were this day sitting at dinner in a lower room, they heard plainly the noise of persons walking over their heads, though they well knew the doors were all locked, and there could be none there; presently after they heard also all the wood of the king’s oak brought by parcels from the dining-room, and thrown with great violence into the presence chamber, as also the chairs, stools, tables, and other furniture, forcibly hurled about the room, their own papers of the minutes of their transactions torn, and the ink-glass broken. When all this had some time ceased, the said Giles proposed to enter first into these rooms, and in presence of the commissioners of whom he received the key, he opened the door, and entering with their honours following him, he there found the wood strewed about the room, the chairs tossed about and broken, the papers torn, and the ink-glass broken over them, all as they had heard, yet no footsteps appeared of any person whatever being there, nor had the doors ever been opened to admit or let out any persons since their honours were last there. It was therefore voted _nem. con._ that the person who did this mischief could have entered no other way than at the keyhole of the said doors.

“In the night following this same day, the said Giles and two other of the commissioners’ servants, as they were in bed at the same room with their honours, had their bed’s feet lifted up so much higher than their heads, that they expected to have their necks broken, and then they were let fall at once with such violence as shook them up from the bed to a good distance; and this was repeated many times, their honours being amazed spectators of it. In the morning the bedsteads were found cracked and broken, and the said Giles, and his fellows, declared they were sore to the bones with the tossing and jolting of the beds.

“October 19. As they were all in bed together, the candles were blown out with a sulphurous smell, and instantly many trenchers of wood were hurled about the room, and one of them putting his head above the clothes, had not less than six forcibly thrown at him, which wounded him very grievously. In the morning the trenchers were all found lying about the room, and were observed to be the same they had eaten on the day before, none being found remaining in the pantry.

“October 20. This night the candles were put out as before, the curtains of the bed in which their honours lay, were drawn to and fro many times with great violence; their honours received many cruel blows, and were much bruised beside with eight great pewter dishes, and three dozen wooden trenchers which were thrown on the bed, and afterwards heard rolling about the room.

“Many times also this night they heard the forcible falling of many faggots by their bed side, but in the morning no faggots were found there, no dishes or trenchers were there seen neither, and the aforesaid Giles attests that by their different arranging in the pantry, they had assuredly been taken thence and after put there again.

“October 21. The keeper of their ordinary and his bitch lay with them; this night they had no disturbance.

“October 22. Candles put out as before. They had the said bitch with them again, but were not by that protected; the bitch set up a very piteous cry, the clothes of their beds were all pulled off, and the bricks, without any wind, were thrown off the chimney tops into the midst.

“October 24. The candles put out as before. They thought all the wood of the king’s oak was violently thrown down by their bedsides; they counted sixty-four faggots that fell with great violence, and some hit and shook the bed, but in the morning none were found there, nor the door of the room opened in which the said faggots were.

“October 25. The candles put out as before. The curtains of the bed in the drawing-room were forcibly drawn many times; the wood thrown out as before; a terrible crack like thunder was heard, and one of the servants running to see if his masters were not killed, found at his return three dozen of trenchers laid smoothly upon his bed under the quilt.

“October 26. The beds were shaken as before, the windows seemed all broken to pieces, and the glass fell in vast quantities all about the room. In the morning they found the windows all whole, but the floor strewed with broken glass, which they gathered and laid by.

“October 29.[151] At midnight, candles went out as before; something walked majestically through the room and opened and shut the window; great stones were thrown violently into the room, some whereof fell on the beds, others on the floor; and at about a quarter after one a noise was heard as of forty cannon discharged together, and again repeated at about eight minutes distance. This alarmed and raised all the neighbourhood, who coming into their honours’ room gathered up the great stones, fourscore in number, many of them like common pebbles and boulters, and laid them by where they are to be seen to this day at a corner of the adjoining field. This noise, like the discharge of cannon, was heard throughout the country for sixteen miles round. During these noises, which were heard in both rooms together, both the commissioners and their servants gave one another over for lost and cried out for help, and Giles Sharp snatching up a sword had well nigh killed one of their honours, taking him for the spirit as he came in his shirt into the room. While they were together the noise was continued, and part of the tiling of the house and all the windows of an upper room were taken away with it.

“October 30. At midnight, something walked into the chamber treading like a bear: it walked many times about, then threw the warming-pan violently on the floor, and so bruised it that it was spoiled. Vast quantities of glass were now thrown about the room, and vast numbers of great stones and horses’ bones thrown in; these were all found in the morning, and the floor, beds, and walls, were all much damaged by the violence they were thrown in.

“November 1. Candles were placed in all parts of the room, and a great fire made; at midnight, the candles all yet burning, a noise like the burst of a cannon was heard in the room, and the burning billets were tossed all over the room and about the beds, that had not their honours called in Giles and his fellows, the house had been assuredly burnt; an hour after the candles went out as usual, the crack of many cannon was heard, and many pails full of green stinking water were thrown on their honours in bed; great stones were also thrown in as before, the bed curtains and bedsteads torn and broken: the windows were now all really broken, and the whole neighbourhood alarmed with the noises; nay, the very rabbit-stealers that were abroad that night in the warren, were so frightened at the dismal thundering, that they fled for fear, and left their ferrets behind them.

“One of their honours this night spoke, and in the name of God asked what it was and why it disturbed them so. No answer was given to this, but the noise ceased for a while, when the spirit came again, and as they all agreed brought with it seven devils worse than itself. One of the servants now lighted a large candle, and set it in the doorway between the two chambers, to see what passed, and as he watched it he plainly saw a hoof striking the candle and candlestick into the middle of the room, and afterwards making three scrapes over the snuff of the candle to scrape it out. Upon this, the same person was so bold as to draw a sword; but he had scarce got it out when he perceived another invisible hand had hold of it too, and pulled with him for it, and at length prevailing, struck him so violently on the head with the pummel, that he fell down for dead with the blow. At this instant was heard another burst like the discharge of a broadside of a ship of war, and at about a minute or two’s distance each, no less than nineteen more such; these shook the house so violently that they expected every moment it would fall upon their heads. The neighbours on this were all alarmed, and running to the house, they all joined in prayers and psalm-singing, during which the noise still continued in the other rooms, and the discharge of cannon without though no one was there.”

Dr. Plot concludes his relation of this memorable event with observing, that though tricks have been often played in affairs of this kind, many of these things are not reconcileable to juggling; such as--1. The loud noises beyond the power of man to make without such instruments as were not there. 2. The tearing and breaking the beds. 3. The throwing about the fire. 4. The hoof treading out the candle; and, 5. The striving for the sword, and the blow the man received from the pummel of it.

To see, however, how great men are sometimes deceived, we may recur to this one tract, where among other things there is one entitled “_The secret history of the good devil of Woodstock_,” in which we find it under the author’s own hand, that he, Joseph Collins, commonly called funny Joe, was himself this very devil; that he hired himself as a servant to the commissioners under the feigned name of Giles Sharp, and by the help of two friends, an unknown trap-door in the ceiling of the bedchamber, and a pound of common gunpowder, played all these amazing tricks by himself, and his fellow servants, whom he had introduced on purpose to assist him, had lifted up their own beds.

The candles were contrived by a common trick of gunpowder put in them, to put themselves out by a certain time.

The dog who began the farce was, as he swore, no dog, but truly a bitch who had the day before whelped in that room and made all this disturbance in seeking for her puppies; and which when she had served his purpose, he let out and then looked for. The story of the hoof and sword himself alone was witness to, and was never suspected as to the truth of them though mere fictions. By the trap-door his friends let down stones, faggots, glass, water, &c. which they either left there or drew up again as best suited with him; and by this way let themselves in and out without opening the doors and going through the key-holes; and all the noises he declares he made by placing quantities of white gunpowder over pieces of burning charcoal on plates of tin, which as they melted went off with that violent explosion.

One thing there was beyond all these he tells us, which was also what drove them from the house in reality, though they never owned it. This was they had formed a reserve of part of the premises to themselves, and hid their mutual agreement, which they had drawn up in writing, under the earth in a pot in a corner of the room in which they usually dined, in which an orange tree grew: when in the midst of their dinner one day this earth of itself took fire and burned violently with a blue flame, filling the room with a strong sulphurous stench; and this he also professes was his own doing, by a secret mixture he had placed there the day before.

I am very happy in having an opportunity of setting history right about these remarkable events; and would not have the reader disbelieve my author’s account of them, from his naming either white gunpowder going off when melted, or his making the earth about the pot take fire of its own accord; since, however improbable these accounts may appear to some readers, and whatever secrets they might be in Joe’s time, they are well known now in chemistry. As to the last, there needs only to mix an equal quantity of iron filings, finely powdered, and powder of pure brimstone, and make them into a paste with fair water. This paste, when it has lain together about twenty-six hours, will of itself take fire, and burn all the sulphur away, with a blue flame and great stink. For the others, what he calls white gunpowder, is plainly the thundering powder called _pulvis fulminans_ by our chemists. It is made only of three parts of saltpetre, two parts of pearl-ashes, or salt of tartar, and one part of flower of brimstone, mixed together and beat to a fine powder; a small quantity of this held on the point of a knife over a candle will not go off till it melts, and then give a report like a pistol; and this he might easily dispose of in larger quantities, so as to make it go off of itself, while he was with his masters.

* * * * *

From this diversion at Woodstock, wherein if we have exceeded be it remembered that Aubrey carried us thither, we return to the diversions of the month.

Ye shepherdesses, in a goodly round, Purpled with health, as in the greenwood shade, Incontinent ye thump the echoing ground, And deftly lead the dance along the glade; (O may no showers your merry makes affray!) Hail at the opening, at the closing day, All hail, ye Bonnibels, to your own season, May.

Nor ye absent yourselves, ye shepherd swains, But lead to dance and song the liberal May, And while in jocund ranks you beat the plains, Your flocks shall nibble and your lambkins play, Frisking in glee. To May your garlands bring, And ever and anon her praises sing: The woods shall echo May,--with May the vallies ring.

* * * * *

MAY DAY IN LONDON.

The truant schoolboy now at eve we meet, Fatigued and sweating thro’ the crowded street, His shoe embrown’d at once with dust and clay, With whitethorn loaded, which he takes for May. Round his flapp’d hat in rings the cowslips twine, Or in cleft osiers form a golden line. On milk-pail rear’d the borrow’d salvers glare, Topp’d with a tankard, which two porters bear, Reeking they slowly toil o’er rugged stones, And joyless milkmaids dance with aching bones.

A pageant quite as gay, of less estate, With flowers made and solid silver plate-- A lesser garland--on a damask bed, Was carried on a skilful porter’s head; It stopp’d at every customer’s street-door, And all the milkmaids ranged themselves before; The fiddler’s quick’ning elbow quicker flew, And then he stamp’d, and then the galliard grew. Then cows the meadows ranged and fed on grass, And milk was sometimes water’d--now, alas! In huge first floors each cow, a prison’d guest, Eats rancid oil-cake in unnat’ral rest, Bids from her udder unconcocted flow A stream a few short hours will turn to--foh! Milk manufactories usurp the place Of wholesome dairies, and the milkmaid’s face, And garlands go no more, and milkmaids cease-- Yet tell me one thing, and I’ll be at peace; May I, ye milk companions, hope to see Old “milk _mi-eau_” once more dilute my tea?

* * * * *

Profitons enfans des beaux jours Cette verdure passagère Nous apprend qu’une loy sévère En doit bientost finir le cours.

In this way the setting up of the Maypole is represented by one of the old French prints of the customs of the seasons, published “à Paris chez I. Mariette,” with the preceding lines subjoined. It is wholly a rustic affair. In an English village such an event would have been celebrated to the simple sounds from a pipe and tabor, or at most a fiddle; but our neighbours of the continent perform the ceremony by beat of drum and sound of trumpet. Their merriments are showy as themselves; ours are of a more sober character, and in the country seem nearer to a state of pastoral simplicity.

My brown Buxoma is the featest maid, That e’er at wake delightsome gambol play’d, Clean as young lambkins or the goose’s down, And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown. The witless lamb may sport upon the plain, The frisking kid delight the gaping swain, The wanton calf may skip with many a bound, And my cur, Tray, play deftest feats around; But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.

_Gay._

Also, on May-day we have the superstitions of innocence, or ignorance if the reader please--no matter which, it is the same thing. In the same poet’s budget of country charms and divinations belonging to different seasons, he represents a young girl divining respecting her sweetheart, with as much certainty as the Pythian dame concerning the fate of nations.

Last May-day fair I search’d to find a snail That might my secret lover’s name reveal: Upon a gooseberry-bush a snail I found, For always snails near sweetest fruit abound. I seiz’d the vermine; home I quickly sped, And on the hearth the milk-white embers spread: Slow crawl’d the snail, and if I right can spell, In the soft ashes mark’d a curious L: Oh, may this wond’rous omen lucky prove! For L is found in Luberkin and Love. With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.

_Gay._

MAY DAY IN DUBLIN.

_For the Every-Day Book._

On the first day of May, in Dublin and its vicinity, it is customary for young men and boys to go a few miles out of town in the morning, for the purpose of cutting a _May-bush_. This is generally a white thorn, of about four or five feet high, and they carry it to the street or place of their residence, in the centre of which they dig a hole, and having planted the bush, they go round to every house and collect money. They then buy a pound or more of candles, and fasten them to various parts of the tree or bush, in such a manner so as to avoid burning it. Another portion of “the collection” is expended in the purchase of a heap of turf, sufficient for a large fire, and, if the funds will allow, an old tar barrel. Formerly it was not considered complete without having a horse’s skull and other bones to burn in the fire. The depots for these bones were the tanners’ yards in a part of the suburbs, called Kilmainham; and on May morning, groups of boys drag loads of bones to their several destinations. This practice gave rise to a threat, yet made use of:--“I will drag you like a horse’s head to the bone-fire.” About dusk when no more money can be collected, the bush is trimmed, the turf and bones are made ready to set on fire, the candles are all lighted, the bush fully illuminated, and the boys giving three huzzas, begin to dance and jump round it. If their money will afford the expenditure, they have a pot of porter to drink round. After an hour or so, the heap of turf and bones are set fire to, and when the candles are burnt out, the bush is taken up and thrown into the flames. They continue playing about until the fire is burnt out; each then returns to his home; and so ends their May-day.

About two or three miles from Dublin, on the great northern road, is a village called Finglass; it is prettily situated, and is the only place I know of in the neighbourhood of Dublin, where May-day is kept up in the old style. A high pole is decorated with garlands, and visiters come in from different parts of the country, and dance round it to whatever music chance may have conducted there. The best male and female dancer are chosen king and queen, and placed on chairs.

When the dancing is over, they are carried by some of the party to an adjacent public-house, where they regale themselves with ham, beef, whiskey-punch, ale, cakes, and porter, after which they generally have a dance in-doors, and then disperse.

There is an old song relating to the above custom, beginning--

Ye lads and lasses all to-day, To Finglass let us haste away; With hearts so light and dresses gay To dance around the Maypole.--

A. O. B.

* * * * *

It is communicated by T. A. that it was formerly a custom in Cheshire for young men to place _birchen boughs_ on May-day over the doors of their mistresses, and marke the residence of a scold by an _alder bough_. There is an old rhyme which mentions peculiar boughs for various tempers, an _owler_ (alder) for a scolder, a _nut_ for a slut, &c. Mr. Ormerode, the county historian, presumes the practice is disused; but he mentions that in the main street of Weverham, in Cheshire, are two Maypoles, which are decorated on this day with all due attention to the ancient solemnity: the sides are hung with garlands, and the top terminated by a birch, or other tall slender tree with its leaves on; the bark being peeled, and the stem spliced to the pole, so as to give the appearance of one tree from the summit.

ORIGIN OF MAY DAY.

Our usages on this day retain the character of their ancient origin.

The Romans commenced the festival of Flora on the 28th of April, and continued it through several days in May. Ovid records the mythological attributes and dedication of the season to that goddess:--

Fair Flora! now attend thy sportful feast, Of which some days I with design have past;-- A part in April and a part in May Thou claims’t, and both command my tuneful lay; And as the confines of two months are thine To sing of both the double task be mine. Circus and stage are open now and free-- Goddess! again thy feast my theme must be. Since new opinions oft delusive are Do thou, O Flora, who thou art declare; Why should thy poet on conjectures dwell? Thy name and attributes thou best can’st tell. Thus I.--to which she ready answer made, And rosy sweets attended what she said; Though, now corrupted, Flora be my name, From the Greek Chloris that corruption came:-- In fields where happy mortals whilome stray’d Chloris my name, I was a rural maid; To praise herself a modest nymph will shun, But yet a god was by my beauty won.

Flora then relates, that Zephyr became enamoured of her as Boreas had been, that “by just marriage to his bed,” she was united to Zephyr, who assigned her the dominion over Spring, and that she strews the earth with flowers and presides over gardens. She further says, as the deity of flowers,--

I also rule the plains. When the crops flourish in the golden field; The harvest will undoubted plenty yield; If purple clusters flourish on the vine, The presses will abound with racy wine; The _flowering_ olive makes a beauteous year, And how can _bloomless_ trees ripe apples bear? The _flower_ destroyed of vetches, beans, and peas, You must expect but small or no increase; The gift of honey’s mine, the painful bees, That gather sweets from _flowers_ or _blooming_ trees, To scented shrubs and violets I invite, In which I know they take the most delight; A _flower_ an emblem of young years is seen, With all its leaves around it fresh and green; So youth appears, when health the body sways, And gladness in the mind luxuriant plays.

From these allegorical ascriptions, the Roman people worshipped Flora, and celebrated her festivals by ceremonies and rejoicings, and offerings of spring flowers and the branches of trees in bloom, which through the accommodation of the Romish church to the pagan usages, remain to us at the present day.

WELLINGTON, UNDER THE WREKIN.

_For the Every-Day Book._

It has been usual for the people in this neighbourhood to assemble on the Wrekin-hill, on the Sunday after May-day, and the three successive Sundays, to drink a health “to all friends round the Wrekin;” but as on this annual festival, various scenes of drunkenness and other licentiousness were frequently exhibited, its celebration has, of late, been very properly discouraged by the magistracy, and is going deservedly to decay.

_February, 1826._

W. P.

MAY DAY STORY-TELLING.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_April_ 25, 1826.

Sir,--At a village in Westmoreland called Temple Sowerby, perhaps if not the _most_, at least _one_ of the most beautiful in the north of England, there has been, “from time whereof the memory of man is not to the contrary,” and still is, a custom on the first day of May for a number of individuals to assemble on the green, and there propose a certain number as candidates for contesting the various prizes then produced, which consist of a grindstone as the head prize; a hone or whetstone, for a razor, as the second; and whetstones of an inferior description, for those who can only reach a state of mediocrity in “the noble art of lying.”

_The people_ are the judges: each candidate in rotation commences a _story_, such as his fertile genius at the moment prompts; and the more marvellous or improbable his story happens to be, so much the greater chance is there of his success.

After being _amused_ in this manner for a considerable length of time, and awarding the prizes to the most deserving, the host of candidates, judges, and other attendants, adjourn to the inns, where the sports of the day very often end in a few splendid battles.

There is an anecdote, very current in the place, of a late bishop of Carlisle passing through in his carriage on this particular day, when his attention being attracted by the group of persons assembled together, very naturally inquired the cause. His question was readily answered by a full statement of facts which brought from his lordship a severe lecture on the iniquity of such a proceeding; and at the conclusion, he said, “For my part I never told a lie in my life.” This was immediately reported to the judges, upon which, without any dissent, the hone was awarded to his lordship as most deserving of it; and, as is reported, it was actually thrown into his carriage.

For the truth of the anecdote I cannot venture to assert; but the existence of the custom is a well-known fact to many of your readers in the metropolis.

I am, Sir, &c.

C. T.

FLORAL GAMES OF TOULOUSE.

Over a door in the consistory of the Hôtel de Ville at Toulouse, is a small marble figure of Clemence Isaure. In this consistory, the meetings were held for distributing the prizes in the floral games; the figure had flowers in her hand, but they are broken off. Below it on a tablet of brass, is a Latin inscription, in Roman capitals, but with so many abbreviations, and some of these of a nature so unintelligible, that the meaning is scarcely to be deciphered. This much, however, is to be collected from it, that Clemence Isaure is represented to have been the daughter of L. Isaurus, of the ancient and illustrious family of the Isauræ of Toulouse; that the institution of the “floral games” is ascribed to her; that she is said to have built the Hôtel de Ville at her own expense; to have bequeathed to the city the markets for corn, wine, fish, and vegetables; and to have left the remainder of her property in perpetuity to the city for the support of the floral games; yet, it does not mention her age, or at what period she lived, or whether she was maiden, wife, or widow.

“_Le Roman de Clemence Isaure_,” an old ballad story, represents her to have been a fair lady of Toulouse, with whom the handsome Lautrec was deeply enamoured, and that she returned his love with equal passion. Alphonso, her father, having chosen another husband for Clemence, she resisted the union, declaring that her life was at his disposal, but that as long as she should live, her heart must be wholly Lautrec’s. Then Alphonso caused her to be chained, and shut her up in a strong tower, and threatened Lautrec’s life if he could get him into his power; and Lautrec, having found the place of his mistress’s imprisonment, like a true lover despised her cruel father’s threats, and went to the tower and repeated his vows and sorrows to the fair Clemence, who came to the grate and told him of his danger, and prayed him to enter into the service of the French king, and follow military glory, and chase the recollection of their loves and their misfortunes; and as a pledge, she presented him with three flowers, a violet, an eglantine, and a marigold. The first she gave him as her colour, that he might appear as her knight; the second was her favourite flower; and the third an emblem of the chagrin and sorrow by which her heart was consumed. Then Clemence kissed the flowers, and let her tears fall on them, and threw them to her lover, and her father appeared, and Lautrec gathered up the flowers, and hastily withdrew. In obedience to the injunctions of his mistress, he departed from Toulouse for the French king’s court; but before he had proceeded far on his journey, he heard that the English were marching against the city; and he returned when the inhabitants were flying before the enemy, and abandoning the ramparts, and leaving them defenceless: and only one old man resisted and valiantly maintained his ground. Then Lautrec fled to his assistance, and discovered him to be Alphonso, the father of Clemence: and at the moment when a fatal stroke was aimed at the old man, he rushed forward and received the mortal wound himself, and died in Alphonso’s arms, and gave him the flowers he received from Clemence, and conjured him to deliver them to his daughter, and to console her under the distress his fate would bring upon her. And Alphonso relented, and in great sorrow carried the flowers to Clemence, and related the untimely death of Lautrec; and her afflictions were too heavy for her to bear, and she fell a victim to despair and anguish, and followed her lover to the grave. But in remembrance of their sad story, she bequeathed her whole property to the city of Toulouse for the celebration of annual games, at which, prizes of golden flowers, like those she had given to Lautrec, were to be distributed to the skilful troubadours who should compose the best poem, upon the occasion. This is the history of the gallant Lautrec and the fair Clemence, in the poetical romance.

But according to Pierre Caseneuve, the author of an “Inquiry into the Origin of the Floral Games at Toulouse,” there is strong reason to doubt whether such a person as Clemence ever existed. Among the archives of the Hôtel de Ville are several chronicles of the floral games, the oldest of which states, that in the year 1324, seven of the principal inhabitants of Toulouse, desirous to promote the fame and prosperity of the city, resolved to establish an annual festival there, for the cultivation of the Provençal poetry, a spirit of piety, and suavity of manners. They therefore proposed that all persons skilled in Provençal poetry, should be invited to assemble at Toulouse every year in the beginning of May, to recite their compositions, and that a violet of gold should be given to him whose verses the judges should determine the most worthy; and a circular letter in the Provençal poetry was dispersed over the province of Languedoc, inviting competitors to assemble in the beginning of May the following year, to celebrate this festival.

The poetical compositions were not to be confined to the lays of lovers reciting their passion, and the fame of their mistresses; but the honour of God, and glorifying his name, was to be their first object. It was wished that poetry should conduce to the happiness of mankind, and by furnishing them a source of innocent and laudable amusement, make time pass pleasantly, repress the unjust sallies of anger, and dissipate the dark vapours of sadness. For these reasons it was termed, by the institutors, the “Gay Science.”

In consequence of this invitation, a large concourse of competitors resorted to Toulouse; and in May, 1325, the first festival of the floral games was celebrated. Verses were recited by the candidates before a numerous assembly. The seven persons with whom the meeting originated, presided under the title of the chancellor of the “Gay Science,” and his six assessors, and there also sat with them, the capitouls or chief magistrates of the town as judges; and there was a great assemblage of knights, of gentlemen, and of ladies. The prize was given to the candidate whose verses were determined by the majority of the judges to be the most worthy.

The “floral games” of Toulouse continued to be celebrated in like manner, at the sole expense of the institutors, till the magistrates seeing the advantage they were of to the town, by the vast concourse of people brought thither, and considering that their continuance must be precarious while they depended upon the ability and disposition of a few individuals for their support, resolved to convert the institution into a public concern; and, with the concurrence of the principal inhabitants, it was determined that the expense should in future be defrayed by the city, that to the original prize two others should be added, a silver eglantine, and a silver marigold; and that occasional ones might be distributed at the option of the judges to very young poets, as stimulants to them to aim at obtaining the principal prizes.

After about thirty years it was judged expedient to appoint a committee, who should draw up such a code of statutes as might include every possible case that could occur, and these statutes were laid before the judges for their approbation.

Among these decrees the principal were, that no prize could be given to a heretic, a schismatic, or an excommunicated person; that whoever was a candidate for any of the prizes, should take a solemn oath that the poetry was his own composition, without the least assistance from any other person; that no woman should be admitted to the competition, unless her talents in composing verses were so celebrated as to leave no doubt of her being capable of writing the poetry offered:--that no one who gained a prize was allowed to be a candidate again till after a lapse of three years, though he was expected in the intervening years to compose verses for the games, and recite them; and that if any or all the prizes remained undisposed of, from no verses being produced that were judged worthy of them, the prizes were to remain over to the next year, then to be given away in addition to the regular prizes of the year.

Under these and other regulations the “floral games” became celebrated throughout Europe; and within fifty years from their first institution they were the resort of all persons of distinction. In 1388, the reigning king of Arragon sent ambassadors to Charles the Sixth of France, with great pomp and solemnity, requesting that some of the poets of the “floral games” at Toulouse might be permitted to come to the court, and assist in establishing similar games there; promising that, when they had fulfilled their mission, they should receive rewards equal to their merits, and consistent with his royal munificence.

This account of the institution of the “floral games” is from the oldest registers relative to them; wherein there is no mention made of the lady Clemence Isaure till 1513, nearly two hundred years after their institution; and it is well known that the statue of the lady Clemence in the consistory, was not put up till the year 1557. In that year it had been proposed in the college of the Gay Science to erect a monument to her memory in the church of La Dorade, where she was reputed to have been buried; but this idea was afterwards changed for putting up her statue in the room where the “floral games” were held. From that time the statue was always crowned with flowers at the time of the celebration of the games, and a Latin oration pronounced in honour of her. A satirical sonnet in the Provençal language upon the idea of erecting either a monument or a statue to a lady who never had any existence in the world, is preserved in Pierre Caseneuve’s “Inquiry into the Origin of the Floral Games.”

But by whomsoever the “floral games” of Toulouse were instituted, it is remarkable, that the festival was constantly observed for more than four centuries and a half without interruption. It did not cease to be celebrated till the revolution. It was not, however, continued entirely according to the original institution, since for a considerable time the use of the Provençal language, in the poetry for the prizes, had been abandoned, and the French substituted for it. At what period this change took place does not seem to be well ascertained. The number of prizes, too, was increased to five, the principal of which was still the golden violet; but instead of one eglantine, and one marigold of silver, two of each were given. The violet was appropriated to the best ode; the others were for a piece in heroic poetry, for one in pastoral poetry, for a satirical piece, and for a sonnet, a madrigal, a song, or some other minor effusion.

Three of the deputies to the parliament had for some time presided at these games, instead of the chancellor of the Gay Science with his six assessors; and with them were associated the capitouls, or chief magistrates of the town. All the other magistrates, and the whole body of the parliament, attended in their robes of office, with the principal gentlemen of the town, and a brilliant assemblage of ladies in full dress. These were ranged round the room in seats raised like an amphitheatre, and the students of the university sat on benches in the centre. The room was ornamented with festoons of flowers and laurel, and the statue of Clemence Isaure was crowned with them. After the oration in honour of her was pronounced, the judges, having previously consulted together in private, and assigned the prizes to the pieces which they thought most worthy of them, stood up, and, naming the poem to which one was given, pronounced with an audible voice, “Let the author come forward.” The author then presented himself; when his name was declared, it was followed by a grand flourish of music. The same ceremony was repeated as each piece was announced. The whole concluded with each author publicly reading his poem.

Many of these prize poems are to be found in different collections. Several prizes were in latter times adjudged to females, without any strict investigation having been previously made into the possibility of the pieces to which they were decreed being female compositions. It was owing to having gained a silver eglantine at one of these festivals that the celebrated Fabre d’Eglantine assumed the latter part of his name. He was a Languedocian by birth, a native of Limoux, a small town about four leagues from Toulouse.[152]

* * * * *

Without such encouragements to be poetical, as were annually offered by the conductors of the “floral games” at Toulouse, our kind feelings have been cultivated, and our literature is enriched by a race of poets, whom we may venture to array against the united armies of continental bards. It may be doubted whether a May prize of Toulouse was ever awarded for sweeter verses, than Matt. Prior’s on Chloe’s May flowers.

THE GARLAND.

The pride of every grove I chose The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink, and blushing rose, To deck my charming Chloe’s hair.

At morn the nymph vouchsaf’d to place Upon her brow the various wreath; The flowers less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath.

The flowers she wore along the day, And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they looked more gay Than glowing in their native bed.

Undrest at evening, when she found Their odour lost, their colours past, She changed her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eye she cast.

The eye dropt sense distinct and clear, As any muse’s tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.

Dissembling what I knew too well, “My love, my life,” said I, “explain This change of humour; pr’ythee tell: That falling tear--what does it mean?”

She sighed; she smil’d; and, to the flowers Pointing, the lovely moralist said, “See, friend, in some few fleeting hours See yonder, what a change is made!

“Ah, me! the blooming pride of May, And that of beauty are but one, At morn both flourish bright and gay; Both fade at evening, pale and gone.

“At dawn poor Stella danc’d and sung; The amorous youth around her bowed, At night her fatal knell was rung; I saw and kissed her in her shroud.

“Such as she is, who died to-day; Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy muse display The justice of thy Chloe’s sorrow.”

_Prior._

A beautiful ode by another of our poets graces the loveliness of the season, and finally “points a moral” of sovereign virtue to all who need the application, and will take it to heart.

SPRING.

Lo! where the rosy bosom’d hours, Fair Venus’ train appear, Disclose the long expected flowers, And wake the purple year! The attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo’s note, The untaught harmony of spring: While whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gathered fragrance fling.

Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch A broader, browner shade; Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech O’er-canopies the glade, Beside some water’s rushy brink With me the muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low how little are the proud, How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of care; The panting herds repose: Yet hark, how through the peopled air The busy murmur glows! The insect youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, And float amid the liquid noon: Some lightly o’er the current skim, Some slow, their gayly-gilded trim Quick-glancing to the sun.

To Contemplation’s sober eye Such is the race of man: And they that creep and they that fly, Shall end where they began. Alike the busy and the gay But flutter through life’s little day In fortune’s varying colours drest. Brushed by the hand of rough mischance; Or chill’d by age, their airy dance They leave in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply; “Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to display: On hasty wings thy youth is flown; Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-- We frolic while ’tis May.”

_Gay._

Then, too, a bard of the preceding centuries introduces “the Shepherd’s Holiday,” the day we now memorialize, with nymphs singing his own sweet verses in “floral games.”

_Nymph 1._

Thus, thus begin, the yearly rites Are due to Pan on these bright nights, His morn now riseth, and invites To sports, to dances, and delights: All envious, and profane away, This is the shepherd’s holiday.

_Nymph 2._

Strew, strew, the glad and smiling ground, With every flower, yet not confound The primrose drop, the spring’s own spouse, Bright daisies, and the lips-of-cows, The garden-star, the queen of May, The rose, to crown the holiday.

_Nymph 3._

Drop drop your violets, change your hues, Now red, now pale, as lovers use, And in your death go out as well As when you lived unto the smell: That from your odour all may say, This is the shepherd’s holiday.

_Jonson._

* * * * *

It is to be observed as a remarkable fact, that among the poets, the warmest advocates and admirers of the popular sports and pastimes in village retreats, uniformly invigorate and give keeping to their pictures, by sparkling lights and harmonizing shadows of moral truth.

But hark! the bagpipe summons on the green, The jocund bagpipe, that awaketh sport; The blithsome lasses, as the morning sheen, Around the flower-crown’d Maypole quick resort; The gods of pleasure here have fix’d their court. Quick on the wing the flying moment seize, Nor build up ample schemes, for life is short, Short as the whisper of the passing breeze.

GATHERING OF MAY DEW.

This engraving represents certain lads and lasses of “auld Reekie,” who are early gatherers of “May-dew,” in the act of dancing to the piper’s “skirl.” From a slight sketch accompanying the communication, Mr. George Cruikshank’s pencil depicts the “action,” which it should be observed takes place on a hill.

------------ Strathspeys and reels, Put life and metal in their heels.

_Burns._

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Edinburgh, April 20, 1826._

My Dear Sir,--Allow me, without preface, to acquaint you with a custom of _gathering the May-dew_ here on the first of May.

About four o’clock in the morning there is an unusual stir; a great opening of area gates, and ringing of bells, and a “gathering” of folk of all clans, arrayed in all the colours of the rainbow; and a hurrying of gay throngs of both sexes through the King’s-park to Arthur’s-seat.

In the course of half an hour the entire hill is a moving mass of all sorts and sizes. At the summit may be seen a company of bakers, and other craftsmen, dressed in kilts, dancing round a Maypole. On the more level part “next _door_,” is usually an itinerant vender of whiskey, or mountain (not May) dew, your approach to whom is always indicated by a number of “bodies” carelessly lying across your path, not dead, but drunk. In another place you may descry two parties of Irishmen, who, not content with gathering the superficial dew, have gone “deeper and deeper yet,” and fired by a liberal desire to communicate the fruits of their industry, actively pelt each other with clods.

These proceedings commence with the daybreak. The strong lights thrown upon the various groups by the rising sun, give a singularly picturesque effect to a scene, wherein the ever-varying and unceasing sounds of the bagpipes, and tabours and fifes, _et hoc genus omne_, almost stun the ear. About six o’clock, the appearance of the gentry, toiling and _pechin_ up the ascent, becomes the signal for serving men and women to march to the right-about; for they well know that they must have the house clean, and every thing in order earlier than usual on May-morning.

About eight o’clock the “fun” is all over; and by nine or ten, were it not for the drunkards who are staggering towards the “gude town,” no one would know that any thing particular had taken place.

Such, my dear sir, is the gathering of May-dew. I subjoin a sketch of a group of dancers, and

I am, &c.

P. P., Jun.

* * * * *

It is noticed in the “Morning Post” of the second of May, 1791, that the day before, “being the first of May, according to annual and superstitious custom, a number of persons went into the fields and bathed their faces with the dew on the grass, under the idea that it would render them beautiful.”

* * * * *

May-dew was held of singular virtue in former times. Pepys on a certain day in May makes this entry in his diary:--

“My wife away, down with Jane and W. Hewer to Woolwich, in order to a little ayre, and to lie there to night, and so _to gather May-dew to-morrow morning_, which Mrs. Turner hath taught her is the only thing in the world to wash her face with; and” Pepys adds, “I am contented with it.” His “reasons for contentment” seem to appear in the same line; for he says, “I (went) by water to Fox-hall, and there walked in Spring-garden;” and there he notices “a great deal of company, and the weather and garden pleasant: and it is very pleasant and cheap going thither, for a man may go to spend what he will, or nothing--all as one: but to hear the nightingale and other birds; and here a fiddler, and there a harp; and here a jew’s-trump, and here laughing, and there fine people walking, is mighty diverting,” says Mr. Pepys, while his wife is gone to lie at Woolwich, “in order to a little ayre, and to _gather May-dew_.”

GERARD’S HALL MAYPOLE.

_Basing Lane._

Whence this lane derived its name of _Basing_, Stow cannot tell. It runs out of Bread-street, and was called the Bakehouse, but, “whether meant for the king’s bakehouse, or bakers dwelling there, and baking bread to serve the market in Bread-street, where the bread was sold, I know not,” says Stow; “but sure I am, I have not read of Basing or of Gerard, the gyant, to have any thing there to doe.”

It seems that this Maypole was fabled to have been “the justing staff of Gerard, a gyant.” Stow’s particulars concerning it, and his account of Gerard’s-hall, which at this time is an inn for Bath and West of England coaches and other conveyances, are very interesting. He says, “On the south side of this (Basing) lane is one great house, of old time builded upon arched vaults, and with arched gates of stone, brought from Cane in Normandie; the same is now a common ostrey for receit of travelers, commonly and corruptly called Gerard’s-hall, of a gyant said to have dwelled there. In the high roofed hall of this house, sometime stood a large Firre-Pole, which reached to the roofe thereof, and was said to be one of the staves that Gerard the gyant used in the warres, to runne withall. There stood also a ladder of the same length, which (as they said) served to ascend to the top of the staffe. Of later yeeres this hall is altered in building, and divers roomes are made in it. Notwithstanding, the pole is removed to one corner of the hall, and the ladder hanged broken upon a wall in the yard. The hosteler of that house said to mee, the pole lacked half a foote of forty in length. I measured the compasse thereof, and found it fifteene inches. Reason of the pole could the master of the hostery give me none, but bade mee reade the Chronicles, for there he heard of it. Which answer,” says Stow, “seemed to me insufficient: for he meant the description of Britaine, for the most part drawne out of John Leyland, his commentaries (borrowed of myselfe) and placed before Reynes Wolfe’s Chronicle, as the labours of another.” It seems that this chronicle has “a chapter of gyants or monstrous men--of a man with his mouth sixteene foote wide, and so to Gerard the gyant and his staffe,” which Stow speaks of as “these fables,” and then he derives the house called Gerard’s-hall, from the owner thereof, “John Gisors, maior of London, in the yeere 1245,” and says, “The pole in the hall might bee used of old time (as then the custome was in every parish) to bee set up in the summer, a Maypole, before the principall house in the parish or streete, and to stand in the hall before the scrine, decked with hollie and ivie at the feast of Christmas. The ladder served for the decking of the Maypole, and reached to the roof of the hall.”

To this is added, that “every mans house of old time was decked with holly and ivie in the winter, especially at Christmas;” whereof, gentle reader, be pleased to take notice, and do “as they did in the old time.”

* * * * *

We think we remember something about milkmaids and their garlands in our boyish days; but even this lingering piece of professional rejoicing is gone; and instead of intellectual pleasures at courts, manly games among the gentry, the vernal appearance every where of boughs and flowers, and the harmonious accompaniment of ladies’ looks, all the idea that a Londoner now has of May-day, is the dreary gambols and tinsel-fluttering squalidness of the poor chimney-sweepers! What a personification of the times;--paper-gilded dirt, slavery, and melancholy, bustling for another penny!

Something like celebrations of May-day still loiter in more remote parts of the country, such as Cornwall, Devonshire, and Westmoreland; and it is observable, that most of the cleverest men of the time come from such quarters, or have otherwise chanced upon some kind of insulation from its more sophisticated common-places.--Should the subject come before the consideration of any persons who have not had occasion to look at it with reference to the general character of the age, they will do a great good, and perhaps help eventually to alter it, by fanning the little sparks that are left them of a brighter period. Our business is to do what we can, to remind the others of what they may do, to pay honours to the season ourselves, and to wait for that alteration in the times, which the necessity of things must produce, and which we must endeavour to influence as genially as possible in its approach.[153]

* * * * *

From Mr. Leslie’s pencil, there is a picture of May-day, “in the old time”--the “golden days of good queen Bess”--whereon a lady, whose muse delights in agreeable subjects, has written the following descriptive lines:--

ON MAY DAY.

_By Leslie._

Beautiful and radiant May, Is not this thy festal day? Is not this spring revelry Held in honour, queen, of thee? ’Tis a fair: the booths are gay, With green boughs and quaint display Glasses, where the maiden’s eye May her own sweet face espy; Ribands for her braided hair, Beads to grace her bosom fair; From yon stand the juggler plays With the rustic crowd’s amaze; There the morris-dancers stand, Glad bells ringing on each hand; Here the Maypole rears its crest, With the rose and hawthorn drest; And beside are painted bands Of strange beasts from other lands. In the midst, like the young queen, Flower-crowned, of the rural green, Is a bright-cheeked girl, her eye Blue, like April’s morning sky, With a blush, like what the rose To her moonlight minstrel shows; Laughing at her love the while,-- Yet such softness in the smile, As the sweet coquette would hide Woman’s love by woman’s pride. Farewell, cities! who could bear All their smoke and all their care, All their pomp, when wooed away By the azure hours of May? Give me woodbine, scented bowers Blue wreaths of the violet flowers, Clear sky, fresh air, sweet birds, and trees, Sights and sounds, and scenes like these!

L. E. L.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Northampton, April, 1826._

Sir,--Having received much information from your _Every-Day Book_, I shall be very happy to afford any that I may be able to glean; but my means are extremely limited. I however mention a custom at Northampton on the first of May, with some hope that I am not troubling you with a “twice-told tale.”

The girls from the neighbouring villages of Kingsthorpe, &c. on the morning of May-day, come into the town with May garlands, which they exhibit from house to house, (to show, as the inhabitants say, what flowers are in season,) and usually receive a trifle from each house. The garland is composed of two hoops crossing each other vertically, and covered with flowers and streamers of various coloured ribands; these are affixed to a staff about five feet long by which it is carried, and in each of the apertures between the hoops is placed a smartly dressed doll.

The accompanying sketch will convey some idea of the garland. There are numerous streamers attached to it, of all the colours of the rainbow. Should you think this notice worth inserting, I shall feel obliged by your substituting any signature you please for my name, which, agreeable to your request to correspondents who communicate accounts of customs, &c., I subjoin.

I am, &c.

B. S. G. S.

A large brush made of a number of small whalebone sticks, fastened into a round ball of wood, and extending in most cases to a diameter of two feet, is thrust up the chimney by means of hollow cylinders or tubes, fitting into one another like the joints of a fishing rod, with a long cord running through them; it is worked up and down, as each fresh joint is added, until it reaches the chimney pot; it is then shortened joint by joint, and on each joint being removed, is in like manner worked up and down in its descent; and thus you have your chimney swept perfectly clean by this machine, which is called a Scandiscope.

* * * * *

Some wooden tubes, a brush, and rope, Are all you need employ; Pray order, maids, the Scandiscope, And not the climbing boy.

* * * * *

_Copy of a printed hand-bill, distributed before May-day, 1826._

~No May Day Sweeps.~

CAUTION.

The inhabitants of this parish are most respectfully informed, that the UNITED SOCIETY OF MASTER CHIMNEY SWEEPERS intend giving their apprentices a dinner, at the Eyre Arms St John’s Wood, on the first of May, instead of suffering them to collect money as heretofore; the public are therefore cautioned against encouraging in any way such collections, as they are too frequently obtained by persons of the worst descriptions, or for the sinister purposes of their employers.

N. B. The procession will start from the Bedford Arms, Charlotte-street, Bedford-square, at eleven o’clock.

On Monday, the first of May, 1826, (pursuant to the above notice,) the first anniversary dinner of the “United Society of Master Chimney Sweepers,” took place at the Eyre tavern, St. John’s-wood, Marylebone.

About eleven o’clock, two hundred of their apprentices proceeded in great regularity through the principal streets and squares at the west end of the town, accompanied by an excellent band of music. The clean and wholesome appearance of the lads, certainly, reflected much credit on their masters, and attracted crowds of persons to the above tavern, where the boys were regaled with a substantial repast of roast beef and plum-pudding; after which the masters themselves sat down to a very excellent dinner provided for the occasion.

On the cloth being removed, and the usual routine of loyal toasts drank, the chairman addressed his brother tradesmen, congratulating them on the formation of a society that was calculated to do such essential service to the trade in general. It would be the means of promoting the welfare of their apprentices,--which was a feeling he was convinced every one of them had at heart,--who, instead of being permitted to loiter and dance about the streets on the first of May, dressed up in tawdry apparel, and soliciting money, should in future be regaled with substantial fare on each forthcoming day of the anniversary of the society, in order to put an end to the degrading practice which had for such a length of time stigmatized the trade. (Applause.)

“Success to the United Society of Chimney Sweepers,” having been drank with thunders of applause,

Mr. BENNETT, of Welbeck-street, addressed the company on the subject of cleansing chimnies with the machine, the introduction of which he was confident would never answer the intended purposes. He urged the absolute necessity of employing climbing boys in their trade; and instanced several cases in which the machines were rendered perfectly useless: most of the chimnies in the great houses at the west end of the town were constructed in such a manner that it was utterly impossible to clear them of soot, unless a human being was sent up for that purpose. He admitted that some houses had chimnies which were built perpendicular; but even in those were frequently to be met with what the trade called “cores,” which were large pieces of mortar that projected out from the brick-work, and that collected vast quantities of soot on their surface, so that no machine could get over the difficulty. When the subject of the climbing boys was before the house of lords, he (Mr. Bennett) was sent for by the earl of Hardwicke, who was desirous of personally ascertaining whether the practice of allowing boys to ascend chimnies could be dispensed with entirely. He (Mr. Bennett) had attended at his lordship’s residence with the machine, which was tried in most of the chimnies in the house, but the experiment failed; one of his apprentices having been ultimately obliged to ascend for the purpose of extricating the machine from impediments which were only to be surmounted by the activity of climbing boys. The result was, that his lordship subsequently expressed his opinion that the machines could never answer the purposes for which they were originally intended, and therefore had his chimnies swept by the old method. Mr. Bennett concluded by making some observations on the harsh manner in which the trade had been aspersed. He said it had been insinuated that their apprentices, in consequence of being permitted to ascend chimnies, were often rendered objects for the remainder of their lives. There were, he admitted, a few solitary instances of accidents happening in their trade as well as in every other. He now only wished that their opponents might have an opportunity of witnessing the healthy and cheerful state in which their apprentices were.

A master chimney-sweeper, with great vehemence of action and manner, said, “I am convinced, Mr. Chairman, that it is a thing impossible to do away with our climbing boys. For instance, look at the duke of York’s fifty-one new chimnies. Let me ask any one of you in company, is it possible a machine could be poked up any one of them? I say, no; and for this reason--that most of them run in a horizontal line, and then abruptly turn up, so that you see a machine would be of no more use than if you were to thrust up an old broomstick; and I mean to stick to it, that our opponents may as well try to put down chimney-sweepers in the old way, as the Equitable Loan Bank Company endeavoured to cut up the business of the pawnbrokers. (Applause.) When I look round the table, (said the speaker,) and see such respectable gentlemen on my right and on my left, and in front of me, who dares to say that the United Society of Master Chimney Sweepers are not as respectable a body of tradesmen as any in London? and although, if I may be excused the expression, there is not a gentleman now present that has not made his way in the ‘profession,’ by climbing up chimnies. (There was a universal nod of assent at this allusion.) Therefore, continued the speaker, the more praise is due to us, and I now conclude by wishing every success to our new society.” The above animated address was received with the loudest plaudits.

Several other master chimney-sweepers addressed the company, after which the ladies were introduced into the room, and dancing commenced, which was kept up to a late hour.[154]

* * * * *

On the first of May, 1807, the slave trade in the West Indies was proscribed by the British parliament, and we see by the proceedings at the Eyre tavern, St. John’s-wood, that on the first of May, 1826, an effort was made to continue the more cruel black slavery of white infants. Some remarks reported to have been made by these gentlemen in behalf of their “black art,” require a word or two.

We are told that after the usual routine of loyal toasts, the chairman congratulated his “brother tradesmen” on the formation of a society that was calculated to do “essential service to _the trade_ in general.” There can be no doubt that “the king” was the first name on their list of toasts, yet it happens that his majesty is at the head of an association for _abolishing_ their “trade.” The first names on the roll of “The Society for suspending Climbing Boys by the use of the Scandiscope,” are those of the “patron,” and the president, vice-presidents, committee, and treasurer. These are chiefly prelates, peers, and members of the house of commons; but the “patron” of the society is “the king,” in opposition to whom, in the capacity of “patron,” Mr. Bennett, the master-sweep, of Welbeck-street, urges the “absolute necessity” of employing climbing boys. One of his reasons is, that in some chimnies the bricklayers have “cores” of mortar whereon the soot accumulates so that no machine can get over the difficulty; but this only shows the “absolute necessity” of causing the “cores” to be removed from chimnies already so deformed, and of making surveyors of future houses responsible for the expenses of alteration, if they suffer them to be so improperly constructed. Mr. Bennett says, that lord Hardwicke was convinced “the machines could never answer the purposes for which they were originally intended, and therefore had his chimnies swept by the old method.” If his lordship _did_ express that opinion, it is in opposition to the opinion of the king, as “patron,” the late bishop of Durham, the present bishop of Oxford, the duke of Bedford, the lords Grosvenor, Morley, Harrowby, Gwydir, Auckland, and other distinguished individuals, who as president and vice-presidents of the society, had better opportunities of determining correctly, than Mr. Bennett probably afforded to earl Hardwicke.

Another “master chimney-sweeper” is reported to have said, “look at the duke of York’s fifty-one new chimnies:--most of them run in a horizontal line, and then abruptly turn up, so that, you see, a machine would be of no more use than if you were to thrust up an old broomstick:” and then he asks, “who dares to say that the United Society of Master Chimney Sweepers are not as respectable a body of tradesmen as any in London?” and triumphantly adds, that “there is not a gentleman now present that has not made his way in the _profession_ by climbing up chimnies.” To this “there was a universal nod of assent.” But a universal admission by all “the gentlemen present” that they had climbed to respectability by climbing up chimnies, is of very little weight with those who observe and know that willing slaves become the greatest and most effective oppressors; and as to the duke of York’s new chimnies, it is not credible his royal highness can be informed that the present construction of his chimnies necessarily dooms unborn infants to the certain fate of having the flesh torn from their joints before they can sweep such chimnies. The scandalous default of a surveyor has subjected the duke of York to the odium of being quoted as an authority in opposition to a society for abolishing a cruel and useless trade, wherein servitude is misery, and independence cannot be attained but by the continual infliction of blows and torture on helpless children. Yet as an act of parliament abated the frequency of conflagrations, by empowering district surveyors to cause the erection of party walls, so a few clauses added to the building act would authorize the surveyors to enforce the building of future chimnies without “cores,” and of a form to be swept by the “Scandiscope.” Master chimney-sweepers would have no reason to complain of such enactment, inasmuch as they would continue to find employment, till the old chimnies and the prejudices in favour of cruelty to children, disappeared by effluxion of time.

* * * * *

The engraving at the head of this article is altered from a lithographic print representing a “Scandiscope.” Perhaps the machine may be better understood from the annexed diagram. It simply consists of a whalebone brush, and wooden cylinders strung on rope, and put into action by the method described beneath the larger engraving.

Mr. George Smart obtained two gold medals from the Society of Arts for this invention. The names of the machine chimney-sweepers in different parts of London may be obtained from Mr. Wilt, secretary of the “Society for superseding Climbing Boys,” No. 125, Leadenhall-street; the treasurer of the institution is W. Tooke, esq., F. R. S. Any person may become a member, and acquaint himself with the easy methods by which the machine is adopted to almost any chimney. As the climbing chimney-sweepers are combining to oppose it, all humane individuals will feel it a duty to inquire whether they should continue willing instruments in the hands of the “profession” for the extension of the present cruel practice.

* * * * *

The late Mrs. Montagu gave an annual dinner to the poor climbing boys which ceased with her death.

And is all pity for the poor sweeps fled, Since Montagu is numbered with the dead? She who did once the many sorrows weep, That met the wanderings of the woe-worn sweep! Who, once a year, bade all his griefs depart, On May’s sweet morn would doubly cheer his heart! Washed was his little form, his shirt was clean, On that _one_ day his real face was seen, His shoeless feet, _now_ boasted pumps--and new. The brush and shovel gaily held to view! The table spread, his every sense was charmed, And every savoury smell his bosom warmed; His light heart joyed to see such goodly cheer, And much he longed to taste the mantling beer: His hunger o’er--the scene was little heaven-- If riches thus can bless, what blessings might be given! But, she is gone! none left to soothe their grief, Or, once a year, bestow their meed of beef! Now forth he’s dragged to join the beggar’s dance; With heavy heart, he makes a slow advance, Loudly to clamour for that tyrant’s good, Who gives with scanty hand his daily food!

It is the _interest_ of the “United Society of Master Chimney Sweepers” to appear liberal to the wretched beings who are the creatures of their mercy; of the variation and degrees of that mercy, there is evidence before the committee of the house of commons. Sympathy for the oppressed in the breast of their oppressors is reasonably to be suspected. On the minutes of the “Society for superseding Climbing Boys,” there are cases that make humanity shudder; against their recurrence there is no security but the general adoption of machines in chimnies--instead of children.

* * * * *

Mr. Montgomery’s “Chimney Sweeper’s Friend, and Climbing Boys’ Album,” is a volume of affecting appeal, dedicated to the king, “in honour of his majesty’s condescending and exemplary concern for the effectual deliverance of the meanest, the poorest, and weakest of British born subjects, from unnatural, unnecessary, and unjustifiable personal slavery and moral degradation.” It contains a variety of beautiful compositions in prose and verse: one of them is--

THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER.

_Communicated by_ Mr. Charles Lamb, _from a very rare and curious little work_, Mr. Blake’s “Songs of Innocence.”

When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me, while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry, “Weep! weep! weep!” So your chimnies I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

There’s little Tom Toddy, who cried when his head, That was curl’d like a lamb’s back, was shaved, so I said, “Hush, Tom, never mind it for when your head’s bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.”

And so he was quiet, and that very night As Tom was a sleeping, he had such a sight, That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins so black.

And by came an angel, who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins, and set them all free; Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun,

Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy He’d have God for his father, and never want joy.

And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work; Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm, So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

_Dining with Duke Humphrey_,

MAY DAY HONOURS TO HIM.

In old St. Paul’s cathedral “within a proper chappel purposely made for him,” and in a proper tomb, sir John Beauchamp, constable of Dover, and warden of the cinque ports, was buried in the year 1358. “This deceased nobleman,” says Stow, “by ignorant people hath been erroneously mistermed and said to be duke Humfrey, the good duke of Gloucester, who lyeth honourably buried at Saint Albans in Hartfordshire, twenty miles from London; in idle and frivolous opinion of whom, some men, of late times, have made a solemne meeting at his tombe upon Saint Andrewe’s day in the morning (before Christmasse) and concluded on a breakfast or dinner, as assuring themselves to be servants, and to hold diversity of offices under the good duke Humfrey.”

Stow’s continuator says, “Likewise, on _May-day_, tankard bearers, watermen, and some other of like quality beside, would use to come to the same tombe early in the morning, and, according as the other, deliver serviceable presentation at the same monument, by strewing herbes, and sprinkling faire water on it, as in the duty of servants, and according to their degrees and charges in office: but (as Master Stow hath discreetly advised such as are so merrily disposed, or simply profess themselves to serve duke Humfrey in Pauls) if punishment of _losing their dinners_ daily, there, be not sufficient for them, they should be sent to St. Albans, to answer there for their disobedience, and long absence from their so highly well deserving lord and master, as in their merry disposition they please so to call him.”

There can be no doubt that this mock solemnity on May-day, and the feast of St. Andrew, on pretence of attending a festival in Paul’s, on the invitation of a dead nobleman in another place, gave rise to the saying concerning “dining with duke Humfrey.” It is still used respecting persons who inquire “where shall I dine?” or who have lost, or are afraid of “losing their dinners.”

PRINTERS’ MAY FESTIVAL.

The following particulars of a very curious celebration is remarkable, as being a description of the old mode of festivous enjoyment, “according to order,” and the wearing of garlands by the stewards, with “whifflers” in the procession.[155] It is extracted from Randle Holme’s “Storehouse of Armory, 1688.”

_Stationers’ Hall May Feast._

The Printers, Journeymen, with the Founders and Ink-makers have every year a general Feast, which is kept in the Stationers Hall on or about May Day. It is made by 4 Stewards, 2 Masters, and 2 Journeymen; and with the Collection of half a Crown a piece of every Guest, the charges of the whole Feast is defrayed.

About 10 of the Clock in the Morning on the Feast day, the Company invited meet at the place appointed, and from thence go to some Church thereabouts in this following Order. First, 4 Whifflers (as Servitures) by two and two, walking before with white Staves in their Hands, and red and blew Ribbons hung Belt-wise upon their Shoulders: these make way for the Company.

Then walks the Beadle of the Company of Stationers, with the Companies Staff in his Hand, and Ribbons as afore.

Then the Minister, whom the Stewards have engaged to Preach the Sermon, and his Reader or Clerk.

Then the Stewards walk, by two and two, with long white wands in their Hands, and all the rest of the Company follow in like order, till they enter the Church, &c. Service ended, and a Sermon suitable for the occasion finished, they all return to their Hall in the same order, where upon their entrance each Guest delivers his Ticket to a Person appointed, which gives him admittance; where every one Feasts himself with what he likes best, being delighted all the while with Musicks and Songs, &c.

After Dinner the Ceremony of Electing new Stewards for the next Year begins: then the Stewards withdraw into another Room, and put Garlands of Laurel or Box on their Heads, and white wands in their Hands, and are Ushered out of the withdrawing Room thus;--

First, the Companies Beadle with his Staff in his Hand, and Musick sounding before him;

Then one of the Whifflers with a great Bowl of White wine and Sugar in his right Hand, and his Staff in the left: after him follows the eldest Steward.

Then another Whiffler as aforesaid, before the second Steward; in like manner another Whiffler before the third; and another before the fourth Steward.

And thus they walk, with Musick sounding before them, three times round the Hall; and, in the fourth round, the first Steward takes the Bowl from his Whiffler, and Drinks to one (whom before he resolved on) by the Title of _Mr. Steward Elect_; and taking the Garland off his own Head, puts it on the Steward Elect’s Head, at which all the Company clap their Hands in token of Joy.

Then the present Steward takes out the Steward elect, and Walks with him, hand in hand, (giving him the right Hand,) behind the three other Stewards, another round the Hall; and in the next round as aforesaid, the second Steward drinks to another with the same Ceremony as the first did; and so the third, and so the fourth. And then all walk one round more, hand in hand, about the Hall, that the Company may take Notice of the Stewards Elect: and so ends the Ceremony of the Day.

This is a front view of a watch tower, or one of the barbicans, on the city wall, which was discovered near Ludgate-hill on the first of May, 1792. Below is a section of Ludgate-hill from a plan of London by Hollar, wherein this tower is described.

They are both represented in an engraving published by the late Mr. Nathaniel Smith, of Great May’s buildings, from whence the preceding views are copied for the purpose of more especially marking the discovery of the old tower on this festival day.

~Opera Arm Chairs.~

A rare tract, connected with the history of the opera in England, records a _jeu d’esprit_, which, together with the tract, are attributed to the author of the “Pursuits of Literature:” it will be seen to relate to the present day from the following extracts from the pamphlet.

THE EDITOR

TO

THE READER.

_May 5, 1800._

Piu non si turbi all’ anima La sua tranquillità: _Pensiamo solo a ridere;_ SARA QUEL CHE SARA’.

Aria; Gli Zingari in Fiera. A. 2.

* * * * *

The following poetical Composition appeared in the Morning Herald of May 1, 1800; and it is reprinted at the very particular request of several persons, votaries of the Opera, Fashion, Wit, and Poetry, who were desirous that it should be preserved in a less perishable form than that of a Newspaper.

The occasion of THE ARM-CHAIRS being placed in the Pit at the Opera House was this. Before the opening of the Opera House this season, _it was generally understood_, that HIS MAJESTY had graciously signified to Lord Salisbury his concern, that any of the Subscribers should be deprived of their Boxes on the nights when HIS MAJESTY honoured the Theatre with his presence. This being communicated to Mr. Taylor, he observed that the ROYAL objection might easily be obviated, by detaching the last Row from the Pit, on these occasions, for the reception of the Subscribers. This was done accordingly, and _a Row of_ ARM-CHAIRS, _with Locks and Keys to the bottoms of them_, were placed there, which on every other night were to be free for general accommodation. But about two months after, the Arm-Chairs were removed, and a long bench was substituted.

On this great event, the Editor has no _Intercepted Letters_ to lay before the public _by authority_, and therefore he has not applied to Mr. Canning for a Preface, nor for Notes to Mr. Gifford. There is no Egyptian _Fast_ to be solemnized, nor _Festival_ to be celebrated. He can assure them also, that neither the Mustapha Raschid Effendi and Mustapha Ressichi Effendi for the Grand Vizir; nor General Dessaix and Citizen Poussielgue for General Kleber, were Commissioners on signing this Convention. But THE EVACUATION OF THE ARM-ED CHAIRS was effected without bloodshed or loss on either side, by LORD GALLOWAY and Mr. BELL, Commissioners on the part of the Amateurs and Conoscenti, and by Signor LORENZO DA PONTE, Poet to the Opera House, and Mr. SOLOMON, Leader of the Band, Commissioners on the part of General Taylor and the Dramatic Field Marshal THE MARQUIS OF SALISBURY. _The Arm-ed Chairs_ were surrendered three days after the signing of the Capitulation, without the intervention of any gallant _Knight_[156] from Sweden or from Malta.

* * * * *

Thus far is from the preface, and after a few remarks and a “_Scena_” in Italian, the poem alluded to, and here reprinted verbatim, is introduced in the following manner:--

_March 19, 1800._

THE ARGUMENT.

_A month or two ago, Lord Galloway came to the Opera, and on the Pit-door near the Orchestra being opened, he perceived, to his confusion and astonishment, that a long Bench was substituted in the place of the_ ROW OF ARM-CHAIRS _at the bottom of the Pit, the principal or central of which he had filled for so many nights with discernment and dignity, and to the general satisfaction of every person present. His Lordship conceiving, rather hastily, that this measure was intended as a personal slight to himself, retired disconcerted, without taking his seat; and, as he is a votary of the Muses, penned the following Lamentation, which he sent to Lord Salisbury the next day, and recovered his wonted good humour, cheerfulness, and gayety._

* * * * *

PANDOLFO ATTONITO!

OR,

LORD GALLOWAY’S

POETICAL LAMENTATION

ON THE

_REMOVAL OF THE ARM-CHAIRS_

FROM THE

PIT AT THE OPERA HOUSE!

WHAT!--the proud honours of the chair Must I no more, with CECIL(_a_), share?-- Still be my soul serene _Virtù_, or virtue’s but a name, Brutus and Galloway exclaim, And sighing quit the scene.

Too sure I heard a warning knell, And told my Critic Brother BELL(_b_) The fall of seats(_c_) and _stocks_; Yet fondly sooth’d by BOLLA’S airs, Thought TAYLOR’S _bottom_, and his chairs Secure with keys and locks.(_d_)

But ah! how Fortune loves to joke! Expell’d am I, who sung and spoke As loud as at the Fair:(_e_) While yearly, with six thousand pound, The Commons ADDINGTON have bound Their Servant TO THE CHAIR.

My purer taste, my classic eye, Unzon’d Thalia could descry, Who stepp’d beyond her place: How oft I warn’d, in either house, That charms _too plain_ at last would rouse The _Mitre_ and the _Mace_!

I with Pandolfo watch’d the sphere, When Mars on Venus shone so clear, That Saturn(_f_) felt the shock: Grave SHUTE and HENRY shrunk at Love, And at the loose flesh-colour’d glove, That blush’d _at twelve o’clock_.

I said, some folks would thunder Greek At HILLIGSBERG’S _Morale lubrique_, And PARISOT’S _costume_!(_g_) Where shall Paull_inia_, tight and round,(_h_) In vest appropriate now be found, With India’s palm and plume?

Old Q--NSB--RY feels his dotard qualm, Terpsichorè can pour no balm O’er _half_ his visual ray; Nor WILLIAM(_i_) can console the Sag, Nor Elisée(_k_) his pain assuage, Nor Yarmouth smooth his way.

When MARINARI’S(_l_) magic hand Traced the bold view in fabled land, For Fawns and Wood-nymphs meet Ah, soon, I cried, may SAL’SB’RY think, ’Tis just, that they who dance should drink, And they who sing, should eat. (_ll_)

For this, in arbitrating state, In presence of the wise and great, I sung the Sovereign’s air:(_m_) Firm was my voice, for TAYLOR smil’d; Nor deem’d I then, (too well beguil’d,) How slippery was _the Chair_.

Nor G--rd--n’s coarse and brawny Grace, _The last new Woman_ IN THE PLACE(_n_) With more contempt could blast; Not Marlb’rough’s damp on Blandford’s purse To _me_ could prove a heavier curse; My fame, my glory past.

Fall’n though I am, I ne’er shall mourn, Like _the dark Peer_ on STORER’S urn,(_nn_) Reflecting on _his seat_! In vain that mean _mysterious Sire_ In embers would conceal the fire; While Honour’s pulse can beat.

For me shall droop th’ Assyrian Queen,(_o_) With softest train and tragic mien, The SIDDONS in her art; E’en BOLLA(_p_) shall forget to please, With sparkling eye and playful ease, And Didelot shall start.

Leo enthron’d bade Querno sit; And GIANNI’S(_q_) verse and _regal_ wit THE CONSUL loves to share: Pye has the laurel and the sack, And C--mbe the foolscoat on his back, But Galloway, _no Chair_.

Yet though, reduc’d by Taylor’s pranks, I sit confounded _in the ranks_, Good Humour’s still my own; Still shall I breathe in rapt’rous trance, “Eternal be the Song, the Dance, THE OPERA AND THE THRONE!”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·75.

[145] See vol. i. p. 541.

[146] Saluteth.

[147] Groves.

[148] Royal.

[149] The Indicator.

[150] This is not king Charles the Second’s celebrated “Royal Oak,” but the “King’s Oak” so often mentioned in the novel. To make it standing in 1651 is another anachronism by the by. Ωνωφιλτατος.

[151] _Sic in orig._ Why the other two days are passed over silently I know not.--Ωνωφιλτατος.

[152] Plumptre.

[153] The Examiner.

[154] The Times, May 3, 1826.

[155] _Whifflers_, see vol. i. p. 1444, _note_, and 1488.

[156] This differs a little from THE ARGUMENT prefixed to the Poem, but the impartial Historian of a future age will weigh the authorities on either side, and record the truth according to the evidence.

THE EDITOR.

(_a_) “Our Midas sits _Lord Chancellor of Plays_.”

Dunciad.

(_b_) Mr. BELL, an ingenious Gentleman, very conversant in the Stocks and Funds, _Grand Amateur, and Connoisseur of the Lower Bench_.

(_c_) It is feared that the Noble Lord alludes to the _value of seats_ in a certain House, after the Union.

EDITOR.

(_d_) The bottoms of these lamented Chairs were kept under lock and key.

(_e_) i. e. As loud as the very Gipsies themselves on the Stage _at the Fair_. This is poetry, but no fiction.

EDITOR.

(_f_)

“Quel _Saturno briccon_ ti guarda trino.”

Gli Zingari in Fiera, A. I.

(_g_)

Contecta levi velatum pectus amictu, _Et tereti strophio luctantes vincta papillas_.

Catullus.

(_h_) Alluding to the fascinating Ballet of _Paul et Virginie_. BACCHUS AND ARIADNE too are now constrained to appear in patch-work dresses. The Costume is lost, and the Graces mourn. Jacet semisepulta Venus. So says the D. of Q. and many others of the ton hold the same doctrine.

If _Propertius_ were Ballet Master he would cast the parts of the HILLISBERG _toujours gaie et intéressante_, of the PARISOT _au geste animé et sublime_, and of the LABORIE _à sourire doux et enchanteur_, with exquisite and appropriate taste.

Hæc _hederas legat in thyros_, Hæc _carmina nervis Aptet, et_ Illa _manu texat utraque rosam_!

(_i_) Lord William Gordon.

(_k_) PERE ELISE’E, Conoscente e Medico di camera al Serenissimo Duca.

“_Corpo dotato di Sanitá._”

Gli Zingari in Fiera.

(_l_) The painter of various exquisite scenes at the Opera House.

(_ll_) Les Chanteurs et les Danseurs, des deux Sexes, a Monsieur T. si tendre et si cruel; “_Il faut que nous vivions_.”--REPONSE de Monsiur R. “_Je n’en vois pas la nécessité._”

LE TABLEAU,

Présenté à Monseigneur _le Chambellan_ POLONIUS!

“Chanteurs, Danseurs, assailants, assaillis, Battans, battus, dans ce grand chamaillis: Ciel, que de cris, et que de hurlemens! PERE ELISE’E reprit un peu ses sens; Il se tenoit les deux côtés de rire, Et reconnut que ce fatal empire De l’Opera, des Jeux, et du grand Ton, Etoit sans doute une œuvre du Démon.”

THE EDITOR.

(_m_) The Air of Midas in the Burletta, beginning thus:

“I’m given to understand that you’re all in a pother here, Disputing whether, &c.”

(_n_) An expression used, with a curious felicity, by her Grace for “_the Manufactured Ladies of Fashion_” imported from Yorkshire and other Counties into Portland Place, &c. whose houses she _condescended_ to enter. But _once_ she was most unfortunately mistaken.

_Car Madame_ M--LLS, _ouvrant un large bec, (Ayant en un Palais changée sa chaumière, Son air de drap devint démarche fiere;) Disoit tout haut, que_ G--RD--N _parloit Grec. Les Grands surpris admirent sa hauteur, Et les Petits l’appellént Dame d’honneur_.

LEÇON _à deux tranchans, tant à la Bourgeoisie, qu’à la Noblesse_.

THE EDITOR.

(_nn_) ANTONY STORER, Esq. formerly Member for Morpeth, (_as some persons may possibly recollect_,) a gentleman well known in the circles of fashion and polite literature.

(_o_) BANTI _la Sovrana_.

(_p_) BOLLA _la Vezzosa_.

(_q_) GIANNI, the Italian Poet Laureat to Buonaparte, as Camillo Querno was to Pope Leo X. For a specimen of Gianni’s Poetry, see THE TIMES of Dec. 31, 1800.

~May 2.~

DEMONSTRATIVE PROOF.

It is noticed in the journals of May, 1817, that in the preceding summer, Mr. J. Welner, a German chemist, retired to his house in the country, there to devote himself, without being disturbed, to the study and examination of poisonous substances for the purpose of producing a complete “_Toxicology_,” established by undeniable proof. He tried his poisons upon himself, and appeared insensible to the great alterations which such dangerous trials produced upon his health. At the latter end of the month of October, he invented some unknown poisonous mixture; and wished to be assured of its effect. The following is the account which he gives of it in the last page of his manuscript:--“A potion composed of--(here the substances are named, and the doses indicated)--is mortal; and the proof of it is--_that I am dying!_”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·55.

~May 3.~

INVENTION OF THE CROSS.

For the origin of this church of England holiday, see vol. i. p. 611.

“A PIE SAT ON A PEAR TREE.”

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_May 3, 1826._

Sir,--There is a custom at Yarmouth dinners, which in my opinion would be “more honoured in the breach than the observance.” After the cloth has been removed, and the ladies have retired, some one in the company, who is an adept in the game, sings the following lines,--

“A pie sat on a pear tree, A pie sat on a pear tree, A pie sat on a pear tree, Heigh oh! heigh oh! heigh oh!”

At the conclusion, the person sitting next to the singer continues the strain thus,--

“And once so merrily hopp’d she;”

during which the first singer is obliged to drink a bumper, and should he be unable to empty his glass before the last line is sung, he must begin again until he succeeds.

The difficulty consists in swallowing the liquor fast enough, many getting tipsy before they are able to accomplish it. This of course goes round the party, until the whole are either completely “knocked up,” save a few who from the capacity of their throats are so fortunate as to escape. Your inserting the above in the _Every-Day Book_ will much oblige, Sir, &c.

J. F.

The preceding is from a valued correspondent, on whose veracity full reliance is placed by the editor; he will nevertheless be happy to hear that _this_ usage is on the decline.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·67.

~May 4.~

1826. HOLY THURSDAY,

_Or Ascension Day_.

For this _movable feast_ see vol. i. p. 651, 643.

TISSINGTON WELL DRESSING.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Unless the historians of Derbyshire have been very negligent in their inquiries, the peak differs exceedingly from mountainous tracts in general, where the customs, manners, and language of antiquity are preserved with peculiar care. The language, indeed, has retained its olden character, but of peculiar customs little is known. In Lysons’ “Magna Britannia,” the practices of rush-bearing, of hanging up white gloves and garlands of roses in the churches, at the funerals of young maidens,--of foot-ball plays, now confined to Derby, and this well-dressing of Tissington are the sum total of those notices under the head of “Country Customs.” A correspondent communicated to the _Every-Day Book_ in March, a custom existing near Tideswell; and I have seen it stated in a provincial paper, that a right is claimed in the Peak Forest of marrying after the fashion of Gretna Green, and that such a wedding actually took place not very long ago. Something more of this should be known.

Tissington well-dressing is a festivity, which not only claims a high antiquity, but is one of the few country fêtes which are kept up with any thing like the ancient spirit. It is one which is heartily loved and earnestly anticipated. One which draws the hearts of those who were brought up there, but whom fortune has cast into distant places, homewards with an irresistible charm. I have not had the pleasure of witnessing it, but I have had that of seeing the joy which sparkled in the eyes of the Tissingtonians as they talked of its approach, and of their projected attendance. Long before the time arrives, they have canvassed the neighbourhoods where they reside, for flowers to take with them: and these flowers, in all the instances which have come under my notice have been _red daisies_, and none else. If, however, John Edwards, in his poem, “The Tour of the Dove,” be correct, others must be used, and those wild flowers:--

“Still Dovedale yield thy flowers to deck the fountains Of Tissington, upon its holyday; The customs long preserved among the mountains Should not be lightly left to pass away. They have their moral; and we often may Learn from them how our wise forefathers wrought, When they upon the public mind would lay Some weighty principle, some maxim brought Home to their hearts, the healthful product of deep thought.”

In a note he adds;--“The custom of decorating wells with flowers, and attending them with religious services and festive rejoicings on Holy Thursday, is not peculiar to Tissington. Many other wells have been committed to the patronage of the saints, and treated with reverence; some on account of the purity, and others for the medicinal virtues of their waters. St. Alkmund’s well at Derby, is an instance of the former class, where the name has been continued long after the superstition which gave it has passed away. In the dark ages of popery, this veneration for holy wells was carried to an idolatrous excess, insomuch, that in the reigns of Edgar and Canute, it was found necessary to issue edicts prohibiting well-worship. But the principle of veneration for waters, if restricted within its proper bounds, is amiable: indeed, it seems to have been implanted in the breast of man in all ages. A fountain is the emblem of purity and benevolence. From the days when the patriarchs journeyed in the wilderness, down to the present period--whether bursting from the arid sands of the African desert, or swelling out its genial waters amid the Greenland snows--its soft melody, its refreshing virtues, and its transparency, have ever been a subject of delight and interest to the human race. Who could have approached the Bethesda of the Jews with a callous heart? Who could have listened to the song of Israel with indifference, when her princes had digged the well, and her nobles and lawgiver stood around it?”

Rhodes, who has traversed almost every part of the peak with indefatigable zeal, gives the following account in his “Peak Scenery.” “An ancient custom still prevails in the village of Tissington, to which indeed it appears to be confined, for I have not met with any thing of a similar description in any other part of Derbyshire. It is denominated _well-flowering_, and Holy Thursday is devoted to the rites and ceremonies of this elegant custom. This day is regarded as a festival; and all the wells in the place, five in number, are decorated with wreaths and garlands of newly-gathered flowers, disposed in various devices. Sometimes boards are used, which are cut to the figure intended to be represented, and covered with moist clay, into which the stems of the flowers are inserted to preserve their freshness; and they are so arranged as to form a beautiful mosaic work, often tasteful in design, and vivid in colouring: the boards, thus adorned, are so placed in the spring, that the water appears to issue from amongst beds of flowers. On this occasion the villagers put on their best attire, and open their houses to their friends. There is service at the church, where a sermon is preached: afterwards a procession takes place, and the wells are visited in succession: the psalms for the day, the epistle and gospel are read, one at each well, and the whole concludes with a hymn which is sung by the church singers, and accompanied by a band of music. This done, they separate, and the remainder of the day is spent in rural sports and holiday pastimes.

The custom of well-flowering as it exists at Tissington, is said to be a popish relic; but in whatever way it originated, one would regret to see it discontinued. That it is of great antiquity cannot be disputed; it seems to have existed at different periods of time, in countries far remote from each other. In the earliest ages of poetry and romance, wherever fountains and wells were situated, the common people were accustomed to honour them with the title of saints. In our own country innumerable instances occur of wells being so denominated.” “Where a spring rises or a river flows,” says Seneca, “there should we build altars, and offer sacrifices.” At the fountain of Arethusa in Syracuse, of which every reader of poetry and history has often heard, great festivals were celebrated every year. In Roman antiquity the _fontinalia_ were religious feasts, held in honour of the nymphs of wells and fountains; the ceremony consisted in throwing nosegays into fountains, and putting crowns of flowers upon wells. Many authorities might be quoted in support of the antiquity of this elegant custom, which had its origin anterior to the introduction of christianity. It was mingled with the rites and ceremonies of the heathens, who were accustomed to worship streams and fountains, and to suppose that the nymphs, whom they imagined the goddesses of the waters, presided over them. Shaw in his “History of the Province of Morray,” says, that “heathen customs were much practised amongst the people there;” and he cites as an instance, “that they performed pilgrimages to wells, and built chapels to fountains.”

“From this ancient usage, which has been continued through a long succession of ages, and is still in existence at Tissington, arose the practice of sprinkling the Severn and the rivers of Wales with flowers, as alluded to by Dyer in his poem of the _Fleece_ and by Milton in his _Comus_.--

--------------With light fantastic toe the nymphs Thither assembled, thither every swain; And o’er the dimpled stream a thousand flowers, Pale lilies, roses, violets and pinks, Mixed with the green of burnet, mint, and thyme, And trefoil, sprinkled with their sportive arms: Such custom holds along the irriguous vales, From Wreakin’s brow to archy Dolvoryn.

_Dyer._

----------------The shepherds at their festivals Carol her good deeds loud in rustic lays, And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream, Of pancies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.

_Milton._”

I hope some of your correspondents will contribute to our information by accounts of well-dressings in other parts of the kingdom.

SHAFTESBURY “BYZANT.”

The town of Shaftesbury from its situation on the top of a high hill, is entirely destitute of springs; except at the foot of the hills in St. James’s parish, where are two wells, in the possession of private persons. At the foot of Castle-hill were formerly some water-works, to supply the town, their reservoir was on the top of the Butter cross; but the inhabitants have from time immemorial been supplied with water brought on horse’s backs, or on people’s heads, from three or four large wells, a quarter of a mile below the town in the hamlet of Motcomb, and parish of Gillingham; on which account there is this particular custom yearly observed by ancient agreement, dated 1662, between the lord of the manor of Gillingham, and the mayor and burgesses of Shaftesbury. The mayor is obliged the Monday before Holy Thursday to dress up a prize besom, or _byzant_, as they call it, somewhat like a May garland in form, with gold and peacock’s feathers, and carry it to Enmore Green, half a mile below the town, in Motcomb, as an acknowledgment for the water; together with a raw calf’s head, a pair of gloves, a gallon of beer, or ale, and two penny loaves of white wheaten bread, which the steward receives, and carries away to his own use. The ceremony being over, the “byzant” is restored to the mayor, and brought back by one of his officers with great solemnity. This “byzant” is generally so richly adorned with plate and jewels, borrowed from the neighbouring gentry, as to be worth not less than 1500_l._[175]

PROCESSION OF THE CAMEL.

Holy Thursday was formerly a day of great festivity at Beziers, in France, and was celebrated with a variety of little sports.

“The Procession of the Camel” constituted one part of them. A figure representing that animal, with a man in the inside, was made to perform ridiculous tricks. The municipal officers, attended by the companies of the different trades and manufactures, preceded the camel. It was followed by a cart, over which were branches of trees twined into an arbour, filled with people: the cart was drawn by mules ornamented with bunches of flowers and ribands; a number of people stuck over with flowers and little twigs of trees, who were called the “wild men,” followed the cart and closed the procession. After parading about the town all day, towards evening the whole company repaired to the chapel of the Blue Penitents, where it was met by the chapter of the cathedral, who had previously also gone in procession round the town, and then a large quantity of bread was given away by the chapter among the poor.

Another part of the ceremonies of the day was, that the peasants from the country assembled in the streets with crooks in their hands, and ranging themselves in long files on each side, made mock skirmishes with their crooks, aiming strokes at each other, and parrying them with great dexterity. Each of these skirmishes ended with a dance to the fife and tabourine. The inhabitants threw sugar-plums and dried fruits at each other from their windows, or as they passed in the streets.

The day usually concluded by a favourite dance among the young men and women, called _la danse des treilles_. Every dancer carried a _cerceau_, as it is called, that is a half hoop, twined with vine branches; and ranging themselves in long files on each, side of the street, formed different groups. The young men were all dressed in white jackets and trowsers, and the young women in white jackets with short petticoats, and ornaments of flowers and ribands. These sports of Beziers were suspended during the revolution.[176]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 52·77.

[175] Hutchins’s Dorset.

[176] Miss Plumptre.

~May 5.~

“A PARTICULAR FACT.”

THE INDEXES, &c. _to the_ EVERY-DAY BOOK, VOL. I. _were published on the 5th of May, 1826_.

The new preface to the volume is particularly addressed to the notice of _correspondents_, and I shall be particularly obliged if _every reader_ of the work will favour it with attentive perusal.

CHRONOLOGY.

It should be observed of Joseph Baretti, who died on this day in the year 1789, that he was the friend and associate of Johnson, who introduced him to the Thrale family, and whom he assisted in the compilation of his “Dictionary of the English Language.”

Baretti was a native of Turin; he had received a good education, and inherited paternal property, which in his youth he soon gambled away, and resorted to a livelihood by teaching Italian to some English gentlemen at Venice; whence he repaired to England, and distinguished himself as a teacher of Italian. By his employment under Dr. Johnson, he acquired such a knowledge of our language as to be enabled to compile the “Italian and English Dictionary,” which is still in use. He then revisited his native country, and after an absence of six years returned through Spain and Portugal, and in 1768 published “An Account of the Manners and Customs of Italy,” in reply to some querulous strictures on that country in the “Letters from Italy” by surgeon Sharp, which Baretti’s book effectually put down, with no small portion both of humour and argument. Not long afterwards, he was accosted in the Haymarket by a woman, whom he repulsed with a degree of roughness which was resented by her male confederates, and in the scuffle, he struck one of them with a French pocket dessert knife. On this, the man pursued and collared him; when Baretti, still more alarmed, stabbed him repeatedly with the knife, of which wounds he died on the following day. He was immediately taken into custody, and tried for murder at the Old Bailey, when Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick, Reynolds, and Beauclerk gave testimony to his good character; and although he did not escape censure for his too ready resort to a knife, he was acquitted. Domesticated in the Thrale family, he accompanied them and Dr. Johnson to Paris, but in a fit of unreasonable disgust, quitted them the next year; and in the latter part of his life was harassed with pecuniary difficulties, which were very little alleviated by his honorary post of foreign secretary to the Royal Academy, and an ill-paid pension of eighty pounds per annum under the North administration. Among other works he published one with the singular title of “Tolondron: Speeches to John Bowles about his edition of Don Quixote, together with some account of Spanish Literature.” This was his last production; his constitution was broken by uneasiness of mind and frequent attacks of the gout, and he died in May, 1789.

Baretti was rough and cynical in appearance, yet a pleasant companion; and of his powers in conversation Johnson thought very highly.

He communicated several of Dr. Johnson’s letters to the “European Magazine,” and intended to publish several more; but on his decease his papers fell into the hands of ignorant executors, who barbarously committed them to the flames.[177]

It is remarkable that with Johnson’s scrupulous attachment to the doctrines and ceremonies of the church of England, he was sincerely attached to Baretti, whose notions on religious matters widely differed from the opinions of “the great lexicographer.” Johnson seems to have been won by his friend’s love of literature and independence of character. Baretti often refused pecuniary aid when it was greatly needed by his circumstances: his morals were pure, and his conduct, except in the unhappy instance which placed his life in jeopardy, was uniformly correct. He died with the reputation of an honest man.

* * * * *

There is an engraving representing Diogenes at noon-day with his lantern in one hand, and in the other a circular picture frame, which is left vacant, that a purchaser of the print may insert the portrait of the man he delights to honour as the most honest. Hence the vacancy is sometimes supplied by the celebrated John Wilkes, the prophetic Richard Brothers, the polite lord Chesterfield, Churchill, the satirist, Sam House, or Joseph Baretti, or any other. “Cornelius May,” of whose existence, however, there is reason to doubt, would scarcely find a head to grace the frame.

“POETRY.”

_“The Knaverie of the Worlde, sette forthe in homelie verse, by Cornelius May,” from “The Seven Starrs of Witte,” 1647._

Ah me throughoute the worlde Doth wickednesse abounde! And well I wot on neither hande Can honestie be founde.

The wisest man in Athens Aboute the citie ran With a lanthorne in the light of daie To find an honeste man;

And when at night he sate him downe To reckon on his gaines, He onely founde--alack poore man! His labour for his paines.

And soe thou now shalt finde Alle men of alle degree Striving, as if their onely trade Were that of cheating thee.

Thy friend will bid thee welcome, His servantes at thy calle-- The dearest friend he has on earthe Till he has wonne thy alle;

He will play with thee at dice Till thy golde is in his hande, He will meete thee at the tennis court Till he winne alle thy lande.

The brother of thy youth When ye shared booke and bedde Would eat himself the sugar plums And leave thee barley bread:

But growing up to manhode His hart is colder grown, Aske in thy neede for barley bread And he’ll give thee a stone.

The wife whom thou dost blesse Alack, she is thy curse-- A bachelor’s an evil state, But a married man’s is worse.

The lawyer at his deske Good lawe will promise thee Untill thy very last groat Is given for his fee.

Thy baker, and thy brewer Doe wronge thee night and morne; And thy miller, he doth grinde thee In grinding of thy corne.

Thy goldsmith and thy jeweller Are leagu’d in knavish sorte, And the elwande of thy tailor It is an inche too shorte.

Thy cooke hath made thy dish From the offals on the shelfe, While fishe and fowle and savourie herbes Are served to himselfe.

The valet thou dost trust, Smooth-tongued and placid-faced, Dothe weare thy brilliantes in his cappe And thou wear’st his of paste.

Alack! thou canst not finde Of high or lowe degree In cott or courte or cabinett A man of honestie.

There is not in the worlde, Northe, southe, or easte, or weste, Who would maintaine a righteous cause Against his intereste.

Ah me! it grieves me sore, And I sorrowe nighte and daie, To see how man’s arch enemie Doth leade his soule astraie.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·22.

[177] General Biog. Dict.

~May 6.~

BIRDS.

The bird-catchers are now peering about the fields and thickets in search of different species of song-birds, for the purpose of netting and training them for sale.

* * * * *

Old bird-fanciers treat the younger ones with disdain, as having corrupted the rich melodies of the birds, by battling them against each other, in singing matches, for strength of pipe.

* * * * *

_For the Every-Day Book._

SONNET,

_Written on hearing my Blackbird, while confined to my Bed by Illness_.

Bird of the golden beak, thy pensive song Floats visions of the country to my mind; And sweet sounds heard the pleasant woods among, I hear again, while on my bed reclined. Weaken’d in frame, and harass’d by my kind, I long for fair-green fields and shady groves, Where dark-eyed maids their brows with wild flowers bind, And rosy health with meditation roves.

Sing on, my bird--as in thy native tree, Sing on--and I will close my burning eyes, Till in my fav’rite haunts again I be, And sweetest music on my ears arise; And waving woods their shades around me close, And sounds of waters lull me to repose.

_April 16, 1826._

S. R. J.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·57.

~May 7.~

THE SEASON.

_Thunny Fishing._

The Mediterranean produces many sorts of fish unknown to us, the thunny among others. The manner in which these fish are caught is somewhat curious; it is a sort of hunting at sea. The nets are extended in the water so as to close upon the fish when they come within reach of them, and then the boats chase them to that part where they are taken: they have great force in their tails, so that much caution is required in getting them aboard. Vernet among his other sea-pieces has a very good one of this fishery. There are four principal places near Marseilles where it is carried on, called the _madragues_, which are rented out to the fishers, by the town, at a considerable advantage. When Louis XIII. visited Marseilles in 1662, he was invited to a thunny fishing at the principal madrague of Morgion, and found the diversion so much to his taste, that he often said it was the pleasantest day he had spent in his whole progress through the south.

The thunnies come in such shoals, that in the height of the season, that is, in the months of May and June, from five to six hundred are sometimes taken in a day at one madrague only: they commonly weigh from about ten to twenty or twenty-five pounds each, but they have been known to weigh even as much as fifty pounds. They are very delicious food, but the flesh is so solid that it seems something between fish and meat; it is as firm as sturgeon, but beyond all comparison finer flavoured. They dress this fish in France in a great variety of ways, and always excellent: it makes capital soup, or it is served as a ragout, or plain fried or broiled; pies are made of it, which are so celebrated as to be sent all over France; they will keep good for six weeks or two months. There is also a way of preserving it to keep the whole year round with salt and oil, called _thon mariné_: this is eaten cold, as we eat pickled salmon, and is delicious. Besides the great season in May and June, they are caught in considerable numbers in the autumn, about November, which is the great season for making the pies. A large quantity of them were sent to Paris against Buonaparte’s coronation. Stragglers of these fish are occasionally taken the whole year round. They are an ugly fish to the eye.

The palamede, though much smaller than the thunny, seems so much of the same nature that some persons have supposed it only the young thunny; but naturalists say that it is a distinct species of fish. It is mentioned by Gibbon in his description of Constantinople, as, at the time of the foundation of that city, the most celebrated among the variety of excellent fish taken in the Propontis.[178]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·70.

[178] Miss Plumptre.

~May 8.~

“THE FURRY.”

_For the Every-Day Book._

On the eighth of May, at Helston, in Cornwall, is held what is called “the Furry.” The word is supposed by Mr. Polwhele to have been derived from the old Cornish word _fer_, a fair or jubilee. The morning is ushered in by the music of drums and kettles, and other accompaniments of a song, a great part of which is inserted in Mr. Polwhele’s history, where this circumstance is noticed. So strict is the observance of this day as a general holiday, that should any person be found at work, he is instantly seized, set astride on a pole, and hurried on men’s shoulders to the river, where he is sentenced to leap over a wide place, which he of course fails in attempting, and leaps into the water. A small contribution towards the good cheer of the day easily compounds for the leap. About nine o’clock the revellers appear before the grammar-school, and demand a holiday for the schoolboys. After which they collect contributions from house to house. They then _fade_ into the country, (fade being an old English word for _go_,) and, about the middle of the day, return with flowers and oak branches in their hats and caps. From this time they dance hand in hand through the streets, to the sound of the fiddle, playing a particular tune, running into every house they pass without opposition. In the afternoon, a select party of the ladies and gentlemen make a progress through the street, and very late in the evening repair to the ball-room. A stranger visiting the town on the eighth of May, would really think the people mad; so apparently wild and thoughtless is the merriment of the day.

There is no doubt of “the Furry” originating from the “Floralia,” anciently observed by the Romans on the fourth of the calends of May.[179]

* * * * *

“Every pot has two handles.” This means “that one story’s good, till another story’s told;” or, “there is no evil without its advantages.”

If it is generally “good” to anticipate festival days in the _Every-Day Book_, it is an “evil” to be “behind-hand;” and yet “advantages” have sometimes resulted from it. For instance, the day of “the _Furry_” at Helston, elapsed before this sheet was sent to press; but a correspondent who was present at the festival on that day in the present year, 1826, sends an account of the manner wherein it is conducted at present; and though the former “story’s good,” his particular description of the last _Furry_, is a lively picture of the pleasant manner, wherein it continues to be celebrated: thus is illustrated the ancient saying, that “every pot has two handles.”

It would be ill acknowledgment of the annexed letter to abridge it, by omitting its brief notice of the origin of the Furry, already adverted to, and therefore the whole is inserted verbatim.

HELSTON “FURRY, OR FLORA DAY.”

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--Having for several years past resided in Cornwall, (from whence I have lately returned,) I beg to inform you of _one_ of their gayest days of amusement, which is regularly kept up in the borough of Helston on the eighth day of May.

It originated from the Roman custom of paying an early tribute of respect to the _goddess_ Flora; the garlands of flowers worn on the occasion confirms this opinion. This festival commences at an early hour: the morning is enlivened by the sound of “drum and fife;” and music, harmony, and dance are the sports of “high and low”--“from morn to night.” Some of the oldest townsmen chant some _ancient ditties_--not very comprehensible, “nor is the melody thereof enchanting.”

The hilarity of the day precludes the possibility of doing business; every consideration but mirth, music, and feasting is set at naught. Should any persons be found at work, they are instantly seized, set astride on a pole, and jolted away on men’s shoulders, amidst thousands of huzzas, &c., and at last sentenced to leap _over_ the river, (which by the by is none of the narrowest,) the result which therefore frequently happens is--they jump _into it_. The payment of a certain fine towards the expenses of the day saves them from this cooling.

At nine in the morning the mob gathers round the various seminaries, and countless voices demand a holiday for all in them, which is acceded to: a collection from the housekeepers is then commenced towards the general fund. While this is going on, the young folks of both sexes go to the gardens of the neighbourhood, and return at twelve with their heads dressed out with gay flowers, oak branches, &c. On entering the town they are joined by a band of music; they dance through the streets to the “Flora Tune.” In their progress they go through every house and garden they please without distinction; all doors are opened, and, in fact, it is thought much of by the householders to be thus favoured.

The _older_ branch of the population dance in the same manner, for it is to be noticed they have select parties, and at different hours; no two sets dance together, or at the same time. Then follows the gentry, which is really a very pleasing sight on a fine day from the noted respectability of this rich borough. In this set the sons and daughters of some of the first and noblest families of Cornwall join. The appearance of the ladies is enchanting. Added to their personal charms, in ball-room attire, each tastefully adorned with beautiful spring flowers, in herself appears to the gazer’s eye a _Flora_, and leads us to conceive the whole a scene from fairy land. The next set is, the soldiers and their lasses; then come the tradesmen and their wives; journeymen and their sweethearts; and, “though last not least,” the male and female servants in splendid livery; best bibs and tuckers are in request, and many pretty brunettes are to be found in their Sunday finery, with healthy smiling looks, which on such a day as this are sure to make sad havoc with the hearts of the young men.

In the evening a grand ball is always held at the assembly rooms; to which, this year, were added the performance of the “Honey Moon” at the theatre, by Dawson’s company of comedians, Powell’s celebrated troop of horse at the Circus, and Mr. Ingleby’s sleight of hand at the rooms. The borough was thronged with visiters from all parts of the country. It is a pleasing task to conclude by being able to state, that Aurora rose on the ninth without any account of accident or disappointment being experienced by any of its numerous attendants. I have many other anecdotes of Cornwall, which I shall forward you in case you deem them worthy a place in your _Every-Day Book_, to which I wish the success it really deserves.

I am, Sir,

Your’s truly,

SAM SAM’S SON.

_London, May 16, 1826._

⁂ This communication was almost past the time; yet, as we set out with a proverb, we may end with “better late than never;” and, “not to ride a free horse to death,” but merely to “drive the nail that will go,” thanks are offered to “Sam Sam’s Son,” with the hope of early receiving his “future agreeable favours.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·07.

[179] Guide to Mount’s Bay.

~May 9.~

A MATCH.

A New York paper of the ninth of May, 1817, announces that in Montgomery county, Mr. Jesse Johnson, being eighteen or nineteen years of age, and four feet one inch high, and weighing about seventy-five pounds, was married to Miss Nancy Fowler, about twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age, six feet two inches high, and weighing about two hundred and fifty pounds. “Sure such _a pair_ were never seen.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·20.

~May 10.~

JUSTICE.

In May, 1736, Henry Justice, of the Middle Temple, Esq., was tried at the Old Bailey, for stealing books out of Trinity-college library in Cambridge. He attempted to defeat the prosecution by pleading, that in the year 1734, he was admitted fellow-commoner of the said college, whereby he became a member of that corporation, and had a property in the books, and therefore could not be guilty of felony, and read several clauses of their charter and statutes to prove it. But after several hours’ debate, it appeared he was only a boarder or lodger, by the words of the charter granted by Henry VIII. and queen Elizabeth. He was found guilty.

On the tenth of the month, having been put to the bar to receive sentence, he moved, that as the court had a discretionary power, he might be burnt in the hand and not sent abroad; first, for the sake of his family, as it would be an injury to his children and to his clients, with several of whom he had great concerns, which could not be settled in that time; secondly, for the sake of the university, for he had numbers of books belonging to them, some in friends’ hands, and some sent to Holland, and if he was transported he could not make restitution. As to himself, considering his circumstances, he had rather go abroad, having lived in credit till this unhappy mistake, as he called it, and hoped the university would intercede for him. The deputy-recorder commiserated his case, told him how greatly his crime was aggravated by his education and profession, and then sentenced him to be transported to some of his majesty’s plantations in America for seven years.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·87.

~May 11.~

LONDON GYMNASTIC SOCIETY.

The establishment of this institution is of so great importance to the health and manners of the metropolis, that to pass it unregarded would be inexcusable. Much of mental infirmity proceeds from bodily infirmity. Without activity, the entire human being is diseased. A disposition to inactivity generates imbecility of character; diligence ceases, indolence prevails, unnatural feelings generate unnatural desires, and the individual not only neglects positive duties, but becomes sensual and vicious. The “London Gymnastic Society,” therefore, in a national point of view is of the highest regard. A letter, subjoined, will be found to represent some of its exercises and advantages in an agreeable and interesting manner.

GYMNASTIC EXERCISES.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--On the twenty-second of March, not less than fifteen hundred persons assembled at the Mechanics’ Institute for the purpose of forming a “London Gymnastic Society.” This event is likely to have very important and useful results to the community, and, therefore, within the plan of the _Every-Day Book_ to record. I have no intention to describe what passed on the occasion, any further than by stating that a series of resolutions in support of the proposed object were unanimously adopted; and as great misconception prevails as to the nature of gymnastic exercises, some light on the subject, beyond that conveyed in your first volume, may be interesting.

The grounds on which the use of exercise generally are recommended, are precisely those from which the benefits of this particular class are to be inferred; with this advantage in favour of gymnastics, that they combine the advantages of almost every other species. If it be desirable that the body should be strengthened, the limbs acquire flexibility, the muscles be brought into full play, and the spirits be invigorated, gymnastics must be allowed to be salutary for such are their ordinary effects. Moreover, if it be desirable that a man should become acquainted with his physical capabilities, in order that he may be encouraged to exert them on suitable occasions, within the compass of safety, and be aware when he is in danger of trespassing beyond the proper limit, gymnastics must be beneficial, for they instruct him where that limit lies, and give him entire confidence within it. And so gradual are the steps by which the pupil is led on towards proficiency, now mastering a small difficulty, then advancing to one a little greater, then to another, and another, that at last he accomplishes the evolution which at one time appeared to him of greatest difficulty with more facility than he at first accomplished the first lesson; while all the time he has been acquiring in the process increased capability, strength, confidence, and presence of mind. For the utility of these exercises does not end in the gymnasium; it only begins there. The performances of the evolutions are _means_ by which great ends are attained; the vigour acquired in performing them, being afterwards useful wherever vigour may be required.

In the _preliminary exercises_, the pupil is taught to accustom himself to extend his arms and legs in various natural positions, in quick succession; sometimes exerting the arms only, the legs resting passive, sometimes the reverse; and sometimes exerting both legs and arms together. These exercises are not so strictly preliminary as to require the pupil to become perfect in them before he engages in others. On the contrary, he may with advantage, at a very early stage, combine them with those of greater difficulty; and also at an advanced stage, find it useful occasionally to recur to them. But let us proceed to the bars.

The _bars_ consist of two pieces of wood placed parallel, in a horizontal position, on supporters, extending breast-high from the ground. The pupil having raised himself erect between the bars (they are something less than two feet apart, and about five feet in length) passes from one end to the other by the help of his hands only, moving one hand forward at a time, as the feet are moved in walking. He next places himself in the centre between the bars, and keeping his legs straight and close together projects them over the right hand bar, and so arrives on the ground. He then does the same on the left side, then on the right side backwards, either with or without previously swinging, then on the left side backwards in the same way. He next resumes his position at the end of the bars; but instead of walking or treading along the bars with his hands, as in the first exercise, he this time lifts both hands together, and passes to the other end by short jumps. He then returns to the centre of the bars, and retaining hold of them, projects his body over the left hand bar, from which position, by slightly springing, he projects himself over that on his right. This evolution he performs also on both sides, and later in his progress backwards also. Then there is the half moon, or semi-circle, which is performed by projecting the legs over one of the bars in front, and then bringing them back, and swinging them over the same bar behind. As the pupil advances, he is enabled to project himself over the bars unassisted by the lower part of his arms; also to rest the lower part of his arms on the bars, and from that position to raise himself erect by the hands only, repeating the evolution several times in succession, to pass from one side of the bar to the other, without touching the ground, and many other evolutions all conducing in one way or another to the strength and elasticity of his frame.

The _horizontal_ poles are placed at various heights from the ground, according to the height of the pupil, and the exercises to be performed on them. Those chiefly used are a few inches above the head. One of the first lessons on the pole is analogous to the first on the parallel bars, the pupil passing from one end of the pole to the other, by the help of his hands only, first by moving one hand at a time as in walking, afterwards by moving both hands together. Grasping the pole with both hands, the pupil is taught to raise himself in various ways above it--to pass over it--to pass from one side of the pole to the other, &c. &c. The exercises on the pole are equal in diversity to those on the bars, perhaps on the whole more arduous, and certainly equally beneficial. I believe the arms and back are particularly strengthened by this diversion of the exercises.

Leaving the pole, let us attend a moment to the _masts_, the _ropes_, and the _ladders_. These are of various heights and dimensions. The pupil first learns to climb the rope and mast by the assistance of his hands and feet, afterwards by his hands only, and by degrees he learns to ascend the latter without the assistance of his feet or legs. The leaping with and without a pole, jumping, running, throwing the javelin, the use of the broad sword, &c., do not require description as they are more or less familiar to every one. I therefore confine myself to naming them, and observing that familiar as some of them are, the regulations under which they are practised tend greatly to increase their utility.[180]

There is still a division of these exercises which I have not mentioned, and which deserves a full description, and that is, the exercises on the horse--a wooden horse--without head or tail--but, as I feel myself quite unable to bear anything like adequate testimony to the merits of this very useful and quiet quadruped, I must reluctantly leave his eulogium to others more competent. It is a subject I cannot well get upon, being but a very indifferent equestrian.

I remain, Sir, &c.

A PARALLEL BARRISTER.

* * * * *

To all individuals of sedentary occupations, in great towns and cities, gymnastic exercises are of immense benefit. It is difficult to convince, but it is a duty to attempt persuading them, that their usual habits waste the spirits, destroy health, and shorten life. Hundreds of Londoners die every year for want of exercise.

It is not necessary that we should cultivate gymnastics “after the manner of the ancients,” but only so much as may be requisite to maintain the even tenour of existence. The state of society in towns, continually imposes obstructions to health, and offers inducements to the slothful, in the shape of palliatives, which ultimately increase “the miseries of human life.” Exercise is both a prevention and a remedy; but, we must not mistake--diligence is not, therefore, exercise.

* * * * *

Our present pastimes are almost all within doors; the old ones were in the open air. Our ancestors danced “on the green” in the day time; we, if we dance at all, move about in warm rooms at night: and then there are the “late hours;” the “making a toil of a pleasure;” the lying in bed late the next morning; the incapacity to perform duties in consequence of “recreation!” The difference to health is immense--if it be doubted, inquire of physicians. The difference to morals is not less--if reflection be troublesome, read the proceedings in courts of justice, and then reflect. We have much to unlearn.

* * * * *

It is a real amusement to go to a theatre, and see an indolent audience sitting to witness feats of agility.

Here we see that some of the tricks and dexterities of Mazurier and Gouffe were performed centuries ago; and here, too, we have an illustration that the horizontal bars of our correspondent, the “Parallel Barrister,” though novelties now, were known before our grandfathers were grandchildren. The print from whence this is copied, is from sir Mark Sykes’s collection: it is produced here as a curiosity.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·74.

[180] The information relative to the exercise so crudely conveyed throughout this hasty letter, is derived from observation of the gymnasium in the New Road, under the excellent management of professor Voelker.

~May 12.~

THE MONTH.

Hail, May! lovely May! how replenished my pails! The young dawn o’erspreads the broad east, streaked with gold! My glad heart beats time to the laugh of the vales, And Colin’s voice rings through the wood from the fold. The wood to the mountain submissively bends, Whose blue misty summit first glows with the sun! See! thence a gay train by the wild rill descends To join the mixed sports:--Hark! the tumult’s begun.

Be cloudless, ye skies!--And be Colin but there; Not dew-spangled bents on the wide level dale, Nor morning’s first smile can more lovely appear Than his looks, since my wishes I cannot conceal. Swift down the mad dance, while blest health prompts to move, We’ll court joys to come, and exchange vows of truth: And haply, when age cools the transports of love, Decry, like good folks, the vain follies of youth.

_Bloomfield._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·22.

~May 13.~

1826. Oxford Term ends.

OLD MAY DAY.

_Scottish Beltein._

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--I confess I was not a little astonished a few days ago, on becoming acquainted with a custom evidently heathenish in its origin, which exists in the united kingdom, where, it must be admitted, great advances have been made in morals and religion, as well as in science and general knowledge.

The fact I allude to is in Dr. Jamieson’s “Dictionary of the Scottish Language.” He mentions a festival called _Beltane_, or _Beltein_, annually held in Scotland on old May-day. A town in Perthshire is called “Tillee Beltein;” i. e. the eminence (or high place) of the fire of Baal. Near this are two druidical temples of upright stones with a well, adjacent to one of them, still held in great veneration for its sanctity, and on that account visited by vast numbers of superstitious people. In the parish of Callander (same county) upon “Beltein day,” they cut a circular trench in the ground, sufficient to enclose the whole company assembled. “They kindle a fire and dress a repast of eggs and milk in the consistence of a custard; they knead a cake of oatmeal, which is toasted at the embers against a stone.” After the custard is eaten, they divide the cake into as many equal parts as there are persons present, and one part is made _perfectly black_ with charcoal.

The bits of cake are put into a bonnet and are drawn blindfold, and he who draws the black bit is considered as “_devoted to be sacrificed to Baal_, and is obliged to _leap three times through the flame_.”

Mr. Pennant in his “Tour in Scotland, 1769,” gives a similar account with varying ceremonies.

“In Ireland,” says Mr. Macpherson, “_Beltein_ is celebrated on the twenty-first of June at the time of the solstice. There they make fires on the tops of the hills, and every member of the family is made to _pass through the fire_, as they reckon this ceremony to ensure good fortune during the succeeding year. This resembles the rite used by the Romans in Palilia.”--“_Beltein_ (adds Mr. M.) is also observed in Lancashire.”

This “custom” being entirely new to me, and appearing so much to illustrate many passages in the Bible which refer to the idolatry of the ancients, I forward it to you agreeably to your printed invitation.

I am, &c.

J. K. S.

STRAND MAYPOLE.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--In your account of the Maypole which stood in the Strand, you have stated that the said Maypole upon its decay was obtained of the parish by sir I. Newton, and placed at Wanstead for support of his telescope; but in the preface to the ninth edition of Derham’s “Astro-Theology,” published 1750, he says, “And now for a close I shall take this opportunity of publicly owning, with all honour and thankfulness, the generous offer made me by some of my friends, eminent in their stations, as well as skill and abilities in the laws, who would have made me a present of the Maypole in the Strand, (which was to be taken down,) or any other pole I thought convenient for the management of Mr. Huygens’s glass; but as my incapacity of accepting the favour of those noble Mecænates hath been the occasion of that glass being put into better hands, so I assure myself their expectations are abundantly answered by the number and goodness of the observations that have been and will be made therewith.”

As you will perceive by the expression “which was to be taken down,” it must have been standing at the time of publication of his book, and as sir I. Newton died in 1726, the “compilation” from which you extracted your account must be erroneous. The name of the philosopher to whom the glass belonged, you will also perceive to be misspelled. I should not have troubled you with these trifling corrections, but as I am sure your admirable work will pass through many editions, you may not in the future ones refuse to make the alteration.

I am, Sir,

Your obedient servant,

_May 17, 1826._

J. S.

* * * * *

I am obliged to J. S. for his endeavour to rectify what he deems an error; but it rather corroborates than invalidates the fact stated in vol. i. p. 560, on the authority of the work there referred to.

J. S. quotes “the _ninth_ edition of Derham’s ‘Astro-Theology,’ published 1750,” and infers that the Strand Maypole “must have been standing at the time of publishing his book;” and so it was; but it was no more in being when the “ninth edition” of his book was published, than Derham himself was, who died in 1735. The first edition of “his book” was published in 1714, and Derham _then_ wrote of it as _then_ standing, and the citation of J. S. shows that it was _then_ contemplated to present Derham with the Maypole for Huygens’s glass, which from “incapacity” he could not accept, and was therefore the occasion of the glass “being put into better hands.” These “better hands” were sir Isaac Newton’s; the object of the intended present of the Maypole to Derham was for Huygens’s glass; and it is reasonable to believe that as sir Isaac had the glass, so also he had the Maypole to appropriate to the purpose of the glass.

Nevertheless, though I think J. S. has failed in proving my authority to be erroneous, and that he himself is mistaken, I repeat that I am obliged by his intention; and I add, that I shall feel obliged to any one who will take the trouble of pointing out any error. I aim to be accurate, and can truly say that it costs me more time to establish the facts I adduce, than to write and arrange the materials after I have convinced myself of their authority.

* * * * *

THE MONTH.

_May Morning._

But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side; The lowing herd; the sheepfold’s simple bell; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above; The hollow murmur of the ocean tide; And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; Crown’d with her pail the tripping milk-maid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings; Through rustling corn the hare astonished springs; Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower; The shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tow’r.

_Beattie._

_May Evening._

Sweet was the sound when oft at evening’s close, By yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school, The watch-dog’s voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

_Goldsmith._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·12.

~May 14.~

1826. WHITSUNDAY.

This is the annual commemoration of the feast of Pentecost. In the catholic times of England it was usual to dramatise the descent of the Holy Ghost in the churches; and hence we have Barnaby Googe’s rhymes:--

On Whitsunday whyte pigeons tame in strings from heauen flie, And one that framed is of wood still hangeth in the skie. Thou seest how they with idols play, and teach the people too; None otherwise then little gyrles with pvppets vse to do.

_Naogeorgus._

These celebrations are noticed in vol. i. p. 685.

_Whitsunday Accident._

ST. ANTHONY’S CHURCH, CORNWALL.

In an old tract printed against church ceremonies during “the troubles of England,” there is an account of “fearfull judgements that God hath shewed upon churches,” one whereof is alleged by the puritan author to have been manifested on this day. His account is curious, and the fact being historical, is here related in his own words, viz.

On _VVhitsunday_ last, 1640, in the parish of _Anthony_ in _Cornwall_, when people were kneeling at the _Communion_, great claps of thunder were heard, as though divers Cannons had been shot off at once, and extraordinary, and most fearfull flashes of Lightnings, and a terrible and unspeakable strange sound, to the great amazement of the people; and when the _Minister_ was turning towards the _Communion Table_, to give the _Cup_, after he had given the _Bread_, he saw (to his thinking) a flaming fire about his body, and withall, heard a terrible and unspeakable sound, and had no hurt, save that the outside of one of his legs was scalded: presently after, divers balls of fire came into the _Church_ and struck one _Ferdinando Reepe_ on the sole of his left foot, with such a violence, as he thought his foot had been split in pieces, and was for a while deprived of his senses: One _John Hodge_ was stricken in the knees and thighs, and lower parts of his body, so as he thought every part of his body to be unjoynted: One _Dorothy Tubbe_ was stricken so, as she thought her legs and knees were struck off from her body: One _Anthony Peeke_ was fearfully struck in all the lower parts of his body, and thought that he had been shot thorow, and was lift up from kneeling, and set upon the form by which hee kneeled: One _Susan Collins_ was struck in the lower parts of her body, so as it seemed to her, to be struck off from the upper part, and was scalded on the wrist of the right hand: A great fire, far redder then any lightning, came into the _Church_, and struck one _Nicholas Shelton_ on both sides of his head, as though he had been struck with two flat stones, and did shake his body, as though it would shake it in pieces, whereby he lost his sight and his senses: One _Roger Nile_ was struck on the backbone, on the right side, and on the anckle on the inside of his left leg, so as for a while, he was not able to stand; after the fire, there was heard in the _Church_, as it were, the hissing of a great shot; and after that a noise, as though divers Cannons had been shot off at once, to make one single and terrible report; the noise did not descend from above, but was heard, and seemed to begin close at the Northside of the _Communion Table_: After this fire and noise, then followed a loathsome smell of _Gunpowder_ and _Brimstone_, and a great smoak. The _Church_ had no harm, save that seven or eight holes and rents were made in the wall of the Steeple, some on the inside, and some on the outside; impressions on the stones in divers places, as if they were made by force of shot, discharged out of a great Ordnance, so as in divers places, light might be seen through the walls. In this storm was no body kill’d, save one Dog in the Belfree, and another at the feet of one kneeling to receive the _Cup_; As soon as this fearfull storm was over, they that were weak, not able to stand, were (through the mercy of God) restored to their strength; and they that were frantick, to their senses; and he that was blind, was restored to his sight; and came all to the _Lords Table_, and received the _VVine_, and went all in the afternoon to give God thanks.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 53·47.

~May 15.~

1826. WHIT MONDAY.

This second season of annual holidays in England, with the humours of Greenwich fair, and the sports in the park, is described in vol. i. p. 687, &c.

It is a universal festival in the humble ranks of life throughout the kingdom.

Hark, how merrily, from distant tower, Ring round the village bells; now on the gale They rise with gradual swell, distinct and loud, Anon they die upon the pensive ear, Melting in faintest music. They bespeak A day of jubilee, and oft they bear, Commixt along the unfrequented shore, The sound of village dance and tabor loud, Startling the musing ear of solitude. Such is the jocund wake of Whitsuntide, When happy superstition, gabbling eld, Holds her unhurtful gambols. All the day The rustic revellers ply the mazy dance On the smooth shaven green, and then at eve Commence the harmless rites and auguries; And many a tale of ancient days goes round. They tell of wizard seer, whose potent spells Could hold in dreadful thrall the labouring moon, Or draw the fixed stars from their eminence, And still the midnight tempest; then, anon, Tell of uncharnelled spectres, seen to glide Along the lone wood’s unfrequented path, Startling the nighted traveller; while the sound Of undistinguished murmurs, heard to come From the dark centre of the deepening glen, Struck on his frozen ear.

_H. K. White._

DROP HANDKERCHIEF.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--The approaching Whitsuntide brings to my remembrance a custom which I believe to be now quite obsolete.

I remember when I was a boy that it was usual in Devonshire, at Easter and Whitsuntide, for young people of both sexes to form a ring at fairs and revels, and play at what was termed “drop handkerchief.” After the ring was formed, which used to be done with little difficulty, a young man would go round it once or twice, examining all the time with curious eye each well formed blooming maiden; the favoured fair was selected by the handkerchief being thrown over her shoulders, and at the same time saluted with a kiss. The young man then took his place in the ring, and the young woman proceeded round it as he had done before, until she dropped the handkerchief behind one of the young men. As soon as this was done she would bound away with the swiftness of a roe, followed by the young man, and if, as was sometimes the case, she proved to be the lightest of foot, considerable merriment was afforded to the bystanders in witnessing the chase through its different windings, dodgings, and circumlocutions, which ended in the lady’s capture, with a kiss for the gentleman’s trouble.

I believe many matches in the humble walks of life may date their origin from this custom; and however the opulent and refined may be disposed to object to a promiscuous assemblage of the sexes, I am doubtful whether they can point out any plan which shall rival in innocence and gaiety those of our forefathers, many of which are gone, and as _pseudo_-delicacy and refinement are now the order of the day, I fear that they never can return again.

_Cannon-street._

R. S.

* * * * *

The editor saw “Drop-handkerchief” in Greenwich-park at Whitsuntide, 1825, and mentioned it as “Kiss in the ring” in vol. i. p. 692.

WHIT MONDAY AT LICHFIELD.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--In the pleasant little city of Lichfield (celebrated for the neatness of its streets, and the beauty of its splendid cathedral) the annual fair for the exhibition of shows, &c. is held on Whit Monday, and it is the custom on that day for a procession, accompanied with musicians, flags, &c. to be formed, composed of part of the corporation, with its inferior officers, &c. who are joined by several of the best mechanics of the place, each of whom carries a representation in miniature of his separate workshop and mode of trade, the figures being so formed as to be put in motion by machinery, and worked by a single wheel. These representations are about two feet square, and are fixed at the top of a pole about two yards high, decorated with flowers, &c. The procession walks from the guildhall to a high hill in the vicinity of the city, called Greenhill, (but which is now nearly surrounded by houses,) where a temporary booth has been erected, with a small space of ground enclosed at the front with boards. This booth is also decorated with flowers, and hence the fair has derived the appellation of “The Greenhill Bower.” On arriving at this booth, the gates of the enclosed park are opened and the procession enters. The different little machines are placed around the enclosure, and then put in motion by the separate “operatives,” in the presence of the higher portion of the corporation, who award which of the machines presents the greatest ingenuity, and prizes are distributed accordingly. This takes place about the middle of the day. The machines remain, and are put in motion and exhibited by their owners until the evening. The booth itself is filled with refreshments; and men being stationed at the gates to prevent the entrance of the disorderlies, every well-dressed person is admitted at once, and some cakes, &c. are given gratuitously away; the corporation I believe being at this expense. The various shows are ranged in different parts of the hill, and as none make their appearance there but such as have already graced “Bartholomew,” it will be endless for me to say another word on this part of the subject, as by reference to your notices of September 3, 1825, will more fully and at large appear, and where your reader will find, although enough, yet “not to spare.” I am, &c. J. O. W.

WHITSUNTIDE HIRINGS.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_May 3, 1826._

Sir,--If you think the annexed worth a place in your invaluable and entertaining work, you will extremely oblige me by inserting it.

I am, Sir, &c.

HENRY WM. DEWHURST.

_63, Upper Thornhaugh-street,_

_Bedford-square._

_Cumberland Hirings._

The “hirings” for farmers’ servants half yearly at Whitsuntide and Martinmass, though not altogether peculiar to the county of Cumberland, are however, I conceive, entitled to notice. Those who come to be hired stand in a body in the market-place, and to distinguish themselves hold a bit of straw or green sprig in their mouths. When the market is over the girls begin to file off and gently pace the streets, with a view of gaining admirers, whilst the young men with similar designs follow them; and having “eyed the lasses,” each picks up a sweetheart, conducts her to a dancing-room, and treats her with punch, wine, and cake. Here they spend their afternoon, and part of their half-year’s wages, in drinking and dancing, unless, as it frequently happens, a girl becomes the subject of contention, when the harmony of the meeting is interrupted, and the candidates for her love settle the dispute by blows. When the diversions of the day are concluded, the servants generally return to their homes for a few holidays before they enter on their new servitude. At fairs, as well as hirings, it is customary for all the young people in the neighbourhood to assemble and dance at the inns and alehouses. In their dances, which are jigs and reels, exertion and agility are more regarded than ease and grace. But little order is observed in these rustic assemblies: disputes frequently arise, and are generally terminated by blows. During these combats the weaker portion of the company, with the minstrels, get on the benches, or cluster in corners, whilst the rest support the combatants; even the lasses will often assist in the battle in support of their relations or lovers, and in the last cases they are desperate. When the affray is over the bruised pugilists retire to wash, and the tattered nymphs to re-adjust their garments. Fresh company arrives, the fiddles strike up, the dancing proceeds as before, and the skirmish which had commenced without malice, is rarely remembered. In their dancing parties the attachments of the country people are generally formed.

ENSHAM, OXON.

_Old Custom._

Till within the last century, an old custom prevailed in the parish of Ensham, Oxfordshire, by which the townspeople were allowed on Whit Monday to cut down and carry away as much timber as could be drawn by men’s hands into the abbey-yard, the churchwardens previously marking out such timber by giving the first chop; so much as they could carry out again, notwithstanding the opposition of the servants of the abbey to prevent it, they were to keep for the reparation of the church. By this service they held their right of commonage at Lammas and Michaelmas; but about the beginning of the last century, this practice was laid aside by mutual consent.[181]

KIDLINGTON, OXON.

There is a custom at Kidlington, in Oxfordshire, on Monday after Whitson Week, to provide a fat live lamb; and the maids of the town, having their thumbs tied behind them, run after it, and she that with her mouth takes and holds the lamb, is declared _Lady of the Lamb_; which being dressed, with the skin hanging on, is carried on a long pole before the lady and her companions to the green, attended with music, and a morisco dance of men, and another of women, where the rest of the day is spent in dancing, mirth, and merry glee. The next day the lamb is part baked, boiled, and roast, for the lady’s feast, where she sits majestically at the upper end of the table, and her companions with her, with music and other attendants, which ends the solemnity.[182]

NECTON, NORFOLK.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Various purse clubs, or benefit societies, annual feasts, and other merry-makings, having from time immemorial produced a Whitsuntide holiday amongst the inhabitants of numerous villages in Norfolk, in 1817, colonel, at that time major, Mason, in order to concentrate these festivities, and render _Necton_, (his place of family residence,) the focus of popular attraction to the neighbouring villagers, established a _guild_ or festival for rural sports, on Whit Monday and Tuesday. Having, during the late war, while with his regiment (the East Norfolk Militia) had an opportunity of observing the various celebrations of Whitsuntide, in different parts of the kingdom, he was thus enabled to constitute _Necton guild_, a superior holiday festival. Arranged under his immediate patronage, and conducted by his principal tenantry, it soon became, and still continues, the most respectable resort of Whitsuntide festivities in Norfolk.

Previous to the festival, the following printed notice is usually circulated

“WHITSUN HOLIDAYS

“On the afternoons of Whit Monday and Whit Tuesday next, a guild for rural games, Maypole dances, &c. will be held in the grounds of William Mason, Esq., Necton.

“The guild being entirely distinct from a fair, no stalls, stands, or booths, or other conveniences for the sale of goods, will be suffered to be brought upon the grounds, but by those who have special leave for that purpose, in writing, given on application to John Carr, master beadle.

“The guild will open each day at two P. M., and canteens, (where refreshments of all sorts may be had, and cold dinners supplied,) will close each night by sound of bell at eleven.

“N. B.--As this guild is regularly policed, it is hoped that the hilarity of the festival will continue to be preserved as heretofore, by the order and obliging conduct of all those who come to mix in the entertainment.

“Signed by * * * Mayor.

“* * * * Past Mayor.

“GOD SAVE THE KING.”

The field selected for the purpose is beautifully and picturesquely situated, opposite the park of Necton-hall. Near the centre is a raised mound of earth fenced round to protect it from the pressure of the crowd, on which is erected a “Maypole,” crowned with a streamer or pennant, and encircled by numerous garlands of flowers and evergreens, suspended longitudinally from the top to the bottom of the pole:--this is called the Maypole-stand. At a convenient distance are placed the stalls, canteens, and booths; the principal of which, tastefully decorated with evergreens, is called “the mayor’s booth,” and is solely appropriated to his friends and the select party of the company; care being taken to prevent improper intrusion.

From the “mayor’s booth,” early on Whit Monday afternoon, the ceremony of commencing or proclaiming the guild emanates in the following order of procession:--

Constable of Necton in a red scarf, with his staff of office. Beadles or special constables with staves, two and two. Master beadle of the guild, with a halberd. Six boys and girls, Maypole dancers, two and two, hand in hand. Band of Music. Maskers, or morris-dancers, fancifully attired, two and two. Pursuivant with a truncheon, habited in a tabard, on which is depictured an allegorical representation of the arms of Necton. Sword-bearer in grotesque dress, on horseback. Standard bearer on horseback. THE MAYOR OF THE GUILD, On horseback, in full dress suit and purple robes with his chain of office. Standard bearer on horseback. The mayor elect on horseback. Standard bearer on horseback. Principal tenantry on horseback, two and two. Beadles of the guild. Maskers or morris-dancers, fancifully attired, two and two. Six boys and girls, Maypole dancers, two and two, hand in hand. Beadles of the guild. Band of music. Man bearing a standard. Members of Royal Oak Friendly Society, with purple and light blue favours in their hats, two and two. Members of the Necton Old Club Friendly Society with light blue favours in their hats, two and two.

Taking a circuitous route through the field into the park, upon arriving at the principal entrance to the hall, where the colonel and his friends are waiting the approach of the procession, the mayor alights, and thus addresses the patron:--

“Honourable sir,-- “The period now arriv’d, In which the tokens of my mayoralty Must be resign’d,--I make it my request, You should appoint as mayor elect, this year, Our worthy friend and colleague, Mr. * * * * But in resigning, beg best thanks to give For the diversion of our last year’s guild;-- Hoping the festival will as much this year, By weather and kind friends be happy blest.”

To this the colonel replies, “by thanking the mayor for his past services,--for the good order and regularity observed during the last festival,--and the pleasure it will afford him to make the new appointment.”--They then enter the vestibule, where the mayor resigning his robes and tokens of office, the mayor elect is then invested with them. After returning to the door, the colonel congratulates the new mayor on entering his office, &c. to which his worship thus replies:--

“Honourable sir,-- “With pleasure I receive Th’ official tokens of my mayoralty, Which now in place of our late worthy mayor, Alderman * * * * I do most willingly take: Be well assured, as much as in me lies, I will good rule and order strict maintain, That peace and pleasure may together tend To make our guild, two days of even mirth Hoping all here assembled at the hall, Anon will join us in the festive scene, And bidding all most welcome to our guild: I thus respectful beg to take my leave, That I may tend my duties in the field.”--

The procession then returns by the same route and in the same order, with the exception of the _new_ and the _past_ mayors who have changed places. The rustic sports then commence;--the master beadle, ringing a bell, proclaims the sport and the prize, the competitors for which are desired to “come upon the Maypole-stand.”--The sports usually selected, are

Wrestling-matches. Foot-races. Jingling-matches. Jumping in sacks. Wheel-barrow races, blindfold. Spinning matches. Whistling matches. Grinning ditto, through a horse-collar. Jumping matches. &c. &c. &c. &c.

These are occasionally enlivened with Maypole dances, by the boys and girls of the village, selected and dressed for the occasion, and also by the maskers or morris-dancers. When the shades of evening prevent the continuance of these sports, the spacious “mayor’s booth” is then the object of attraction. Well lighted, and the floor boarded for the occasion, country dances commence, which are generally kept up with great spirit and harmony, till the master beadle with his bell announces the time arrived for closing the booths and canteens, “by order of the mayor.” A few minutes, and sometimes (by permission) a little longer, terminates the amusement, which is always concluded, on both evenings, by the whole company joining in the national anthem of “God save the king.”

That “Necton guild” is considered as a superior establishment to a rustic fair, or other merry-making, by the numerous, respectable, and fashionable companies who generally attend from all parts of the neighbourhood. Undisturbed by those scenes of intoxication and disorder, usually prevalent at village fairs, the greatest harmony prevails throughout, and the superior attention and accommodation afforded by the patron and directors of the festival, to all classes of well-behaved and respectable visiters, cannot fail to render “Necton guild,” a popular and attractive resort of Whitsuntide festivities.

I have attempted a sketch of the Maypole stand, &c. from my own knowledge, for I have usually rambled to Necton one or two evenings of each year, since the “guild” was established, and hence I have given you the particulars from actual observation, though I am indebted to a friend, who is a diligent and accurate recorder of customs for the speeches, &c. I must further observe, that the mound of earth I have endeavoured to represent is permanent in the field, and about three feet high, though I have erroneously represented it as higher from lack of eye in drawing, to which indeed I make no pretension. The dancers are the morris-dancers in grotesque dresses; the men with fanciful figured print waistcoat and small clothes, decked with bows; and the women in coloured skirts, trimmed like stage dresses for Spanish girls, with French toques instead of caps.

I find you have removed the publishing office since I wrote last, but I hope you do not mean to withdraw yourself from the work. Should you continue “the soul” of the _Every-Day Book_ “body,” you shall hear from me again, whenever and as soon as I can.

K.

* * * * *

⁂ _To obviate the possibility of misapprehension in consequence of the_ EVERY-DAY BOOK _being published by Messrs._ HUNT _and_ CLARKE, _I take this opportunity of observing, that those gentlemen have no other concern in the work than that of being its publishers, and that it has never ceased from my entire management from the time they undertook that service for me on my own solicitation. No one has any share or interest in it, or any power of influencing its management, and it will continue to be conducted and written by me, as it has been, from the first hour of its commencement. I hope that this is a full and final answer to every inquiry on the subject._

_May, 1826._

W. HONE.

WHITSUN ALES.

It is pleasant to read the notices of these ancient revels in our topographical histories. One of them gives the following account of a Cornish merriment.

“For the _church-ale_, two young men of the parish are yerely chosen by their last foregoers to be wardens, who, dividing the task, make collection among the parishioners, of whatsoever provision it pleaseth them voluntarily to bestow. This they employ in brewing, baking, and other acates, against Whitsuntide, upon which holidays the neighbours meet at the church house, and there merily feed on their owne victuals, each contributing some petty portion to the stock, which, by many smalls, groweth to a meetly greatness; for there is entertayned a kind of emulation between these wardens, who, by his graciousness in gathering, and good husbandry in expending, can best advance the churche’s profit. Besides, the neighbour parishes at those times lovingly visit one another, and frankly spend their money together. The afternoons are consumed in such exercises as olde and yonge folk (having leysure) doe accustomably weare out the time withall. When the feast is ended, the wardens yeeld in their accounts to the parishioners; and such money as exceedeth the disbursement is layd up in store, to defray any extraordinary charges arising in the parish, or imposed on them for the good of the countrey or the prince’s service; neither of which commonly gripe so much, but that somewhat stil remayneth to cover the purse’s bottom.”[183]

Another says, “There were no rates for the poor in my grandfather’s days; but for Kingston St. Michael (no small parish) the church-ale of Whitsuntide did the business. In every parish is (or was) a church-house to which belonged spits, crocks, &c. utensils for dressing provision. Here the housekeepers met, and were merry, and gave their charity. The young people were there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c. the ancients sitting gravely by, and looking on. All things were civil, and without scandal.”[184]

Mr. Douce tells us, that “At present the Whitsun ales are conducted in the following manner. Two persons are chosen, previously to the meeting, to be lord and lady of the ale, who dress as suitably as they can, to the characters they assume. A large empty barn, or some such building, is provided for the lord’s hall, and fitted up with seats to accommodate the company. Here they assemble to dance and regale in the best manner their circumstances and the place will afford; and each young fellow treats his girl with a riband or favour. The lord and lady honour the hall with their presence, attended by the steward, sword-bearer, purse-bearer, and mace-bearer with their several badges or ensigns of office. They have likewise a train-bearer or page, and a fool or jester, drest in a party-coloured jacket, whose ribaldry and gesticulation, contribute not a little to the entertainment of some part of the company. The lord’s music, consisting of a pipe and tabor, is employed to conduct the dance. Some people think this custom is a commemoration of the ancient Drink-lean, a day of festivity, formerly observed by the tenants, and vassals of the lord of the fee, within his manor; the memory of which, on account of the jollity of those meetings, the people have thus preserved ever since. The glossaries inform us, that this Drink-lean was a contribution of tenants, towards a potation or ale, provided to entertain the lord or his steward.”[185]

* * * * *

At Islington A fair they hold, Where cakes and ale Are to be sold. At Highgate, and At Holloway The like is kept Here every day. At Totnam Court And Kentish Town, And all those places Up and down.

_Poor Robin_, 1676.

PEPPARD REVEL.

The “Reading Mercury” of May 24, 1819, contains the following advertisement:--

“_Peppard Revel_ will be held on Whit Monday, May 31, 1819; and for the encouragement of young and old gamesters, there will be a good hat to be played for at cudgels; for the first seven couple that play, the man that breaks most heads to have the prize; and one shilling and sixpence will be given to each man that breaks a head, and one shilling to the man that has his head broke.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·35.

[181] Topographical, &c. Description of Oxfordshire.

[182] Blount’s Jocular Tenures.

[183] Carew’s Cornwall.

[184] Aubrey’s Wiltshire.

[185] Brand.

~May 16.~

Among the peers without compeer, A noble lord of parliament, Upon “his country’s good” intent, Through Durham daily took his walk, And talk’d, “ye gods, how he would talk!” His private riches how immense! His public virtue, how intense Preeminent of all the great, His mighty wisdom ruled the state! His claims, to high consideration, Brought deeper into debt the nation. Was he not, then, a statesman? what, Else, could he be?--for I know not.

A REMARKABLE CHARACTER.

On the sixteenth of May, 1796, died in Durham workhouse, at the advanced age of eighty-five years, the “duke of Baubleshire.” His title was neither ancestral, nor conferred by creation; but, as Napoleon is said to have placed the iron crown on his own head, and vowed to maintain it with his sword, so Thomas French assumed the title of duke of Baubleshire of his own will, and maintained his nobility throughout life, by wearing a star of coloured paper, or cloth, on the breast of his spencer. As a further mark of his quality, he mounted a cockade in his hat, and several brass curtain rings on his fingers. Thus decorated, and with a staff in his hand to support his feeble frame, he constantly tottered through Durham; every street of which ancient city acknowledged his distinction.

At this time it is difficult to conjecture the origin of Thomas French’s title. He assumed it with the decline of his understanding, until which period he had been a labouring man, and supported himself by the work of his hands. In right of his dukedom, he publicly urged his claims to immense possessions. It was his constant usage to stop and accost every one he knew, or could introduce himself to, on points of business, connected with the Baubleshire estates. Though at no time master of a shilling, he incessantly complained of having been defrauded of vast amounts, in cash and bank bills; and parties whom he suspected of these transactions, he threatened to punish with the utmost rigour of the law. He seldom saw a goodly horse, or a handsome carriage, without claiming it, and insisted on his rights so peremptorily and pertinaciously, as to be exceedingly vexatious to the possessors of the property. He fearlessly exhibited charges of misappropriation against individuals of all ranks and conditions. According to his grace’s representations, every covetable personalty in Durham and its vicinage, had been clandestinely obtained from Baubleshire; nor did he make any secret of his intimate and frequent correspondence with the king, on the subject of raising men for carrying on the war, and other important affairs of state. He likewise expressed his opinions on other men’s characters and conduct without reserve; and notwithstanding his abject poverty, his pointed observations frequently inflicted wounds, for which it would have been folly to express resentment.

The duke of Baubleshire was occupied with his numerous concerns, till within three or four days of his death, when he took to his bed; and over burdened by old age, peaceably lay down with the other departed dignitaries of the earth. The present portrait and particulars of him are from a print lithographed at Durham, where he took his title, and where he still lives in ephemeral fame.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·30.

~May 17.~

1826. EMBER WEEK.

Oxford Term begins.

_Remarkable Performance._

On the seventeenth of May, 1817, a respectable farmer of Kirton Lindsey for a wager of a few pounds, undertook to ride a poney up two pair of stairs into a chamber of the George Inn, and down again, which he actually performed before a numerous company, whose astonishment was heightened by the rider being upwards of eleven stone weight, and his horse less than thirty. They were weighed after the feat to decide a wager.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 56·65.

~May 18.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the eighteenth of May, 1664, the following public advertisement was issued for the healing of the people by king Charles II.

_Notice._

His sacred majesty having declared it to be his royal will and purpose to continue the healing of his people for the evil during the month of May, and then give over till Michalmas next. I am commanded to give notice thereof, that the people may not come up to the town in the interim and lose their labour.

_Newes_, 1664.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·32.

~May 19.~

“POOR JOE MOODY!”

A willing record is given to the memory of an unfortunate young man, in the language of an intelligent correspondent.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Poor Joe Moody lived in Ballingdon, a village in Essex; he was an idiot, a good, simple-hearted creature. The character of his infirmity was childishness; he would play at marbles, spin his top, run his hoop, and join the little boys in the village, with whom he was a great favourite, in all their sports. As a boy he was rational, but when he assumed the man, which he would now and then do, the poor fellow was a sad picture of misery. He would sit upon the steps of an old house, and ask if you did not hear the thunder; then he would start as if to restrain the fury of a horse, and he would suddenly become mild again, and say, “I have seen her grave!” and he would weep like a child for hours. The story of his early life I have heard my father thus relate:--

“When I went to school with Joe Moody, he was a fine fellow, and remarkable for his good temper and lively disposition; he could run from us all, and was one of the best cricketers in the town. After he had left school he became acquainted with Harriet F----; she was a very lovely girl, young and amiable, and had been sought by more than one respectable farmer in the neighbourhood; but Joe was preferred by her, and by her parents. I need not say how endeared to each other they were; the sequel shows it too plainly. In a few days they were to have been made happy; friends were invited to the wedding, and a rich old aunt was to be of the party. Joe proposed that Harriet and himself should go and fetch this old lady; a mark of respect which was readily agreed to. With hopes high, and hearts of gaiety, the young folks set off on a fine summer’s morning, with feelings which only youth and love can know. Who can say this shall be a day of happiness? They had scarcely lost sight of home when the sky became overcast, and in a few minutes a dreadful storm burst over their heads. The thunder and lightning were terrific, and the high spirited horse became unmanageable. Poor Joe endeavoured to restrain its fury, but in vain; it left the track of the road; the hood of the chaise struck against the projecting branch of a tree, and both were thrown out with extreme violence to the earth. Joe soon recovered, and his first care was his Harriet--she was a corpse at his feet! Poor Joe spoke not for some weeks; and the first return of imperfect sense, was shown by his swimming a little cork boat which he found.”

This humour was encouraged, and often his melancholy weeping mood was turned by a kind proposition to play a game at marbles. He would come to my father’s house sometimes, and borrow a penny to buy marbles, a string for a kite, or some trifling toy. He never had his hair cut: it was very black and glossy; and used to curl and hang about his shoulders like the hair of Charles II., whom he resembled somewhat in the face. Joe went regularly to church, and as regularly to the grave of his Harriet. In rainy or tempestuous weather, he would sit upon the steps of the door where he first met her, and ask of passing strangers whether they had seen her. He had a fine voice and taste for singing, with which he would sometimes amuse himself, but it generally led him to melancholy. Joe feared but one person in the village, a Mr. S----, who once beat him at school in a boyish fight.

I went to Ballingdon last summer, and asked for Joe: an old man told me he died suddenly on seeing a horse run away--he showed me his grave.

W. DOOWRUH.

_May, 1826._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·70.

~May 20.~

REMARKABLE FUNERAL.

On the twentieth of May, 1736, the body of Samuel Baldwin, Esq. was, in compliance with an injunction in his will, immersed, _sans ceremonie_, in the sea at Lymington, Hants. His motive for this extraordinary mode of interment was, to prevent his wife from “dancing over his grave,” which this modern Xantippe had frequently threatened to do in case she survived him.

SCOTCH SUPERSTITIONS IN MAY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--A desultory sketch of the more prominent features, on the darker side of Scotch character, if deemed worthy of insertion, is at your service.

Researches into ancient usages, the way of leading life, and the customs and superstitious belief, which gave tinge and sway to those who peopled the world before us, are often ridiculed as frivolous by casual observers. But the events of centuries past have become classic from their associations with many of our own. Such observers are apt to forget that much in our present manners is as certainly derived from the popular opinions of past ages, as the heaving of the ocean is caused by the submarine ground swell.

Neither the thoughts nor the actions of men, are to be compared or measured by an unvarying standard of consistency or reason. The passions are the real, though unsteady and eccentric guides of our motions; of these, fear is the most predominant; and in its hour of operation, has the most commanding power. Why is it, that a man in a state of inebriety will be little the worse for bruises which would cost the same man sober, his life? It is not the alcohol that gives life its tenacity, but it is the consequent absence of fear which prevents imaginary, being added to real dangers. Like love, it feeds its own flame. In all ages, when earthly objects have ceased to terrify, men have conjured up phantoms for their minds’ excitation, which, when reason told them, were false, because invisible to the senses, they clothed with superhuman attributes; still, however, taking advantage of every incident their fancy misrepresented, to prove, at least, their material effects. Such is witchcraft; which in Scotland, not many years ago, was as generally believed in as Christianity, and which many, who have been excluded from the polish of society, believe in still. Those who ventured to impugn the doctrine, were held to be what the mob did not understand, but what they believed to be something of extraordinary iniquity--“PAPISTS.”

The month of May has always been deemed peculiarly favourable for supernatural appearances. No one will marry in May: but on the first morning of that month, maidens rise early to gather May-dew, which they throw over their shoulder in order to propitiate fate in allotting them a good husband. If they can succeed by the way in catching a snail by the horns, and throwing it over their shoulder, it is an omen of good luck; and if it is placed on a slate, then likewise it will describe by its turning, the initials of their future husband’s name.

Anciently, the month of May was ushered in with many solemn rites, and the first day had the name of “Beltane.” The “Beltane time” was a season of boisterous mirth and riotous festivity. There is still a fair at the town of Peebles, which goes by the name of the Beltane fair. Our king, James I., says,

“At Beltane quhar ilk bodie bownis To Peblis to the play, To hear ye sing and ye soundis The solace suth to say.”

The mob elected a “king and queen of May,” and dressed them fantastically to preside over their ceremonies. There were also peculiar games, and “Clerks’ Plays,” with which the multitude amused themselves at this season.

Among other superstitious observances for which May is reckoned favourable, there is a custom of visiting certain wells, which were believed to possess a charm, for “curing of sick people,” during that month. In 1628, a number of persons were brought before the Kirk Session of Falkirk, accused of going to Christ’s well on the Sundays of May, to seek their health, and the whole being found guilty were sentenced to repent “in linens” three several sabbaths. “And it is statute and ordained that if any person, or persons, be found superstitiously and idolatrously, after this, to have passed in pilgrimage to Christ’s well, on the Sundays of May to seek their health, they shall repent in _sacco_ (sackcloth) and linen three several sabbaths, and pay twenty lib (Scots) _toties quoties_, for ilk fault; and if they cannot pay it, the baillies shall be recommended to put them in ward, and to be fed on bread and water for aught days.”[186] They were obliged, for the preservation of the charm, to keep strict silence on the way, to and from the well, and not to allow the vessel in which the water was, to touch the ground.

In 1657, a mob of parishioners were summoned to the session, for believing in the powers of the well of Airth, a village about six miles north of Falkirk, on the banks of the Forth, and the whole were sentenced to be publicly rebuked for the sin.--“Feb. 3, 1757, Session convenit. Compeared Bessie Thomson, who declairit scho went to the well at Airth, and that schoe left money thairat, and after the can was fillat with water, they keepit it from touching the ground till they cam hom.” “February 24.--Compeired Robert Fuird who declared he went to the well of Airth, and spoke nothing als he went, and that Margrat Walker went with him, and schoe said ye beleif about the well, and left money and ane napkin at the well, and all was done at her injunction.” “Compeared Bessie Thomson declarit schoe fetchit hom water from the said well and luit it not touch the ground in homcoming, spoke not as sha went, said the beleif at it, left money and ane napkin thair; and all was done at Margrat Walker’s command,” “Compeired Margrat Walker who denyit yat scho was at yat well befoir and yat scho gave my directions.” “March 10. Compeared Margrat Forsyth being demandit if scho went to the well of Airth, to fetch water thairfrom, spok not by ye waye, luit it not touch ye ground in homcoming? if scho said ye belief? left money and ane napkin at it? Answered affirmatively in every poynt, and yat Nans Brugh directit yem, and yat they had bread at ye well, with them, and yat Nans Burg said shoe wald not be affrayit to goe to yat well at midnight hir alon.” “Compeired Nans Burg, denyit yat ever scho had bein at yat well befoir.” “Compeired Ro^{t} Squir confest he went to yat well at Airth, fetchit hom water untouiching ye ground, left money and said ye beleif at it.” “March 17. Compeired Ro^{t} Cochran, declairit, he went to the well at Airth and ane other well, bot did neither say ye beleif, nor leave money.” “Compeired Grissal Hutchin, declairit scho commandit the lasses yat went to yat well, say ye beleif, but dischargit hir dochter.” “March 21. Compeired Robert Ffuird who declairit yat Margrat Walker went to ye well of Airth to fetch water to Robert Cowie, and when schoe com thair, scho laid down money in Gods name, and ane napkin in Ro^{t} Cowie’s name.” “Compeired Jonet Robison who declairit yat when scho was seik, Jean Mathieson com to hir and told hir, that the water of the well of Airth was guid for seik people, and yat the said Jean hir guid sister desyrit hir fetch sum of it to hir guid man as he was seik, bot scho durst never tell him.” These people were all “publicly admonishit for superstitious carriage.” Yet within these few years, a farmer and his servant were known to travel fifty miles for the purpose of bringing water from a charmed well in the Highlands to cure their sick cattle.

The records contain some curious notices concerning witchcraft, which are all certified to “my lord’s court,” the baronial juridical conservator of the public peace; but, if we may judge from the re-appearance of the parties, none, much to the laird of Callander’s honour, ever were punished. I may afterwards give some of these for the amusement of the readers of the _Every-Day Book_, who will likewise find in the “Scots’ Magazine” for March, 1814, an account of trials for witchcraft at Borroustaunness, which ended in six poor creatures’ condemnation on the twenty-third of December, 1679, to “be wirried at a steak till they be dead, and then to have their bodies burnt to ashes!”

The reputed consequences of the _blink of an ill-ee_, are either death, or some horrible debility; for which there are some preventitives, such as rolling a red silk thread round the finger or the neck, or keeping a slip of rowntree (mountain ash) in the bonnet; and last, not least, there is a “gruel, thick and slab,” which is reckoned efficacious in averting “Skaith.” At this day, even in the twenty-sixth year of the nineteenth century, an old woman in Falkirk earns a comfortable livelihood by the sale of “_Skaith Saw_.”

I am, Sir, &c.

ROBERT KIER

_Falkirk, May 16, 1826._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·42.

[186] Session Records, June 12, 1628.

~May 21.~

1826. TRINITY SUNDAY.

For usages on this day, see vol. i. p. 722.

THE SEASON.

It is observed by Dr. Forster in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the sky is generally serene, and the weather mild and agreeable, about this time. A cloudy day, however, frequently happens, and is sometimes succeeded by a day’s rain; but we have noticed frequently, that an overcast sky, when not too obscure, is the best for viewing flowers, and at this time of year often sets off the splendid Vernal Flora to great advantage.

_Song to Summer._

Hail, rural goddess of delight! I woo thy smiles from morn till night; Now no more rude Eurus blows O’er mountains of congealed snows; But thy faire handmaid lovely Maie Treads the fresh lawns, and leads the waie. Now, at Flora’s earlie call, The meadows greene and vallies all Pour forth their variegated flowers, To regale the sportive hours. Hence then let me fly the crowde Of busy men, and seke the woode, With some Dryad of the grove, By shades of elm and oak to rove, Till some sequestered spot we find, There, on violet bank reclined, We fly the day-star’s burning heate, Which cannot reach our green retreate; While Zephyr, with light whispering breeze, Softly dances in the trees; And, upon his muskie wing, Doth a thousand odours bring From the blooming mead below, Where cowslips sweet and daisies blow; And from out her grassie bed The harebell hangs her nodding head; Hard bye, some purling stream beside, Where limpid waters gently glide, Iris shows her painted woof Of variegated hues, windproof; And with water lillies there, The nymphs and naids braid the haire; And from out their leafie haunt, The birdes most melodious chant. Then, sweet nymph, at eventide, Let us roam the broke beside, While the lovelorn nightingale Sadlie sings the woods ymel, Till the bittern’s booming note O’er the sounding mashes flote, And the ominous owls do crie, While luckless bats are flitting bye; Then before the midnight houre, When ghostlie sprites and pizgies coure, We will betake us to our cot, And be it there, O sleep, our lot, To rest in balmie slumberings, Till the next cock his matin rings.

CHRONOLOGY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--As the anniversary of that day, on which the greatest mathematician of his time was removed from this transitory world, is fast approaching, I hasten to send you a brief memorial, selected from various local works, of that truly original and eccentric genius. I also enclose a fac-simile of his hand writing, which was presented to me by a very obliging friend, Robert Surtees, of Mainsforth, Esq., F. S. A., and author of a very splendid and elaborate “History of the County Palatinate of Durham.”

Your’s truly,

JOHN SYKES

_Newcastle, Tyne, April 25, 1826._

William Emerson was born at Hurworth, a pleasant village, about three miles from Darlington, in the county of Durham, on the 14th of May, 1701. The preceptor of his early years was his own father, of whom he learned writing and arithmetic, and probably the rudiments of Latin. After having studied mathematics with much ardour under able masters, at Newcastle and York, he returned to Hurworth, and again benefited by the knowledge of his father, who was a tolerable master of the mathematics. Some degree of Emerson’s celebrity may be attributed to the treatment which he received from Dr. Johnson, rector of Hurworth, whose niece he had married. The doctor had engaged to give five hundred pounds to his niece, who lived with him, as a marriage portion; but when reminded of the promise, he choose to forget that it had been made, and treated our young mathematician as a person beneath his notice.

The pecuniary disappointment Emerson (who had an independent spirit, and whose patrimony though not large, was equal to all his wants) would easily have surmounted, but the contemptuous treatment stung him to the soul. He immediately went home, packed up his wife’s clothes, and sent them to the doctor, saying, that he would scorn to be beholden to such a fellow for a single rag; vowing at the same time that he would be revenged, and prove himself to be the _better man of the two_. His first publication, however, did not meet with immediate encouragement, and most probably his other works would never have appeared, at least in the author’s lifetime, if Edward Montague, Esq., his great admirer and friend, had not procured him the patronage of Mr. John Nourse, bookseller and optician, who being himself skilled in the more abstruse sciences, immediately engaged Emerson to furnish a regular course of mathematics for the use of students, and in the summer of 1763, Emerson made a journey to London, to settle and fulfil the agreement.

His devotion to the philosophy of sir Isaac Newton was so uncommonly strong, that every oppugner of this great man was treated by Emerson as dull, blind, bigotted, prejudiced, or mad, and the fire and impetuosity of his temper would on these occasions betray him into language far distant from the strictness of mathematical demonstration. Mr. E. was in person something below the common size, but firm, compact, well made, very active and strong. He had a good open expressive countenance, with a ruddy complexion, a keen and penetrating eye, and an ardour and eagerness of look that was very demonstrative of the texture of his mind. His dress was grotesque frequently; sometimes mean and shabby. A very few hats served him through the whole course of his life; and when he purchased one (or indeed any other article of dress) it was perfectly indifferent to him whether the form or fashion of it was of the day, or of half a century before. One of these hats of immense superficies, had, by length of time, lost its elasticity, and its brim began to droop in such a manner as to prevent his being able to view the objects before him in a direct line. This was not to be endured by an optician; he therefore took a pair of sheers, and cut it off by the body of the hat, leaving a little to the front, which he dexterously rounded into the resemblance of the nib of a jockey’s cap. His wigs were made of brown, or of a dirty flaxen coloured hair, which at first appeared bushy and tortuous behind, but which grew pendulous through age, till at length it became quite straight, having probably never undergone the operation of the comb; and either through the original mal-formation of the wig, or from a custom he had of frequently thrusting his hand beneath it, the back part of his head and wig seldom came into very close contact. His coat or more properly jacket, or waistcoat with sleeves to it, which he commonly wore without any other waistcoat, was of drab colour; his linen was more calculated for warmth and duration than show, being spun and bleached by his wife, and woven at Hurworth. In cold weather he had a custom of wearing his shirt with the wrong side before, and buttoned behind the neck, yet this was not an affectation of singularity, (for Emerson had no affectation, though his customs and manners were singular,) he had a reason for it; he seldom buttoned more than two or three buttons of his waistcoat, leaving all the rest open; in wind, rain, or snow, therefore, he must have found the aperture at the breast inconvenient if his shirt had been put on in the usual manner. When he grew aged, in cold weather, he used to wear what he called _shin-covers_: these were pieces of old sacking, tied with strings above the knee, and depending down to the shoe, in order to prevent his legs from being scorched when he sat too near the fire. This singularity of dress and figure, together with his character for profound learning, and knowledge more than human, occasioned the illiterate and ignorant to consider him as a cunning man, or necromancer, and various stories have been related of his skill in the _black art_. He affected an appearance of infidelity on religious matters, and was an example to the vulgar, not a little reprehensible. His diet was as simple and plain as his dress, and his meals gave little interruption either to his studies, employments, or amusements. He catered for himself, and pretty constantly went to Darlington, to make his own markets; yet, when he had provided all the necessary articles, he not unfrequently neglected to return home for a day or two, seating himself contentedly in some public house, where he could procure good ale and company, and passing the hours in various topics of conversation. His style of conversation was generally abrupt and blunt, and often vulgar and ungrammatical. This occasioned a supposition, that his prefaces were not written by himself, an opinion that was one day mentioned to him, and the disparity of his conversation and writing pointed out as the reason. After a momentary pause, he exclaimed, with some indignation, “A pack of fools! who would write my prefaces but myself.” Mr. Emerson often tried to practise the effect of his mathematical speculations, by constructing a variety of instruments, mathematical, mechanical, and musical, on a small scale. He made a spinning-wheel for his wife, which is represented in his book of mechanics. He was well skilled in the science of music, the theory of sounds, and the various scales both ancient and modern. He was a great contributor to the “Lady’s Diary,” under the signature of “Merones,” and for many years unknown, until a transposition of letters discovered his name.[187] During the greater part of his life, his health had been strong and uninterrupted; but as he advanced into the vale of years, internal complaints allowed him but little intermission of pain, and at length deprived him of breath on the twenty-first of May, 1782, aged eighty-one years and one week. He was buried in the churchyard of his native village where he died. About a twelvemonth before his decease, he was prevailed on after much importunity, to sit for his portrait, which was taken by Mr. Sykes, for his friend Mr. Cloudsley of Darlington, surgeon. It is said to be a most striking likeness.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·32.

[187]

“Beneath the shelter of the silent elm, His native elm (to sapience still a friend) MERONES loves, and meditates beneath The verdure of thy leaves: see there How silently he sits! and lost in thought, Weighs in his mind some great design! revolves He now his _Subtile Fluxions_? or displays By truest signs the _Sphere’s Projection_ wide? Wide as thy sphere, Merones, be thy fame.”

See a poem on the old Elm at Hurworth, in _Gent. Mag._ for May, 1756.

~May 22.~

SOPS AND ALE.

At East-Bourn, in “a descriptive account of that village in the county of Sussex,” there is mention of a very singular custom having prevailed for many years under the denomination of “Sops and Ale.” It was productive of much mirth and good humour, being conducted as follows: the senior bachelor in the place was elected by the inhabitants, steward, and to him was delivered a damask napkin, a large wooden bowl, twelve wooden trenchers, twelve wooden knives and forks, two wooden candlesticks, and two wooden cups for the reception of sugar; and on the Saturday fortnight the steward attended at the church-door, with a white wand in his hand, and gave notice that sops and ale would be given that evening at such a place. Immediately after any lady, or respectable farmer or tradesman’s wife became mother of a child, the steward called at the house, and begged permission for “sops and ale;” which was always granted, and conducted in the following order:--Three tables were placed in some convenient room; one of which was covered with the above napkin, and had a china bowl and plates, with silver handled knives and forks placed on it; and in the bowl were put biscuits sopped with wine, and sweetened with fine sugar. The second table was also covered with a cloth, with china, or other earthern plates, and a bowl with beer sops, sweetened with fine sugar, and decent knives and forks. The third table was placed without any cloth; and on it were put the wooden bowl, knives, forks, and trenchers, as before described, with the candlesticks and sugar cups; and in the bowl were beer sops, sweetened with the coarsest sugar. As soon as the evening service was over, having had previous notice from the steward, the company assembled, and were placed in the following order:--those persons whose wives were mothers of twins, were placed at the upper or first table; those whose wives had a child or children, at the second table; and such persons as were married, and had no children, together with the old bachelors, were placed at the third table, which was styled _the bachelors’ table_, under which title the gentlemen who sat at it, were addressed for that evening, and the gentlemen at the first table were styled _benchers_. Proper toasts were given, adapted for the occasion, and the company always broke up at eight o’clock, generally very cheerful and good-humoured.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 54·87.

~May 23.~

CHRONOLOGY.

This is the anniversary of one of the great duke of Marlborough’s most celebrated engagements, the battle of Ramilles, a place near Namur in the Netherlands, where, on this day, in the year 1706, he gained a memorable victory over the French. It was in this battle that colonel Gardiner, then an ensign in the nineteenth year of his age, received a shot in his mouth, from a musket ball, which, without destroying any of his teeth, or touching the fore part of his tongue, went through his neck, and came out about an inch and a half on the left side of the vertebræ. He felt no pain, but dropped soon after, and lay all night among his dying companions; he recovered in an almost miraculous manner, and became, from a most profligate youth, a character eminent for piety.[188]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 55·57.

[188] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.

~May 24.~

JACK KETCH AND NEWGATE.

On this day, in 1736, five felons in Newgate were to have been executed; but the prison was so insecure, that, during the night, one of them “took up a board and got out of his cell, and made his escape.” The other four were taken to Tyburn and suffered their sentence; and Jack Ketch “on his return from doing his duty at Tyburn, robbed a woman of three shillings and sixpence.”[189]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 56·42.

[189] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~May 25.~

CORPUS CHRISTI DAY.

On Corpus Christi day, at about a quarter before one o’clock at noon, the worshipful company of skinners (attended by a number of boys which they have in Christ’s Hospital school, and girls strewing herbs before them) walk in procession from their hall on Dowgate-hill, to the church of St. Antholin’s, in Watling-street, to hear service. This custom has been observed time out of mind.

This notice is communicated by one of the company.

For other customs on this festival, see vol. i. p. 742 to 758.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·52.

~May 26.~

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·35.

~May 27.~

ADDISON’S LIBRARY.

1799. On this and the three following days, the library of the celebrated Addison was sold by auction by Messrs. Leigh and Sotheby, at their house in York-street, Covent-garden. The books were brought from Bilton, where Addison had resided, near Rugby, in Warwickshire, and under Mr. Leigh’s hammer produced 456_l._ 2_s._ 9_d._

* * * * *

There is a portrait of Mr. Leigh, who is since dead, from a drawing by Mr. Behnes.

Mr. Leigh dissolved partnership with Mr. Sotheby, his son supplied his father’s place, and the business was carried on in the Strand. On Mr. Leigh’s death, his surviving partner continued it, as he still does, near the same spot in Waterloo-place, whither he removed in consequence of the premises being required for other purposes. This establishment is the oldest of the kind in London: under Mr. Sotheby’s management its ancient reputation is supported: his sales are of the highest respectability, and attended by the best collectors. Mr. Sotheby sold the matchless _niellos_ and other prints of sir Mark Sykes. For collections of that nature, and for libraries, his arrangements are of a most superior order. One of the greatest treats to a lover of literature is a lounge at Mr. Sotheby’s during one of his sales.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·50.

~May 28.~

FEMALE ORDER OF MERIT.

The journals of this day, in 1736, announce that mademoiselle Salle, a famous dancer at Paris, who valued herself highly on her reputation, instituted an order there, of which she was president, by the name of “the Indifferents.” Both sexes were indiscriminately admitted after a nice scrutiny into their qualifications. They had rites, which no one was to disclose. The badge of the order was a ribbon striped, black, white, and yellow, and the device something like an icicle. They took an oath to fight against love, and if any of the members were particular in their regards, they were excluded the order with ignominy.[190]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·90.

[190] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~May 29.~

K. CHARLES II. RESTORATION.

For customs on this day, see vol. i. p. 711 to 722.

This anniversary is an opportunity for introducing the following curious view.

This engraving, from a rare print of great value, represents Boscobel-house, in the state it was when Charles II. and colonel Carlos took refuge there. They remained in the house till they became alarmed for their safety.

Dr Stukely mentions the straits to which Charles was reduced during his concealment at this place. “Not far from Boscobel-house, just by a horse track passing through the wood, stood the royal oak, into which the king and his companion, colonel Carlos, climbed by means of the henroost ladder, when they judged it no longer safe to stay in the house; the family reaching them victuals with the nuthook. The tree is now enclosed in with a brick wall, the inside whereof is covered with laurel, of which we may say, as Ovid did of that before the Augustine palace, ‘mediamque tuebere quercum.’ Close by its side grows a young thriving plant from one of its acorns. Over the door of the enclosure, I took this inscription in marble:--

‘Felicissimam arborem quam in asylum potentissimi Regis Caroli II. Deus O. M. per quem reges regnant hic crescere voluit, tam in perpetuam rei tantae memoriam quam specimen firmae in reges fidei, muro cinctam posteris commendant Basilius et Jana Fitzherbert.

‘Quercus amica Jovi.’”

The situation of the house in the above year, is shown by the annexed engraving, from a view of it at that period.

At a small distance from Boscobel is Whiteladies, so called from having been a nunnery of white or Cistercian nuns, extensive ruins of which remain.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·37.

~May 30.~

CLERKENWELL, IN 1730.

This day, in 1730, being the anniversary of the birth-day of the princesses Amelia and Caroline, Mr. Cook, a publican, discharged twenty-one guns in salute of their royal highnesses as they passed his door, “to drink the water at the wells by the New River Head in the parish of St. James, Clerkenwell.” It appears that “almost every day for the latter part of that month, there was so great a concourse of the nobility and gentry, that the proprietor took about thirty pounds in a morning.”[191] Clerkenwell, therefore, in 1730, was so fashionable as to be the resort of the court for recreation. At that time it had green lanes and bowling-alleys to delight the gentry, and attract the citizens of the metropolis. It is now, in 1826, covered with houses, and without a single public place of reputable entertainment; not even a bowling-green.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·72.

[191] Gentleman’s Magazine

~May 31.~

DEATH OF AN ELEPHANT.

With the destruction of the elephant belonging to Mr. Cross, at Exeter Change, described in the present volume, may be paralleled the destruction of another on this day in the year 1820. The particulars are related in the “London Magazine” of April 1, 1826; they seem to have been translated from a “Notice sur l’Elephant mort a Geneve le 31 Mai dernier,” in the “_Almanach Historique, nommé Messager Boiteux_ pour l’An de grace, 1821,” which has been sent to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ for the purpose of enabling him to lay the annexed engraving before the readers of London, from a print in that “Almanac,” which is printed in quarto “á Vevey, chez Freres Lœrtscher.”

* * * * *

In May, 1820, for about a fortnight a fine Bengal elephant (Elephas Indicus, Cuvier--Elephas Maximus, Linn.) had been exhibited at Geneva. The elephants of this species are taller than those of Africa. They have an elevated cranium, which has two protuberances on its summit; the frontal bone is rather concave, and the head proportionably longer; their tusks are smaller than those of the African elephant. The animal in question had but one; he had lost the other by some accident. He was nine feet high, and of a dark-brown colour, he was ten years old, and had been bought in London six years before. Mademoiselle Garnier, (the niece of his proprietor,) to whom he was much attached, always travelled with him. She was the proprietor of an elephant which had broken loose at Venice a few years previously, and was killed by a cannon-shot, after it had committed considerable ravages in that city.

The present elephant was of a much gentler character, and had excited a general interest during its stay in Geneva, by its docility and intelligence; it performed all the usual tricks which are taught these animals, with a promptitude of obedience, a dexterity, and almost a grace, which were quite remarkable. Whenever mademoiselle Garnier witnessed his exercises, her presence seemed to call forth all these qualities to an extraordinary degree. According to her statement he was so familiar and social that he had more than once appeared on the stage at Lille, Antwerp, &c. playing the principal part in a procession, and seeming proud to carry the lady who acted the princess, before whom he would kneel to take her on his back. So far from being frightened at the lights, the music, and the noise of the house, he seemed delighted to take a part in the ceremony.

Accustomed to liberty, and much as he loved it, he yet endured confinement with patience, and when his keeper came to fasten him up for the night, he used to stretch out his foot to receive the iron ring by which he was chained till morning, to a post deeply fixed in the earth. Unlike these animals in England, he did not travel in a cage, but was led from one town to another by night; he had three drivers, his keeper, properly so called, and two others, one of whom had always inspired him with more fear than attachment.

During the latter part of his stay at Geneva he had exhibited symptoms of excitement and restlessness, arising from two causes--the one, the frequent discharges of musketry from the soldiers who were exercised near his habitation, at which he was greatly irritated; the other, the paroxysms to which these animals are subject for several weeks in the spring. Nevertheless, he had never disobeyed nor menaced his keepers.

His departure was fixed for the 31st of May. He left Geneva at midnight, the gates and drawbridges having been opened for that purpose by permission of the syndic of the guard, the magistrate at the head of the military police. He was driven by his keeper and his two assistants, who carried a lantern. Mademoiselle Garnier was to follow in the morning. He made no difficulty in crossing the drawbridge, and took the road to Switzerland apparently in high spirits. But about a quarter of a league from the town he appeared out of humour with the keeper, and disposed to attack him. The man ran away towards the city; the elephant pursued him up to the gate, which the officer on guard opened, on his own responsibility, wisely calculating that it would be more easy to secure him within the town than without it, and that he might do immense mischief on the high roads, especially as it was the market-day at Geneva. He re-entered the town without hesitation, pursuing, rather than following his keeper and guides, between whom and himself all influence, whether of attachment or of fear, seemed at an end. From this moment he was his own master.

He walked for some time in the place de Saint Gervais, appearing to enjoy his liberty and the beauty of the night. He lay down for a few minutes on a heap of sand, prepared for some repairs in the pavement, and played with the stones collected for the same purpose. Perceiving one of his guides, who was watching him from the entrance of one of the bridges over the Rhone, he ran at him, and would have attacked him, and probably done him some serious injury, if he had not escaped.

Mademoiselle Garnier having been informed of what had passed, hastened to the spot, and trusting to the attachment he had always shown for her, went up to him with great courage, with some dainties of which he was particularly fond, and speaking to him with gentleness and confidence, led him into a place enclosed with walls near the barrack he had inhabited, into which he could not be induced to return. This place, called the Bastion d’Hollande, adjoined a shed containing caissoons, waggons, and gun-carriages; there were also cannon-balls piled up in an adjoining yard. Being left alone, and the gate shut upon him, he amused himself with trying his strength and skill upon every thing within his reach; he raised several caissoons and threw them on their sides, and seemed pleased at turning the wheels; he took up the balls with his trunk, and tossed them in the air, and ran about with a vivacity which might have been ascribed either to gaiety or to irritation.

At two in the morning, the syndic of the guard being informed of the circumstance, went to the spot to consult on the measures to be taken. Mademoiselle Garnier in a state of the utmost distress and agitation, entreated that the elephant might be killed in the most speedy and certain way possible. The syndic, sharing in the general feeling of interest the noble and gentle creature had excited in the town, opposed her desire. He represented that the animal was now in a place of security against all danger, whether to the public or himself; and that as his present state of irritation was, in its very nature, transient, and would soon yield to a proper regimen; but mademoiselle Garnier remembered the occurrences at Venice, and felt the whole weight and responsibility of the management of the animal was on herself alone; for the keeper and guides had decidedly refused to attend upon him again, and she persisted in her demand. The magistrate would not give his consent until it was put into writing and signed.

From that moment arrangements were made for destroying him. The chemists were laid under contribution for drugs, while two breaches were made in the wall, at each of which a four-pounder was placed, which was to be the _ratio ultima_ if the poison failed.

M. Mayor, eminent as a surgeon, and for his learning in natural history, and one of the directors of the museum, had taken great delight in visiting the elephant during his stay, and the animal had evinced a particular affection for him. This induced the magistrate to request M. Mayor to administer the poison. M. Mayor, after mixing about three ounces of prussic acid with about ten ounces of brandy, which was the animal’s favourite liquor, called him by his name to one of the breaches. The elephant came immediately, seized the bottle with his trunk, and swallowed the liquor at one draught, as if it had been his usual drink. This poison, the operation of which, even in the smallest doses, is usually tremendously rapid, did not appear to produce any sensible effect on him; he walked backwards with a firm step to the middle of the enclosure, where he lay down for some moments. It was thought that the poison was beginning to act, but he soon rose again, and began to play with the caissoons, and to walk about in the courtyard of the arsenal. M. Mayor, presuming that the prussic acid which had been kept some time had lost its strength, prepared three boluses of an ounce of arsenic each, mixed with honey and sugar. The elephant came again at his call, and took them all from his hand. At the expiration of a quarter of an hour, he did not appear at all affected by them. A fresh dose was then offered him; he took it, smelt at it for some minutes, then threw it to a distance, and began again to play all sorts of tricks. Sometimes he came to the breach, and, twining his trunk round the mouth of the cannon, pushed it back as if he had some indistinct notion of the danger which threatened him.

It was five in the morning when the first dose of poison was administered; an hour had elapsed, and no symptom of its internal action appeared. Meanwhile the market time drew near, the space around the walls was rapidly filling with inquisitive spectators, and the order was given to fire. The gunner seized the moment in which the elephant, who had advanced to the breach, was retiring, and presented his side. The mouth of the cannon almost touched him. The ball entered near the ear behind the right eye, came out behind the left ear, went through a thick partition on the opposite side of the enclosure, and spent itself against a wall. The animal stood still for two or three seconds then tottered, and fell on his side without convulsion or movement.

The above engraving, from that in the foreign almanac already mentioned, represents the manner wherein his death was effected.

The event circulated through the town with the rapidity of lightning. “They have killed the elephant!” “What had the noble creature done? he was so good, so gentle, so amiable!” “What a pity!” The people ran with one accord to the spot, to satisfy themselves with a nearer view. The eagerness was so great that the authorities were obliged to take steps for keeping order in the crowd, and a small sum of money was demanded from each for the benefit of the proprietor. The same evening, by arrangements entered into with mademoiselle Garnier, for securing the remains of the animal for the museum, the surgeons proceeded to open the body, which they continued to dissect for several successive days. The operations were executed by M. Mayor, the chevalier Bourdet, a naturalist and traveller, and M. Vichet, an eminent pupil of the veterinary surgeon of Alfort. They took an exact measurement of the animal. They traced its silhouette on the wall; and made separate casts of its head, and the two feet of one side. All the principal viscera, except the liver, which decomposed too rapidly, and the brain, which was shattered by the ball, were carefully removed and preserved in a solution of oxygenated muriate of mercury. The spleen was six feet long. The muscular or fleshy parts, as the season would not allow of their slow dissection, were taken away rather by the hatchet than the bistoury. They were given to the public, who were extremely eager and anxious to eat elephant’s flesh, and much tempted by its excellent appearance, dressed as it was with every variety of sauce. They seemed perfectly regardless of the poison, which indeed had not time to develope itself in the muscular system. Three or four hundred persons ate of it without injury, excepting one or two individuals, who brought on a fit of indigestion by indulging to excess. The osseous carcass was put into a state of maceration previous to re-composing the skeleton, in order to its deposit in the museum of natural history. The interest taken in that establishment was so strong, that the large sum required to secure possession of the entire carcass, was raised by subscription in a few days. The skin was found too thick to be tanned by the ordinary process, and as the epidermis began to detach itself naturally, it was carefully separated from the dermis, which it was not essential to preserve entire. The epidermis retained its proper consistency, in order to be supplied by a well-known process in covering the artificial carcass, constructed under the direction of Messrs. Mayor and Bourdet.

If mademoiselle Garnier had not succeeded in enticing the animal to the place where his destruction was effected, the mischief he might have occasioned by remaining at large, till the inhabitants of Geneva had risen from their beds to their daily occupations, can scarcely be imagined; especially as it was on a market-day, when the city is usually thronged with country people, and most persons are necessarily out of doors.

_May Custom at Buckingham._

RINGING THE OLD BAILIFF OUT.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--On this day, unusual bustle set the town of Buckingham alive. It was the festive consecration of the first Sunday after May-day. Having taken care of my horse and left the inn, I heard a band of music approaching the church, which is a cheerful edifice, standing on an eminence with a painted glass window. The bells rung merrily, and the sunshine gave lustre to the surrounding country, beautified by light and shade. The main street was presently lined with townspeople and villagers. My inquiries as to the cause of this “busy hum of men” were soon satisfied by the cry that, “They’re ringing the old bailiff out!” As the musicians (not of the opera band, nor of the Hanover rooms,) came nearer with the accumulating procession, I with difficulty learned the theme of their endeavours to be Weber’s “Hark! follow!” I never heard any thing surpass this murder of melody. Had Weber been present, he would not have regretted he had given the MS. of Der Freischütz, to discharge a trifling debt, which I am informed was really the case. Such discord, however, worked no “incantation” here. All faces smiled, all hearts appeared glad. The cavalcade moved in pairs. First two small children in white with garlands, then, behind them, two, a size larger; then others, increasing in growth and tallness, till six wreathed maidens and their swains moved onwards, dancing and shaking their curly locks in sportive glee around the Maypole, decorated in the habiliments of nature’s sweetest and choicest spring flowers and boughs. Dolls of various dresses were placed in the midst, as though they looked out of bowers for the arrival of kindred playfellows. Then came his worship, the bailiff, a sir John Falstaff-like sort of person, swelling with pleasurable consequence; the shining mace borne on the shoulder intimated his dignity. What a happy day of honour, of triumph, and greatness to him! Then followed the leading men of the town, the burgesses in their corporate robes and nosegays. Their friends paraded aside in their Sunday clothes, like “ladies of olden days” and “squires of high degree.” Favours and flags played on the fresh air, inviting rural enjoyment. Many rosy-faced damosels in their “best bibs and tuckers” illustrated the time by appearing at the windows; infants were held up to behold, and the aged crept to the doors, to take a glimpse of what they might not live to see repeated. As the procession arrived at the churchyard gate, soldiers were arranged in line, preparing to meet and unite in the gaiety of the day. It is thus pleasant to view the military and civil powers, peacefully ornamenting the general harmony of the season. The subordinates and illustrators of this annual custom, opened a passage at the church door, and the bailiff led the way into his seat. The bells rested their metal tongues, and the music ceased awhile. People of all descriptions, in all directions, hurried to their respective pews, with accommodating civility to strangers. The curate opened his book and his duties, the clerk unsheathed his spectacles, confined his nostrils, and the service was reverently performed, with a suitable discourse and decent melody. After this was ended, the bailiff and his friends returned in like order as they came, perambulating the precincts of the town. Then the glory of all true Britons, was manifested by the clatter of knives and forks, at the favourite depôt for provisions, and genuine hilarity closed the “ringing out of the old bailiff,” and the ringing in of the new one.

J. R. PRIOR.

* * * * *

With the preceding communication from Mr. Prior, are the following verses.

_To the Dead Nettle._

Unlike the rose, Thou hast not bards to sing Thy merits as thy beauty grows ’Neath hedges in the spring.

Unconscious flower! Thy downcast blossom seems Like widowed thought in sorrow’s hour Away from pleasure’s beams.

Young feeling’s eye Surveys thee in thy vernal bed, Protected from the glare of sky, By lovely nature fed.

He, that would learn Sermons from thine eternal birth, Might safely to the world return And triumph over earth.

J. R. PRIOR.

A MAY-DAY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--If you think the following lines worth insertion in your _Every-Day Book_, you are welcome to them.

I am, Sir, &c.

H. M. LANDER.

_King’s Bench Walk,_

_Temple._

SONG.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the skylarks sing, The swallow tribe is on the wing, The emerald meads look fresh and gay, And smiles the golden orb of day.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the voice of love Inspiring calls to yonder grove; Then let us to the shades repair, Where health, and mirth, and music are.

’Tis May! ’tis May! air, earth, and flood, With life and beauty are endowed: Myriads of forms creep, glide, and soar, Exultant through the genial hour.

’Tis May! ’tis May! why should not man Embrace the universal plan, Enjoy the seasons as they roll, And love while love inspires the soul.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers soon fade, And voiceless grows the sylvan shade: The insects fall mid autumn’s gloom, And man is hastening to the tomb.

’Tis May! ’tis May! the flowers revive! Again the insect revellers live! But man’s lost bloom no charms restore, His youth once pass’d, returns no more.

~Dulce Domum.~

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--It may not, perhaps, be generally known what it was that gave rise to the writing of the old breaking-up song of “Dulce Domum,” so loudly and so cheerfully sung by youngsters previous to the vacation; and as an old custom is involved in it, you may deem both the song and the custom worthy a place in your _Every-Day Book_. They are subjoined.

I am, Sir, &c.

HENRY BRANDON.

_Leadenhall Street,_

_May, 1826._

About two hundred and thirty years ago, a scholar of St. Mary’s college Winchester was, for some offence committed, confined by order of the master, and it being just previous to the Whitsuntide vacation, was not permitted to visit his friends, but remained a prisoner at the college, as report says, tied to a pillar. During this period he composed the well known “_Dulce domum_,” being the recollections of the pleasures he was wont to join in, at that season of the year. Grief at the disgrace and the disappointment he endured, so heavily affected him, that he did not live to witness the return of his companions, at the end of their holydays.

In commemoration of the above, annually on the evening preceding the Whitsun holydays, the master, scholars, and choristers of the above college, attended by a band of music, walk in procession round the court of the college and the pillar to which it is alleged the unfortunate youth was tied, and chant the verses which he composed in his affliction.

DULCE DOMUM!

Concinamus, O sodales! Eja! quid silemus? Nobile canticum! Dulce melos, domum! Dulce domum, resonemus.

_Chorus._

Domum, domum, dulce domum; Domum, domum, dulce domum! Dulce, dulce, domum! Dulce domum, resonemus!

Appropinquat ecce! felix Hora gaudiorum, Post grave tedium Advenit omnium Meta petita laborum. Domum, domum, &c.

Musa, libros mitte, fessa, Mitte pensa dura, Mitte negotium Jam datur otium, Me mea mittito cura. Domum, domum, &c.

Ridet annus, prata rident; Nosque rideamus, Jam repetit domum, Daulius advena: Nosque domum repetamus, Domum, domum, &c.

Heus! Rogere, fer caballos; Eja, nunc eamus. Limen amabile Matris et oscula, Suaviter et repetamus, Domum, domum, &c.

Concinamus ad Penates, Vox et audiatur; Phosphore! quid jubar, Segnius emicans, Gaudia nostra moratur? Domum, domum, &c.

The above was put into an English dress, a copy of which is below:

Sing a sweet melodious measure, Waft enchanting lays around; Home! a theme replete with pleasure! Home! a grateful theme resound!

_Chorus._

Home, sweet home! an ample treasure! Home! with every blessing crown’d! Home! perpetual source of pleasure! Home! a noble strain, resound.

Lo! the joyful hour advances; Happy season of delight! Festal songs, and festal dances, All our tedious toil requite. Home, &c.

Leave, my wearied muse, thy learning, Leave thy task, so hard to bear; Leave thy labour, ease returning, Leave this bosom, O! my care. Home, &c.

See the year, the meadow, smiling! Let us then a smile display, Rural sports, our pain beguiling, Rural pastimes call away. Home, &c.

Now the swallow seeks her dwelling, And no longer roves to roam; Her example thus impelling, Let us seek our native home. Home, &c.

Let our men and steeds assemble, Panting for the wide champaign; Let the ground beneath us tremble, While we scour along the plain. Home, &c.

Oh! what raptures, oh! what blisses. When we gain the lovely gate! Mother’s arms, and mother’s kisses, There, our bless’d arrival wait. Home, &c.

Greet our household-gods with singing, Lend, O Lucifer, thy ray; Why should light, so slowly springing, All our promis’d joys delay? Home, &c.

* * * * *

Mr. Brandon’s account of the “procession round the courts of the college,” and the singing of “Dulce Domum,” is sustained by the rev. Mr. Brand, who adds, of the song, that “it is no doubt of very remote antiquity, and that its origin must be traced, not to any ridiculous tradition, but to the tenderest feelings of human nature.” He refers for the English verses to the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for March, 1796, where they first appeared, and calls them “a spirited translation.” On looking into that volume, it seems they were written by one of Mr. Urban’s correspondents, who signs “J. R.” and dates from “New-street, Hanover-square.” Dr. Milner says, that from “amongst many translations of this Winchester ode,” the present “appears best to convey the sense, spirit, and measure, of the original; the former versions were unworthy of it.” He alleges that the existence of the original can only be traced up to the distance of about a century; yet its real author, and the occasion of its composition, are already clouded with fables.[192]

AMERICAN VOCAL MUSIC.

By the favour of a correspondent in North America, we are enabled to extract from the “Colonial Advocate” of Queenston, the following interesting article, by a Scotch resident, on the state of melody in the region he inhabits. It particularly relates to May.

SCOTTISH SONGS.

“Dear Scotia! o’er the swelling sea From childhood’s hopes, from friends, from thee, On earth where’er thy offspring roam, This day their hearts should wander home. Her sons are brave, her daughters fair, Her gowan glens no slave can share, Then from the feeling never stray, That loves the land that’s far away.”

_Sung by Mr. Maywood, on St. Andrew’s day, in New York._

I have often thought it a pity that there is no feature in which Canada, and indeed America in general, exhibits more dissimilarity to Scotland, than in its want of vocal music. On the highland hills, and in the lowland vallies, of Caledonia, we are delighted with the music of the feathered choristers, who fill heaven in a May morning with their matin songs. The shepherd whistles “The Yellow Hair’d Laddie”--the shepherdess sings “In April when primroses deck the sweet plain”--all nature seems in harmony. But here all is dulness and monotony,

“We call on pleasure--and around A mocking world repeats the sound!”

Even the emigrant seems to have forgotten his native mountains; and in the five years in which I have sojourned in America, I have not once heard “Roslin Castle” sung by a swain on a blithe summer’s day. Here they are all dull plodding farmers, as devoid of sober melody as the huge forests which surround them are void of grace and beauty: talk to them of poetry and music, and they will sit with sad civility, “as silent as Pygmalion’s wife.”

Now and then you may hear a hoarse raven of an old woodchopper in the barroom of a filthy tavern, roaring in discordant notes, “Yankee Doodle:” or, in a church or meeting-house, you may behold fifteen or twenty men and women picked out of the congregation, stuck up in a particular part of the house and singing the praises of redeeming love, with the voices of so many stentors. The affectation they display, cannot fail to disgust you: the form of godliness is present, but the power thereof is wanting.

The memory of a native Scotsman retraces back those halcyon days, when gladness filled the corn-field--when sober mirth and glee crowned the maiden feast--when the song went merrily round at Yule, to chase away the winter frosts; and coming to the day of universal rest from labour, calls to mind the venerable precentor with his well-remembered solemn tunes, where _old and young_, infancy and advanced age, willingly joined together in singing his praise--where the fiddle and the flute, the harp and the organ, were useless--where no set people stood up in a corner, as if to say, “we, the aristocracy of this congregation, can offer a sweeter and more acceptable sacrifice than you, with our melodious voices so much better attuned than yours.”

It may, perhaps, appear irreverend in me, to say a word of sacred music in an essay intended for Scottish songs; but I thought the contrast would not be complete without this allusion. A late essayist “On vulgar prejudices against Literature,” uses a fine argument in favour of native poetry.

“Let us ask,” says he, “has Britain a greater claim to distinction among the nations of the world, from any one circumstance, however celebrated it be in arts and arms, than from its being the birthplace of Shakspeare? And if the celebration of the anniversary of Waterloo be held in the farthest settlements of India, so is the anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, the pastoral poet of Scotland:--

“Encamped by Indian rivers wild, The soldier, resting on his arms, In Burns’s carol sweet recalls The scenes that blest him when a child, And glows and gladdens at the charms Of Scotia’s woods and waterfalls.”

When kingdoms, and states, and cities pass away, what then proves to be the most imperishable of their records, the most durable of their glories? Is it not the lay of the poet? the eloquence of the patriot? the page of the historian? Is it not the genius of the nation, imprinted on these, the most splendid of its annals, and transmitted, as a legacy, and a token of its vanished glory, to the after ages of mankind? And now, when the glories of Greece and Rome are but shadows, does not our blood stir within us at the recital of their mighty achievements, and of their majestic thoughts, which, but for the page of the chronicler would have been long ere now a blank and a vacancy; glory departed without a trace, or figures traced upon the sand, and washed away by the returns of the tide:--

“Oh! who shall lightly say that fame, Is nothing but an empty name? When, but for those, our mighty dead, All ages past a blank would be, Sunk in oblivion’s murky bed, A desert bare, a shipless sea.

They are the distant objects seen; The lofty marks of what hath been, Oh! who shall lightly say that fame Is nothing but an empty name?

Where memory of the mighty dead To earth-worn pilgrims’ wistful eye The brightest rays of cheering shed, That point to immortality.”

The blue hills and mountains, among which Byron first caught the enthusiasm of song; the green vallies and brown heaths where Scott learnt to tell of Flodden field, and deeds of other days, in verse, lasting as the source of the deep Niagara, yet return an echo to the well-known “Daintie Davie” of Robert Burns.

As down the burn they took their way, And through the flowery dale, His cheek to hers he aft did lay, And love was aye the tale.

With “Mary, when shall we return, Sic pleasure to renew?” Quoth Mary, “Love, I like the burn, And aye shall follow you.”

How I should delight to hear such an artless tale sung on the braes of Queenston, or the green knowes and fertile plains around Ancaster.

I once in Montreal heard a gentleman from little York (a native of Perthshire) sing “Daintie Davie” in fine style; but it was the old set, and as it is a very good song, I think the first stanza and chorus may “drive dull care away” from half a dozen of my readers as well as a good hit at that silly body, our _sapient_ attorney-general, or a squib at his forkhead Mr. Solicitor, would have done:--

“Now rosy May comes in wi’ flowers To deck her gay green spreading bowers, And now comes in my happy hours, To wander wi’ my Davie.

_Chorus._

“Meet me on the warlock knowe, Daintie Davie, Daintie Davie, There I’ll spend the day with you, My ain dear Daintie Davie.”

About two years ago, I wrote to a correspondent in Scotland, to send to Dundas about ten reams of our best Scottish, English, and Irish ballads, and to avoid any that were exceptionable in point of morality. This person has since arrived in America; but his ideas on the propriety of introducing ballads into a new country, I found to be different from mine--otherwise I had by this time employed several “wights of Homer’s craft” to disperse the twenty thousand halfpenny songs I then ordered. It would have, perhaps, sown the seeds of music in our land, and hundreds of American presses, may be, would have spread abundantly the pleasing stanzas, until accursed slavery had stopt the strain in the southern regions of republican tyranny.

I can call to mind the time, as well as if it were yesterday, when I first heard “The Maid of Lodi:” it was at a Scottish wedding, at Arthurstone. Sir Ewan, the aged sire of the brave colonel Cameron, who fell at Waterloo, was present with his lady; and, gentle reader, I think it was the youthful minister of the next parish who sung, accompanied by the bride’s youngest sister. It was followed by “Blythe, blythe,” which I must give the reader from memory. News is scarce this week--the king of France is dead, and surely the tidings of the next’s coronation will not arrive in time to fill a paragraph in the “Advocate” for a month to come--so let us have--

_Blythe, blythe and merry was she: Blythe was she but and ben; Blythe by the banks of Ern-- Blythe in Glenturret glen._

By Aughtertye grows the aik, By Yarrow banks the birken shaw; But Phemie was the bonniest lass The flowers of Yarrow ever saw. Blythe, blythe, &c.

Her looks were like a flower in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn; She tripped by the banks of Ern, As light’s a bird upon a thorn. Blythe, blythe, &c.

Her bonnie face it was sae maek As ony lamb upon a lee: The evening sun was ne’er so sweet As was the blink o’ Phemie’s e’e Blythe, blythe, &c.

The highland hills I’ve wander’d wide, And o’er the lowlands I hae been; But Phemie was the bonniest lass That ever trode the dewy green Blythe, blythe, &c.

A young farmer then gave us “The Lothian Lassie;” and as my recollection is pretty good, I shall put Canadian Scots girls in the way to mind it as well as me, by repeating the first stanza: would I could sing it as I have heard it sung:--

Last May a braw wooer cam’d down the lang glen, And sair wi’ his love he did deave me; I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce gae wi’ ’m to believe me, believe me, The deuce gae wi’ ’m to believe me.

What a chaste pleasure--what a gladdening influence over the most stoical mind, any of the following songs yield, when well sung to their own tunes, by a half dozen young ladies in the parlour, or by a chorus of bonnie lassies in the kitchen, as the former pursue their sewing and knitting, and the latter birr their wheels, and stir the sowens in an evening, in the opulent farmer’s dwelling; or when heard in the most humble cottage of a Scottish peasant. Well might the farmer’s dog, Luath, say, “And I for e’en down joy hae barkit wi’ them.”

Let these classes come to Upper Canada to-morrow, and they will tire of its dulness. Nature’s face is fair enough; but after the traveller leaves the last faint sounds of the Canadian boatsman’s song, as it dies on the still waters of the St. Lawrence, music will be done with.--I had forgotten however, I must now quote the songs alluded to; and I well can from memory:--

1. Gloomy winter’s now awa’.

2. Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch.

3. Beneath the pretty hawthorn that blooms in the vale.

4. And she showed him the way for to woo.

5. I gaed a waefu’ gate yestreen.

6. John Anderson, my Joe, John, when we were first acquent.

7. Thy cheek is o’ the rose’s hue, My only joe and dearie, O.

8. Coming o’er the craigs o’ Kyle.

9. O, lassie, art thou sleeping yet;--and the answer.

10. There’s nae luck about the house, There’s nae luck ava’; There’s little pleasure in the house, When our gudeman’s awa’.

11. The sun had gone down o’er the lofty Ben Lomond.

12. My uncle’s dead--I’ve lands enew.

13. For lack of gold she’s left me, O.

14. O’ a the airths the wind can blaw.

15. When honey-dyed bells o’er the heather was spreading.

16. Loudon’s bonny woods and braes.

17. The Highland Laddie.

18. Upon a simmer’s afternoon. Awee afore the sun gaed down.

19. There’s cauld kail in Aberdeen, the new way.

20. Mirk and rainy was the night.

21. My Pattie is a lover gay.

22. I’m wearin’ awa’, Jean, Like sna’ when its thaw, Jean.

23. Its Logie o’ Buchan, o’ Logie the laird.

24. With the garb of old Gaul, and the fire of old Rome.

25. Come under my plaide.

26. O’ Bessie Bell and Mary Gray.

27. Ye banks and braes of bonny Doon.

28. The laird of the drum, a wooing has gone,-- And awa’ in the morning early: And he has spied a weel fa’red May, A shearing her father’s barley.

29. My bonny Lizzie Baillie.

30. Green grow the rushes, O!

I must have done--I have named so many songs to put my readers in mind of

“Auld lang syne;”

and I could add as many more, of truly Scottish origin, that I should like to see in Canada, as would fill up the “Advocate;” but I must stop--the politicians would complain. I have heard a few of these well sung in Canada--the last, a lintie in Queenston braes sings now and then. Would there were ten thousand such in Upper Canada!

The English version of the following line, is not near so pretty as the Scots original, which goes thus:--

“I once was a bachelor, both early and young, And I courted a fair maid with a flattering tongue: I courted her, I wooed her, I honoured her then, And I promised to marry her, but never told her when. O, I never told her when,” &c.

With this may be contrasted a verse of sir Walter Scott’s Mary, in “The Pirate:”--

“O were there an island, Though ever so wild, Where woman could smile, and No man be beguiled-- Too tempting a snare To poor mortals were given, And the hope would fix there, That should anchor on heaven.”

This is beguiling on both sides; but the latter stanzas finely express an idea fit for an oriental paradise.

There is another kind of ballads which, though akin to those I have named, are in many points essentially different:--and the first of this class,

“Duncan Gray came here to woo,”

when sung in chorus, would be almost enough to cause the venerable age of eighty-eight to shake a foot all over Scotland. A merry party, of which I was one, once tried “Duncan,” on the Table Rock at Niagara Falls; and when we came to that line, where the poor neglected lover

“Spak o’ loupin ower a linn,”

I thought we should have all died with laughing, the scene was so in unison with the stanza. Moore’s two lovers, who--

“’thout pistol or dagger, a Made a desperate dash down the Falls of Niagara,”

is good; but it is nothing to “Duncan Gray,” sung by half a dozen tenor voices on the Table Rock.

I mean, when I have leisure, to continue these reminiscences of Scottish song, and as I at this time must have taxed the patience, and tried the politeness of my numerous Irish and English readers, I will, in some future number, leave Ramsay, Burns, Tannahill, and Ferguson--for Chaucer and Shakspeare, Goldsmith and Moore.

Tannahill has some pieces, scarce excelled by any of our Scottish poets--he has also a virtue which endears him to me beyond even Robert Burns. He does not often laud in song the drinking of ardent liquors. If, as a printer, I were to publish an American edition of Burns, I think I would leave his songs in praise of Highland whisky out. They have done much harm in his native land; and to spread them here, would be like firing a match.

END OF MAY

This month may close with a delightful sonnet, from one of the best books put forth in recent years for daily use and amusement.

SUMMER.

Now have young April and the blue eyed May Vanished awhile, and lo! the glorious June (While nature ripens in his burning noon,) Comes like a young inheritor; and gay, Altho’ his parent months have passed away; But his green crown shall wither, and the tune That ushered in his birth be silent soon, And in the strength of youth shall he decay. What matters this--so long as in the past And in the days to come we live, and feel The present nothing worth, until it steal Away and, like a disappointment, die? For Joy, dim child of Hope and Memory, Flies ever on before or follows fast.

_Literary Pocket Book_

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 57·97.

[192] Milner’s Hist. of Winchester.

The shepherds, now, from every walk and steep, Where grateful feed attracts the dainty sheep, Collect their flocks, and plunge them in the streams And cleanse their fleeces in the noontide beams. This care perform’d, arrives another care To catch them, one by one, their wool to shear: Then come the tying, clipping, tarring, bleating; The shearers’ final shout, and dance, and eating. From hence the old engravers sometimes made This lovely month a shearer, at his trade: And hence, the symbol to the season true, A living hand so traces June to you.

The “Mirror of the Months,” the pleasantest of “the year-books,” except “The Months” of Mr. Leigh Hunt, tells us that with June,--“Summer is come--come, but not to stay; at least, not at the commencement of this month: and how should it, unless we expect that the seasons will be kind enough to conform to the devices of man, and suffer themselves to be called by what name and at what period _he_ pleases? He must die and leave them a legacy (instead of they him) before there will be any show of justice in this. Till then the beginning of June will continue to be the latter end of May, by rights; as it was according to the _old style_. And, among a thousand changes, in what one has the old style been improved upon by the new? Assuredly not in that of substituting the _utile_ for the _dulce_, in any eyes but those of almanac-makers. Let all lovers of spring, therefore, be fully persuaded that, for the first fortnight in June, they are living in May. We are to bear in mind that all shall thus be gaining instead of losing, by the impertinence of any breath, but that of heaven, attempting to force spring into summer, even in name alone.”

It seems fitting thus to introduce the following passages, and invite the reader to proceed with the author, and take a bird’s eye view of the season.

* * * * *

Spring may now be considered as employed in completing her toilet, and, for the first weeks of this month, putting on those last finishing touches which an accomplished beauty never trusts to any hand but her own. In the woods and groves also, she is still clothing some of her noblest and proudest attendants with their new annual attire. The oak until now has been nearly bare; and, of whatever age, has been looking old all the winter and spring, on account of its crumpled branches and wrinkled rind. Now, of whatever age, it looks young, in virtue of its new green, lighter than all the rest of the grove. Now, also, the stately walnut (standing singly or in pairs in the fore-court of ancient manor-houses, or in the home corner of the pretty park-like paddock at the back of some modern Italian villa, whose white dome it saw rise beneath it the other day, and mistakes for a mushroom,) puts forth its smooth leaves slowly, as “sage grave men” do their thoughts; and which over-caution reconciles one to the beating it receives in the autumn, as the best means of at once compassing its present fruit, and making it bear more; as its said prototypes in animated nature are obliged to have their brains cudgelled, before any good can be got from them.

* * * * *

These appearances appertain exclusively to the spring. Let us now (however reluctantly) take a final leave of that lovely and love-making season, and at once step forward into the glowing presence of summer--contenting ourselves, however, to touch the hem of her rich garments, and not attempting to look into her heart, till she lays that open to us herself next month: for whatever schoolboys calendar-makers may say to the contrary, Midsummer never happens in England till July.

To saunter, at mid June, beneath the shade of some old forest, situated in the neighbourhood of a great town, so that paths are worn through it, and you can make your way with ease in any direction, gives one the idea of being transferred, by some strange magic, from the surface of the earth to the bottom of the sea! (I say it gives one this idea; for I cannot answer for more, in matters of so arbitrary a nature as the association of ideas.) Over head, and round about, you hear the sighing, the whispering, or the roaring (as the wind pleases) of a thousand billows; and looking upwards, you see the light of heaven transmitted faintly, as if through a mass of green waters. Hither and thither, as you move along, strange forms flit swiftly about you, which may, for any thing you can see or hear to the contrary, be exclusive natives of the new world in which your fancy chooses to find itself: they may be _fishes_, if that pleases; for they are as mute as such, and glide through the liquid element as swiftly. Now and then, indeed, one of larger growth, and less lubricated movements, lumbers up from beside your path, and cluttering noisily away to a little distance, may chance to scare for a moment your submarine reverie. Your palate too may perhaps here step in, and try to persuade you that the cause of interruption was not a fish but a pheasant. But in fact, if your fancy is one of those which are disposed to “listen to reason,” it will not be able to lead you into spots of the above kind without your gun in your hand,--one report of which will put all fancies to flight in a moment, as well as every thing else that has wings. To return, therefore, to our walk,--what do all these strange objects look like, that stand silently about us in the dim twilight, some spiring straight up, and tapering as they ascend, till they lose themselves in the green waters above--some shattered and splintered, leaning against each other for support, or lying heavily on the floor on which we walk--some half buried in that floor, as if they had lain dead there for ages, and become incorporate with it? what do all these seem, but wrecks and fragments of some mighty vessel, that has sunk down here from above, and lain weltering and wasting away, till these are all that is left of it! Even the floor itself on which we stand, and the vegetation it puts forth, are unlike those of any other portion of the earth’s surface, and may well recall, by their strange appearance in the half light, the fancies that have come upon us when we have read or dreamt of those gifted beings, who, like Ladurlad in Kehama, could walk on the floor of the sea, without waiting, as the visiters at watering-places are obliged to do, for the tide to go out.

* * * * *

Stepping forth into the open fields, what a bright pageant of summer beauty is spread out before us!--Everywhere about our feet flocks of wild-flowers

“Do paint the meadow with delight.”

We must not stay to pluck and particularize them; for most of them have already had their greeting--let us pass along beside this flourishing hedge-row. The first novelty of the season that greets us here is perhaps the sweetest, the freshest, and fairest of all, and the only one that could supply an adequate substitute for the hawthorn bloom which it has superseded. Need the eglantine be named? the “sweet-leaved eglantine;” the “rain-scented eglantine;” eglantine--to which the sun himself pays homage, by “counting his dewy rosary” on it every morning; eglantine--which Chaucer, and even Shakspeare--but hold--whatsoever the poets themselves may insinuate to the contrary, to read poetry in the presence of nature is a kind of impiety: it is like reading the commentators on Shakspeare, and skipping the text; for you cannot attend to both: to say nothing of nature’s book being a _vade mecum_ that can make “every man his own poet” for the time being; and there is, after all, no poetry like that which we create for ourselves.

Begging pardon of the eglantine for having permitted any thing--even her own likeness in the poet’s looking-glass--to turn our attention from her real self,--look with what infinite grace she scatters her sweet coronals here and there among her bending branches; or hangs them, half-concealed, among the heavy blossoms of the woodbine that lifts itself so boldly above her, after having first clung to _her_ for support; or permits them to peep out here and there close to the ground, and almost hidden by the rank weeds below; or holds out a whole archway of them, swaying backward and forward in the breeze, as if praying of the passer’s hand to pluck them. Let who will praise the hawthorn--now it is no more! The wild rose is the queen of forest flowers, if it be only because she is as unlike a queen as the absence of every thing courtly can make her.

The woodbine deserves to be held next in favour during this month; though more on account of its _intellectual_ than its personal beauty. All the air is faint with its rich sweetness; and the delicate breath of its lovely rival is lost in the luscious odours which it exhales.

These are the only _scented_ wild flowers that we shall now meet with in any profusion; for though the violet may still be found by looking for, its breath has lost much of its spring power. But, if we are content with mere beauty, this month is perhaps more profuse of it than any other, even in that department of nature which we are now examining--namely, the fields and woods.

The woods and groves, and the single forest trees that rise here and there from out the bounding hedge-rows, are now in full foliage; all, however, presenting a somewhat sombre, because monotonous, hue, wanting all the tender newness of the spring, and all the rich variety of the autumn. And this is the more observable, because the numerous plots of cultivated land, divided from each other by the hedge-rows, and looking, at this distance, like beds in a garden divided by box, are nearly all still invested with the same green mantle; for the wheat, the oats, the barley, and even the early rye, though now in full flower, have not yet become tinged with their harvest hues. They are all alike green; and the only change that can be seen in their appearance is that caused by the different lights into which each is thrown, as the wind passes over them. The patches of purple or of white clover that intervene here and there, and are now in flower, offer striking exceptions to the above, and at the same time load the air with their sweetness. Nothing ran be more rich and beautiful in its effect on a distant prospect at this season, than a great patch of purple clover lying apparently motionless on a sunny upland, encompassed by a whole sea of green corn, waving and shifting about it at every breath that blows.

* * * * *

The hitherto full concert of the singing birds is now beginning to falter, and fall short. We shall do well to make the most of it now; for in two or three weeks it will almost entirely cease till the autumn. I mean that it will cease as a full concert; for we shall have single songsters all through the summer at intervals; and those some of the sweetest and best. The best of all, indeed, the nightingale, we have now lost. So that the youths and maidens who now go in pairs to the wood-side, on warm nights, to listen for its song, (hoping they may _not_ hear it,) are well content to hear each other’s voice instead.

We have still, however, some of the finest of the second class of songsters left; for the nightingale, like Catalani, is a class by itself. The mere chorus-singers of the grove are also beginning to be silent; so that the _jubilate_ that has been chanting for the last month is now over. But the Stephenses, the Trees, the Patons, and the Poveys, are still with us, under the forms of the woodlark, the skylark, the blackcap, and the goldfinch. And the first-named of these, now that it no longer fears the rivalry of the unrivalled, not seldom, on warm nights, sings at intervals all night long, poised at one spot high up in the soft moonlit air.

We have still another pleasant little singer, the field cricket, whose clear shrill voice the warm weather has now matured to its full strength, and who must not be forgotten, though he has but one song to offer us all his life long, and that one consisting but of one note; for it is a note of joy, and _will_ not be heard without engendering its like. You may hear him in wayside banks, where the sun falls hot, shrilling out his loud cry into the still air all day long, as he sits at the mouth of his cell; and if you chance to be passing by the same spot at midnight, you may hear it then too.[193]

* * * * *

Yet by him who holds this “Mirror,” we must not be “charmed” from our repose, but take the advice of a poet, the contemporary and friend of Cowper.

Let us not borrow from the hours of rest, For we must steal from morning to repay. And who would lose the animated smile Of dawning day, for the austere frown of night? I grant her well accoutred in her suit Of dripping sable, powder’d thick with stars, And much applaud her as she passes by With a replenish’d horn on either brow! But more I love to see awaking day Rise with a fluster’d cheek; a careful maid, Who fears she has outslept the custom’d hour, And leaves her chamber blushing. Hence to rest; I will not prattle longer to detain you Under the dewy canopy of night.

_Hurdis._

[193] Mirror of the Months.

~June 1.~

Ovid assigns the first of June to “Carna,” _the goddess of the hinge_; who also presided over the vital parts of man, especially the liver and the heart. Massey, commenting on his taste, cannot divine the connection between such a power and the patronage of _hinges_. “False notions,” he says, “in every mode of religion, lead men naturally into confusion.”

Carna, the goddess of the hinge, demands _The first of June_; upon her power depends To open what is shut, what’s shut unbar; And whence this power she has, my muse declare For length of time has made the thing obscure, Fame only tells us that she has that power. Helernus’ grove near to the Tiber lies, Where still the priests repair to sacrifice; From hence a nymph, whose name was Granè, sprung, Whom many, unsuccessful, courted long; To range the spacious fields, and kill the deer, With darts and mangling spears, was all her care; She had no quiver, yet so bright she seemed, She was by many Phœbus’ sister deemed.

_Ovid._

The poet then relates that Janos made this Granè (or Carna) _goddess of the hinge_;

And then a white thorn stick he to her gave, By which she ever after power should have, To drive by night all om’nous birds away, That scream, and o’er our houses hov’ring stray.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 57·05.

~June 2.~

A ROGUE IN GRAIN, _June 2, 1759_.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Newark, Notts, May 17, 1826._

Sir,--It appears to me that there have been in “old times,” which we suppose “good times,” rogues in grain. To prove it, I herewith transmit the copy of an advertisement, from the “Cambridge Journal” of 1759. Wishing you an increasing sale to your interesting _Every-Day Book_, I remain, &c.

BENJAMIN JOHNSON.

ADVERTISEMENT.

WHEREAS I WILLIAM MARGARETS the younger, was, at the last Assizes for the County of Cambridge, convicted upon an indictment, for an attempt to raise the price of Corn in Ely-market, upon the 24th day of September, 1757, by offering the sum of Six Shillings a Bushel for Wheat, for which no more than Five Shillings and Ninepence was demanded; And whereas, on the earnest solicitation and request of myself and friends, the prosecutor has been prevailed upon to forbear any further prosecution against me, on my submitting to make the following satisfaction, viz. upon my paying the sum of £50 to the poor inhabitants of the town of Ely; and the further sum of £50 to the poor inhabitants of the town of Cambridge, to be distributed by the Minister and Church-wardens of the several parishes in the said town; and the full costs of the prosecution; and upon my reading this acknowledgment of my offence publicly, and with a loud voice, in the presence of a Magistrate, Constable, or other peace officer of the said town of Ely, at the Market-place there, between the hours of twelve and one o’clock, on a public market-day, and likewise subscribing and publishing the same in three of the Evening Papers, printed at London, and in the Cambridge Journal, on four different days; and I have accordingly paid the two sums of £50, and Costs; and do hereby confess myself to have been guilty of the said offence, and testify my sincere and hearty sorrow in having committed a crime, which, in its consequences, tended so much to increase the distress of the poor, in the late calamitous scarcity: And I do hereby most humbly acknowledge the lenity of the prosecutor, and beg pardon of the public in general, and of the town of Ely in particular. This paper was read by me at the public Market-place at Ely, in the presence of Thomas Aungier, Gentleman, chief constable, on the 2d Day of June, 1759, being a public Market-day there; and is now, as a further proof of the just sense I have of the heinousness of my crime, subscribed and published by me

WILLIAM MARGARETS.

_Witness_, JAMES DAY,

Under Sheriff of Cambridgeshire.

LONGEVITY.

On the 2d of June, 1734, John Rousey, of the isle of Distrey, in Scotland, died at one hundred and thirty-eight years of age. The son who inherited his estate, was born to him while in his hundredth year.[194] A similar instance of fatherhood, at this advanced period of life, is recorded of the “old, old, very old man, Thomas Parr.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 57·85.

[194] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~June 3.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On this day, in the year 1789, died Paul Egede, a Danish missionary, who, with his father Hans, visited Greenland, for the conversion of the natives to christianity, in 1721. Hans was the author of a celebrated work, published in 1729, on the topography and natural history of that country. Paul conducted a new edition of his father’s book, and published a journal of his own residence in Greenland, from 1721 to 1788. He died at the age of eighty-one.[195]

CURIOUS INSCRIPTION, _Discovered by a Traveller_.

Captain Bart, grandson of the renowned Jean Bart, during his stay at Malta, where he had put in from a cruise in the Mediterranean, met with a Carmelite, who had been into Persia as a missionary. This person told him he had availed himself of an opportunity which offered to gratify his curiosity, by visiting the ruins of the ancient and celebrated Persepolis. Chance discovered to him a marble, on which were inscribed some Arabic characters. As he was acquainted with this language, he translated the inscription into Latin. The following is the translation:

+-----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ | dicas | scis | dicit | scit | audit | expedit | +-----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ | facias | potes | facit | potest | facit | credit | +-----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ | credas | audis | credit | audit | credit | fieri | | | | | | | potest | +-----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ | expendas | habes | expendit | habet | petit | habet | +-----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ | judices | vides | judicat | videt | judicat | est | +-----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ | non | quod | nam qui | quod | sæpe | quod | | | cumque | | cumque | | non | +-----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+----------+

The key is to be obtained thus; the first word of the last line must be taken and joined to the first word of the first line; then the second word of the last line to the second word of the first line, and so on to the end. Afterwards, we must begin again by taking the first word of the next line, and the following moral precepts will be the result:

1. Non dicas quodcumque scis, nam qui dicit quodcumque scit sæpe audit quod non expedit.

Do not tell whatever thou knowest, for he who tells whatever he knows, often hears more than is agreeable.

2. Non facias quodcumque potes, nam qui facit, quodcumque potest sæpe facit quod non credit.

Do not do whatever thou canst, for he who does whatever he can, often does more than he imagines.

3. Non credas quodcumque audis, nam qui credit quodcumque audit sæpe quod non fieri potest.

Do not believe whatever thou hearest, for he who believes whatever he hears, will often believe what is impossible.

4. Non expendas quodcumque habes, nam qui expendit quodcumque habet sæpe petit quod non habet.

Do not spend whatever thou hast, for he who spends whatever he has, will often be compelled to ask for what he has not.

5. Non judices quodcumque vides, nam qui judicat quodcumque videt sæpe judicat quod non est.

Do not judge on whatever thou seest, for he who judges on whatever he sees, will often form an erroneous judgment.[196]

JUNE 3, 1611. “THE LADY ARABELLA” ESCAPED FROM HER CONFINEMENT.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Kennington, May 23, 1826._

Sir,---Annexed is an original unprinted letter, from the lady Arabella Seymour, whose misfortunes were of a peculiar kind, and from peculiar causes; those causes are to be traced to that tyrannic dread that weak sovereigns always have of any persons approaching their equals, either in mind, or by family ties. The following notices have been gleaned from the most authentic sources, viz. Lodge’s “Illustrations of British History,” “The Biographia Britannica,” &c. The letter is in the Cotton collection of Manuscripts, in the British Museum, _Vespasian_. F.III.

Though you be almost a stranger to me but onely by sight, yet the good opinion I generally heave to be held of your worth, together w^{t} the great interest you have in my Lo. of Northamptons favour, makes me thus farre presume of your willingnesse to do a poore afflicted gentlewoman that good office (if in no other respect yet because I am a Christian) as to further me w^{t} your best indeuors to his Lo. that it will please him to helpe me out of this great distresse and misery, and regaine me his Ma^{ts.} fauor which is my chiefest desire. Whearin his Lo. may do a deede acceptable to God and honorable to himselfe, and I shall be infinitely bound to his Lo. and beholden to you, who now till I receiue some comfort from his Ma^{ty.} rest

the most sorrowfull

creatore liuing

Arabella Stuart, whose name is hardly mentioned in history, except with regard to sir Walter Raleigh’s ridiculous conspiracy, whereby she was to have been placed on a throne, to which she had neither inclination nor pretensions, and by means unknown to herself, was the only child of Charles Stuart, fifth earl of Lennox, (uncle to king James I., and great grandson of king Henry VII.,) by Elizabeth, daughter of sir William Cavendish of Hardwick. She was born about the year 1578, and brought up in privacy, under the care of her grandmother, the old countess of Lennox, who, for many years, resided in England. Her double relation to royalty was obnoxious to the jealousy of queen Elizabeth, and the timidity of king James I., who equally dreaded her having legitimate issue, and restrained her from allying herself in a suitable manner. Elizabeth prevented her from marrying Esme Stuart, her kinsman, and heir to the titles and estates of her family, and afterwards imprisoned her for listening to some overtures from the son of the earl of Northumberland. James, by obliging her to reject many splendid offers of marriage, unwarily encouraged the hopes of inferior pretenders, among whom, says Mr. Lodge, was the fantastical William Fowler, secretary to Anne of Denmark. Thus circumscribed, she renewed a connection with William Seymour, grandson to the earl of Hertford, which, being discovered in 1609, both parties were summoned to appear before the privy council, where they received a severe reprimand. This mode of proceeding produced the very consequence which the king meant to avoid; for the lady, sensible that her reputation had been wounded by the inquiry, was in a manner forced into a marriage, which becoming publicly known, she was committed to close custody, in the house of sir Thomas Parry, chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster, at Vauxhall, and her husband, Mr. Seymour, sent to the Tower. In this state of separation, however, they concerted means for an escape, which both effected on the same day, _June 3, 1611_. Seymour got safely to Flanders; but his poor wife was retaken in Calais roads, and brought back to the former prison of her husband, the Tower, where the sense of these undeserved oppressions operating severely on her high spirit, she became a lunatic, and languished in that wretched state, augmented by the horrors of a prison, till her death, which occurred on the 27th of September, 1615. Thus ends the eventful story of poor Arabella, a woman, (if we may credit her portrait, prefixed to Lodge’s third volume of “Illustrations of British History,”) of commanding and elegant appearance, and undoubtedly of a firm and vigorous mind; and it is well observed by that author, that “had the life of Arabella Stuart been marked by the same criminal extravagancies, as well as distinguished by similar misfortunes and persecutions, her character would have stood at least as forward on the page of history as that of her royal aunt, Mary of Scotland.” The above letter was, probably, written from the Tower, though, I am sorry to say, there is neither direction nor superscription, and, therefore, to whom can be only matter of surmise.

I am, Sir, &c.

~A.~

THE LOVES OF “THE LADY ARABELLA.”

From an article in the “Curiosities of Literature,” illustrations may be derived to the article of our correspondent ~A.~ “The whole life of this lady seems to consist of secret history, which, probably, we cannot now recover:--her name scarcely ever occurs without raising that sort of interest which accompanies mysterious events.” She is reputed to have been learned, and of a poetical genius; yet of her poetry there are no specimens, and her erudition rests on Evelyn’s bare mention of her name in his list of learned women.

On the death of queen Elizabeth, the pope conceived the notion of restoring the papacy in England, by uniting the lady Arabella to an Italian cardinal, of illegitimate descent from our Edward IV. His holiness presumed if he qualified the cardinal for marriage, by depriving him from the priesthood, the junction of Arabella’s relationship to Henry VII., with the churchman’s “natural” pretensions, might secure the crown! Her attachment to the catholic religion is doubtful. Perhaps her disposition was rightly estimated by father Parsons: he imagined “her religion to be as tender, green, and flexible, as is her age and sex; and to be wrought hereafter, and settled according to future events and times.” The pope’s plot failed. Winwood says, “the lady Arabella hath not been found inclinable to popery.” He wrote after the “future events,” contemplated by Parsons, had “wrought.”

Another project for making the lady Arabella queen was after the enthronement of James. The conspirators requested her by letter to address herself to the king of Spain; she laughed at the letter and sent it to James, who, as regarded her, did not think of it more seriously, and so failed a second plot, wherein the name of the illustrious Raleigh was implicated.

In the year 1604, there appears to have been a third design to make her queen, though not of this country. The earl of Pembroke writes to the earl of Shrewsbury--“A great ambassador is coming from the king of Poland, whose chief errand is to demand my lady Arabella in marriage for his master. So may your princess of the blood grow a great queen.” If this was the object of the embassy, nothing came of it.

Before the death of queen Elizabeth, the marriage of the lady Arabella with her kinsman lord Esme Stuart, whom he had created duke of Lennox, and designed for his heir, was proposed by James himself, but Elizabeth “forbad the bans” by imprisoning the proposed bride, who was suspected to have favoured a son of the earl of Northumberland, against whom Elizabeth again interposed. She had other offers. “To the lady Arabella, crowns and husbands were like a fairy banquet seen at moonlight, opening on her sight, impalpable and vanishing at the moment of approach.”

The distresses of this unhappy creature were heightened by her dependence on the crown. She was the cousin of James, and it was his narrow policy to constrain her from a match suitable to her rank, or perhaps to keep her single for life. Her supplies were unequal: at one time she had a grant of the duty on oats; at length he assigned her a pension of 1600_l._: but whenever he suspected a natural desire in her heart she was out of favour. No woman was ever more solicited to the conjugal state, or seems to have been so little averse to it. “Every noble youth who sighed for distinction, ambitioned the notice of the lady Arabella.”

Her renewal of an early attachment to Mr. William Seymour, second son of lord Beauchamp, and grandson of the earl of Hertford, forms a story which “for its misery, its pathos, and its terror, even romantic fiction has not executed.” It was detected, and the lady Arabella and Seymour were summoned before the privy council, where Seymour was “censured for seeking to ally himself with the royal blood, although that blood was running in his own veins.” In his answer, “he conceived that this noble lady might, without offence, make the choice of any subject within this kingdom.” He says, “I boldly intruded myself into her ladyship’s chamber, in the court, on Candlemass day last, at what time I imparted my desire unto her, which was entertained; but with this caution on either part, that both of us resolved not to proceed to any final conclusion without his majesty’s most gracious favour first obtained: and this was our first meeting.” The lovers gravely promised to suppress their affections, with what sincerity is not known, for they married secretly; and in July the lady Arabella was arrested, and confined at the house of sir Thomas Parry, at Lambeth, and Seymour committed to the Tower, “for contempt in marrying a lady of the royal family without the king’s leave.”

Arabella wrote a letter to the king, which was “often read without offence, nay, it was even commended by his highness, with the applause of prince and council.” She adverted to her wrongs, and required justice with a noble fortitude, though in respectful terms. She says, “I do most heartily lament my hard fortune, that I should offend your majesty the least, especially in that whereby I have long desired to merit of your majesty, as appeared before your majesty was my sovereign: and though _your majesty’s neglect of me_, my good liking to this gentleman that is my husband, and my fortune, drew me to a contract before I acquainted your majesty, I humbly beseech your majesty to consider how impossible it was for me to imagine it could be offensive to your majesty, having _few days before given me your royal consent to bestow myself on any subject of your majesty’s_ (which likewise your majesty had done long since). Besides, never having been either prohibited any, or spoken to for any, in this land, by your majesty _these seven years_ that I have lived in your majesty’s house, I could not conceive that your majesty regarded my marriage at all; whereas if your majesty had vouchsafed to tell me your mind, and accept the free-will offering of my obedience, I would not have offended your majesty, of whose gracious goodness I presume so much, that _if it were now as convenient in a worldly respect, as malice may make it seem, to separate us, whom God hath joined_, your majesty would not do evil that good might come thereof, nor make me, that have the honour to be so near your majesty in blood, the first precedent that ever was, though our princes may have left some as little imitable, for so good and gracious a king as your majesty, as David’s dealing with Uriah.”

She moved the queen, through lady Jane Drummond, to interest James in her favour. A letter from lady Jane communicates his majesty’s coarse and conceited reply, and she concludes by frankly telling the captive wife, “the wisdom of this state, with the example how some of your quality in the like case has been used, makes me fear that ye shall not find so easy end to your troubles as ye expect or I wish.”

To lady Drummond’s prophetic intimation, Arabella answers by sending the queen a pair of gloves “in remembrance of the poor prisoner that wrought them, in hopes her royal hands will vouchsafe to wear them:” and she adds, that her case “could be compared to no other she ever heard of, _resembling no other_.” She contrived to correspond with Seymour, but their letters were discovered, and the king resolved to change her place of confinement.

James appointed the bishop of Durham to be his jailor on the occasion. “Lady Arabella was so subdued at this distant separation, that she gave way to all the wildness of despair; she fell suddenly ill, and could not travel but in a litter, and with a physician. In her way to Durham, she was so greatly disquieted in the first few miles of her uneasy and troublesome journey, that they would proceed no further than to Highgate. The physician returned to town to report her state, and declared that she was assuredly very weak, her pulse dull and melancholy, and very irregular; her countenance very heavy, pale, and wan; and though free from fever, he declared her in no case fit for travel. The king observed, ‘It is enough to make any sound man sick to be carried in a bed in that manner she is; much more for her _whose impatient and unquiet spirit heapeth upon herself far greater indisposition of body than otherwise she would have_.’ His resolution however was, that ‘she should proceed to Durham, _if he were king_!’ ‘We answered,’ replied the doctor, ‘that we made no doubt of her obedience.’--‘Obedience is that required,’ replied the king, ‘which being performed, I will do more for her than she expected.’” Yet he consented to her remaining a month at Highgate. As the day of her departure approached, she appeared resigned. “But Arabella had not, within, that tranquillity with which she had lulled her keepers. She and Seymour had concerted a flight, as bold in its plot, and as beautifully wild, as any recorded in romantic story. The day preceding her departure, Arabella found it not difficult to persuade a female attendant to consent that she would suffer her to pay a last visit to her husband, and to wait for her return at an appointed hour. More solicitous for the happiness of lovers than for the repose of kings, this attendant, in utter simplicity, or with generous sympathy, assisted the lady Arabella in dressing her in one of the most elaborate disguisings. ‘She drew a pair of large French-fashioned hose or trowsers over her petticoats; put on a man’s doublet or coat; a peruke, such as men wore, whose long locks covered her own ringlets; a black hat, a black cloak, russet boots with red tops, and a rapier by her side,’ Thus accoutred, the lady Arabella stole out with a gentleman about three o’clock in the afternoon. She had only proceeded a mile and a half, when they stopped at a poor inn, where one of her confederates was waiting with horses, yet she was so sick and faint, that the ostler, who held her stirrup, observed, that ‘the gentleman could hardly hold out to London.’ She recruited her spirits by riding; the blood mantled in her face, and at six o’clock our sick lover reached Blackwall, where a boat and servants were waiting. The watermen were at first ordered to Woolwich; there they were desired to push on to Gravesend, then to Tilbury, where, complaining of fatigue, they landed to refresh; but, tempted by their freight, they reached Lee. At the break of morn they discovered a French vessel riding there to receive the lady; but as Seymour had not yet arrived, Arabella was desirous to lie at anchor for her lord, conscious that he would not fail to his appointment. If he indeed had been prevented in his escape, she herself cared not to preserve the freedom she now possessed; but her attendants, aware of the danger of being overtaken by a king’s ship, overruled her wishes, and hoisted sail, which occasioned so fatal a termination to this romantic adventure. Seymour indeed had escaped from the Tower; he had left his servant watching at his door to warn all visiters not to disturb his master, who lay ill with a raging toothache, while Seymour in disguise stole away alone, following a cart which had just brought wood to his apartment. He passed the warders; he reached the wharf, and found his confidential man waiting with a boat, and he arrived at Lee. The time pressed; the waves were rising; Arabella was not there; but in the distance he descried a vessel. Hiring a fisherman to take him on board, to his grief, on hailing it, he discovered that it was not the French vessel charged with his Arabella; in despair and confusion he found another ship from Newcastle, which for a good sum altered its course, and landed him in Flanders.”

On the lady Arabella’s escape, “couriers were despatched swifter than the winds wafted the unhappy Arabella, and all was hurry in the seaports. They sent to the Tower to warn the lieutenant to be doubly vigilant over Seymour, who, to his surprise, discovered that his prisoner had ceased to be so for several hours. James at first was for issuing a proclamation in a style so angry and vindictive, that it required the moderation of Cecil to preserve the dignity while he concealed the terror of his majesty. By the admiral’s detail of his impetuous movements, he seemed in pursuit of an enemy’s fleet; for the courier is urged, and the postmasters are roused by a superscription, which warned them of the eventful despatch, ‘Haste, haste, post haste! Haste for your life, your life!’ To these words, in a letter from the earl of Essex to the lord high admiral at Plymouth, were added the expressive symbol of _a gallows prepared with a halter_, thus

+--+--+ | | | | | | | | |.” | |

There is no doubt, as is well expressed, that “the union and flight of these two doves, from their cotes, shook with consternation the grey owls of the cabinet:” even “prince Henry partook of this cabinet panic.”

Meanwhile “we have left the lady Arabella alone and mournful on the seas, not praying for favourable gales to convey her away, but still imploring her attendants to linger for her Seymour; still straining her sight to the point of the horizon for some speck which might give a hope of the approach of the boat freighted with all her love. Alas! never more was Arabella to cast a single look on her lover and her husband! She was overtaken by a pink in the king’s service, in Calais roads; and now she declared that she cared not to be brought back again to her imprisonment should Seymour escape, whose safety was dearest to her!”

Where London’s Tow’re its turrets show So stately by the Thames’s side, Fair Arabella, child of woe! For many a day had sat and sighed.

And as shee heard the waves arise, And as shee heard the bleake windes roare, As fast did heave her heartfelte sighes, And still so fast her teares did poure![197]

During a confinement of four years the lady Arabella “sunk beneath the hopelessness of her situation, and a secret resolution in her mind to refuse the aid of her physicians, and to wear away the faster, if she could, the feeble remains of life.” The particulars of her “dreadful imprisonment” are unknown, but her letters show her affliction, and that she often thought on suicide, and as often was prevented by religious fortitude. “I could not,” she says, “be so unchristian as to be the cause of my own death.”

She affectingly paints her situation in one of her addresses to James. “In all humility, the most wretched and unfortunate creature that ever lived, prostrates itselfe at the feet of the most merciful king that ever was, desiring nothing but mercy and favour, not being more afflicted for any thing than for the losse of that which hath binne this long time the onely comfort it had in the world, and which, if it weare to do again, I would not adventure the losse of for any other worldly comfort; _mercy_ it is I desire, and that for _God’s sake_!”

She “finally lost her reason,” and died in prison distracted. “Such is the history of the lady Arabella. A writer of romance might render her one of those interesting personages whose griefs have been deepened by their royalty, and whose adventures, touched with the warm hues of love and distraction, closed at the bars of her prison-grate--a sad example of a female victim to the state!

‘Through one dim lattice, fring’d with ivy round, Successive suns a languid radiance threw, To paint how fierce her angry guardian frown’d, To mark how fast her waning beauty flew!’”

Her husband, Seymour, regained his liberty. Charles I. created him marquis of Hertford; and, under Charles II., the dukedom of Somerset, which had been lost to his family by attainder for ancient defections, was restored to it in his person. He “retained his romantic passion for the lady of his first affections; for he called the daughter he had by his second lady by the ever beloved name of ARABELLA STUART.”[198]

Nothing remains to mark the character of this noble-minded female, but the scanty particulars from whence the present are gathered, with some letters and a few rhapsodies written while her heart was breaking, and her understanding perishing. At that period she wrote the letter here brought to light towards gratifying a natural curiosity for every thing relating to her character and person; with the same intent her handwriting is faithfully traced, and subjoined from her subscription to the original.

LADY JANE DRUMMOND.

The lady Arabella’s suitor to her majesty lady Jane Drummond, was third daughter of Patrick, third lord Drummond. She married Robert, the second earl of Roxburghe, and was mother to Hary, lord Ker. She possessed distinguished abilities, was one of the ladies of the queen’s bedchamber, and governess to the royal children. She died October 7, 1643. Her funeral was fixed on by the royalists as a convenient pretext to assemble for a massacre of the leading covenanters, but the numbers proved too inconsiderable for the attempt. She was hurried in the family vault in the chapel-royal, Holyrood-house: the vault was long open to public view. The editor of “Heriot’s Life,” in 1822, gives her autograph as “Jane Drummond,” and speaks of having seen her coffin and remains thirty years before, shortly after which period he believes the vault to have been closed. In the “Gentleman’s Magazine” of February, 1799, plate II., there is a fac-simile of her autograph, as countess of Roxburghe, from her receipt, dated May 10, 1617, for “500_l._, part of the sum of 3000_l._, of his majesty’s free and princely gift to her, in consideration of long and faithful service done to the queen, as one of the ladies of the bedchamber to her majesty.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·15.

[195] General Biographical Dictionary.

[196] Communicated by Mr. Johnson, of Newark.

[197] “Arabella Stuart,” in Evans’s Old Ballads; supposed to have been written by Mickle.

[198] Mr. D’Israeli.

~June 4.~

REMARKABLE CELEBRATION.

This was king George the Third’s birth-day, and therefore during his reign was kept at court, and in many towns throughout the kingdom.

At Bexhill, on the coast of Sussex, where the inhabitants, who scarcely exceed 800, are remarkable for longevity and loyalty, on the 4th of June, 1819, they celebrated the king’s birth-day in an appropriate and remarkable manner. Twenty-five old men, inhabitants of the parish, whose united ages amounted to 2025, averaging eighty-one each (the age of the king) dined together at the Bell Inn, and passed the day in a cheerful and happy manner. The dinner was set on table by fifteen other old men, also of the above parish, whose united ages amounted to seventy-one each, and six others, whose ages amounted to sixty-one each, rang the bells on the occasion. The old men dined at one o’clock; and at half-past two a public dinner was served up to the greater part of the respectable inhabitants to the number of eighty-one, who were also the subscribers to the old men’s dinner. The assembly room was decorated with several appropriate devices; and some of the old men, with the greater part of the company, enjoyed themselves to a late hour.[199]

BELL RINGING

and

HAND BELLS IN CHURCHES.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--In pp. 161-2, vol. ii., your correspondent H. H. N. N. of Newark, informs us of the custom of ringing a bell at six o’clock in the morning, and eight in the evening; likewise of a set of “hand bells” kept in the church there; and desires to be informed of their use. Although I cannot inform him of the particular origin of ringing the bell at particular hours in that town, yet by stating the practice in some other towns, it may, perhaps, contribute to unravel its meaning. With regard to the “hand bells,” it seems probable that they were originally placed in churches for the use of the ringers, who employed their leisure in practising and amusing themselves in the evenings when not engaged in the belfry, as is the case at the present time in some parts of London. Although I do not recollect where the hand bells are used in town, yet I have more than once lately heard it mentioned in Fenchurch-street and its neighbourhood, that the ringers were in the practice of amusing themselves with hand bells at a public-house where they assembled for the purpose of practising; and it is more than probable, that some of your readers in that neighbourhood can furnish you with further particulars.

In most of the towns in the west of England, they have a custom of ringing one of the church bells (generally the treble bell) in the morning and evenings. Among other towns I noticed at _Dorchester_, Dorset, the practice of ringing a bell at six in the morning in the summer, and seven in the winter, at one o’clock at noon, and at eight in the evening, concluding after ringing at eight o’clock with striking as many strokes as the month is days old; and this practice I was there informed was for calling people to work in the morning, the time for dinner, and for leaving work in the evening.

At another town in Dorsetshire, _Sherborne_, they have an almost endless “ding-dong,” “twing-twang,” or “bim-bome,” throughout the day. Happening to be lately there on a market-day (Saturday) I was awakened in the morning, at _four_ o’clock, by the ringing of the “church treble bell;” at _six_ o’clock the church “chimes” were in play; at a quarter before _seven_ the “almshouse bell” began, and continued to ring till _seven_, which is said to be for the purpose of calling the scholars of king Edward the Sixth’s grammar school to their studies, who were no sooner assembled than the “school bell” announced the master’s approach. At _half-past eight_ the “almshouse bell” summoned the almsmen and women to prayers; at _nine_ the “chimes;” at _eleven_ the “wholesale market bell;” at _twelve_ the “chimes;” at _one_ the “school bell” for dinner; at _half-past one_ the “retail market bell;” at _three_ the “chimes,” and the church “great bell”[200] tolled twice at a short interval, when, what is appositely enough called the “tanging bell,” rang until the minister and religiously inclined had assembled for prayer; at _four_ the “almshouse bell;” at _six_ the “chimes;” at _seven_ the “school bell” for supper; at _eight_ the “church bell,” which rang a quarter of an hour, and concluded by giving eight strokes; at _nine_ the “chimes,” and the “school bell” for bed.

So much bell ringing and tolling naturally led to an inquiry of the several causes that gave rise to it. By some, the first morning and eight o’clock bell is called the “curfew bell,” and the practice of ringing it is said to have been continued from the time of William the Conqueror, who, by one of his laws, ordered the people to put out their fires and lights, and go to bed at the eight o’clock curfew bell; and others affirmed it to be, for the purpose of summoning the people to their labours.

The practice of ringing a church bell in the morning and evening is common in most towns where they have a bell, although its origin is seldom inquired about or noticed. I have often made inquiries on the subject, and have always received one of the above answers, and am inclined rather to believe its origin is the “curfew bell,” although it now serves more the purpose of warning people to their labours, than for the “extinction and relighting of all fire and candle lights.”

I am, &c.

R. T.[201]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·22.

[199] Sussex paper.

[200] This bell is said to weigh 3 _tons_ 5 _cwt._, and to be the treble of a ring of bells brought from Tournay by cardinal Wolsey, whereof one is at St. Paul’s, one at Oxford, one at Lincoln, and one at Exeter. The motto on the crown of this bell, which is called the _great bell_, is said to be--

“By Woolsey’s gift I measure time for all; For mirth, for grief, for church I serve to call.”

R. T.

[201] For the “Curfew Bell,” and ‘curfew,’ see vol. i. p. 242, &c.

~June 5.~

1826. FIRST MONDAY IN JUNE.

_Heriot’s Hospital, Edinburgh._

A solemn festival in the Scottish metropolis is ordained by the “Statutes of George Heriot’s Hospital,” (cap. ii.) in the following words:--“But especially _upon the first Monday in June_, every year, shall be kept a solemn commemoration and thanksgiving unto God, in this form which followeth. In the morning, about eight of the clock of that day, the lord provost, all the ministers, magistrates, and ordinary council of the city of Edinburgh, shall assemble themselves in the committee-chamber of the said hospital; from thence, all the scholars and officers of the said hospital going before them two by two, they shall go, with all the solemnity that may be, to the Gray Friars church of the said city, where they shall hear a sermon preached by one of the said ministers, every one yearly in their courses, according to the antiquity of their ministry in the said city. The principal argument of the sermon shall be to these purposes: To give God thanks for the charitable maintenance which the poor maintained in the hospital received by the bounty of the said founder, of whom shall be made honourable mention. To exhort all men of ability, according to their means, to follow his example: To urge the necessity of good works, according to men’s power, for the testimony of their faith: And to clear the doctrine of our church from all the calumnies of our adversaries, who give us out to be the impugners of good works. After the sermon ended, all above named shall return to the hospital, with the same solemnity and order they came from it, where shall be paid to the minister who preached, to buy him books, by the treasurer of the hospital for the time being, out of the treasury or rents of the hospital, the sum of .”

By appointment of the governors, Mr. Robert Douglas, one of the ministers of Edinburgh, preached a sermon on the first Monday of June, of the year 1659, in commemoration of the founder; for this sermon he received the sum of one hundred marks “to buy him books,” agreeably to the statutes. From that time the usage has been continued annually, the ministers of Edinburgh preaching in rotation, according to their seniority of office, in the old Gray Friars church.

On this occasion the statue of the founder is fancifully decorated with flowers. Each of the boys receives a new suit of clothes; their relations and friends assemble; and the citizens, old and young, being admitted to view the hospital, the gaiety of the scene is highly gratifying.

* * * * *

It was formerly a custom with the boys to dress Heriot’s statue with flowers on the first of May, and to renew them on this anniversary festival when they received their new clothes.[202]

It should seem, therefore, that the floral adornment of the statue annually on this day, is derived from its ancient dressing on the first of May.

The statue stands beneath the centre tower of the north or principal front, and over the middle of a vaulted archway leading to the court-yard of the hospital. Grose says, the Latin inscription above the figure signifies, “that Heriot’s person was represented by that image, as his mind was by the surrounding foundation.”

* * * * *

George Heriot was jeweller to king James VI., subsequently James I., of England. He was born about June, 1563, eldest son to George Heriot, one of the company of goldsmiths in Edinburgh. The elder Heriot died in 1610, having been a commissioner in the convention of estates and parliament of Scotland, and a convener of the trades of Edinburgh at five different elections of the council. The goldsmiths were then the money-dealers in Scotland; they consequently ranked among the most respectable citizens, and to this profession the subject of this memoir was brought up by his father.

* * * * *

It appears that so late as the year 1483, the goldsmiths of Edinburgh were classed with the “hammermen” or common smiths. They were subsequently separated, and an act of the town council on the twenty-ninth of August, 1581, conferred on the goldsmiths a monopoly of their trade, which was confirmed by a charter from James VI., in the year 1586.

A century afterwards, in 1687, James VII. invested the goldsmiths with the power of searching, inspecting, and trying all jewels set in gold, in every part of the kingdom; a license to destroy all false or counterfeit work; to punish the transgressors by imprisonment or fines, and seize the working tools of all unfree goldsmiths within the city.

* * * * *

In January, 1587, George Heriot married Christian, the daughter of Simon Marjoribanks, an Edinburgh merchant. On this occasion, his father gave him 1000 marks, with 500 more to fit out his shop and purchase implements and clothes, and he had 1075 marks with his wife. Their united fortunes amounted to about 214_l._ 11_s._ 8_d._, which Heriot’s last biographer says, was “a considerable sum in those days; but rendered much more useful by the prospect of his father’s business, which would at this time naturally be transferred to the younger and more active man.”

In May, 1588, Heriot became a member of the incorporation of goldsmiths. “Scotland which was then an independent kingdom, with a court in the metropolis, though poor in general, was probably in a state not less favourable to the success of Heriot’s occupation than at present. A rude magnificence peculiar to the age, atoned for want of elegance, by the massy splendour of its ornaments. The nobles were proud and extravagant when their fortunes would permit; and Ann of Denmark, the reigning queen, was fond of show and gallantry.” During this period, Heriot was employed by the court. In 1597, he was made goldsmith to the queen, and so declared “at the crosse, be opin proclamatione and sound of trumpet.” Shortly after, he was appointed jeweller and goldsmith to the king, with a right to the lucrative privileges of that office.

Heriot rose to opulence, and lost his wife; he afterwards married Alison, eldest daughter of James Primrose, clerk to the privy-council, and grandfather of the first earl of Roseberry. On the accession of James to the throne of England, he followed the court to London, where he continued to reside almost constantly. He obtained eminence and wealth, and died there on the twelfth of February, 1624, in the sixtieth year of his age, and was buried at St. Martin’s in the Fields.

_Queen Ann of Denmark’s Jewels._

In a volume of original accounts and vouchers relative to Heriot’s transactions with the queen, there are several charges which illustrate the fashion of the times in these expensive decorations, viz.--

For making a brilliant in form of a ship.

For gold and making of a _Valentine_.

A ring with a heart and a serpent, all set about with diamonds;

Two pendants made like moore’s heads, and all sett with diamonds;

A ring with a single diamond, set in a heart betwixt two hands.

Two flies with diamonds.

A great ring in the form of a perssed eye and a perssed heart, all sett with diamonds.

One great ring, in forme of a frog, all set with diamonds, _price two hundreth poundis_.

A jewell in forme of a butterfly.

A jewell in forme of a lillye, sett of diamonds.

An anker sett with diamonds.

A jewell in form of a honey-suckle.

A pair of pendants, made lyke two drums, sett with diamondis.

A jewel, in forme of a jolley flower, sett with diamonds.

A jewell in forme of a horne of aboundance, set with 6 rose diamondis, and 12 table diamondis.

A ring of a burning heart set with diamondis.

A ring, in forme of a scallope shell, set with a table diamond, and opening on the head.

A pair of pendentis of two handis, and two serpentis hanging at them.

A parrate of diamondis.

A ring of a love trophe set with diamondis.

Two rings, lyke black flowers, with a table diamond in each.

A daissie ring sett with a table diamond.

A jewell in fashione of a bay leaf, opening for a pictur, and set with diamondis on the one syde.

A pair of lizard pendantis, set with diamondis.

A jewell for a hatt, in forme of a bay leafe, all set with diamonds.

A little watch set all over with diamonds, 170_l._

A ryng sett all over with diamondis, made in fashion of a lizard, 120_l._

A ring set with 9 diamonds, and opening on the head with the king’s picture in that.

MARGARET HARTSYDE.

In an account of “jewells and other furnishings,” which were “sould and deliuered to the Queene’s most excellent ma^{tie.} from the x^{th.} of April, 1607, to the x^{th.} of February followinge, by George Heriote, her Highnes’ jewellor,” there is the following

“_Item_, deliuered to _Margarett Hartsyde_ a ring sett all about with diamonds, and a table diamond on the head, _which she gaue me to vnderstand was by her Ma^{ts.} direction_, price

xxx _li._”

This item in reference to Margaret Hartsyde is remarkable, because it appears that this female, who had been in the royal household, was tried in Edinburgh on the 31st of May, 1608, for stealing a pearl, worth 110_l._ sterling belonging to the queen. She pretended that she retained these pearls to adorn dolls for the amusement of the royal infants, and believed that the queen would never demand them; but it appeared that she used “great cunning and deceit in it,” and disguised the jewels so as not to be easily known, and offered them to her majesty in sale. The king by special warrant declared her infamous, sentenced her to pay 400_l._ sterling as the value of the jewels, and condemned her to be imprisoned in Blackness castle till it was paid, and to confinement in Orkney during her life. In December, 1619, eleven years afterwards, “compeared the king’s advocate, and produced a letter of rehabilitation and restitution of Margaret Hartsyde to her fame.”

* * * * *

There is a memorial of queen Anne of Denmark’s fondness for dogs in a large whole-length portrait of her, surrounded by those animals, which she holds in leashes. In Heriot’s accounts there are charges for their furniture: e. g.

“_Item_, for the garnishing of vj doge collers, weighing in silver xix ounces iiij _li._ xv_s._

“_Item_, for the workmanshipe of the said collers ij _li._ x_s._

“_Item_, boght to the said collers ij ounces iij quarters of silver lace, at v_s._ vj_d._ ounce xv_s._ i_d._ ob.

“_Item_, for making _w_p of the said collers at ij_s._ the peice xij_s._”

Her majesty’s perfumes seem to have derived additions from Heriot. He furnished her with “5 ounces and a half of fyne civett, at _li._ 4 the ounce:” also

“_Item_, for fower ounces of fyne musk de Levant, at xxxviij_s._ the ounce vij _li._ xij_s._

“_Item_, for a glass of balsome, ij _li._

“_Item_, for a glass of whyte balsome, and a glasse of black balsome j _li._ x_s._”

There are no particulars of the private life of Heriot. From small beginnings, he died worth 50,000_l._, and acquired lands and houses at Roehampton, in Surrey, and St. Martin’s in the Fields, London. It does not appear that he had children by either of his wives, but he had two illegitimate daughters. To one of these, named in his will as “Elizabeth Band, now an infant of the age of ten years or therabout, and remaining with Mr. Starkey at his house at Windsor,” he gave his copyholds in Roehampton. To the other, whom he mentions as “Margaret Scot, being an infant about the age of four years, now remaining with one Rigden, a waterman, at his house in the parish of Fulham,” he left his two freehold messuages in St. George’s in the Fields, which he had lately purchased of sir Nicholas Fortescue, knight, and William Fortescue, his son: his leasehold terms in certain garden plots in that parish, held of the earl of Bedford, he bequeathed to Margaret Scot; and he directed 200_l._ to be laid out at interest, and paid to them severally when of age or married. He gave 10_l._ to the poor of St. Martin’s parish, 20_l._ to the French church there, and 30_l._ to Gilbert Primrose, preacher at that church; and after liberally providing for a great number of his relations, he bequeathed the residue of his estate to the provosts, bailiffs, ministers, and ordinary town-council of Edinburgh, for the time being, for and towards the founding and erecting of a hospital in the said town, and purchasing lands in perpetuity, to be employed in the maintenance and education of so many poor freemen’s sons of the town as the yearly value of the lands would afford means to provide for. He appointed the said town council perpetual governors of the institution, which he ordained should be governed by such orders or statutes as he made in his lifetime, or as should be formed and signed after his decease by Dr. Balcanquel, one of his executors.

“So stands the statue that _adorns_ the _gate_.”

HERIOT’S HOSPITAL.

The residue of Heriot’s estate amounted to 23,625_l._ 10_s._ 3_d._ which sum was paid by his executors, on the 12th of May, 1627, to the town-council of Edinburgh. He had directed a large messuage in Edinburgh, between Gray’s close and Todrick’s wynd, to be appropriated to the hospital; but the governors, in conjunction with Dr. Balcanquel, finding it unfit for the purpose, purchased of the citizens of Edinburgh, eight acres and a half of land near the Grass Market, in a field called the “High Riggs,” and they commenced to lay the foundation of the present structure on the 1st of July, 1628, according to a plan of Inigo Jones. The stones were brought from Ravelstone, near Edinburgh; and the building was conducted by William Aytoune, an eminent mason or architect, with considerable deviations from Inigo Jones’s design, in accommodation to the supervening taste of Heriot’s trustees. In 1639, the progress of the work was interrupted by the troubles of the period till 1642. When it was nearly completed, in 1650, Cromwell’s army occupied it as an infirmary for the sick and wounded. It remained in such possession till general Monk, in 1658, on the request of a committee of governors, removed the soldiers to the new infirmary in the Canongate, at the expense of Heriot’s trustees; and on the 11th of April, 1659, the hospital being ready, thirty boys were admitted. In the following August they were increased to forty; in 1661, to fifty-two; in 1753, to one hundred and thirty; in 1763, to one hundred and forty; and in 1822, the establishment maintained one hundred and eighty.

* * * * *

The children of Heriot’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth Band, were among the early objects who benefited by the endowment. She had married in England, but being reduced to great difficulties, resorted to Edinburgh for relief. The magistrates allowed her one thousand merks Scots annually, till her sons were admitted into their grandfather’s hospital. She had 20_l._ afterwards to support her journey to London, and a present of one thousand merks.

* * * * *

Heriot’s hospital cost 30,000_l._ in the erection. The first managers purchased the barony of Broughton, a burgh of regality, about a quarter of a mile northward of the city, a property which, from local circumstances, seemed likely to rise in value. On this and other adjacent land, the “new town” of Edinburgh now stands. The greater part of the valuable grounds from the bottom of Carlton-hill eastward, reaching to Leith, and to the east road to Edinburgh, is the property of the hospital, which will derive great additional revenue when the buildings on these lands complete the connection of Leith with Edinburgh. In 1779, Heriot’s hospital possessed a real income of 1800_l._ per annum: its annual income in 1822 was supposed to have amounted to upwards of 12,000_l._

* * * * *

The statutes of the hospital ordain, that the boys should be taught “to read and write Scots distinctly, to cypher, and cast all manner of accounts,” and “the Latin rudiments, but no further.” The governors, however, have wisely gone so much “further,” as to cause the boys to be instructed in Greek, mathematics, navigation, drawing, and other matters suitable to the pursuits they are likely to follow in life. The majority of the boys are apprenticed to trades in Edinburgh, with an allowance of 10_l._ a year for five years, amounting to an apprentice fee of 50_l._; and to each, who on the expiration of his servitude produces a certificate of good conduct from his master, 5_l._ is given to purchase a suit of clothes. Those destined for the learned professions are sent to the university for four years, with an allowance of 30_l._ annually. Six or eight are generally at college, in addition to ten bursers selected by the governors from other seminaries, who have each an annual allowance of 20_l._

* * * * *

George Heriot confided to his intimate friend “Mr. Walter Balcanquel, doctor in divinity and master of the Savoy,” the framing and ordaining of the rules for the government of his hospital; and accordingly in 1627, Dr. Balcanquel, “after consulting with the provosts, baillies, ministers, and council of Edinburgh,” compiled the statutes by which the institution continues to be governed. By these it is directed that “this institution, foundation, and hospital, shall for all time to come, perpetually and unchangeably be called by the name of _George Heriot his Hospital_,” and that “there shall be one common seal for the said hospital engraven with this device, _Sigillum Hospitalis Georgii Heriot_, about the circle, and in the middle the pattern of the hospital.”

And “because no body can be well governed without a head, there shall be one of good respect chosen _master_ of the hospital, who shall have power to govern all the scholars and officers;” and therefore the governors are enjoined to have a special care, “that he be a man fearing God; of honest life and conversation; of so much learning as he be fit to teach the catechism; a man of that discretion, as he may be fit to govern and correct all that live within the house; and a man of that care and providence, that he may be fit to take the accounts of the same; a man of that worth and respect, as he may be fit to be an assessor with the governors, having a suffrage given unto him in all businesses concerning the hospital. He shall be an unmarried man, otherwise let him be altogether uncapable of being master. He shall have yearly given unto him a new gown. Within the precincts of the hospital he shall never go without his gown: in the hall he shall have his diet, he and the schoolmaster, in the upper end, at a little table by themselves.”

The _schoolmaster_, whose duties in teaching are already expressed by the quality of the learning defined to the boys, also “must be unmarried.”

It is charged on the consciences of the electors, “that they choose no burgess’s children, if their parents be well and sufficiently able to maintain them, since the intention of the founder is only to relieve the poor; they must not be under seven years of age complete, and they shall not stay in the hospital after they are of the age of sixteen years complete: they shall be comely and decently apparelled, as becometh, both in their linens and clothes; and their apparel shall be of sad russet cloth, doublets, breeches, and stockings or hose, and gowns of the same colour, with black hats and strings, which they shall be bound to wear during their abode in the said hospital, and no other.”

Further, it is provided, that “there shall be _a pair of stocks_ placed at the end of the hall in the hospital, in which the master shall command to be laid any officer, for any such offences as in his discretion shall seem to deserve it; and the master likewise shall have authority to lay in the same stocks any vagrant stranger of mean quality, who, within the precincts of the hospital, shall commit any such offence as may deserve it: the officer for executing the master’s command; in this point of justice, shall be the porter of the hospital.” The _porter_ is to be “a man, unmarried, of honest report--of good strength, able to keep out all sturdy beggars and vagrant persons;--he shall have every year a new gown, which he must wear continually at the gate; and if, at any time, he dispose himself to marry, he shall demit his place, or else be deprived of the same.”

The last of many officers ordained is “one _chirurgeon-barber_, who shall cut and poll the hair of all the scholars in the hospital; as also look to the cure of all those within the hospital, who any way shall stand in need of his art.”

* * * * *

These extracts are rather curious than important; for it is presumed, that any who are interested in acquiring further knowledge, will consult the statutes “at large.” They are set forth in “The Life of George Heriot,” published at Edinburgh in 1822, from whence the preceding particulars of the hospital and its founder are derived. They especially provide for the strict religious instruction of the boys--“while in the hospital the greatest care is bestowed on them in regard to morals and health; they have certain hours allowed them daily for exercise; and their amusements generally partake of a manly character.”

* * * * *

It may be quoted as an amusing incident in the annals of the establishment, that “a singular occurrence took place with the boys of Heriot’s hospital in 1681-2, the year in which the earl of Argyle was tried, and convicted of high treason, for refusing the test oath without certain qualifications. We extract the following account of it from _Lord Fountainhill’s Chronological Notes of Scottish Affairs_, just published: ‘Argyle was much hated for oppressing his creditors, and neither paying his own nor father’s debts, but lord Halifax told Charles II. he understood not the Scots law, but the English law would not have hanged _a dog_ for such a crime.’ Every lawyer of common sense, or ordinary conscience, will be of the same opinion. Lord Clarendon, when he heard the sentence, blessed God that he lived not in a country where there were such laws, but he ought to have said such judges. The very hospital children made a mockery of the reasoning of the crown lawyers. The boys of Heriot’s hospital resolved among themselves, that the _house-dog_ belonging to the establishment held _a public office_, and ought to take the _test_. The paper being presented to the mastiff, he refused to swallow the same unless it was rubbed over with butter. Being a second time tendered, buttered as above mentioned, the dog swallowed it, and was next accused and condemned, for having taken the test with a qualification, as in the case of Argyle!”

THE DOG OF HERIOT’S HOSPITAL.

There is “_An Account of the Arraignment, Tryal, Escape, and Condemnation of the_ DOG _of_ Heriot’s Hospital _in_ Scotland, _that was supposed to have been hang’d, but did at last slip the halter_.”

From this exceedingly rare folio paper of two pages, “_Printed for the author_, M. D. 1682,” now before the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, he proceeds to extract some exponences in the case of “the dog of Heriot’s hospital,” by which “the reasoning of the crown lawyers,” in the case of the duke of Argyle, was successfully ridiculed.

Its waggish author writes in the manner of a letter, “to show you that the act, whereby all publick officers are obleadged to take the Test is rigorously put in execution; and therby many persons, baith in Kirk and State, throughout the haill Kingdome, by reasone they are not free to take the said Test, are incontinently turned out of their places.”

He then relates that this severity occasioned “the loune ladds belonging to the hospittal of Hariot’s Buildings in Edenbrough, to divert themselves with somewhat like the following tragi-commedy.”

He proceeds to state, that they “fell intil a debate amongist themselves, whither or no, ane mastiffe Tyke, who keept the outmost gate, might not, by reasone of his office of trust, come within the compass of the act, and swa, be obleadged to take the Test, or be turned out of his place.”

In conclusion, “the tyke thereupon was called, and interrogat, whither he wold take the test, or run the hazard of forfaulting his office.”

Though propounded again and again, “the silly curr, boding no ill, answered all their queries with silence, whilk had been registrat as a flat refusal, had not on of the lounes, mair bald then the rest, taken upon him to be his advocat, who standing up, pleaded that silence might as wel be interpreted assent, as refusal, and therupon insisted that it might be tendered to him in a way maist plausible, and in a poustar maist agreeable to his stomack.”

The debate lasted till all agreed “that ane printed copy should be thrumbled, of as little boulke as it could, and therafter smured over with tallow, butter, or what else might make maist tempting to his appetit: this done he readily took it, and after he had made a shift, by rowing it up and down his mouth, to separat what was pleasant to his pallat, and when all seemed to be over, on a sudden they observed somehat (ilke piece after another) droped out of his mouth, qwhilk the advocats on the other side said was the test, and that all his irksome champing and chowing of it, was only, if possible, to seperat the concomitant nutriment, and that this was mikel worse then an flat refusal, and gif it were rightly examined, would, upon Tryal, be found no less then Leising-making.”

The tyke’s advocate “opponed, that his enemies having the rowing of it up, might perhaps (through deadly spite) have put some crooked prin intil it; and that all the fumbling and rowing of it up and down his mouth, might be by reason of the prin, and not through any scunnering at the test itself; and that there was nought in the hail matter, that looked like Leising-making, except by interpretation, and his adversaries allowed to be the only interpreters.” Finally, he required that his client should have a fair trial before competent judges, “qwhilk was unanimously granted;” and on the trial “ther fell out warm pleading.”

The advocates against the tyke set forth, “that he was ou’r malapert, to take so mikel upon him; and that the chaming and cherking of the test belonged nought to him, nor to none like him, who served only in inferior offices; that his trust and power reached nought so far, and by what he had done, he had made himself guilty of mair nor abase refusal as was libelled.”

Those who defended the tyke, pleaded “that he could be guilty of nather, since he had freely taken it in his mouth, willing to have swallowed it down; and that ther was no fault in him, but in its self, that it passed not; since it fell a sqwabeling, one part of it hindering another;” that if it would “have agreed in its self to have gone down all one way, he wold blaithly swallowed it, as he had done many untouthsome morsel before, as was well known to all the court.”

To this was answered, that “all his former good service could not excuse his present guilt.”

“Guilt!” quoth another, “if that be guilt he hath many marrows, and why should he be worse handled than all the rest?”

Notwithstanding what was urged in the tyke’s behalf, the jury found he had so mangled the test, and abused it, that it was “interpretative treason,” and found him “guilty of Leising-making:” wherefore he was ordered to close prison till he should be again called forth and receive sentence “to be hanged like a dog.”

While he was removing from the court, there chanced “a curate” to be present, and ask, “what was the matter, what ailed them at the dog?” whereto one answered, “that he, being in publick trust, was required to take the test, and had both refused it and abused it, whereupon he was to be hanged;” whereat the curate, storming, said, “They deserved all to be hanged for such presumptuous mockery;” but the boys, laughing aloud, cried with one consent, that “he, and his brethren, deserved better to be hanged than any of them, or the tyke eather, since _they_ had swallowed that which the tyke refused.”

The verdict created no small dissension; “some suspected deadly fewd in the chanselor of the jury, alleadging that ane enemy was not fit to be a judg; this was answered, that he was of more noble extract then to stain his honor with so base an act, and that his own reputation wold make him favored; another objected that a tyke’s refusing so good a test, might be ill example to creatures of better reason; to this a pakie loun answered, that it could not be good, since Lyon Rampant, King of Tykes, nor none of his royal kin, wold not so much as lay ther lips, to it far less to swallow it, and therefore----”

Here the speaker was interrupted “by one that was a principal limmer among them (a contradiction reconciler) who would needs help him with a logical distinction, wherby he, like an Aberdeen’s man, might cant and recant again.”

There were other conjectures, “requiring the judgment of the learn’d to determine which has been maist suitable:” e.g.

One fancied, that “the tyke might take the test _secundum quid_, though not _simpliciter_;”

Another, that he might take it “_in sensu diviso_, though not _in sensu composito_;”

A third, that “though it was deadly to take it with _verbal interpretatione_, yet it might be taken safe enough with _mental reservatione_;”

A fourth thought, that “though his stomach did stand at it, _in sensu univoco_, yet it might easily digest it _in sensu et æquivoco_;”

In this manner suppositions multiplied, and to one who proposed a “jesuitical” distinction, it was answered, that “the tyke would neither sup kail with the div’l, nor the pope, and therefore needed not his long spoon; well, said ane other, this is mair nor needs, since we are all sure that the tyke could not have kept his office so long, but he most needs have swallowed many a buttered bur before this time, and it was but gaping a little wider and the hazard was over.”

“Nay,” quoth his neighbour, “the hazard was greater than ye imagine, for the test, as it was rowed up, had many plyes and implications in it, one contrary to another; and swa the tyke might been querkened ere it had been all over, ilk ply, as it were, rancountering another, wresling and fighting.”

Then it was proposed, as the tyke had actually swallowed the better part, if not the whole test, that though he had brought it up again, yet it were better to try if he would swallow it again; “but this project was universally rejected, baith by the maist charitable, as bootless, and by the mair severe, or too great a favor.”

As regarded the condemned tyke, “matters being thus precipitat, and all hopes of reprieve uncertain, a wylie loun advised him to lay by the sheep’s (which had done him so little good) and put on the fox’s skin;” wherefore, like a sensible dog, “hiding his own tail between his legs, and griping another’s train, he passed through all the gates undiscovered and swa was missing:--

‘Thus he was forc’d when light did fail, To give them the flap with a fox’s tail.’”

What became of him was unknown, and “the news of the tyke’s escape being blazed abroad, the court assembleth to consult what was then anent to be done.”

By one it was said that “the affronting escape, and other misdemeaners of that tyke were so great, that the highest severity was too little;”

Another said, “sine he is gone, let him go, what have we more to do, but put another in his place;”

A third said, “his presumptuous and treasonable carriage, would be of ill example to others, unless due punishment followed thereupon;”

A fourth said, “had he not been confident of his own innocency he wold never have byden a tryal, and since he met with such a surprising verdict, what could he do less than flee for his life? wold not the best in the court, if he had been in his circumstances done the like?”

A fifth said, “if he had been condemned, and hanged in time, he had not played us this prank, but seeing we have missed himself, let us seaze well on what he hath left behind him.”

Then further debate ensued, and, thereupon, the conclusion; which was ordered to be published as follows:--

~Proclamation.~

“WHEREAS _ane cutt lugged, brounish coloured Mastiff Tyke, called Watch, short leged, and of low stature; who being in Office of Public Trust, was required to take the Test, and when it was lawfully tendered to him, he so abused it, and mangled it; whereupon he, after due Tryal for his presumption, was convict of Treason, and sincesyn hath broken Prison_, whereupon _the Court adjudges him, To be hanged like a Dog, whenever he shall be apprehended; and in the mean time declares his Office, his hail Estat heiratable and moveable, and all causualties belonging to him, to be echeated and forfaulted, and ordeans the colectors of the Court to uplift his Rents and Causualties, and to be countable to the Court, both for diligence and intermission, and also discharges all persons to reset or harbor the Fugitive Trator, and likeways, gives assurance to all persons, who shall either apprehend him, or give true information of him, swa that thereupon he bees apprehended, the person swa doing, shall have 500l. for his pains._ Given at our Court, &c.”

_A Remark._

A great deal of the ingenious argument in this extremely scarce witticism, was probably adduced by the “Heriot’s boys,” when they indulged in the practical humour of administering the test to the hospital dog as an “office bearer.” Independent of its ability, and because the editor of these sheets does not remember to have met with it in any collection of papers on public affairs, he has rather largely extracted from it, hoping that, as it is thus recorded, it will not be altogether misplaced. Of course, every reader may not view it in that light; but there are some who know, that such materials frequently assist the historian to the proof of questionable facts, and that they are often a clue to very interesting discoveries: by such readers, apology will not be required for the production.

* * * * *

It has been said of George Heriot, that “his vanity exceeded his charity.”[203] But an assertion justly urged respecting many founders who sought posthumous notoriety by sordid disregard to the welfare of surviving relatives, cannot be applied to George Heriot. It was not until he had bestowed ample largesses on his kinsfolk, that he munificently endowed his native town with a provision for rearing the children of its citizens. To stay the fame of the deed, was not in the power of the hand that bestowed the gift; and when the magistrates of Edinburgh honour Heriot’s memory, they incite others to emulate his virtue. Their predecessors received his donation with a spirit and views correspondent to those of the donor: as faithful stewards they husbanded his money, and laid it out to so great advantage, that when the hospital was completed, though the building alone cost more than the amount of Heriot’s bequest, the fund had accumulated to defray the charges, and leave a considerable surplus for the maintenance of the inmates; with a prospect, which time has realized, of further increase from the increasing value of the land they purchased and annexed to the foundation as its property for ever. It did not escape the penetration of Heriot’s mind, and, in fact, he must naturally have taken into account, that such an institution in the metropolis of Scotland would derive contributions from other sources, and flourish, as it yet flourishes, a treasure-house of charity.

The prudent and calculating foresight by which Heriot rendered his fortune splendid, was exercised in deliberating the management of the inmates on his projected establishment. He had the wisdom to distrust the quality of his judgment on matters wherein his observation and knowledge were necessarily limited, and committed the drawing up of the statutes to his friend Dr. Balcanquel. There is no evidence to what extent the founder himself had any share in these rules for effectuating his intentions; but when the age wherein they were compiled is regarded, it will scarcely be alleged that he could have elected from his friends, a better executor of the best of his good wishes.

The acquisition of such experience as Dr. Balcanquel’s, in his capacity of master of the Savoy, is strong testimony of Heriot’s discrimination and manly sense. The statutes of Dr. Balcanquel, who had assisted at the synod of Dort, and was successively dean of Westminster and Durham, are free from the overlegislating disposition of his times, which while it sought to distinguish, confused the execution of purposes. To the liberal laws, and the liberal spirit wherein they have been interpreted, some of the most highly-gifted natives of Edinburgh owe the cultivation of their talents.

* * * * *

Each of the windows of Heriot’s hospital is remarkable for being ornamented in a different manner, with the exception of two on the west side whereon the carvings exactly agree. The north gate is adorned with wreathed columns, and devices representing the modes of working in the business of a jeweller and goldsmith.[204]

Heriot’s boys, with a daring which seems to require some check, on account of its risk, and the injury it must necessarily occasion in the course of time, have a practice of climbing this front by grasping the carvings. The insecurity of this progress to a fearful eminence, has surprised and alarmed many a spectator “frae the south.”

Inscriptions of various benefactions are placed in the council-room. There is one which records the liberality of a well-known gentleman, viz.

1804 Dr. John Gilchrist, several Years Professor of the Hindostanee Language in the College of Fort William, Bengal, presented 100_l._ sterling to this Hospital, as a small testimony of Gratitude for his Education in so valuable a Seminary.

* * * * *

There are several engravings of his portrait. One of them by J. Moffat, Edinburgh, engraved in 1820, after a picture by Scougal, in the council-room of the edifice, is inscribed “GEORGE HERIOT, Jeweller to King James VI., who, besides founding and endowing his stately hospital at Edinburgh, bequeathed to his relations above 60,000_l._ sterling. Obiit. 1623. Ætatis Anno 63.” His arms on this print are surmounted by the motto, “I distribute cheerfully.”

* * * * *

In the “Fortunes of Nigel,” by the author of “Waverely,” Heriot is introduced, with a minute description of his dress and person, seemingly derived from real data, whereas there is little other authority for such markings, than the imagination of the well-known “Great Unknown.”

* * * * *

The striking magnificence of Heriot’s hospital is recorded by an expression of too great force to be strictly accurate. It was observed by a foreigner, before the palace of Holyrood-house was built by Charles II., that there was at Edinburgh a palace for beggars, and a dungeon for kings.[205]

CHRONOLOGY.

On the fifth of June, 1826, Carl Maria Von Weber, the eminent musical composer, died in London, of a long standing pulmonary affection, increased probably by the untowardness of our climate. He gave a concert ten days before, wherein he composed an air, and accompanied Miss Stephens on the pianoforte, to the following

SONG.

_From Lalla Rookh._

From Chindara’s warbling fount I come, Call’d by that moonlight garland’s spell; From Chindara’s fount, my fairy home, Where in music, morn and night, I dwell. Where lutes in the air are heard about, And voices are singing the whole day long, And every sigh the heart breathes out Is turn’d, as it leaves the lips, to song! Hither I come From my fairy home, And if there’s a magic in Music’s train, I swear by the breath Of that moonlight wreath, Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again.

For mine is the lay that lightly floats, And mine are the murmuring, dying notes, That fall as soft as snow on the sea, And melt in the heart as instantly! And the passionate strain that, deeply going, Refines the bosom it trembles through, As the musk-wind over the waters blowing, Ruffles the waves, but sweetens it too! So, hither I come From my fairy home, And if there’s a magic in Music’s train, I swear by the breath Of that moonlight wreath, Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again.

These words seem to have been kindred to Von Weber’s feelings. His last opera was “Oberon:” its performance at Covent-garden derives increased interest from his premature decease. Mr. Planché adapted it for our stage, and published it as represented and superintended by its illustrious composer. There are two genuine editions of this drama, one in octavo, at the usual price, and the other in a pocket size, at a shilling, with an excellent portrait of Von Weber.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 57·72.

[202] Gentleman’s Magazine, 1745, p. 686.

[203] In a communication descriptive of Edinburgh, in the Gent. Mag. for 1745, p. 686.

[204] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[205] Ibid.

~June 6.~

IMPORTANT TO ANGLERS.

_To the Editor._

The _Every-Day Book_ has presented a more striking view of the changes of manners and customs than any book which has gone before it; yet even the editor himself, I think, never dreamed of this revolution of habits extending from the walkers on the earth to the inhabitants of “the waters which are under the earth.”

How little do men dream, when they are advocating the cause of any class of people, in what manner those very people shall repay their services. Poor Izaak Walton! He cried up anglers as the very perfection of human nature. They were the most meek, loving, and patient of God’s creatures. They were too much imbued with nature’s tranquillizing spirit to be ambitious; too excellent christians to be jealous; and all this, good, simple-hearted fellow as he was, because he was such a man himself. I have naturally great faith in the influence of nature, and, therefore, though I never could resist a smile at Izaak’s zealous eulogies on the art--calling all times, people, and places, to do honour to it; pressing kings, prophets, apostles, and even Jesus Christ himself, into the ranks of his admired anglers--yet, I involuntarily permitted his warm and open-hearted eloquence to more than half persuade me of the superior natures of his piscatorial protegées; in short, that they were such men as himself.

In one of my summer rambles through the peak of Derbyshire I entered Dovedale. It was in June, and on one of the most delightful evenings of that delightful month. There had been rain in the day, and the calm splendour of the declining sun fell upon a scene not more fantastically sublime in its features, than it was beautiful in its freshness. The air was deliciously cool, balmy, and saturated with the odour of flowers. The deep grass in the bottom of the valley was heavy with its luxuriance. The shrubs waved and sparkled, with their myriad drops, upon lofty crags and stern precipices; and the Dove, that most beautiful of swift and translucent streams, went sounding on its way with a voice of gladness in full accordance with every thing around it. I have seen it many times,--and the finest scenes, often seen, are apt to lose some of their effect,--yet I never felt more completely the whole fascination of the place. It put me, as such things are apt to do, into a ruminating and poetical mood,--a humour to soliloquize and admire, and to see things perhaps a little more fancifully than an etymologist, or a mathematician might.

It was exactly when that species of ephemera, the drake-fly, the glory of trouts and of trout-takers, was in season. They were fluttering by thousands over the stream, and dropping every moment into it, where many a luxuriating mouth was ready to receive them. The anglers were half as numerous as they; from the bottom of Dove-dale to Berresford Hall, the whilom residence of Cotton, and the resort of Walton, scarcely a hundred yards but “maintained its man.” I pleased myself with fancying I saw amongst them many a face which belonged to a disciple of Izaak worthy of the master and the art, and, had I not entered into talk with them, I might have thought so now.

But, I asked one if there was not once a very famous angler, who frequented the Dove. “Oh aye!” said he, “I know whom you mean; you mean old Dennel Hastings. For fishing and _shuting_ he was the cob of all this country!” Alas! poor Izaak! I thought; but I glanced at the man’s fish-basket as I passed. It was empty, and I set him down as a fellow not more ignorant of Izaak than of the patient mystery. But soon after, I cast my eye upon an old and venerable figure. His basket was stored with beautiful trouts, till the lid would not shut down. His grey hair clustered thick and bushily beneath his well-worn hat, as if it was accustomed to grow in the sun and the breeze, and to be “wet with the dews of heaven.” His features were such as the father of anglers himself might have worn,--good; and apparently accustomed to express a mixed spirit of _bonhommie_ and simplicity, but were then sharpened into the deepest intensity of an angler’s vigilant enjoyment. This, thought I, is surely the man, and I asked him if he had read “Walton’s Complete Angler.” Yes, he had it, and he had Major’s new edition, too: and, turning to me with an air of immense knowingness and importance, said--“If he was alive now he could not take a single fin.” “No,” I replied, “how is that? He _could_ take plenty in his day; and though I do not deny that there may have been great improvement in the art, yet, skill _then_ successful would be equally so _now_, unless there has been a revolution amongst the fish, and they have grown wiser. “Ay, there you have it,” he added, the fish are wiser: they wont take the same baits.” I instinctively glanced at the bait then upon the hook of my oracle, and--heaven and earth! it was Walton’s favourite bait--the drake-fly. I walked on. The romance of angling was destroyed. The glory, like a morning dream, had passed away from the whole piscatorial race; and, from esteeming an angler after the fashion of Izaak Walton, I fell into great temptation of deeming him something worse than, as exhibited in Swift’s definition, “a stick and a string, a worm at one end and a fool at the other.”

_Nottingham._

W. H.

* * * * *

Now, as the sun declines, may be seen, emerging from the surface of shallow streams, and lying there for a while till its wings are dried for flight, the (misnamed) _May_-fly. Escaping, after a protracted struggle of half a minute, from its watery birth place, it flutters restlessly up and down, up and down, over the same spot, during its whole era of a summer evening; and at last dies, as the last dying streaks of day are leaving the western horizon. And yet, who shall say that in that space of time it has not undergone all the vicissitudes of a long and eventful life? That it has not felt all the freshness of youth, all the vigour of maturity, all the weakness and satiety of old age, and all the pangs of death itself? In short, who shall satisfy us that any essential difference exists between _its_ four hours and _our_ fourscore years[206]?

* * * * *

TO THE MAY FLY.

Thou art a frail and lovely thing, Engender’d by the sun: A moment only on the wing, And thy career is done.

Thou sportest in the evening beam An hour--an age to thee-- In gaiety above the stream, Which soon thy grave must be.

Although thy life is like to thee An atom--art thou not Far happier than thou e’er couldst be If long life were thy lot?

For then deep pangs might wound thy breast And make thee wish for death; But as it is thou’rt soon at rest Thou creature of a breath!

And man’s life passeth thus away, A thing of joy and sorrow-- The earth he treads upon to-day Shall cover him to-morrow.

_Barton Wilford._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 57·45.

[206] Mirror of the Months.

~June 7.~

CHABERT.

_The Human Salamander._

This exhibitor’s public performances in London, seem to have excited great curiosity in a multitude of persons unacquainted with the natural quality of the human body to endure extraordinary heat. The journals teem with astonishing accounts--people wonder as they read--and, by and by, they will “wonder at their own wonder.” Perhaps the most interesting account of his first appearance is the following:--

HOT! HOT!--ALL HOT!

Monsieur Chabert (the celebrated continental salamander) exhibited his power in withstanding the operation of the fiery element, at White Conduit Gardens, yesterday evening (June 7, 1826). In the first instance, he refreshed himself with a hearty meal of phosphorus, which was, at his own request, supplied to him very liberally, by several of his visiters, who were previously unacquainted with him. He washed down this infernal fare with solutions of arsenic and oxalic acid, thus throwing into the background the long-established fame of Mithridates. He next swallowed with great _goût_ several spoonsful of boiling oil, and, as a dessert to this delicate repast, helped himself with his naked hand to a considerable quantity of molten lead. There are, we know, preparations which so indurate the cuticle as to render it insensible to the heat either of boiling oil or melting lead, and the fatal qualities of certain poisons may be destroyed, if the medium through which they are imbibed, as we suppose to be the case here, is a strong alkali. We cannot, however, guess in what manner Monsieur Chabert effected this neutralization; and it is but fair to state, that the exhibitor offered to swallow Prussic acid, perhaps the most powerful of known poisons, the effect of which is instantaneous, if any good-natured person could furnish him with a quantity of it. During the period when this part of the entertainment (if entertainment it can be called) was going on, an oven, about six feet by seven, was heated. For an hour and a quarter, large quantities of faggots were burnt in it, until at length it was hot enough for the bed-chamber of his Satanic Majesty. “O for a muse of _fire_!” to describe what followed. Monsieur Chabert, who seems to be a piece of living asbestos, entered this stove, accompanied by a rump-steak and a leg of lamb, when the heat was at about 220. He remained there, in the first instance, for ten minutes, till the steak was properly done, conversing all the time with the company through a tin tube, placed in an orifice formed in the sheet-iron door of the oven. Having swallowed a cup of tea, and having seen that the company had done justice to the meat he had already cooked, he returned to his fiery den, and continued there until the lamb was properly done. This joint was devoured with such avidity by the spectators, as leads us to believe, that had Monsieur Chabert himself been sufficiently baked, they would have proceeded to a Caribbean banquet. Many experiments, as to the extent to which the human frame could bear heat, without the destruction of the vital powers, have been tried from time to time; but so far as we recollect, Monsieur Chabert’s fire-resisting qualities are greater than those professed by the individuals who, before him, have undergone this species of ordeal. It was announced some time ago, in one of the French journals, that experiments had been tried with a female, whose fire-standing qualities had excited great astonishment. She, it appears, was placed in a heated oven, into which, live dogs, cats, and rabbits, were conveyed. The poor animals died, in a state of convulsion, almost immediately, while the _fire queen_ bore the heat without complaining. In that instance, however, the heat of the oven was not so great as that which Monsieur Chabert encountered. If Monsieur Chabert will attach himself to any of the insurance companies, he will, we have no doubt, “save more goods out of the fire” than ever _Nimming Ned_ did.[207]

* * * * *

As regards the taking of poisons by this person, the “Morning Chronicle” account says, “Monsieur Chabert’s first performance was the swallowing a quantity of phosphorus, which, we need not inform our readers, is one of the most violent poisons. Happening to stand near the exhibitor’s table, he invited us to weigh out the phosphorus, and taste the _pure water_ with which he washed down the aconite. We accordingly administered to the gentleman a dose of sixty-four grains, enough, we imagine, to have proved a quietus to even Chuny himself. We observed, however, that the _pure water_ was strongly impregnated with an _alkali_ (soda), and we need scarcely observe, that any of the fixed alkalies would have the effect of neutralizing the phosphorus, and destroying its pernicious effects in the stomach. There was a similar exhibition of swallowing a quantity of arsenic, some of which was fused over charcoal, to convince the bystanders, by the smell, that it was the real poison. To us, however, it appeared that it was merely metallic arsenic, the swallowing of which might be done with impunity--at least, to the extent to which Monsieur Chabert received it into his stomach. We thought this part of the exhibition rather offensive and silly, for it was obvious that the quality of the drugs, professed to be poison, was submitted to no fair test; and there were several links deficient in the chain of reasoning necessary to convince an intelligent person that the professed feat was really performed.” Supposing this statement correct, there is nothing surprising in Monsieur Chabert’s trick.

“But,” the same writer adds, “it was different with the pyrotechnic exhibition.--Monsieur Chabert first poured nitric acid upon metallic filings, mixed (we suppose) with sulphur, to form pyrites; these he suffered fairly to ignite in the palm of his hand, and retained the burning mass some time, although a small quantity ignited in our hand quickly made us glad to plunge it into water. Monsieur Chabert then deliberately rubbed a hot shovel over his skin, through his hair, and finally upon the tongue. This was very fairly done. The next feat was that of swallowing boiling oil. We tried the thermometer in the oil, and found it rose to 340 degrees. Monsieur Chabert swallowed a few table spoonsful of this burning liquid, which perhaps might have cooled to about 320 degrees, between the taking the oil from the saucepan and the putting it into his mouth. A gentleman in the company came forward, and dropping lighted sealing-wax upon Monsieur Chabert’s tongue, took the impression of his seal. This we suppose is what is called _sealing a man’s mouth_.”

There is nothing more astonishing in this than in the trick with the poisons. The little black-letter “Booke of Secretes of Albertus Magnus, imprinted at London by H. Iackson,” which discovers many “merveyls of the world,” happens to be at hand, and two of them may throw some light on the kind of means by which Monsieur Chabert performed his pyrotechnic exhibition; _viz._

1. _When thou wilt that thou seeme a inflamed, or set on fyre from thy head unto thy fete and not be hurt._

Take white great malowes or holy-hocke, myxe them with the white of egges; after anoynte thy body with it, and let it be untill it be dryed up; and, after, anoynte the with alume, and afterwards caste on it smal brymstone beaten unto poulder, for the fyre is inflamed on it, and hurteth not; and if thou make upon the palme of thy hand thou shalt bee able to hold the fyre without hurt.

2. _A merveylous experience, which maketh menne to go into the fyre without hurte, or to bere fyre, or red hott yron in their hand, withoute hurte._

Take the juyce of Bismalua, and the whyte of an egge, and the sede of an hearbe called Psillium, also Pulicarius herba, and breake it unto powder, and make a confection, and mixe the juyce of Radysh with the whyte of an egge.

Anoynt thy body or hande with this confection, and let it be dryed and after anoynte it againe; after that, thou mayest suffer boldely the fyre without hurt.

This, without multiplying authorities, may suffice to show, that a man may continue to work great marvels in the eyes of persons who are uninformed, by simple processes well known centuries ago. The editor of the _Every-Day Book_ was once called on by a lady making tea, to hand the boiling water in his “best manner:” he took the kettle from the fire, and placing its bottom on his right hand, bore it with extended arm across the room to his fair requisionist, who very nearly went into fits, and some of the female part of the company fainted: they expected his hand to be thoroughly burned; when, in fact, no other inconvenience will result to any one who chooses to present a tea-kettle in that way than the necessity of wiping the soil from the hand by a damp cloth. Some of the most common things are wonderful to those who have never seen them.

* * * * *

As to M. Chabert, the “Morning Chronicle” account says, “But now came _the grand and terrific exhibition_--_the entering the oven_--for which expectation was excited to the highest pitch. We had the curiosity to apply the unerring test of the thermometer to the inside of the oven, and found the maximum of heat to be 220 deg. M. Chabert, being dressed in a loose black linen robe, rendered, he assured us, as fireproof as asbestos, by a chemical solution, entered the oven amidst the applause of the spectators. He continued like a modern Shadrach in the fiery furnace, and after a suspense of about 12 minutes, again appeared to the anxious spectators, triumphantly bearing the beef-steak fully dressed, which he had taken into the oven with him raw. M. Chabert also exhibited to us the thermometer, which he had taken into the oven with him at 60 deg., and which was now up to 590 deg. We need not say that _the bulb had been kept in the burning embers_, of which it bore palpable signs. This was a mere trick, unworthy of the exhibition, for Mons. Chabert really bore the oven heated to 220 deg. for full twenty minutes. Whether we were emulous of _Paul Pry_, and peeped under the iron door of the oven, and beheld the beef-steak and leg of mutton cooking upon a heap of charcoal and embers concealed in the corner of the oven, we must not say, ‘it were too curious to consider matters after that manner.’ We are only doing justice to Monsieur Chabert in saying, that he is the best of all fire-eaters we have yet seen, and that his performance is truly wonderful, and highly worthy of the public patronage. A man so impervious to fire, may ‘make assurance doubly sure, and take a bond of fate.’”

Stay, stay! Not quite so fast. M. Chabert is a man of tricks, but his only real trick failed to deceive; this was placing the bulb of the thermometer in burning embers, to get the mercury up to 590, while, in fact, the heat he really bore in the oven was only 220; which, as he bore that heat for “full twenty minutes,” the writer quoted deems “really wonderful.” That it was not wonderful for such an exhibitor to endure such a heat, will appear from the following statements.

About the middle of January, 1774, Dr. Charles Blagden, F.R.S., received an invitation from Dr. George Fordyce, to observe the effects of air heated to a much higher degree than it was formerly thought any living creature could bear. Dr. Fordyce had himself proved the mistake of Dr. Boerhaave and most other authors, by supporting many times very high degrees of heat, in the course of a long train of important experiments. Dr. Cullen had long before suggested many arguments to show, that life itself had a power of generating heat, independent of any common chemical or mechanical means. Governor Ellis in the year 1758 had observed, that a man could live in air of a greater heat than that of his body; and that the body, in this situation, continues its own cold; and the abbé Chappe d’Auteroche had written that the Russians used their baths heated to 60 deg. of Reaumur’s thermometer, about 160 of Fahrenheit’s. With a view to add further evidence to these extraordinary facts, and to ascertain the real effects of such great degrees of heat on the human body, Dr. Fordyce tried various experiments in heated chambers without chimneys, and from whence the external air was excluded. One of these experiments is thus related.

_Dr. Blagden’s Narrative._

The honourable captain Phipps, Mr. (afterwards sir Joseph) Banks, Dr. Solander, and myself, attended Dr. Fordyce to the heated chamber, which had served for many of his experiments with dry air. We went in without taking off any of our clothes. It was an oblong square room, fourteen feet by twelve is length and width, and eleven in height, heated by a round stove, or cockle, of cast iron, which stood in the middle, with a tube for the smoke carried from it through one of the side walls. When we first entered the room, about two o’clock in the afternoon, the quicksilver in a thermometer, which had been suspended there stood above the 150th degree. By placing several thermometers in different parts of the room we afterwards found, that the heat was a little greater in some places than in others; but that the whole difference never exceeded 20 deg. We continued in the room above 20 minutes, in which time the heat had risen about 12 deg., chiefly during the first part of our stay. Within an hour afterwards we went into this room again, without seeing any material difference, though the heat was considerably increased. Upon entering the room a third time, between five and six o’clock after dinner, we observed the quicksilver in our only remaining thermometer at 198 deg.; this great heat had so warped the ivory frames of our other thermometers, that every one of them was broken. We now staid in the room, all together, about 10 minutes; but finding that the thermometer sunk very fast, it was agreed, that for the future only one person should go in at a time, and orders were given to raise the fire as much as possible. Soon afterwards Dr. Solander entered the room alone, and saw the thermometer at 210 deg., but, during three minutes that he staid there, it sunk to 196 deg. Another time, he found it almost five minutes before the heat was lessened from 210 deg., to 196 deg. Mr. Banks closed the whole, by going in when the thermometer stood above 211 deg.; he remained seven minutes, in which time the quicksilver had sunk to 198 deg.; but cold air had been let into the room by a person who went in and came out again during Mr. Banks’s stay. The air heated to these high degrees felt unpleasantly hot, but was very bearable. Our most uneasy feeling was a sense of scorching on the face and legs: our legs, particularly, suffered very much, by being exposed more fully than any other part to the body of the stove, heated red-hot by the fire within. Our respiration was not at all affected; it became neither quick nor laborious; the only difference was a want of that refreshing sensation which accompanies a full inspiration of cool air. Our time was so taken up with other observations, that we did not count our pulses by the watch: mine, to the best of my judgment by feeling it, beat at the rate of 100 pulsations in a minute, near the end of the first experiment; and Dr. Solander’s made 92 pulsations in a minute, soon after we had gone out of the heated room. Mr. Banks sweated profusely, but no one else: my shirt was only damp at the end of the experiment. But the most striking effects proceeded from our power of preserving our natural temperature. Being now in a situation in which our bodies bore a very different relation to the surrounding atmosphere from that to which we had been accustomed, every moment presented a new phenomenon. Whenever we breathed on a thermometer, the quicksilver sunk several degrees. Every expiration, particularly if made with any degree of violence, gave a very pleasant impression of coolness to our nostrils, scorched just before by the hot air rushing against them when we inspired. In the same manner our now cold breath agreeably cooled our fingers, whenever it reached them. Upon touching my side, it felt cold like a corpse; and yet the actual heat of my body, tried under my tongue, and by applying closely the thermometer to my skin, was 98 deg., about a degree higher than its ordinary temperature. When the heat of the air began to approach the highest degree which the apparatus was capable of producing, our bodies in the room prevented it from rising any higher; and, when it had been previously raised above that point, inevitably sunk it. Every experiment furnished proofs of this: towards the end of the first, the thermometer was stationary: in the second, it sunk a little during the short time we staid in the room: in the third, it sunk so fast as to oblige us to determine that only one person should go in at a time; and Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander each found, that his single body was sufficient to sink the quicksilver very fast, when the room was brought nearly to its maximum of heat.

These experiments, therefore, prove in the clearest manner, that the body has a power of destroying heat. To speak justly on this subject, we must call it a power of destroying a certain degree of heat communicated with certain quickness. Therefore, in estimating the heat which we are capable of resisting, it is necessary to take into consideration not only what degree of heat would be communicated to our bodies, if they possessed no resisting power, by the heated body, before the equilibrium of heat was effected; but also what time that heat would take in passing from the heated body into our bodies. In consequence of this compound limitation of our resisting power, we bear very different degrees of heat in different mediums. The same person who felt no inconvenience from air heated to 211 deg. could not bear quicksilver at 120 deg. and could just bear rectified spirit of wine at 130 deg. that is, quicksilver heated to 120 deg. furnished, in a given time, more heat for the living powers to destroy, than spirits heated to 130 deg. or air to 211 deg. And we had, in the heated room where our experiments were made, a striking, though familiar instance of the same. All the pieces of metal there, even our watch-chains, felt so hot that we could scarcely bear to touch them for a moment, whilst the air, from which the metal had derived all its heat, was only unpleasant. The slowness with which air communicates its heat was further shown, in a remarkable manner, by the thermometers we brought with us into the room; none of which, at the end of twenty minutes, in the first experiment, had acquired the real heat of the air by several degrees. It might be supposed, that by an action so very different from that to which we are accustomed, as destroying a large quantity of heat, instead of generating it, we must have been greatly disordered. And indeed we experienced some inconvenience; our hands shook very much, and we felt a considerable degree of languor and debility; I had also a noise and giddiness in my head. But it was only a small part of our bodies that excited the power of destroying heat with such a violent effort as seems necessary at first sight. Our clothes, contrived to guard us from cold, guarded us from the heat on the same principles. Underneath we were surrounded with an atmosphere of air, cooled on one side to 98 deg. by being in contact with our bodies, and on the other side heated very slowly, because woollen is such a bad conductor of heat. Accordingly I found, toward the end of the first experiment, that a thermometer put under my clothes, but not in contact with my skin, sunk down to 110 deg. On this principle it was that the animals, subjected by M. Tillet to the interesting experiments related in the “Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences” for the year 1764, bore the oven so much better when they were clothed, than when they were put in bare: the heat actually applied to the greatest part of their bodies was considerably less in the first case than in the last. As animals can destroy only a certain quantity of heat in a given time, so the time they can continue the full exertion of this destroying power seems to be also limited; which may be one reason why we can bear for a certain time, and much longer than can be necessary to fully heat the cuticle, a degree of heat which will at length prove intolerable. Probably both the power of destroying heat, and the time for which it can be exerted, may be increased, like most other faculties of the body, by frequent exercise. It might be partly on this principle, that, in M. Tillet’s experiments, the girls, who had been used to attend the oven, bore, for ten minutes, an heat which would raise Fahrenheit’s thermometer to 280 deg. In our experiments, however, not one of us thought he suffered the greatest degree of heat that he was able to support.[208]

* * * * *

We find then, that Dr. Fordyce, Dr. Blagden, Dr. Solander, the honourable captain Phipps, sir Joseph Banks, together, bore the heat at 198 deg.; that Dr. Solander went into the room at 210, sir Joseph Banks at 211; and that M. Tillet’s oven-girls bore a heat for ten minutes which would raise the thermometer to 280 deg., being 60 deg. higher than M. Chabert bore for ten minutes at White Conduit-house. Recent experiments in England fully corroborate the experiments referred to; and, in short, an extension of our knowledge in philosophical works will outjuggle jugglers of every description.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·70.

[207] The Times, June 8, 1826.

[208] Philos. Trans.

~June 8.~

FIGG, THE PRIZE FIGHTER.

A printed advertisement from this “early master” in the “noble art of self-defence,” in answer to a challenge from the anciently-noted Sutton, with the challenge itself, being before the editor in the shape of a small hand-bill, printed at the time wherein they “flourished,” it is submitted verbatim, as the first specimen in these pages of the manner wherein these self-styled heroes announced their exhibitions “for the benefit of _the public_.”

_At Mr. FIGG’s New Amphitheatre._

Joyning to his House, the Sign of the City of _Oxford_, in _Oxford Road, Marybone Fields_, on _Wednesday_ next, being the _8th_ of _June_, 1726. _Will be Perform’d a Tryal of Skill by the following_ Masters.

VVhereas I _EDWARD SUTTON_, Pipemaker from _Gravesend_, and _Kentish_ Professor of the Noble Science of Defence, having, under a Sleeveless Pretence been deny’d a Combat by and with the Extoll’d Mr. FIGG; which I take to be occasioned through fear of his having that Glory Eclipsed by me, wherewith the Eyes of all Spectators have been so much dazzled: Therefore, to make appear, that the great Applause which has so much puff’d up this Hero, has proceeded only from his Foyling such who are not worthy the name of Swordsmen, as also that he may be without any farther Excuse; I do hereby dare the said Mr. FIGG to meet as above, and dispute with me the Superiority of Judgment in the Sword, (which will best appear by Cuts, _&c._) at all the Weapons he is or shall be then Capable of Performing on the Stage.

I _JAMES FIGG_, _Oxonian_ Professor of the said Science, will not fail giving this daring _Kentish_ Champion an Opportunity to make good his Allegations; when, it is to be hop’d, if he finds himself Foyl’d he will then change his Tone, and not think himself one of the Number who are not worthy the Name of Swordsmen, as he is pleased to signifie by his Expression: However, as the most significant Way of deciding these Controversies is by Action, I shall defer what I have farther to Act till the Time above specified; when I shall take care not to deviate from my usual Custom, in making all such Bravadoes sensible of their Error, as also in giving all Spectators intire Satisfaction.

N.B. _The Doors will be open’d at Four, and the Masters mount between Six, and Seven exactly._

_VIVAT REX._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·52.

~June 9.~

THE SEASON, IN LONDON.

Now, during the first fortnight, Kensington Gardens is a place not to be paralleled: for the unfashionable portion of my readers are to know, that this delightful spot, which has been utterly deserted during the last age (of seven years), and could not be named during all that period without incurring the odious imputation of having a taste for trees and turf, has now suddenly started into vogue once more, and you may walk there, even during the “morning” part of a Sunday afternoon, with perfect impunity, always provided you pay a due deference to the decreed hours, and never make your appearance there earlier than twenty minutes before five, or later than half-past six; which is allowing you exactly two hours after breakfast to dress for the Promenade, and an hour after you get home to do the same for dinner: little enough, it must be confessed; but quite as much as the unremitting labour of a life of idleness can afford! Between the above-named hours, on the three first Sundays of this month, and the two last of the preceding, you may (weather willing) gladden your gaze with such a galaxy of beauty and fashion (I beg to be pardoned for the repetition, for fashion _is_ beauty) as no other period or place, Almack’s itself not excepted, can boast: for there is no denying that the fair rulers over this last-named rendezvous of the regular troops of _bon ton_ are somewhat too _recherchée_ in their requirements. The truth is, that though the said rulers will not for a moment hesitate to patronise the above proposition under its simple form, they entirely object to that subtle interpretation of it which their sons and nephews would introduce, and on which interpretation the sole essential difference between the two assemblies depends. In fact, at Almack’s fashion is beauty; but at Kensington Gardens beauty and fashion are one. At any rate, those who have not been present at the latter place during the period above referred to, have not seen the finest sight (with one exception) that England has to offer.

Vauxhall Gardens, which open the first week in this month, are somewhat different from the above, it must be confessed. But they are unique in their way nevertheless. Seen in the darkness of noonday, as one passes by them on the top of the Portsmouth coach, they cut a sorry figure enough. But beneath the full meridian of midnight, what is like them, except some parts of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments? Now, after the first few nights, they begin to be in their glory, and are, on every successive gala, illuminated with “ten thousand _additional_ lamps,” and include all the particular attractions of every preceding gala since the beginning of time!

Now, on fine evenings, the sunshine finds (or rather loses) its way into the galleries of Summer theatres at whole price, and wonders where it has got to.

Now, boarding-school boys, in the purlieus of Paddington and Mile End, employ the whole of the first week in writing home to their distant friends in London a letter of not less than eight lines, announcing that the “ensuing vacation will commence on the ---- instant;” and occupy the remaining fortnight in trying to find out the unknown numerals with which the blank has been filled up.

Finally, now, during the first few days, you cannot walk the streets without waiting, at every crossing, for the passage of whole regiments of little boys in leather breeches, and little girls in white aprons, going to church to practise their annual anthem-singing, preparatory to that particular Thursday in this month, which is known all over the world of charity-schools by the name of “walking day;” when their little voices, ten thousand strong, are to utter forth sounds that shall dwell for ever in the hearts of their hearers. Those who have seen this sight, of all the charity children within the bills of mortality assembled beneath the dome of Saint Paul’s, and heard the sounds of thanksgiving and adoration which they utter there, have seen and heard what is perhaps better calculated than anything human ever was, to convey to the imagination a faint notion of what we expect to witness hereafter, when the hosts of heaven shall utter with _one voice_, hymns of adoration before the footstool of the Most High[209].

* * * * *

TWILIGHT.

How fine to view the Sun’s departing ray Fling back a lingering lovely after-day; The moon of summer glides serenely by, And sheds a light enchantment o’er the sky. These, sweetly mingling, pour upon the sight A pencilled shadowing, and a dewy light-- A softened day, a half unconscious night. Alas! too finely pure on earth to stay, It faintly spots the hill, and dies away.

_Thatcham._

J. W.

THE WATER FOUNTAIN.

It seems seasonable to introduce an engraving of a very appropriate ornament of a shop window, which will not surprise any one so much as the proprietor, who, whatever may be thought to the contrary, is wholly unknown to the editor of this work.

As a summer decoration, there is scarcely any thing prettier than this little fountain. Gilt fish on the edge of the lower basin spout jets of water into the upper one, which constantly overflows, and, washing the moss on its stand, falls into its first receiver. These vessels are of glass, and contain live fish; and on the surface of the larger, white waxen swans continue in gentle motion. Vases of flowers and other elegancies are its surrounding accompaniments.

This representation exemplifies the rivalry of London tradesmen to attract attention. Their endeavours have not attained the height they are capable of reaching, but the beautiful forms and graceful displays continually submitted to the sight of passengers, evince a disposition which renders our shops the most elegant in Europe.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·15.

[209] Mirror of the Months.

~June 10.~

HOUSE OF GOD, NEWCASTLE.

On the 10th of June, 1412, King Henry IV. granted his royal license to an hospital called the _Maison de Dieu_, or “House of God,” erected by Roger Thornton, on the Sandhill, Newcastle, for the purpose of providing certain persons with food and clothing. The building seems to have been completed in that year. Before it was pulled down in 1823, the “Merchant’s Court” was established over it, and at this time a new building for the company of Free Merchants, &c., is erected on its site.

The son of the founder of the old hospital granted the use of its hall and kitchen “for a young couple when they were married to make their wedding dinner in, and receive the offerings and gifts of their friends, for at that time houses were not large.” Mr. Sykes, in his interesting volume of “Local Records,” remarks, that “this appears an ancient custom for the encouragement of matrimony.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·37.

~June 11.~

BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION.

Hast thou e’er seen a garden clad In all the robes that Eden had; Or vale o’erspread with streams and trees, A paradise of mysteries; Plains with green hills adorning them, Like jewels in a diadem?

These gardens, vales, and plains, and hills, Which beauty gilds and music fills, Were once but deserts. Culture’s hand Has scattered verdure o’er the land, And smiles and fragrance rule serene, Where barren wild usurped the scene.

And such is man--A soil which breeds Or sweetest flowers, or vilest weeds; Flowers lovely as the morning’s light, Weeds deadly as an aconite; Just as his heart is trained to bear The poisonous weed, or flow’ret fair.

_Bowring._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·75.

~June 12.~

THE SEASON, IN THE COUNTRY.

_Sheep-Shearing._

Sheep-shearing, one of the great rural labours of this delightful month, if not so full of variety as the hay-harvest, and so creative of matter for those “in search of the picturesque” (though it is scarcely less so), is still more lively, animated, and spirit-stirring; and it besides retains something of the character of a rural holiday, which rural matters need, in this age and in this country, more than ever they did, since it became a civilized and happy one. The sheep-shearings are the only _stated_ periods of the year at which we hear of festivities, and gatherings together of the lovers and practisers of English husbandry; for even the harvest-home itself is fast sinking into disuse, as a scene of mirth and revelry, from the want of being duly encouraged and partaken in by the great ones of the earth; without whose countenance and example it is questionable whether eating, drinking, and sleeping, would not soon become vulgar practices, and be discontinued accordingly! In a state of things like this, the Holkham and Woburn sheep-shearings do more honour to their promoters than all their wealth can purchase and all their titles convey. But we are getting beyond our soundings: honours, titles, and “states of things,” are what we do not pretend to meddle with, especially when the pretty sights and sounds preparatory to and attendant on sheep-shearing, as a mere rural employment, are waiting to be noticed.

Now, then, on the first really summer’s day, the whole flock being collected on the higher bank of the pool formed at the abrupt winding of the nameless mill-stream, at the point, perhaps, where the little wooden bridge runs slantwise across it, and the attendants being stationed waist-deep in the midwater, the sheep are, after a silent but obstinate struggle or two, plunged headlong, one by one, from the precipitous bank; when, after a moment of confused splashing, their heavy fleeces float them along, and their feet, moving by an instinctive art which every creature but man possesses, guide them towards the opposite shallows, that steam and glitter in the sunshine. Midway, however, they are fain to submit to the rude grasp of the relentless washer, which they undergo with as ill a grace as preparatory schoolboys do the same operation. Then, gaining the opposite shore heavily, they stand for a moment till the weight of water leaves them, and, shaking their streaming sides, go bleating away towards their fellows on the adjacent green, wondering within themselves what has happened.

The shearing is no less lively and picturesque, and no less attended by all the idlers of the village as spectators. The shearers, seated in rows beside the crowded pens, with the seemingly inanimate load of fleece in their laps, and bending intently over their work; the occasional whetting and clapping of the shears; the neatly-attired housewives, waiting to receive the fleeces; the smoke from the tar-kettle, ascending through the clear air; the shorn sheep escaping, one by one, from their temporary bondage, and trotting away towards their distant brethren, bleating all the while for their lambs, that do not know them; all this, with its ground of universal green, and finished every-where by its leafy distances, except where the village spire intervenes, forms together a living picture, pleasanter to look upon than words can speak, but still pleasanter to think of, when _that_ is the nearest approach you can make to it.[210]

CHRONOLOGY.

On this day, in the year 1734, the duke of Berwick, while visiting the trenches at the siege of Philipsburgh, near Spire, in Germany, was killed, standing between his two sons by a cannon-ball. He was the illegitimate son of the duke of York, afterwards James II., whom he accompanied in his flight from England, in 1688. His mother was Arabella Churchill, maid of honour to the duchess of York, and sister to the renowned Marlborough.

The duke of Berwick on quitting the country, entered into the service of France, and was engaged in several battles against the English or their allies in Ireland, the Netherlands, Portugal, and Spain. At his death he was in the sixty-fourth year of his age. No general of his time excelled him in the art of war except his uncle, the duke of Marlborough.[211]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·40.

[210] Mirror of the Months.

[211] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.

~June 13.~

SIGNS

“Of the Times,”

NEW AND OLD.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Liverpool, 6th June, 1826._

Sir,--The pages of _The Every-Day Book_, notwithstanding a few exceptions, have afforded me unqualified pleasure, and having observed your frequent and reiterated requests for communications, I have been induced to send you the following doggrels.

I ought to promise that they formed part of the sign of an alehouse, formerly standing in Chapel-street, near St. Nicholas church in this town, but which is now taken down to make room for a costly pile of warehouses since erected on the site.

The sign represented (_elegantly_, of course) a man standing in a cart laden with fish, and holding in his right hand what the artist intended to represent a salmon. The lines are to be supposed to be spoken by the driver:--

This salmon has got a tail It’s very like a whale, It’s a fish that’s very merry, They say it’s catch’d at Derry; It’s a fish that’s got a heart, It’s catch’d and put in Dugdale’s cart.

This truly classic production of the muse of Mersey continued for several years to adorn the host’s door, until a change in the occupant of the house induced a corresponding change of the sign, and the following lines graced the sign of “The Fishing Smack:”--

The cart and salmon has stray’d away, And left the fishing-boat to stay. When boisterous winds do drive you back, Come in and drink at the Fishing Smack.

Whilst I am upon the subject of “signs,” I cannot omit mentioning a punning one in the adjoining county (Chester) on the opposite side of the Mersey, by the highway-side, leading from Liscard to Wallasea. The house is kept by a son of Crispin, and he, zealous of his trade, exhibits the representation of a last, and under it this couplet:--

All day long I have sought good _beer_, And at _the last_ I have found it here.

I do not know, sir, whether the preceding nonsense may be deemed worthy of a niche in your miscellany; but I have sent it at a venture, knowing that _originals_, however trifling, are sometimes valuable to a pains-taking (and, perhaps, wearied) collector.

I am, Sir, your obliged,

LECTOR.

* * * * *

By publishing the letter of my obliging correspondent “LECTOR,” who transmits his real name, I am enabling England to say--he has done his duty.

Really if each of my readers would do like him I should be very grateful. While printing his belief that I am a “pains-taking” collector, I would interpose by observing that I am far, very far, from a “wearied” one: and I would fain direct the attention of every one who peruses these sheets to their collections, whether great or small, and express an earnest desire to be favoured with something from their stores; in truth, the best evidence of their receiving my sheets favourably will be their contributions towards them. While I am getting together and arranging materials for articles that will interest the public quite as much as any I have laid before them, I hope for the friendly aid of well-wishers to the work, and urgently solicit their communications.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·75.

~June 14.~

1826. Trinity Term ends.

CHEAP TRAVELLING.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Newark, May 17, 1826._

Sir,--The following singular circumstance may be relied on as a fact. The individual it relates to was well known upon the turf. I recollect him myself, and once saw the present venerable Earl of Fitzwilliam, on Stamford race-course, humorously inquire of him how he got his conveyance, in allusion to the undermentioned circumstance, and present him with a guinea.--I am, &c.

BENJ. JOHNSON.

John Kilburn, a person well known on the turf as a list seller, &c., was at a town in Bedfordshire, and, as the turf phrase is, “quite broke down.” It was during harvest, and the week before Richmond races (Yorkshire), whither he was travelling, and near which place he was born: to arrive there in time he hit on the following expedient.--He applied to an acquaintance of his, a blacksmith, to stamp on a padlock the words ‘Richmond Gaol,’ with which, and a chain fixed to one of his legs, he composedly went into a corn-field to sleep. As he expected, he was soon apprehended and taken before a magistrate, who, after some deliberation, ordered two constables to guard him in a carriage to Richmond. No time was to be lost, for Kilburn said he had not been tried, and hoped they would not let him lay till another assize. The constables, on their arrival at the gaol, accosted the keeper with “Sir, do you know this man?” “Yes, very well, it is Kilburn; I have known him many years.” “We suppose he has broken out of your gaol, as he has a chain and padlock on with your mark. Is not he a prisoner?” “I never heard any harm of him in my life.” “Nor,” says Kilburn, “have these gentlemen: Sir, they have been so good as to bring me out of Bedfordshire, and I will not put them to further inconvenience. I have got the key of the padlock, and I will not trouble them to unlock it. I am obliged to them for their kind behaviour.” He travelled in this way about one hundred and seventy miles.

This anecdote has been seen before, perhaps, but it is now given on authority.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·67.

~June 15.~

SUMMER MERRIMENT.

_To the Editor of the Every-day Book._

Sir,--You have inserted in vol. i. p. 559, an interesting account of the _Morris Dance_ in the “olden times,” and I was rather disappointed on a perusal of your extensive Index, by not finding a “few more words” respecting the Morris Dancers of our day and generation. I think this custom is of Moorish origin, and might have been introduced into this country in the middle ages. Bailey says, “the Morris Dance is an antic dance performed by five men and a boy, dressed in girl’s clothes.” The girlish part of it is, however, more honoured in “the breach than the observance.”

In June, 1826, I observed a company of these “bold peasantry, the country’s pride,” in Rosoman-street, Clerkenwell. They consisted of eight young men, six of whom were dancers; the seventh played the pipe and tabor; and the eighth, the head of them, collected the pence in his hat, and put the precious metal into the slit of a tin painted box, under lock and key, suspended before him. The tune the little rural-noted pipe played to the gentle pulsations of the tabor, is called

“Moll in the wad and I fell out, And what d’ye think it was about”

This may be remembered as one of the once popular street songs of the late Charles Dibdin’s composition. The dancers wore party-coloured ribands round their hats, arms, and knees, to which a row of small latten bells were appended, somewhat like those which are given to amuse infants in teeth-cutting, that tinkled with the motion of the wearers. These rustic adventurers “upon the many-headed town,” came from a village in Hertfordshire. Truly natural and simple in appearance, their features, complexion, dress, and attitude, perfectly corresponded. Here was no disguise, no blandishment, no superhuman effort. Their shape was not compressed by fashion, nor did their hearts flutter in an artificial prison. Nature represented them about twenty-five years of age, as her seasoned sons, handing down to posterity, by their exercises before the present race, the enjoyment of their forefathers, and the tradition of happy tenantry “ere power grew high, and times grew bad.” The “set-to,” as they termed it, expressed a vis-à-vis address; they then turned, returned, clapped their hands before and behind, and made a jerk with the knee and foot alternately,

“Till toe and heel no longer moved.”

Though the streets were dirty and the rain fell reluctantly, yet they heeded not the elemental warfare, but

“Danced and smiled, and danced and smiled again:”

hence their ornaments, like themselves, looked weather-beaten. Crowds collected round them. At 12 o’clock at noon, this was a rare opportunity for the schoolboys let out of their seats of learning and confinement. The occasional huzza, like Handel’s “Occasional Overture,” so pleasing to the ear of liberty, almost drowned the “Morris.” But at intervals the little pretty pipe drew the fancy, as it were, piping to a flock in the valley by the shade of sweet trees and the bosom of the silver brook. O! methought, what difference is here by comparison with the agile-limbed aërials of St. James’s and these untutored clowns! Yet something delightful comes home to the breast, and speaks to the memory of a rural-born creature, and recals a thousand dear recollections of hours gone down the voyage of life into eternity! To a Londoner, too, the novelty does not weary by its voluntary offering to their taste, and apposition to the season.

Lubin Brown, the piper, was an arch dark-featured person; his ear was alive to Doric melody; and he merrily played and tickled the time to his note. When he stopped to take breath, his provincial dialect scattered his wit among the gapers, and his companions were well pleased with their sprightly leader. Spagnioletti, nor Cramer, could do no more by sound nor Liston, nor Yates, by grimace. I observed his eye ever alert to the movement and weariness of his six choice youths. He was a chivalrous fellow: he had won the prize for “grinning through a horse collar” at the revel, thrown his antagonist in the “wrestling ring,” and “jumped twenty yards in a sack” to the mortification of his rivals, who lay vanquished on the green. The box-keeper, though less dignified than Mr. Spring, of Drury-lane, informed me that “he and his companions in sport” had charmed the village lasses round the maypole, and they intended sojourning in town a week or two, after which the box would be opened, and an equitable division take place, previously to the commencement of mowing and hay-harvest. He said it was the third year of their pilgrimage; that they had never disputed on the road, and were welcomed home by their sweethearts and friends, to whom they never omit the carrying a seasonable gift in a very humble “Forget me not!” or “Friendship’s Offering.”

Mr. Editor, I subscribe myself,

Yours, very sincerely.

J. R. P.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·55.

~June 16.~

CHRONOLOGY.

June 16, 1722, the great duke of Marlborough died. (See vol. i., p. 798.) Among the “Original Papers,” published by Macpherson, is a letter of the duke’s to king James II., whom he “deserted in his utmost need” for the service of king William, wherein he betrays to his old master the design of his new one against Brest in 1694. This communication, if intercepted, might have terminated the duke’s career, and we should have heard nothing of his “wars in Flanders.” It appears, further, that the duke’s intrigues were suspected by king William, and were the real grounds of his imprisonment in the Tower two years before.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·12.

~June 17.~

ST. BOTOLPH.

This English saint, whose festival is on this day, with his brother Adulph, another saint, travelled into Belgic Gaul, where Adulph became bishop of Maestricht, and Botolph returned home with news of the religious houses he had seen abroad, and recommendations from the two sisters of Ethelmund, king of the south Saxons, who resided in France, to their brother in England. Ethelmund gave him a piece of land near Lincoln, called Icanhoe, “a forsaken uninhabited desert, where nothing but devills and goblins were thought to dwell: but St. Botolphe, with the virtue and sygne of the holy crosse, freed it from the possession of those hellish inhabitants, and by the means and help of Ethelmund, built a monasterie therein.” Of this establishment of the order of St. Benedict, St. Botolph became abbot. He died on this day in June, 680, and was buried in his monastery, which is presumed by some to have been at Botolph’s bridge, now called Bottle-bridge, in Huntingdonshire; by others, at Botolph’s town, now corruptly called Boston in Lincolnshire; and again, its situation is said to have been towards Sussex. Boston seems, most probably, to have been the site of his edifice.

St. Botolph’s monastery having been destroyed by the Danes, his relics were in part carried to the monastery of Ely, and part to that of Thorney. Alban Butler, who affirms this, afterwards observes that Thorney Abbey, situated in Cambridgeshire, founded in 972, in honour of St. Mary and St. Botolph, was one of those whose abbots sat in parliament, that St. Botolph was interred there, and that Thorney was anciently called Ancarig, that is, the Isle of Anchorets. It may here be remarked, however, that Westminster was anciently called Thorney, from its having been covered by briars; and that the last-written “History of Boston” refers to Capgrave, as saying, “that in the book of the church of St. Botolph, near Aldersgate, London, there is mention how a part of the body of St. Botolph was, by king Edward of happy memory, conferred on the church of St. Peter in _Westminster_.” Father Porter, in his “Flowers of the Saincts,” says, “it hath been found written in the booke of St. Botolphe’s church, near Aldersgate, in London, that part of his holy bodie was by king Edward given to the abbey of _Winchester_.” The editor of the _Every-Day Book_ possessed “the register book of the church of St. Botolph, near Aldersgate,” when he wrote on “Ancient Mysteries,” in which work the manuscript is described: it wanted some leaves, and neither contained the entry mentioned by Capgrave, nor mentioned the disposition of the relics of St. Botolph. Besides the places already noticed, various others throughout the country are named after St. Botolph, and particularly four parishes of the city of London, namely, in Aldersgate before mentioned, Aldgate, Billingsgate, and Bishopsgate. Butler says nothing of his miracles, but Father Porter mentions him as having been “famous for miracles both in this life and after his death.”

LADY’S DRESS IN 1550.

The gentleman whose museum furnished the Biddenden cake, obligingly transmits an extract from some papers in his collection, relative to a wedding on this day.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--Perhaps the following account of the dresses of a lady in olden time may be interesting to your readers:--

The wedding-clothes of Miss Eliz. Draper, 1550, a present from her husband, John Bowyer, Esq. of Lincoln’s-inn:--

“Wedyn-apparrell bought for my wyffe, Elizabeth Draper, the younger, of Camberwell, against 17^{o} die Junii, anno Domini, 1550, with dispensalls.

_First_, 4 ells of tawney taffeta, at 11_s._ 6_d._ the ell, _s._ _d._ for the Venyce gowne 46 0 _Item_, 4 yardes of silk Chamlett crymson, at 7_s._ 6_d._ the yard, for a kyrtle 52 6 _Item_, one yard and a half of tawney velvet, to gard the Venyce gowne, at 15_s._ the yard 22 6 _Item_, half a yard of crymsyn satin, for the fore-slyves 6 8 _Item_, 8 yards of russel’s black, at 4_s._ 6_d._ the yard, for a Dutch gowne 35 0 _Item_, half a yard of tawney sattyn 5 0 _Item_, a yard and a quarter of velvet black, to guard the Dutch gowne 17 8 _Item_, 6 yards of tawney damaske, at 11_s._ the yard 66 0 _Item_, one yard and half a quarter of skarlett, for a pety cote with plites 20 0 ------- Amounting to 271 4”

The wedding-ring is described as weighing “two angels and a duckett,” graven with these words, “_Deus nos junxit_, J.E.B.Y.R.” The date of the marriage is inserted by Mr. B. with great minuteness (at the hour of eight, the dominical letter F. the moon being in Leo), with due regard to the aspects of the heavens, which at that time regulated every affair of importance.

I am, &c.

J. I. A. F.

_June 5, 1826._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·55.

~June 18.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 18th of June, 1805, died Arthur Murphy, Esq., barrister at law, and bencher of Lincoln’s-inn; a dramatic and miscellaneous writer of considerable celebrity. He was born at Cork, in 1727, and educated in the college of St. Omers, till his 18th year, and was at the head of the Latin class when he quitted the school. He was likewise well acquainted with the Greek language. On his return to Ireland he was sent to London, and placed under the protection of a mercantile relation; but literature and the stage soon drew his attention, and wholly absorbed his mind. The success of his first tragedy, “The Orphan of China,” enabled him to discharge some pecuniary obligations he had incurred, and he made several attempts to acquire reputation as an actor; but, though he displayed judgment, he wanted powers, and was brutally attacked by Churchill, from motives of party prejudice. Mr. Murphy in a very humorous ode to the naiads of Fleet-ditch, intituled “Expostulation,” vindicated his literary character. He withdrew from the stage, studied the law, made two attempts to become a member of the Temple and of Gray’s-inn, and was rejected, on the illiberal plea that he had been upon the stage. More elevated sentiments in the members of Lincoln’s-inn admitted him to the bar, but the dramatic muse so much engaged his attention, that the law was a secondary consideration. He wrote twenty-two pieces for the stage, most of which were successful, and several are stock pieces. He first started into the literary world with a series of essays, intituled “The Gray’s-inn Journal.” At one period he was a political writer, though without putting his name to his productions. He produced a Latin version of “The Temple of Fame,” and of Gray’s “Elegy,” and a well-known translation of the works of Tacitus. He was the intimate of Foote and Garrick, whose life he wrote. He had many squabbles with contemporary wits, particularly the late George Steevens, Esq.; but, though he never quietly received a blow, he was never the first to give one. Steevens’s attack he returned with abundant interest. His friend Mr. Jesse Foot, whom he appointed his executor, and to whom he entrusted all his manuscripts, says, “He lived in the closest friendship with the most polished authors and greatest lawyers of his time; his knowledge of the classics was profound; his translations of the Roman historians enlarged his fame; his dramatic productions were inferior to none of the time in which he flourished. The pen of the poet was particularly adorned by the refined taste of the critic. He was author of ‘The Orphan of China,’ ‘The Grecian Daughter,’ ‘All in the Wrong,’ ‘The Way to keep Him,’ ‘Know your own Mind,’ ‘Three Weeks after Marriage,’ ‘The Apprentice,’ ‘The Citizen,’ and many other esteemed dramatic productions.” He had a pension of 200_l._ a year from government during the last three years of his life; and was a commissioner of bankrupts. His manners were urbane, and if he sometimes showed warmth of temper, his heart was equally warm towards his friends.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·17.

~June 19.~

1826.--GENERAL ELECTION.

The united kingdom may be said to be in uproar, wherever the electors are solicited for their “sweet voices.” One place latterly seems to be without a candidate; viz. “the ancient and honorable borough of Garrett,” situate near the Leather Bottle in Garrett Lane, in the parish of Wandsworth, in the county of Surrey. Information to the Editor respecting former elections for Garrett, and especially any of the printed addresses, advertisements, or hand bills, if communicated to the Editor of the _Every-Day Book_ immediately, will enable him to complete a curious article in the next sheet. Particulars respecting Sir Jeffery Dunstan, Sir Harry Dimsdale, Sir George Cook, Sir John Horn Conch, baronets, or other “public characters” who at any time had the honour to represent Garrett, will be very acceptable, but every thing of the sort should be forwarded without an hour’s delay.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·77.

~June 20.~

On this day, in the year 1751, a flitch of bacon was claimed at Dunmow, in Essex, by a man and his wife, who had the same delivered to them as of right, according to ancient custom, on the ground that they had not quarrelled, nor had either repented, nor had one offended the other, from the day of their marriage.--The above Engraving is after a large print by C. Mosley, “from an original painting taken on the spot by David Ogborne,” which print represents the procession of the last-mentioned claimants on their return from Dunmow church with the flitch.

Ogborne’s print, from whence the preceding engraving is taken, bears this inscription:--

“An exact Perspective View of DUNMOW, late the Priory in the county of Essex, with a Representation of the Ceremony & Procession in that Mannor, on Thursday the 20 of June 1751 when _Thomas Shakeshaft_ of the Parish of Weathersfield in the county aforesaid, Weaver, & _Ann_ his Wife came to demand and did actually receive a Gammon of Bacon, having first kneelt down upon two bare stones within the Church door, and taken the said Oath pursuant to the ancient custom in manner & form prescribed as aforesaid.” A short account of this custom precedes the above inscription.

Mr. Brand speaks of his possessing Ogborne’s print, and of its having become “exceedingly rare;” he further cites it as being inscribed “Taken on the spot and engraved by David Ogborne.” Herein he mistakes; for, as regards Ogborne, both old and modern impressions are inscribed as already quoted in the preceding column: in the old impression “C. Mosley sculp^{t}.” stands below “the oath” in verse, at the right hand corner of the _plate_; and in the modern one it is erased from that part and placed at the same corner above “the oath,” and immediately under the engraving; the space it occupied is supplied by the words “Republish’d Oct^{r} 28^{th}. 1826 by R. Cribb, 288 Holborn”: its original note of publication remains, viz. “Publish’d according to Act of Parliament Jan^{ry}. 1752.” The print is now common.

Mr. Brand, or his printer, further mistakes the name of the claimant on the print, for, in the “Popular Antiquities” he quotes it “Sha_p_eshaft” instead of “Sha_k_eshaft;” and he omits to mention a larger print, of greater rarity in his time, “sold by John Bowles Map & Printseller in Cornhill,” entitled “The Manner of claiming the Gamon of Bacon &c. by Tho^{s}. Shakeshaft, and Anne his wife” which it thus represents:--

FORM OF THE OATH.

You shall swear by Custom of Confession, If ever you made nuptial trangression: Be you either married man or wife, By household brawles or contentious strife, Or otherwise in bed, or at boord, Offend each other in deed, or word; Or since the parish _Clerk_ said _Amen_, You wish’t yourselves unmarried agen: Or in a twelve moneths time and a day Repented not in thought any way: But continued true and just in desire As when you joyned hands in the holy quire If to these conditions without all feare, Of your own accord you will freely sweare, A whole _Gammon of Bacon_ you shall receive, And bear it henceforth with love and good leave. For this is our _Custome_ at _Dunmow_ well known, Though the pleasure be ours, the _Bacon’s_ your own.

On the taking of this oath, which is cited by an old county historian,[212] and somewhat varies from the verses beneath the before-mentioned prints, the swearers were entitled to the flitch, or gammon.

The “Gentleman’s Magazine,” of 1751, mentions that on this day “John Shakeshanks, woolcomber, and Anne his wife, of the parish of Weathersfield, in Essex, appeared at the customary court at Dunmow-parva, and claim’d the bacon according to the custom of that manor.” This is all the notice of the last claim in that miscellany, but the old “London Magazine,” of the same year, adds, that “the bacon was delivered to them with the usual formalities.” It is remarkable that in both these magazines the parties are named “Shakeshanks.” On reference to the court-roll, the real name appears to be Shakeshaft.

Ogborne’s print affirms that this custom was instituted in or about the year 1111, by Robert, son of Richard Fitz Gilbert, Earl of Clare: but as regards the date, which is in the time of Henry I., the statement is inaccurate; for if it originated with Robert Fitzwalter, as hereafter related, he did not live till the time of “King Henry, son of King John,” who commenced his reign in 1199, and was Henry III.

Concerning the ceremony, the print goes on to describe, that after delivering the bacon, “the happy pair are taken upon men’s shoulders, in a chair kept for that purpose, and carried round the scite of the priory, from the church to the house, with drums, minstrells, and other musick playing, and the gammon of bacon borne on a high pole before them, attended by the steward, gentlemen, and officers of the manor, with the several inferior tenants, carrying wands, &c., and a jury of bachelors and maidens (being six of each sex) walking two and two, with a great multitude of other people, young and old, from all the neighbouring towns and villages thereabouts, and several more that came from very great distances (to the amount of many thousands in the whole), with shouts and acclamations, following.”[213]

* * * * *

The chair in which the successful candidates for “the bacon” were seated, after obtaining the honourable testimony of their connubial happiness, is made of oak, and though large, seems hardly big enough for any pair, but such as had given proofs of their mutual good-nature and affection. It is still preserved in Dunmow Church, and makes part of the _admiranda_ of that place. It is undoubtedly of great antiquity, probably the official chair of the prior, or that of the lord of the manor, in which he held the usual courts, and received the suit and service of his tenants. There is an engraving of the chair in the “Antiquarian Repertory,” from whence this notice of it is extracted: it in no way differs from the chief chairs of ancient halls.

* * * * *

Of “the bacon,” it is stated, on Ogborne’s print, that “before the dissolution of monasteries, it does not appear, by searching the most ancient records, to have been demanded above three times, and, including this (demand of Shakeshaft’s) just as often since.” These demands are particularized by Dugdale, from a manuscript in the College of Arms,[214] to the following effect:--

“Robt. Fitzwalter, living long beloved of king Henry, son of king John, as also of all the realme, betook himself in his latter dayes to prayer and deeds of charity, gave great and bountifull alms to the poor, kept great hospitality, and re-edified the decayed prison (priory) of Dunmow, which one Juga (Baynard), a most devout and religious woman, being in her kinde his ancestor, had builded; in which prison (priory) arose a custome, begun and instituted, eyther by him, or some other of his successours, which is verified by a common proverb or saying, viz.--That he which repents him not of his marriage, either sleeping or waking, in a year and a day, may lawfully go to Dunmow and fetch a gammon of bacon. It is most assured that such a custome there was, and that this bacon was delivered with such solemnity and triumphs as they of the priory and the townsmen could make. I have enquired of the manner of it, and can learne no more but that it continued untill the dissolution of that house, as also the abbies. And that the party or pilgrim for bacon was to take his oath before prior and convent, and the whole town, humbly _kneeling in the church-yard upon two hard pointed stones_, which stones, some say, are there yet to be seen in the prior’s church-yard; his oath was ministered with such long process, and such solemne singing over him, that doubtless must make his pilgrimage (as I may term it) painfull: after, he was taken up upon men’s shoulders, and carried, first about the priory church-yard, and after, through the town with all the fryers and brethren, and all the town’s-folke, young and old, following him with shouts and acclamations, with his bacon borne before him, and in such manner (as I have heard) was sent home with his bacon; of which I find that some had a gammon, and others a flecke, or a flitch; for proof whereof I have, from the records of the house, found the names of three several persons that at several times had it.”

Anno 23. Henry VI. 1445, one Richard Wright of Badbury, near the city of Norwich in the county of Norfolk, labourer (Plebeius) came to Dunmow and required the bacon, to wit, on the 27th of April, in the 23d year of the reign of King Henry VI. and according to the form of the charter was sworn before John Cannon, prior of the place and the convent, and very many other neighbours, and there was delivered to him, the said Richard a side or flitch of bacon.

Anno 7 Edw. IV. 1467, one Stephen Samuel of Ayston-Parva, in the county of Essex, husbandman, on the day of the Blessed Virgin in Lent (25th March) in the 7th year of king Edward IV. came to the priory of Dunmow, and required a gammon of bacon; and he was sworn before Roger Bulcott, then prior of the place and the convent, and also before a multitude of other neighbours, and there was delivered to him a gammon of bacon.

Anno 2 Hen. VIII. 1510, Thomas le Fuller of Cogshall, in the county of Essex, came to the priory of Dunmow, and on the 8th day of September, being Sunday, in the 2d year of king Henry VIII. according to the form of the charter, was sworn before John Tils, then Prior of the house and the convent, and also before a multitude of neighbours, and there was delivered to him, the said Thomas, a gammon of bacon.

“Hereby it appeareth,” Dugdale says, “that it was according to a charter, or donation, given by some conceited benefactor to the house; and it is not to be doubted, but that at such a time, the bordering towns and villages resorted, and were partakers of their pastimes, and laughed to scorne the poore man’s pains[215].”

* * * * *

In a letter from F. D. to “Mr. Urban,” Shakeshaft, _alias_ Shake_shank_, is called the _ancient_ woolcomber of Weathersfield, and a copy of the register of the form and ceremony, observed fifty years before, is communicated as follows:--

_Extract from the Court Roll._

“_Dunmow, Nuper Priorat._

At a court baron of the right worshipful Sir _Thomas May_, knt. there holden upon _Friday_ the 7th day of _June_, in the 13th year of the reign of our sovereign lord _William_ III. by the grace of God, &c. and in the year of our lord 1701, before _Thomas Wheeler_, gent. steward of the said manor, it is thus enrolled:

{ _Elizabeth Beaumont_, Spinster } { _Henrietta Beaumont_, Spinster } Homage. { _Annabella Beaumont_, Spinster } Jurat. { _Jane Beaumont_, Spinster } { _Mary Wheeler_, Spinster }

“Be it remember’d, that at this court, in full and open court, it is found, and presented by the homage aforesaid, that _William Parsley_, of _Much Easton_ in the county of _Essex_, butcher, and _Jane_ his wife, have been married for the space of three years last past, and upward; and it is likewise found, presented, and adjudged, by the homage aforesaid, that the said _William Parsley_, and _Jane_ his wife, by means of their quiet, peaceable, tender, and loving cohabitation, for the space of time aforesaid, (as appears by the said homage) are fit and qualify’d persons to be admitted by the court to receive the antient and accustom’d oath, whereby to entitle themselves to have the bacon of _Dunmow_ delivered unto them, according to the custom of the manor.

“Whereupon, at this court, in full and open court, came the said _William Parsley_, and _Jane_ his wife, in their proper persons, and humbly prayed, they might be admitted to take the oath aforesaid; whereupon the said steward, with the jury, suitors, and other officers of the court, proceeded, with the usual solemnity, to the antient and accustomed place for the administration of the oath, and receiving the gammon aforesaid, (that is to say) the two great stones lying near the church door, within the said manor, where the said _William Parsley_, and _Jane_ his wife, kneeling down on the said two stones, and the said steward did administer unto them the above-mentioned oath in these words, or to this effect following, viz.

You do swear by custom of confession, That you ne’er made nuptial transgression, Nor since you were married man and wife, By houshold brawls, or contentious strife, Or otherwise, in bed or at board, Offended each other in deed or in word; Or in a twelvemonth’s time and a day, Repented not in thought any way; Or since the church clerk said _Amen_, Wished yourselves unmarried again, But continued true, and in desire As when you joyned hands in holy quire.

“And immediately thereupon, the said _William Parsley_, and _Jane_ his wife, claiming the said gammon of bacon, the court pronounced the sentence for the same, in these words, or to the effect following--

Since to these conditions, without any fear, Of your own accord you do freely swear, A whole gammon of bacon you do receive, And bear it away with love and good leave, For this is the custom of _Dunmow_ well known; Tho’ the pleasure be ours, the bacon’s your own.

“And accordingly a gammon of bacon was delivered unto the said _William Parsley_, and _Jane_ his wife, with the usual solemnity.

“Examined _per_ Thomas Wheeler, steward.”

The same day a gammon was delivered to Mr. _Reynolds_, steward to Sir _Charles Barrington_, of _Hatfield Broad Oak_.

* * * * *

The custom of this manor is commemorated “in this old distich” viz.

~He that repents him not of his Marriage in a year and a day either sleeping or waking May lawfully goe to Dunmow and fetch a gammon of Bacon.~

It is further mentioned in “Piers Plowman’s Vision,” and Chaucer refers to it in the following words:

The bacon was not set for hem I trowe, That some men haue in Essex at Donmowe

_Wife of Bath’s Prologue._

CUSTOM OF WHICHNOVRE, STAPFORDS.

_Bacon and Corn._

There is a similar usage, in the “Honor of Tutbury,” the whole whereof is here set forth in Dr. Plot’s words, viz.:

“I find that Sr. _Philip de Somervile_ 10 of _Edw. 3._ held the Manors of _Whichnovre_, _Scirescot_, _Ridware Netherton_, and _Cowlee_, all in _Com. Stafford_ of the Earles of _Lancaster_ Lords of the _Honor_ of _Tutbury_, by these memorable _Services_, viz. _By two small fees_, that is to say,

“When other Tenants pay for Reliefe one whole Knight’s fee, One hundred Shillings, he the said Sir _Philip_ shall pay but Fifty shillings: and when Escuage is assessed throgheowtt the land; or to Ayde for to make th’ eldest sonne of the Lord, Knyght; or for to marry the eldest daughter of the Lord, the said Sir _Philip_ shall pay bott the moitye of it that other shall paye. Nevertheless, the said Sir _Philip_ shall fynde, meyntienge, and susteingne one _Bacon flyke_, hanging in his Hall at _Whichenovre_, redy arrayede all times of the yere, bott (except) in Lent; to be given to everyche mane, or woman married, after the day and the yere of their marriage be passed: and to be gyven to everyche mane of Religion, Archbishop, Bishop, Prior, or other Religious; and to everyche Preest, after the year and day of their profession finished, or of their dignity reseyved, in forme followyng. Whensoever that ony suche byforenamed, wylle come for to enquire for the _Baconne_, in there own persone; or by any other for them, they shall come to the Baillyfe, or to the Porter of the Lordship of _Whichenovre_, and shall say to them, in the manere as ensewethe;

“_Bayliffe, or Porter, I doo you to knowe; that I am come for my self (or, if he be come for any other, shewing for whome) to demaunde one Bacon flyke, hanging in the Halle, of the Lord of_ Whichenovre, _after the forme thereunto belongyng_.

After which relacioun, the Baillyffe or Porter shall assign a day to him, upon promyse, by his feythe to retourne; and with him to bryng tweyne of his neighbours.

“And, in the meyn tyme, the said Bailliffe shall take with him tweyne of the Freeholders of the Lordship of _Whichenovre_; and they three, shall go to the Manoir of _Rudlowe_, belongynge to _Robert Knyghtleye_, and there shall somon the forseid _Knyghteley_ or his Baillyffe; commanding him, to be redy at _Whichenovre_, the day appoynted, at pryme of the day, withe his Caryage; that is to say, a Horse and a Sadylle, a Sakke, and a Pryke, for to convey and carye the said Baconne, and Corne, a journey owtt of the Countee of _Stafford_, at hys costages. And then the sayd Baillyffe, shall, with the sayd Freeholders, somone all the Tenaunts of the said Manoir, to be ready at the day appoynted, at _Whichenovre_, for to doo and perform the services which they owe to the Baconne. And, at the day assign’d, all such as owe services to the Baconne, shall be ready at the Gatte of the Manoir off _Whichenovre_, frome the Sonnerysing to None, attendying and awatyn for the comyng for hym, that fetcheth the Baconne. And, when he is comyn, there shall be delivered to hym and hys felowys, Chapeletts; and to all those whiche shall be there; to do their services deue to the Baconne: And they shall lede the seid Demandant wythe Trompes and Sabours, and other maner of Mynstralseye, to the Halle-dore, where he shall fynde the Lord of _Whichenovre_, or his Steward, redy to deliver the Baconne, in this manere:--

“He shall enquere of hym, whiche demandeth the Baconne, yf he have brought tweyn of hys Neghbors with hym. Whiche must answere; _They be here ready_. And then the Steward shall cause thies two Neighbours to swere, yf the seyd Demandaunt be a weddyt man; or have be a man weddyt: and yf sythe his Marriage, one yere and a day be passed: and, yf he be a freeman, or a villeyn. And yf hys seid neghbours make Othe, that he hath for hym all thies three poynts rehersed; then shall the Baconne be take downe, and broghte to the Hall-dore; and shall there be layd upon one halfe a Quarter of Wheatte; & upon one other of Rye. And he that demandeth the Baconne shall kneel upon his knee; and shall hold his right hand upon a booke; which booke shall be layde above the Baconne, and the Corne; and shall make Othe, in this manere.

“_Here ye, Sir_ Philippe de Somervile, _Lord of_ Whichenovre, _mayntener and gyver of this Baconne; That I_ A. _sithe I Wedded_ B. _my wife, and sythe I hadd hyr in my kepyng, and at my wylle, by a yere and a day, after our Mariage; I wold not have chaunged for none other; farer, ne fowler; rycher ne pourer; ne for none other descended of greater lynage; slepyng, ne waking, at noo tyme. And yf the seyd_ B. _were sole, and I sole, I would take her to be my Wyfe, before alle the wymen of the worlde; of what condiciones soever they be; good or evylle, as helpe me God ond hys Seyntys; and this fleshe, and all fleshes._

“And hys neighbors shall make Othe, that they trust veraly he hath said truly. And, yff it be founde by his neighbours, before-named, that he be a Free-man; there shall be delyvered to him half a Quarter of Wheate, and a Cheese. And yf he be a villeyn, he shall have half a Quarter of Rye, wythoutte Cheese. And then shall _Knyghtleye_, the Lord of _Rudlowe_, be called for, to carrye all thies thynges, tofore rehersed: And the said Corne shall be layd upon one horse, and the Baconne above ytt: and he too whom the Baconne apperteigneth, shall ascend upon his Horse; and shall take the Cheese before hym, yf he have a Horse: And, yf he have none, the Lord of _Whichenovre_ shall cause him have one Horse and Sadyll, to such time as he be passed hys Lordshippe: and so shalle they departe the Manoir of _Whichenovre_, with the Corne and the Baconne, tofore hym that hath wonne itt, with Trompets, Tabouretts, and other maner of Mynstralce. And, all the Free-Tenants of _Whichenovre_ shall conduct hym, to be passed the Lordship of _Whichenovre_. And then shall all they retorne; except hym, to whom apperteigneth to make the carryage and journey, wythowtt the Countye of _Stafford_, at the Costys of hys Lord of _Whichenovre_. And, yff the sayd _Robert Knightley_, do not cause the Baconn and Corne, to be conveyed, as is rehersed; the Lord of _Whichenovre_ shall do it be carryed, and shall dystreigne the seyd _Robert Knyghtley_ for his defaulte, for one hundred shyilings, in his Manoir of _Rudlowe_; and shalle kepe the distres, so takyn, irreplevisable.

“Moreover, the said Sir _Philippe_ holdeth of his Lorde, th’ Erle, the Manoir of _Briddleshalle_, by thies services; that, att such tyme, that hys sayd Lorde holdeth hys Chrystemes at _Tutbury_, the seyd Sir _Phelippe_ shall come to _Tutbury_, upon Chrystemasse Evyn; and shall be lodged yn the Town of _Tutbury_, by the Marshall of the Erlys house: and upon Chrystymesse-day, he himself, or some othyr Knyght (his Deputye) shall go to the Dressour; and shall serve to his Lordys meese: and then shall he kerve the same meet to hys sayd Lord: And thys service shall he doo aswell at Souper, as at Dynner: and when hys Lord hath etyn; the said Sir _Philippe_ shall sit downe, in the same place, wheir hys Lord satt: and shalle be served att hys Table, by the Steward of th’ Erlys house. And, upon Seynt _Stevyn-day_, when he haith dyned, he shall take leve of hys Lorde, and shall kysse hym: and, for hys service he shall nothing take, ne nothing shall gyve. And all thyes services, tofore-rehersed, the seyd Sir _Philippe_ hath doo, by the space of xlviii. yeres; and hys ancestors byfore hym, to hys Lordys, Erlys of _Lancastre_.

“_Item_, the said Sir _Philippe_ holdeth of his seid Lord, th’Erle, his Manoirs of _Tatenhull_ and _Drycotte_, en percenerye, by thies services; that the seid Sir _Phelippe_, or his Atturney for hym, shall come to the Castell of _Tutburye_, upon Seynt _Petyr_ day, in _August_, which is called _Lammesse_; and shall shew the Steward, or Receiver, that he is come thither to hunt, and catch his Lord’s Greese, at the costages of hys Lorde. Whereupon the Steward or the Receiver shall cause a Horse and Sadylle to be deliveryd to the sayd Sir _Phelippe_, the price Fifty shillings; or Fifty shillings in money, and one Hound; and shall pay to the said Sir _Phelippe_, everyche day, fro the said day of Seynt _Peter_, to _Holy Roode-day_, for hymself Two shillings six pence a day; and everyche day for his servant, and his Bercelett, during the sayd time twelve pence. And all the Wood-masters of the Forest of _Nedewode_ and _Duffelde_, withe alle the Parkers and Foresters, shall be commandyd to awatte, and attend upon the sayd Sir _Phelippe_, while theyre Lord’s Greese be takyn, in all places of the seyde Forestys, as upon their Master, during the said tyme. And the said Sir _Phelippe_, or his Attorny, shall deliver to the said Parkers, or Foresters, that shall belonge to their Lordys Lardere; commandyng them to convey itt to the Erlys Lardyner, abyding at _Tutbury_: and with the remenant, the seyd Sir _Phelippe_ shall do hys plesoure. And, upon _Holy-Rood-day_ the sayd Sir _Phelippe_ shall returne to the Castell of _Tutbury_, upon the said Horse, with his Bercelet; and shall dyne with the Steward or Receyver: and after Dynner he shall delyver the Horse, Sadylle, and Bercelett to the Steward or Receyvour; and shall kysse the Porter and depart.”

* * * * *

Having here set forth these singular usages in the “_Pea_ season,” it may not be amiss to add the following--

_Receipt to make Somersetshire Bacon._

The best time is between _September_ and _Christmas_. Procure a large wooden trough; lay the sides of the hog in the trough, and sprinkle them heavily with bay-salt; leave them twenty-four hours to drain away the blood, and other over-abounding juices. Then take them out, wipe them dry, and throw away the drainings. Take some fresh bay-salt, and heating it well in an _iron_ frying-pan, (beware not to use copper or brass though ever so well tinned,) rub the meat till you are tired; do this four days successively, turning the meat every other day. If the hog is large, keep the sides in the brine (turning them ten times) for three weeks; then take them out, and dry them thoroughly in the usual manner.[216]

* * * * *

Finally, remembering that the customs before stated relate to marriage, it occurs that there is the following

_Receipt for a Good Match._

To make a good match you have brimstone and wood, Take a scold and a blockhead--the match must be good.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·47.

[212] Plott, in his Staffordshire, from History of Robert Fitzwalter. Lond. 1616.

[213] Inscription on Ogborne’s Print.

[214] L. 14, page 226.

[215] Dugdale’s Monasticon.

[216] Trans. Soc. Arts.

~June 21.~

THE LONGEST DAY.

This day the sun enters the sign Cancer, and is then at his extreme distance north of the Equator, passing in the zenith over the heads of all the inhabitants situated on the tropical line; while to us, who reside in London, he appears at his greatest altitude, and hence arises the increased heat we experience from his rays.

To individuals within the Arctic circle the sun at this time does not set.

Cancer is the first of the summer signs, and when the sun enters it we have our longest day. According to Sir William Jones, “the Hindu Asbrono mer Varaha lived when the solstices were in the first degrees of Cancer and Capricorn.” It is now above 2000 years since the solstices thus coincided, and, at present, the sign Cancer begins near the two stars which form the upper foot in the constellation Gemini, and terminates about the fourth degree within the eastern boundary of the constellation Cancer. In the Zodiac of Dendera this sign is represented by a _scarabæus_ or beetle.

_Fruits._

To the eye and palate of the imagination, this month and the next are richer than those which follow them; for now you can “_have_ your fruit and _eat_ it too;” which you cannot do then. In short, now the fruit blossoms are all gone, and the fruit is so fully _set_ that nothing can hurt it; and what is better still, it is not yet stealable, either by boys, birds, or bees; so that you are as sure of it as one can be of any thing, the enjoyment of which is not actually past. Enjoy it now, then, while you may; in order that, when in the autumn it _disappears_, on the eve of the very day you had destined for the gathering of it (as every body’s fruit does), _you_ alone may feel that you can afford to lose it. Every heir who is worthy to enjoy the estate that is left to him in reversion, _does_ enjoy it whether it ever comes to him or not.

On looking more closely at the Fruit, we shall find that the Strawberries, which lately (like bold and beautiful children) held out their blossoms into the open sunshine, that all the world might see them, now, that their fruit is about to reach maturity, hide it carefully beneath their low-lying leaves, as conscious virgins do their maturing beauties;--that the Gooseberries and Currants have attained their full growth, and the latter are turning ripe;--that the Wall-fruit is just getting large enough to be seen among the leaves without looking for;--that the Cherries are peeping out in white or “cherry-cheeked” clusters all along their straight branches;--and that the other standards, the Apples, Pears, and Plums, are more or less forward, according to their kinds.[217]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·49.

* * * * *

THE LONGEST DAY.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Cradled in glory’s ether-space, By Venus nursed till morn,-- The light unrolls thy golden life And thou art sweetly born.

O lovely Day of bloom and shine, Of heat, and air, and strain! Millions rejoice and millions die Within thy halcyon reign.

Hopes, fears, and doubts, the passions move; ’Twas yesterday the same:-- To-morrow! thou wilt join the dead, And only live by name--

Jupiter guides thee through the skies To Hope’s eternal shore: The sun departs--Thou, Longest Day-- Thou wilt be seen no more!

Methuselah of England’s year! Thou Parr of Time--Farewell! St. Thomas, shortest of thy race, Shall ring thine annual knell.

J. R. PRIOR.

YOUNG BIRDS.

The following letter is to be considered as addressed to the reader, rather than the editor, who, as yet, is not even a tyro in the art wherein his respected correspondent has evidently attained proficiency. Indeed the communication ought to have been inserted in May. If its agreeable writer, and his good-natured readers, can excuse the omission, the birds and the editor will be equally obliged.

THE REARING AND TREATMENT OF YOUNG BIRDS.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Now, thro’ the furrows where the skylarks build, Or by the hedge-rows green, the fowler strays, Seeking the infant bird.

Sir,--As the time has arrived for taking the young from the feathered tribe, it may not be amiss to say a few words by way of advice to the uninitiated, concerning the rearing, and training of these amusing creatures, who repay our cares with their rich melody.

We may now get Chaffinches, Goldfinches, Linnets, Larks, &c. in the streets, or at the different shops at a very small expense, either singly, or by the nest, according to their ages, but I should recommend all who wish to purchase young birds to go to a regular dealer, who sell them quite as cheap, and warrant them cocks. Buy them when they begin to feed themselves--or, if younger, when you have them home, put them in a cage, rather roomy:--then for Linnets, Goldfinches, or Chaffinches, mix rape-seed, bruised, and bread, steeped in boiling water--with which, when cooled, you may feed them, putting it into their mouths from the end of a stick, about every two hours; water they will not require, the food being sufficiently moist for them. When you find them peck at the stick, and take their food eagerly from it, which they will do at about a fortnight old, place some food about the cage with clean dry gravel, scattering among it some dry seed bruised; they will pick it up, and so be weaned off the moist food, which is no longer proper for them--also place water in the pot. This, as regards their feeding, is all you have to do, while they remain healthy--if sick, you must treat them according to the nature of their complaint. I think their sickness at this early stage of their existence is either caused by cold, or by the oily nature of their food, it being too strong for their stomachs; to remedy this, mix a little of the fine gravel with it, this will help their digestion. Sometimes the seed will scour them, in that case, boiled milk, or rust of iron put into their water is a remedy. So much as concerns the hard-billed tribe.

If your fancy runs on soft-billed birds, such as the skylark, woodlark, nightingale, or robin, you must feed them with egg, and bread moistened with water; or beef, raw or cooked; changing it as they grow and begin to feed themselves, to dry egg chopped small, and crumbled bread; throwing in with it German paste, until you find them contented with the latter. All these birds will live healthy, and sing stout, on this food, except the nightingale; he _must_ have beef and egg. The remedy for sickness and scouring is as before; if the paste binds them, give them raw beef, or chopped fig; the latter is good for all birds, keeping them in beautiful feather, and cool in body. When a month old, cage them off in their proper cages.

Give your captives good food, and clear water; keep their dwellings free from vermin, which you may always do by having a spare cage to turn them into once a week, while you search the other, and destroy the devouring race of red lice that breed in their crevices and corners.

Squirt a mouthful of water over your birds now and then, it will do them good; this will much assist them in their moulting, and make them throw their feathers faster, particularly larks, nightingales, and robins. The latter may have their water-pans to fix inside the cage, so that they can dabble in them, when they like; this will save the trouble of taking them out to clean their feet. Larks _must_ be taken out once a week, or their claws will become clogged with dirt, and rot off. The cleaning their feet is but very little trouble; dip them in warm water, and rub the dirt gently off with your thumb and finger. As these innocent creatures delight you with the beauty of their feathers, and sweetness of their song, too much cannot be done for their comfort.

Hoping this little dissertation (if I may so call it) will be useful,

I am, &c.

S.R.J.

I conclude with the following

SONNET

_On hearing a Thrush singing in the rain._

How sweet the song of the awakened thrush-- Mellow’d by distance, comes upon the ear, Tho’ gather’d clouds have made the heavens drear, And the rain hisses in the hazel bush, Wherein he warbles with a voice as clear As if blue skies were over, and he near The one that lov’d him--sweet, yet sad to hear! For it remindeth me of one I’ve heard, Singing to other ears, herself unseen, In her own bower, like that delightful bird, While yet her bosom’s hopes were fresh and green, One, whom I heard again in after years, When sorrow smote her,--singing midst her tears.

S. R. J.

_May, 1826._

* * * * *

The editor has often wished, for the sake of feathered posterity, that he could ensure their liberty; but he can no more do that, than persuade those who think they have “vested rights” in the bodies of certain of the airy race, to open their cages and “set the prisoners free.” It is in his power, however, to assist a little in ameliorating their condition, by urging re-perusal and strict attention to the preceding letter. He is himself particularly struck with the direction, “_squirt_ a _mouthful_ of water over your birds now and then--it will do them _good_.” He ventures with becoming diffidence to suggest, whether to _syringe_ a _little_ may not be as beneficial as to “_squirt_ a _mouthful_.” This is the only exception he dares to hint, and it is to be marked as a qualified one, and, under a sense of inexperience, made “at a hazard.” But he agrees that “a _nightingale_,”--a _caged_ nightingale, alas!--“_must_ have beef and egg;” and “that larks _must_ be taken out once a week”; and--he may be wrong--if they fly away, so much the better. He is strongly of opinion that birds are like himself--they cannot “bear confinement,” and be happy.

[217] Mirror of the Months.

~June 22.~

1826. GENERAL ELECTION.

Parliament having existed to its utmost legal duration, the electors exercised, or withheld the exercise of their franchise, according to their individual wishes or hopes, desires or fears, intelligence or ignorance; or as feelings of independence directed, or influence over weakness misdirected. Contests were as numerous and fierce as usual; and, as might have been expected, in some places, the numerical state of the poll-books intimated more of intellectual enlargement than the final results. No new arguments or means were resorted to. The following paragraph is only inserted as an instance, that to buy as cheap, and sell as dear as possible, as a principle of trade, was not thoroughly lost sight of by dealers.

_Price of Provisions during Elections._

During the election at Sudbury, four cabbages sold for 10_l._, and a plate of gooseberries fetched 25_l._; the sellers, where these articles were so dear, being voters. At Great Marlow, on the contrary, things were cheap, and an elector during the election bought a sow and nine young pigs for a penny.[218]

ELECTION FOR GARRETT.

The “County History” says, that the Hamlet of _Garrett_ is in the road from _Wandsworth_ to _Tooting_. About two centuries ago it appears to have been a single house called the _Garvett_. In it was the mansion-house of the Brodrick family, pulled down about fifty years ago; the ground is let to a market gardener; part of the garden wall remains. Garrett now contains about fifty houses, amongst which are some considerable manufactures. This used to be for many years the scene of a _mock election_, and much indecency on the meeting of every new parliament, when several characters in low life appeared as candidates, being furnished with fine clothes and gay equipages by the publicans, who made a good harvest. The last of these, known by the name of Sir Harry Dimsdale, was a deformed dwarf, little better than an idiot, who used to cry muffins in the streets about St. Ann’s, Soho, and died about 1809. It has been dropped at the two last general elections; but the memory of it will be preserved by Foote’s diverting farce of “The Mayor of Garrett.”--There are three prints displaying the proceedings on occasion of this election.[219]

* * * * *

Since the preceding statement, which is almost in the words of Lysons, Garrett has been increased, and may be said, in 1826, to contain double the number of houses. Lysons and Bray call it a “hamlet;” and this denomination, if taken to mean “a small village,” is applicable to this place.

For particulars concerning the “Mock Election,” with a view to insertion in the _Every Day-Book_, Garrett itself has been visited, and persons seen there, and in the neighbourhood, who took part in the proceedings, and well remember them. Their statements of this public burlesque will be laid before the reader presently.

* * * * *

As a preliminary, it may be remarked that in the election for Garrett, there was a whimsical assumption of office, and an arbitrary creation of officers and characters unknown in the elections of other boroughs. In particular, there was a “Master of the Horse.” The person so dignified at its latter elections was pointed out as the oldest individual in Wandsworth, who had figured in the “solemn mockery,” and as, therefore, most likely to furnish information, from “reminiscences” of his “ancient dignity.” He was described as “Old Jack Jones the sawyer;” and it was added, “You’ll find him by the water side; turn down by the church; he is lame and walks with a crutch; any body’ll tell you of him; he lives in a cottage by the bridge; if you don’t find him at home, he is most likely at the Plume of Feathers, or just in the neighbourhood; you’ll be sure to know him if you meet him--he is a thorough oddity, and can tell all about the Garrett Election.” The “Plume” was resorted to, and “old Jack Jones” obligingly sought by Mr. Attree the landlord, who for that purpose peregrinated the town; and the “Master of the Horse” made his entry into the parlour with as much alacrity as his wooden assistants helped him to. It was “the accustomed place,” wherein he had told his story “many a time and oft;” and having heard, “up town” that there was “somebody quite curious about the Garrett Election,” he was dragging his “slow length along,” when “mine host of the _Feathers_” met him on the way.

John Jones may be described as “one of the _has_ beens.” In his day he was tall of stature, stout of body, and had done as much work as any man of his time--when he was at it. But, then, he had overstrained himself, and for some years past had not been able to do a stroke of work; and he had seen a deal of “ran-dan,” and a racketty life had racketted his frame, and

-------------------------“Time Had written strange defeatures on his brow.”

After the first civilities, and after he had deposited his crutch and stick by the side of a chair, and himself in an adjoining one, and after the glowing pleasure from seeing a fresh face had subsided, and been replaced by a sense of the importance which attaches to the possession of something coveted by another, he talked of the “famous doings,” and “such sights as never were seen before, nor never would be seen again;” and he dimmed the hope of particular information, by “quips, and quirks, and wanton wiles;” and practised the “art of ingeniously tormenting,” by declarations of unbounded knowledge, and that “he _could_ a tale unfold,” but would not; because, as he said, “why should I make other people as wise as I am?” Yet there was a string which “discoursed most excellent music”--it was of himself and of the fame of his exploits. His “companions in arms” had been summoned to their last abiding-place, and, alas,

“They left him alone in his glory!”

John Jones’s topic was not a dry one, nor was John Jones dry, but in the commencement he had “preferred a little porter to any thing else in the world,” except, and afterwards accepted, “a drop of something by itself;” and, by degrees, he became communicative of all he could recollect. In the course of the present article his information will be embodied, with other memoranda, towards a history of the elections of the “borough of Garrett.”

Had an artist been present at the conversation, he might have caught the features of the “Ex-master of the Horse,” when they were heightened by his subject to a humorous expression. He was by no means unwilling to “have his head taken off;” but he deemed the “execution” an affair of so much importance as to solemnize his features from their wonted hilarity while speaking, to the funereal appearance which the writer has depicted, and the engraver perpetuated, in the following representation:--

As a memorial of a remarkable living character, this portrait may be acceptable; he is the only person alive at Wandsworth, of any distinction in the popular elections of its neighbourhood.

* * * * *

The following interesting account respecting Garrett is in “A Morning’s Walk to Kew”--

_By Sir Richard Phillips._

Wandsworth having been the once-famed scene of those humorous popular elections of a mayor, or member for GARRAT; and the subject serving to illustrate the manners of the times, and abounding in original features of character, I collected among some of its elder inhabitants a variety of amusing facts and documents, relative to the eccentric candidates and their elections.

Southward of Wandsworth, a road extends nearly two miles to the village of Lower Tooting, and nearly midway are a few houses, or hamlet, by the side of a small common, called _Garrat_, from which the road itself is called _Garrat Lane_. Various encroachments on this common led to an association of the neighbours about three-score years since, when they chose a president, or _mayor_, to protect their rights; and the time of their first election being the period of a new parliament, it was agreed that the mayor should be re-chosen after every general election. Some facetious members of the club gave, in a few years, local notoriety to this election; and, when party spirit ran high in the days of _Wilkes and Liberty_, it was easy to create an appetite for a burlesque election among the lower orders of the Metropolis. The publicans at Wandsworth, Tooting, Battersea, Clapham, and Vauxhall, made a purse to give it character; and Mr. Foote rendered its interest universal, by calling one of his inimitable farces, “_the Mayor of Garrat_.” I have indeed been told, that Foote, Garrick, and Wilkes, wrote some of the candidates’ addresses, for the purpose of instructing the people in the corruptions which attend elections to the legislature, and of producing those reforms by means of ridicule and shame, which are vainly expected from solemn appeals of argument and patriotism.

Not being able to find the members for Garrat in Beatson’s Political Index, or in any of the Court Calendars, I am obliged to depend on tradition for information in regard to the early history of this famous borough. The first mayor of whom I could hear was called Sir John Harper. He filled the seat during two parliaments, and was, it appears, a man of wit, for, on a dead cat being thrown at him on the hustings, and a bystander exclaiming that it stunk worse than a fox, Sir John vociferated, “that’s no wonder, for you see it’s a _poll_-cat.” This noted baronet was, in the metropolis, a retailer of brick-dust; and, his Garrat honours being supposed to be a means of improving his trade and the condition of his ass, many characters in similar occupations were led to aspire to the same distinctions.

He was succeeded by Sir Jeffery Dunstan, who was returned for three parliaments, and was the most popular candidate that ever appeared on the Garrat hustings. His occupation was that of buying OLD WIGS, once an article of trade like that in old clothes, but become obsolete since the full-bottomed and full-dressed wigs of both sexes went out of fashion. Sir Jeffery usually carried his wig-bag over his shoulder, and, to avoid the charge of vagrancy, vociferated, as he passed along the street, “old wigs;” but, having a person like Esop, and a countenance and manner marked by irresistible humour, he never appeared without a train of boys, and curious persons, whom he entertained by his sallies of wit, shrewd sayings, and smart repartees; and from whom, without begging, he collected sufficient to maintain his dignity of mayor and knight. He was no respecter of persons, and was so severe in his jokes on the corruptions and compromises of power, that this street-jester, was prosecuted for using what were then called seditious expressions; and, as a caricature on the times, which ought never to be forgotten, he was in 1793 tried, convicted, and imprisoned! In consequence of this affair, and some charges of dishonesty, he lost his popularity, and, at the general election for 1796, was ousted by Sir Harry Dimsdale, muffin-seller, a man as much deformed as himself. Sir Jeffery could not long survive his fall; but, in death as in life, he proved a satire on the vices of the proud, for in 1797 he died, like Alexander the Great, and many other heroes renowned in the historic page--of suffocation from excessive drinking!

Sir Harry Dimsdale dying also before the next general election, and no candidate starting of sufficient originality of character, and, what was still more fatal, the victuallers having failed to raise a PUBLIC PURSE, which was as stimulating a bait to the _independent_ candidates for Garrat, as it is to the _independent_ candidates for a certain assembly; the borough of Garrat has since remained vacant, and the populace have been without a _professed_ political buffoon.

None but those who have seen a London mob on any great holiday can form a just idea of these elections. On several occasions, a hundred thousand persons, half of them in carts, in hackney-coaches, and on horse and ass-back, covered the various roads from London, and choked up all the approaches to the place of election. At the two last elections, I was told, that the road within a mile of Wandsworth was so blocked up by vehicles, that none could move backward or forward during many hours; and that the candidates, dressed like chimney-sweepers on May-day, or in the mock fashion of the period, were brought to the hustings in the carriages of peers, drawn by six horses, the owners themselves condescending to become their drivers[220]!

* * * * *

Before relating certain amusing facts which have never before appeared in print, or giving further particulars respecting Sir Jeffery Dunstan and Sir Henry Dimsdale, it seems fitting to add from the “Gentleman’s Magazine” of 1781, as follows:--

“Wednesday June 25, the septennial mock election for Garrat was held this day; and upwards of 50,000 people were, on that ludicrous occasion, assembled at Wandsworth.”

In the same volume there is an article which, as it is the only other notice in that useful miscellany concerning this celebrated usage, and as there is not any notice of it in other magazines of the time, is here annexed.

_July, 25._

Mr. URBAN.--The learned antiquary finds a pleasure in tracing the origin of ancient customs, even when time has so altered them as totally to obliterate their use. It may therefore not be unpleasing to the generality of your readers, while it is yet recent in memory, to record in your Magazine the laudable motive that gave rise to the farcical custom of electing a Mayor of Garrat, which is now become truly ridiculous.

I have been told, that about thirty years ago, several persons who lived near that part of Wandsworth which adjoins to Garrat Lane, had formed a kind of club, not merely to eat and drink, but to concert measures for removing the encroachments made on that part of the common, and to prevent any others being made for the future. As the members were most of them persons in low circumstances, they agreed at every meeting to contribute some small matter, in order to make up a purse for the defence of their collective rights. When a sufficient sum of money was subscribed, they applied to a very worthy attorney in that neighbourhood, who brought an action against the encroachers in the name of the president (or, as they called him, the MAYOR) of the club. They gained their suit with costs; the encroachments were destroyed; and ever after, the president, who lived many years, was called “The Mayor of Garrat.”

This event happening at the time of a general election, the ceremony upon every new parliament, of choosing _outdoor_ members for the borough of Garrat, has been constantly kept up, and is still continued, to the great emolument of all the publicans at Wandsworth, who annually subscribe to all incidental expenses attending this mock election.

M. G.

* * * * *

The late eminent antiquary, Dr. Ducarel, made inquiries respecting this custom of the late Mr. W. Massey of Wandsworth, who answered them in the following letter:--

_Wandsworth, June 25, 1754._

DR. DUCAREL.--I promised to give you an account of the mock election for Garrat, a district within the compass of the parish of Wandsworth. I have been informed, that about 60 or 70 years ago, some watermen, belonging to this town, went to the Leather Bottle, a public house at Garrat, to spend a merry day, which, being the time of a general election for members of Parliament, in the midst of their frolick they took it into their heads to chuse one of their company a representative for that place; and, having gone through the usual ceremonies of an election, as well as the occasion would permit, he was declared duly elected. Whether the whimsical custom of swearing the electors upon a brick-bat, ‘quod rem cum aliqua muliere, intra limites istius pagi, habuissent,’ was then first established, or that it was a waggish after-thought, I cannot determine, but it has been regarded as the due qualification of the electors for many elections last past.

This local usage, from that small beginning, has had a gradual increase; for no great account was made of it, that I can remember or hear of, before the two elections preceding this last, which has been performed with uncommon pomp and magnificence, in the plebeian mode of pageantry. And, as it has been taken notice of in our public newspapers, it may probably have a run, through those channels, to many parts of the kingdom, and, in time, become the inquiry of the curious, _when_ and _why_ such a mock usage was commenced.

I have herewith sent you copies of some of the hand-bills of the candidates, that were printed and plentifully dispersed (in imitation of the _grand monde_) before the election came on, by which you may judge of the humour in which the other parts of it were conducted. Their pseudo-titles, as you will observe, are Lord Twankum, Squire Blow-me-down, and Squire Gubbins. Lord Twankum’s right name is John Gardiner, and is grave-digger to this parish; Blow-me-down is ---- Willis, a waterman; and Squire Gubbins, whose name is ---- Simmonds, keeps a publichouse, the sign of the Gubbins’ Head, in Blackman-street, Southwark.

Some time hence, perhaps, also it may be a matter of inquiry what is meant by the Gubbins’ Head. This Simmonds formerly lived at Wandsworth, and went from hence to keep a public-house in Blackman-street; he being a droll companion in what is called low-life, several of his old acquaintance of this town used to call at his house, when they were in London, to drink a pot or two; and, as he generally had some cold provisions (which by a cant name he usually called “his gubbins”), he made them welcome to such as he had, from whence he obtained that name; and putting up a man’s head for the sign, it was called the “Gubbins’ Head.” A hundred years hence, perhaps, if some knowledge of the occasion of the name of this sign should not be preserved in writing, our future antiquaries might puzzle themselves to find out the meaning of it. I make no question, but that we have many elaborate dissertations upon antique subjects, whose originals, being obscure or whimsy, like this, were never truly discovered. This leads me to the commendation of the utility of your design in recording singular accidents and odd usages, the causes and origin of which might otherwise be lost in a long tract of time.

_Garrett Election_, 1826.

It seems to be the desire of certain admirers of certain popular customs to get up another burlesque election for Garrett; the last was thirty years ago.

The following is a copy of a Notice, now executing (June 23, 1826) at a sign-painters, on a board ten feet high, for the purpose of being publicly exhibited. It need scarcely be observed that the commencing word of this very singular composition, which ought to be _Oyez_, is improperly spelt and divided, and “yes” is unaccountably placed between _three_ inverted commas; the transcript is verbatim, and is arranged in this column as the original is on the signboard.

_O ‘‘‘Yes’’’_ NOTICE _That on_ THURSDAY 6th _July_, 1826 _In conformity of_ THE HIGH _AUTHORITIES_, _Of the UNITED_ KINGDOM _will assemble_ THROUGHOUT ~the~ EMPIRE _and particularly_ _at the_ ~Hustings~ _at_ GARRAT, _to whit, conformable_ _to the Custom_ _Of_ OUR ANCIENT LIBERTY. SIR JOHN PAUL PRY, _now offers himself_ _to a Generous_ PUBLIC GOD SAVE THE KING

* * * * *

The last representative of Garrett was a “remarkable character” in the streets of the metropolis for many years. His ordinary costume was very different from the court dress he wore on the hustings, wherein he is here represented--

The individual who figured as conspicuously as the most conspicuous, and who may be regarded as the last really _humorous_ candidate at this election was

The kind of oratory and the nature of the argument employed by the candidates in their addresses to their constituents, can scarcely be better exemplified than by the following

SPEECH OF SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN.

_My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen_,

A landed property being the only unexceptionable qualification that entitles me to a seat in the august parliament of Great Britain, I presume my estate in the Isle of Mud will, in point of propriety, secure to me your votes and interests, to represent you in the ensuing parliament.

Ladies and gem’men, I propose, for the good of mankind, to anticipate a few promises like other great men, but which I will strictly adhere to, that is, as long as I find it’s my interest so to do.

First, in regard to his Majesty’s want of money, I am determined to make him easy on that point--(Lord bless him!)--by abolishing the use of it entirely, and reducing the price of gold, it being the worst canker to the soul of man; and the only expedient I can think of to prevent bribery and corruption, an evil which all the great _big wigs_ of Westminster cannot prevent, notwithstanding all their gravity and knowledge, as the late proceedings against governor Green Peas can fully testify.

Next, as my worthy constituents may be assured, I shall use all my honest endeavours to get a majority in the house. I shall always take the popular side of the question; and to do all I can to oblige that jewel of a man, Sugar-Plumb Billy, I shall assist him in paying off the national debt, without wetting a sponge. My scheme for this, ladies and gem’men, is to unmarry all those who choose it, on such terms as the minister shall think fit. This being a glorious opportunity for women of spirit to exert themselves, and regain their long lost empire over their husbands, I hope they will use all their coaxing arts to get me elected in their husband’s place; and this will greatly increase the influence of the crown, and vastly lower India bonds.

As I detest the idea of a placeman, I pledge myself not to accept of anything less than the government of Duck Island, or the bishoprick of Durham, for I am very fond of a clean shirt, and lawn sleeves, I think, look well; besides, the _sine qua non_ is the thing I aim at, like other great men. The India Company, too, I will convey from Leadenhall-street to Westminster, and, according to my own _wig_ principles, I will create all the directors’ and nabobs’ titles, and, besides, show them how to get what they have been long aiming at--the way to Botany Bay. I shall likewise prove the Excise Office to be the greatest smuggle in the nation, for they smuggled the ground from the public on which their office stands, and for which I shall conjure up Old Gresham’s ghost, to read them a lecture upon thieving.

Like the great men, I pledge my honour, life, and fortune, that I will remove all heavy taxes, and by a glorious scheme, contrived by me and my friend Lord George Gordon, I shall, by a philosophical, aristocratical thermometer, or such-like hydraulics, discover the longitude among the Jews of Duke’s Place, and the secret of Masonry.

City honours I never courted, nor would I give an _old wig_ to be drawn in idle state through Cheapside’s foggy air on a 9th of November.--No, I would rather sit by the side of my great friend Mr. Fox, in the Duke of Devonshire’s coach, and make another coalition, or go with him to India, and be a governor’s great man; for,

Hated by fools, and fools to hate, Was always Jeffery Dunstan’s fate.

Though my Lord George has turned Jew, and wears a broom about his chin[221], I never intend to do so until his informer is dead, or the time elapsed of his imprisonment in the county castle, when we shall both go into Duke’s Place, and be sworn true friends; then woe be to the informing busy bookseller of Spitalfields, who was lately turned out of the Snogo for eating pork with the rind on. Depend upon it his windows shall chatter more Hebrew than he ever understood. All this shall be done by me, in spite of him. Yes, by me, your humble servant,

SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN, M.P.

Exparte DIMSDALE, Bart.

“_Two single Gentlemen roll’d into one._”

TAKE NOTICE.

~Whereas~, on or upon the last page but one of the last sheet, that is to say, columns 829 and 830 of the _Every-Day Book_, there are _two_ whole length portraits, each whereof is subscribed, or inscribed beneath, with _one_ name.

AND WHEREAS each, and both, is and are, thereby, that is to say, by the said _one_ name, called, or purported to be called, “Sir _Jeffery Dunstan_, M.P. for Garrett, &c.”

AND WHEREAS the said two engravings are portraits of two several, separate, and distinct individuals.

AND WHEREAS it is hereby declared to be true and certain, and not to be gainsayed or denied, that _two_ neither are, nor is, nor can be, one.

~Therefore~, ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN are hereby intended, and required to be instructed, and informed thereof.

AND FURTHER, that the first, or top, or uppermost portrait, although subscribed “Sir Jeffery Dunstan, &c.” is to be seen, taken, and received, as and for the true and faithful likeness of sir _Harry Dimsdale_, Bart. M.P. for Garrett, and for no or none other.

AND FURTHERMORE, that the second, or last portrait is, in truth, a like true, and faithful likeness of _sir Jeffery Dunstan_, as is there truly stated:

AND MORE, FURTHERMORE, that the misnomer, as to the said _Sir Harry Dimsdale_, was unpurposed and accidentally made and written by the undersigned, and overseen by the overseer, when the same was set up or composed in type by the compositor; and that he, the said compositor, was bound in duty not to think, but unthinkingly, and without thought, to do as he did, that is to say, follow his copy, and not think:

AND LASTLY, that the _last_ portrait, subscribed “Sir _Jeffery Dunstan_,” is rightly and truly so subscribed:

~Wherefore~, the portrait of the “_cosmopolite and muffin seller_,” was, and is, only, and alone, and no other, than the just and faithful likeness of sir _Harry Dimsdale_, according, and notwithstanding as aforesaid.

AND THEREFORE, the well-disposed are enjoined and required to _dele_, or strike out, the misnomer thereof, or thereto affixed, and in tender consideration of the premises to forget and forgive the same, which proceeded wholly, solely, entirely, and unhappily from

A. B.

_June 28, 1826._

_Attestation, &c._

~This is to certify~, that so much of the above contents as are within my knowledge, and the whole thereof, according to my full and perfect belief, is, and are, strictly and entirely true: And that the signature thereto subjoined is true and honest, in manner and form following, to wit,--the letter “A” is, of itself alone, what it purports to be, that is to say, “A,” by itself, “A;” And the letter “B,” in alphabetical order, is, also in nominal order, the literal beginning, or initial, of the real _name_, which is, or ought, or is meant to be attached thereto, _namely_--“BLUNDER:” And that the said “Blunder” is altogether honest, and much to be pitied; and is known so to be, by every one as well acquainted with the said “Blunder,” and the rest of the family, as myself.--

_The Printer._

MOCK ELECTION AT GARRETT,

_25th of June, 1781_.

This is the burlesque election referred to at column 825, when “upwards of 50,000 people were, on that ludicrous occasion, assembled at Wandsworth.”

That notice, with the interesting letter concerning the origin of this popular custom, from Mr. Massey to Dr. Ducarel, on column 826, was inserted with other particulars, in the last sheet, for the purpose of inciting attention to the subject and under an expectation that the request there urged, for further information, might be further complied with. The hope has been realized to a certain extent, and there will now be placed before the reader the communications of correspondents, and whatever has been obtained from personal intercourse with those who remember the old elections for Garrett.

* * * * *

To mention the earliest within remembrance, it is proper to say that this public burlesque was conducted in 1777 with great spirit; sir John Harper was then elected, and a man in armour rode in that procession. The name of this champion was “Jem Anderson,” a breeches-maker of Wandsworth, and a wonderful humorist.

At sir John Harper’s election, on the 25th of June, 1781, he had six rivals to contend with. A printed bill now before the editor, sets forth their titles and qualifications in the following manner:--

“THE GARRATT ELECTION.

“_The Possessions and Characters of the Seven Candidates that put up for that Great and Important Office, called_

THE MAYOR OF GARRETT.

“Sir Jeffery Dunstan, sir William Blase, sir Christopher Dashwood, sir John Harper, sir William Swallowtail, sir John Gnawpost, and sir Thomas _Nameless_.

“On Wednesday, the 25th instant, being the day appointed for the Garrat election, the candidates proceeded from different parts of London to Garrat-green, Wandsworth.

“Sir Jeffery Dunstan: he is a man of low stature, but very great in character and abilities; his principal view is to serve his king and country, his worthy friends and himself.

“The next gentleman that offered himself was sir William Blase, a man of great honour and reputation, and was of high rank in the army, serving his king and country near forty years, and had the honour to be a corporal in the city trainbands, the last rebellion.

“The third, admiral Dashwood, well known in the county of Surry, to many who has felt the weight of his hand on their shoulders, and shewing an execution in the other.

“Sir John Harper is a man of the greatest abilities and integrity, and his estate lies wherever he goes; his wants are supplied by the oil of his tongue, and is of the strictest honour: he made an oath against work when in his youth, and was never known to break it.

“Sir William Swallow-tail is an eminent merchant in the county of Surry, and supplies most of the gardeners with strawberry-baskets, and others to bring their fruit to market.

“Sir John Gnawpost is a man well known to the public; he carries his traffic under his left arm, and there is not a schoolboy in London or Westminster but what has had dealings with him:--His general cry is ‘twenty if you win, and five if you lose.’

“Sir Thomas _Nameless_,”--of reputation unmentionable.

* * * * *

Having thus described the candidates from the original printed “Hustings paper,” it is proper to state that its description of them is followed by a woodcut representing two figures--one, of sir Jeffery Dunstan, in the costume and attitude of his portrait given at column 830, but holding a pipe in his right hand, and one of another candidate, who, for want of a name to the figure, can scarcely be guessed at; he is in a court dress, with a star on the right breast of his coat, his right arm gracefully reposing in the pocket of his unmentionables, and his left hand holding a bag, which is thrown over his left shoulder.

Beneath that engraving is

“The speech of sir _Jeffery Dunstan_, Bart. delivered from the hustings.

“Gentlemen,

“I am heartily glad to see so great a number of my friends attend so early on the great and important business of this day. If I should be so happy as to be the object of your choice, you may depend on it that your great requests shall be my sole study both asleep and awake. I am determined to oppose lord N(ort)h in every measure he proposes; and that my electors shall have porter at threepence a pot; that bread shall be sold at four pence a quartern loaf, and corn be brought fairly to market, not stived up in granaries to be eat by rats and mice; and that neither Scotchmen or Irishmen shall have a seat in our parliament.

“Gentlemen, as I am not an orator or personable man, be assured I am an honest member. Having been abused in the public papers, I am resolved, if it cost me a thousand pounds, to take the free votes of the electors. It is true, it has cost me _ten shillings_ for a coach, to raise which, I have pawned my cloathes; but that I regard not, since I am now in a situation to serve my king, whom I wish God to bless, also his precious queen, who, under the blessing of a king above, hath produced a progeny which has presaged a happy omen to this country.

“Gentlemen, I can assure you with the greatest truth, that the cloaths I have on are all my own, for the meanness of borrowing cloaths to appear before you, my worthy electors, I highly detest; and bribery and other meanness I abhor;--but if any gentleman chuse to give me any thing, I am ready to receive their favours.”

The above oration is headed by “_This is my original speech_;” below it is added as follows:--

“N. B. When sir John Harper’s man arrived on the hustings with flying colours, he began to insult sir Jeffery, who immediately made him walk six times round the hustings, ask his honour’s pardon, drop his colours and dismount.”

With this information the bill concludes.

* * * * *

A song printed at the time, but now so rare as not to be met with, further particularizes some of the candidates at this election. In the absence of an original copy, the parol evidence of “old John Jones of Wandsworth,” has been admitted as to certain verses which are here recorded accordingly.

GARRETT ELECTION SONG, 1781.

_Recited by the_ “ex-master of the horse,” _at the_ “Plume of Feathers,” _Wandsworth, on the 14th of June, 1826_.

At Garratt, lackaday, what fun! To see the sight what thousands run! Sir William Blase, and all his crew, Sure, it was a droll sight to view.

Sir William Blase, a snob by trade, In Wandsworth town did there parade; With his high cap and wooden sword He look’d as noble as a lord!

Sir William Swallowtail came next In basket-coach, so neatly drest; With hand-bells playing all the way, For Swallowtail, my boys, huzza!

Sir Christopher Dashwood so gay, With drums and fifes did sweetly play; He, in a boat, was drawn along, Amongst a mighty gazing throng.

In blue and gold he grand appeared, Behind the boat old Pluto steer’d; The Andrew, riding by his side, Across a horse, did nobly stride.

On sir John Harper next we gaze All in his carriage, and six bays, With star upon his breast, so fine, He did each candidate outshine.

And when he on the hustings came He bow’d to all in gallant strain, The speech he made was smart and cute, And did each candidate confute.

In this procession to excel, The droll sir William acted well; And when they came to Garrett green, Sure what laughing there was seen!

No Wilkes, but liberty, was there; And every thing honest and fair, For surely Garrett is the place, Where pleasure is, and no disgrace!

* * * * *

Sir William Swallowtail was one William Cock, a whimsical basket-maker of Brentford, who deeming it proper to have an equipage every way suitable to the honour he aspired to, built his own carriage, with his own hands, to his own taste. It was made of wicker, and drawn by four high hollow-backed horses; whereon were seated dwarfish boys, whimsically dressed for postilions. In allusion to the American war, two footmen rode before the carriage tarred and feathered, the coachman wore a wicker hat, and sir William himself, from the seat of his vehicle, maintained his mock dignity in grotesque array, amidst unbounded applause.

* * * * *

The song says, that sir William Swallowtail came “with hand-bells playing all the way,” and “old John Jones,” after he “rehearsed” the song, gave some account of the player on the hand-bells.

The hand-bell player was Thomas Cracknell, who, at that time, was a publican at Brentford, and kept the “Wilkes’s Head.” He had been a cow-boy in the service of lady Holderness; and after he took that public-house, he so raised its custom that it was a place of the first resort in Brentford “for man and horse.” With an eye to business, as well as a disposition to waggery, he played the hand-bells in support of sir William Swallowtail, as much for the good of the “Wilkes’s Head” as in honour of his neighbour Cock, the basket-maker, who, with his followers, had opened Cracknell’s house. Soon after the election he let the “Wilkes’s Head,” and receiving a handsome sum for good-will and coming-in, bound himself in a penalty of 20_l._ not to set up within ten miles of the spot. In the afternoon of the day he gave up possession, he went to his successor with the 20_l._ penalty, and informed him he had taken another house in the neighbourhood. It was the sign of the “Aaron and Driver,” two race-horses, of as great celebrity as the most favoured of the then Garrett candidates. Cracknell afterwards became a rectifier or distiller at Brentford.

* * * * *

Sir John Harper was by trade a weaver, and qualified, by power of face and speech, and infinite humour, to sustain the burlesque character he assumed. His chief pretensions to represent Garrett were grounded on his reputation, circulated in printed hand-bills, which described him as a “rectifier of mistakes and blunders.” He made his grand entry through Wandsworth, into Garrett, in a phaeton and six bays, with postilions in scarlet and silver, surrounded by thousands of supporters, huzzaing, and declaring him to be “able to give any man an answer.”

Long as we live there’ll be no more Such scenes as these, in days of yore, When little folks deem’d great ones less, And aped their manners and address; When, further still to counterfeit, To mountebanks they gave a seat, By virtue of a mobbing summons, As members of the House of Commons. Through Garrett, then, a cavalcade, A long procession, longer made. For why, the way was not so wide That horsemen, there, abreast, could ride, As they had rode, when they came down, In order due, to Wandsworth town; Whence, to the Leather Bottle driven, With shouts that rent the welkin given, And given also, many blows In strife, the great “Sir John” arose On high, in high phaeton, stood, And pledged his last, best, drop of blood, As sure as he was “Harper,” to Undo all things that wouldn’t do, And vow’d he’d do, as well as undo, He’d do--in short, he’d do--what none do: Although his speech, precisely, is Unknown, yet here, concisely, is Related all, which, sought with pains, Is found to be the last remains, Of all, at Garrett, done and said; And more than elsewhere can be read.

The preceding engraving is from a large drawing, by Green, of a scene at this election in 1781, taken on the spot. Until now, this drawing has not been submitted to the public eye.

In the above accurate representation of the spot, the sign of the Leather Bottle in Garrett-lane is conspicuous. Its site at that time was different from that of the present public-house bearing that name.

It is further observable, that “Harper for ever” is inscribed on the phaeton of the mock candidate for the mock honours of the mock electors; and that the candidate himself is in the act of haranguing his worthy constituents, some of whose whimsical dresses will give a partial idea of the whimsical appearance of the assembled multitude. Every species of extravagant habiliment seems to have been resorted to. The little humourist in a large laced cocked hat, and his donkey in trappings, are particularly rich, and divide the attention of the people on foot with sir John Harper himself. The vender of a printed paper, in a large wig, leers round at him in merry glee. The sweeps, elevated on their bit of “come-up,” are attracted by the popular candidate, whose voice seems rivalled by the patient animal, from whose back they are cheering their favourite man.

* * * * *

In this election, we find the never-to-be-forgotten sir Jeffery Dunstan, who it is not right to pass without saying something more of him than that on this occasion he was a mere candidate, and unsuccessful. He succeeded afterwards to the seat he sought, and will be particularly noticed hereafter; until when, it would perhaps be more appropriate to defer what is about to be offered respecting him; but the distinguished favour of a communication from C. L. on such a subject, seems to require a distinguished place; his paper is therefore selected to prematurely herald the fame of the celebrated crier of “old wigs” in odd fashioned days, when wigs were a common and necessary addition to every person’s dress.

REMINISCENCE OF SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN

BY C. L.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

To your account of sir Jeffery Dunstan in columns 829-30 (where, by an unfortunate Erratum the effigies of _two Sir Jefferys_ appear, when the uppermost figure is clearly meant for sir Harry Dimsdale) you may add, that the writer of this has frequently met him in his latter days, about 1790 or 1791, returning in an evening, after his long day’s itinerancy, to his domicile--a wretched shed in the most beggarly purlieu of Bethnal Green, a little on this side the Mile-end Turnpike. The lower figure in that leaf most correctly describes his then appearance, except that no graphic art can convey an idea of the general squalor of it, and of his bag (his constant concomitant) in particular. Whether it contained “old wigs” at that time I know not, but it seemed a fitter repository for bones snatched out of kennels, than for any part of a Gentleman’s dress even at second hand.

The Ex-member for Garrat was a melancholy instance of a great man whose popularity is worn out. He still carried his sack, but it seemed a part of his identity rather than an implement of his profession; a badge of past grandeur; could any thing have divested him of _that_, he would have shown a “poor forked animal” indeed. My life upon it, it contained no curls at the time I speak of. The most decayed and spiritless remnants of what was once a peruke would have scorned the filthy case; would absolutely have “burst its cearments.” No, it was empty, or brought home bones, or a few cinders possibly. A strong odour of burnt bones, I remember, blended with the scent of horse-flesh seething into dog’s meat, and only relieved a little by the breathings of a few brick kilns, made up the atmosphere of the delicate suburban spot, which this great man had chosen for the last scene of his earthly vanities. The cry of “old wigs” had ceased with the possession of any such fripperies; his sack might have contained not unaptly a little mould to scatter upon that grave, to which he was now advancing; but it told of vacancy and desolation. His quips were silent too, and his brain was empty as his sack; he slank along, and seemed to decline popular observation. If a few boys followed him, it seemed rather from habit, than any expectation of fun.

Alas! how changed from _him_, The life of humour, and the soul of whim, Gallant and gay on Garrat’s hustings proud.

But it is thus that the world rewards its favourites in decay. What faults he had, I know not. I have heard something of a peccadillo or so. But some little deviation from the precise line of rectitude, might have been winked at in so tortuous and stigmatic a frame. Poor Sir Jeffery! it were well if some M. P.’s in earnest have passed their parliamentary existence with no more offences against integrity, than could be laid to thy charge! A fair dismissal was thy due, not so unkind a degradation; some little snug retreat, with a bit of green before thine eyes, and not a burial alive in the fetid beggaries of Bethnal. Thou wouldst have ended thy days in a manner more appropriate to thy pristine dignity, installed in munificent mockery (as in mock honours you had lived)--a Poor Knight of Windsor!

Every distinct place of public speaking demands an oratory peculiar to itself. The forensic fails within the walls of St. Stephen. Sir Jeffery was a living instance of this, for in the flower of his popularity an attempt was made to bring him out upon the stage (at which of the winter theatres I forget, but I well remember the anecdote) in the part of _Doctor Last_.[222] The announcement drew a crowded house; but notwithstanding infinite tutoring--by Foote, or Garrick, I forget which--when the curtain drew up, the heart of Sir Jeffery failed, and he faultered on, and made nothing of his part, till the hisses of the house at last in very kindness dismissed him from the boards. Great as his parliamentary eloquence had shown itself; brilliantly as his off-hand sallies had sparkled on a hustings; they here totally failed him. Perhaps he had an aversion to borrowed wit; and, like my Lord Foppington, disdained to entertain himself (or others) with the forced products of another man’s brain. Your man of quality is more diverted with the natural sprouts of his own.

C. L.

THE GARRETT OATH.

Almost all that can be said of the oath of qualification, administered to the electors at the Garrett hustings, has been already said in the letter to Dr. Ducarel, on column 826. It was printed, and from one of these once manifold documents, which are now so rare as not to be attainable in a perfect state, the following title, &c. is copied literally.

“The OATH of QUALIFICATION for the _Ancient Borough of_ GARRAT _According as it stands in the Old Record handed down to us_ By the GRAND VOLGEE by order of the Great CHIN KAW CHIPO _First_ EMPEROR of the MOON Anno Mundi 75.

“THAT you have been admitted peaceably and quietly into possession of a Freehold--

* * * * *

[Here the original, referred to, is so defective as not to be copyable.]

* * * * *

----“within the said manor of GARRAT; and that you did (_bona fide_) keep (_ad rem_) possession ---- (_durante bene placito_) without any let, suit, hindrance, or molestation whatever ----

* * * * *

“SWORN (_coram nobis_) at our } Great Hall on Garrat Green, } covered with the plenteous harvest } of the Goddess Ceres, and dedicated } to the Jovial God Comus.” }

More than this it is not possible to give of the Garrett oath.

* * * * *

During a Garrett election all Wandsworth was in an uproar. It was the resort of people of all descriptions, and the publicans entertained them as conveniently as possible; yet, on one occasion, the influx of visiters was so immense that every ordinary beverage was exhausted, and water sold at twopence a glass.

* * * * *

By “old John Jones,” “the doings at Wandsworth” on the election day are described as “past description.”

Besides the “hustings” at Garrett, scaffoldings and booths were erected in Wandsworth at every open space: these were filled with spectators to the topmost rows, and boys climbed to the tops of the poles; flags and colours were hung across the road; and the place was crowded by a dense population full of activity and noise. For accommodation to view the humours of the day extraordinary prices were paid to the proveditors.

* * * * *

John Jones remembers “when Foote the player came to Wandsworth, to have a full view of all the goings on.” According to his account, the English Aristophanes “paid nine guineas for the fore room at surgeon Squire’s, facing the church, for himself and his friends to sit in and see the fun.” There was an immense scaffolding of spectators and mob-orators, at the corner by the churchyard, opposite the window where Foote and his companions were seated.

* * * * *

It has been already noticed, that Foote dramatised this mock election by his “Mayor of Garratt:” the first edition, printed in 1764, is called “a comedy in two acts; as it is performed at the theatre-royal in Drury-lane.” On turning to the “dramatis personæ,” it will be found he performed Major Sturgeon himself, and, likewise, Matthew Mug in the same piece: Mrs. Clive playing Mrs. Sneak to Weston’s Jerry Sneak.

* * * * *

Foote’s “Mayor of Garratt” may be deemed an outline of the prevailing drollery and manners of the populace at Wandsworth: a scene or two here will be amusing and in place. This dramatist sketched so much from the life, that it is doubtful whether every marked character in his “comedy” had not its living original. It is certain, that he drew Major Sturgeon from old Justice Lamb, a fishmonger at Acton, and a petty trading justice, whose daughter was married by Major Fleming, a gentleman also “in the commission of the peace,” yet every way a more respectable man than his father-in-law.

Referring, then, to Foote’s “comedy,” sir Jacob Jollup, who has a house at Garratt, holds a dialogue with his man Roger concerning the company they expect--

_Sir J._ Are the candidates near upon coming?

_Roger._ Nic Goose, the tailor from Putney, they say, will be here in a crack, sir Jacob.

_Sir J._ Has Margery fetch’d in the linen?

_Roger._ Yes, sir Jacob.

_Sir J._ Are the pigs and the poultry lock’d up in the barn?

_Roger._ Safe, sir Jacob.

_Sir J._ And the plate and spoons in the pantry?

_Roger._ Yes, sir Jacob.

_Sir J._ Then give me the key; the mob will soon be upon us; and all is fish that comes to their net. Has Ralph laid the cloth in the hall?

_Roger._ Yes, sir Jacob.

_Sir J._ Then let him bring out the turkey and chine, and be sure there is plenty of mustard; and, d’ye hear, Roger, do you stand yourself at the gate, and be careful who you let in.

_Roger._ I will, sir Jacob. [_exit._

_Sir J._ So, now I believe thing: are pretty secure.--

_Mob._ [_Without._] Huzza!

_Re-enter Roger._

_Sir J._ What’s the matter now, Roger?

_Roger._ The electors desire to know if your worship has any body to recommend?

_Sir J._ By no means; let them be free in their choice: I shan’t interfere.

_Roger._ And if your worship has any objection to Crispin Heeltap, the cobler, being returning officer?

_Sir J._ None, provided the rascal can keep himself sober. Is he there?

_Roger._ Yes, sir Jacob. Make way there! stand further off from the gate: here is madam Sneak in a chaise along with her husband.

Sir Jacob has work enough on his hands with his relations, and other visiters, who have arrived to see the election from his mansion; he calls his “son Bruin” to come in;--“we are all seated at table man; we have but just time for a snack; the candidates are near upon coming.”

Then, in another scene,--

_Enter Mob, with Heeltap at their head; some crying “a Goose,” others “a Mug,” others “a Primmer.”_

_Heel._ Silence, there; silence!

_1 Mob._ Hear neighbour Heeltap.

_2 Mob._ Ay, ay, hear Crispin.

_3 Mob._ Ay, ay, hear him, hear Crispin: he will put us into the model of the thing at once.

_Heel._ Why then, silence! I say.

_All._ Silence.

_Heel._ Silence, and let us proceed, neighbours, with all the decency and confusion usual on these occasions.

_1 Mob._ Ay, ay, there is no doing without that.

_All._ No, no, no.

_Heel._ Silence then, and keep the peace; what! is there no respect paid to authority? Am not I the returning officer?

_All._ Ay, ay, ay.

_Heel._ Chosen by yourselves, and approved of by sir Jacob?

_All._ True, true.

_Heel._ Well then, be silent and civil; stand back there that gentleman without a shirt, and make room for your betters. Where’s Simon Snuffle the sexton?

_Snuffle._ Here.

_Heel._ Let him come forward; we appoint him our secretary: for Simon is a scollard, and can read written hand; and so let him be respected accordingly.

_3 Mob._ Room for master Snuffle.

_Heel._ Here, stand by me: and let us, neighbours, proceed to open the premunire of the thing: but first, your reverence to the lord of the manor: a long life and a merry one to our landlord, sir Jacob huzza!

_Mob._ Huzza!

_Sneak._ How fares it, honest Crispin?

_Heel._ Servant, master Sneak. Let us now open the premunire of the thing, which I shall do briefly, with all the loquacity possible; that is, in a medium way; which, that we may the better do it, let the secretary read the names of the candidates, and what they say for themselves; and then we shall know what to say of them. Master Snuffle, begin.

_Snuffle._ [_Reads._] “To the worthy inhabitants of the ancient corporation of Garratt: gentlemen, your votes and interest are humbly requested in favour of Timothy Goose, to succeed your late worthy mayor, Mr. Richard Dripping, in the said office, he being”----

_Heel._ This Goose is but a kind of gosling, a sort of sneaking scoundrel. Who is he?

_Snuffle._ A journeyman tailor from Putney.

_Heel._ A journeyman tailor! A rascal, has he the impudence to transpire to be mayor? D’ye consider, neighbours, the weight of this office? Why, it is a burthen for the back of a porter; and can you think that this cross-legg’d cabbage-eating son of a cucumber, this whey-fac’d ninny, who is but the ninth part of a man, has strength to support it?

_1 Mob._ No Goose! no Goose!

_2 Mob._ A Goose!

_Heel._ Hold your hissing, and proceed to the next.

_Snuffle._ [_Reads._] “Your votes are desired for Matthew Mug.”

_1 Mob._ A Mug! a Mug!

_Heel._ Oh, oh, what you are ready to have a touch of the tankard; but fair and soft, good neighbours, let us taste this master Mug before we swallow him; and, unless I am mistaken, you’ll find him a bitter draught.

_1 Mob._ A Mug! a Mug!

_2 Mob._ Hear him; hear master Heeltap.

_1 Mob._ A Mug! a Mug!

_Heel._ Harkye, you fellow with your mouth full of Mug, let me ask you a question: bring him forward. Pray is not this Matthew Mug a victualler?

_3 Mob._ I believe he may.

_Heel._ And lives at the sign of the Adam and Eve?

_3 Mob._ I believe he may.

_Heel._ Now, answer upon your honour and as you are a gentleman, what is the present price of a quart of home-brew’d at the Adam and Eve?

_3 Mob._ I don’t know.

_Heel._ You lie, sirrah: an’t it a groat?

_3 Mob._ I believe it may.

_Heel._ Oh, may be so. Now, neighbours, here’s a pretty rascal; this same Mug, because, d’ye see, state affairs would not jog glibly without laying a farthing a quart upon ale; this scoundrel, not contented to take things in a medium way, has had the impudence to raise it a penny.

_Mob._ No Mug! no Mug!

_Heel._ So, I thought I should crack Mr. Mug. Come, proceed to the next, Simon.

_Snuffle._ The next upon the list is Peter Primmer, the schoolmaster.

_Heel._ Ay, neighbours, and a sufficient man: let me tell you, master Primmer is a man for my money; a man of learning, that can lay down the law: why, adzooks, he is wise enough to puzzle the parson; and then, how you have heard him oration at the Adam and Eve of a Saturday night, about Russia and Prussia. ’Ecod, George Gage, the exciseman, is nothing at all to un.

_4 Mob._ A Primmer.

_Heel._ Ay, if the folks above did but know him. Why, lads, he will make us all statesmen in time.

_2 Mob._ Indeed!

_Heel._ Why, he swears as how all the miscarriages are owing to the great people’s not learning to read.

_3 Mob._ Indeed!

_Heel._ “For,” says Peter, says he, “if they would but once submit to be learned by me, there is no knowing to what a pitch the nation might rise.”

_1 Mob._ Ay, I wish they would.

_Sneak._ Crispin, what, is Peter Primmer a candidate?

_Heel._ He is, master Sneak.

_Sneak._ Lord I know him, mun, as well as my mother: why, I used to go to his lectures to Pewterers’-hall, ’long with deputy Firkin.

_Heel._ Like enough.

_Mob._ [_Without._] Huzza!

_Heel._ Gad-so! the candidates are coming. [_Exeunt Mob, &c._

_Re-enter Sir Jacob Jollup, Bruin, and Mrs. Bruin, through the garden gate._

_Sir J._ Well, son Bruin, how d’ye relish the corporation of Garratt?

_Bruin._ Why, lookye, sir Jacob, my way is always to speak what I think; I don’t approve on’t at all.

_Mrs. B._ No?

_Sir J._ And what’s your objection?

_Bruin._ Why, I was never over fond of your May-games: besides corporations are too serious things; they are edgetools, sir Jacob.

_Sir J._ That they are frequently tools, I can readily grant: but I never heard much of their edge.

Afterwards we find the knight exclaiming--

_Sir J._ Hey-day! What, is the election over already?

_Enter Crispin, Heeltap, &c._

_Heel._ Where is master Sneak!

_Sneak._ Here, Crispin.

_Heel._ The ancient corporation of Garratt, in consideration of your great parts and abilities, and out of respect to their landlord, sir Jacob, have unanimously chosen you mayor.

_Sneak._ Me? huzza! Good lord, who would have thought it? But how came master Primmer to lose it?

_Heel._ Why, Phil Fleam had told the electors, that master Primmer was an Irishman; and so they would none of them give their vote for a foreigner.

_Sneak._ So then I have it for certain.

[_Huzza!_

ELECTION FOR GARRETT,

June 25, 1781.

This engraving is from another large unpublished drawing by Green, and is very curious. Being topographically correct, it represents the signs of the inns at Wandsworth as they then stood; the Spread Eagle carved on a pillar, and the Ram opposite painted and projecting. The opening, seen between the buildings on the Spread Eagle side, is the commencement of Garrett-lane, which runs from Wandsworth to Tooting, and includes the mock borough of Garrett.

This animated scene is full of character. The boat is drawn by horses, which could not be conspicuously represented here without omitting certain bipeds; it is in the act of turning up Garrett-lane. Its chief figure is “my lady Blase” dressed beyond the extreme, and into broad caricature of the fashion of the times. “I remember her very well,” says Mrs. ----, of Wandsworth, “and so I ought, for I had a good hand in the dressing of her. I helped to put together many a good pound of wool to make her hair up. I suppose it was more than three feet high at least: and as for her stays, I also helped to make them, down in Anderson’s barn: they were neither more nor less than a washing tub without the bottom, well covered, and bedizened outside to look like a stomacher. She was to be the lady of sir William Blase, one of the candidates, and, as she sat in his boat, she was one of the drollest creatures, for size and dress, that ever was seen. I was quite a girl at the time, and we made her as comical and as fine as possible.”

In Green’s drawing, here engraven in miniature, there is an excellent group, which from reduction the original has rendered almost too small to be noticed without thus pointing it out. It consists of a fellow, who appears more fond of his dog than of his own offspring; for, to give the animal as good a sight of lady Blase as he had himself, he seats him on his own shoulders, and is insensible to the entreaty of one of his children to occupy the dog’s place. His wife, with another child by her side, carries a third with its arms thrust into the sleeves of her husband’s coat, which the fellow has pulled off, and given her to take care of, without the least regard to its increase of her living burthen. Before them are dancing dogs, which have the steady regard of a “most thinking” personage in a large wig. Another wigged, or, rather, an over-wigged character, is the little crippled “dealer and chapman,” who is in evident fear of a vociferous dog, which is encouraged to alarm him by a mischievous urchin. The one-legged veteran, with a crutch and a glass in his hand, seems mightily to enjoy the two horsemen of the mop and broom. We see that printed addresses were posted, by an elector giving his unmixed attention to one of them pasted on the Ram sign-post. The Pierrot-dressed character, with spectacles and a guitar, on an ass led by a woman, is full of life; and the celebrated “Sam House,” the bald-headed publican of Westminster, with a pot in his hand, is here enjoying the burlesque of an election, almost as much, perhaps, as he did the real one in his own “city and liberties” the year before, when he distinguished himself, by his activity, in behalf of Mr. Fox, whose cause he always zealously supported by voice and fist.

* * * * *

The last Westminster election, wherein Sam House engaged, was in 1784, when on voting, and being asked his trade by the poll-clerk, he answered, “I am a publican and republican.” This memorable contest is described by the well-known colonel Hanger. He says:--

“The year I came to England the contested election for Westminster, (Fox, Hood, and Wray, candidates,) took place. The _walking_ travellers, _Spillard_ and _Stewart_; the _Abyssinian Bruce_, who _feasted on steaks_ cut from the _rump_ of a _living_ ox; and various others, who, in their extensive travels, encountered _wild beasts_, _serpents_, and _crocodiles_; _breakfasted_ and _toasted muffins_ on the _mouth_ of a _Volcano_; whom hunger compelled to banquet with joy on the _leavings_ of a _lion_ or _tiger_, or on the _carcase_ of a dead _alligator_; who boast of smoking the pipe of peace with the _little carpenter_, and the _mad dog_; on having lived on terms of the strictest intimacy with the _Cherokees_, the _Chickasaws_, the _Chuctaws_, and with all the _aws_ and _ees_ of that immense continent, who from the more temperate shore of the Mississippi, have extended their course to the burning soil of India, and to the banks of the Ganges; from the frozen ocean to the banks of the more genial Po;--may boast _their_ experience of the world, and _their_ knowledge of human life: but _no one_, in my opinion, has seen _real life_, or can know it, unless he has taken an active part in a _contested election for Westminster_!

“In no school can a man be taught a better lesson of human life;--there can he view human nature in her basest attire; riot, murder, and drunkenness, are the order of the day, and _bribery_ and perjury walk hand in hand:--for men who had no pretensions to vote, were to be found in the garden in as great plenty as turnips, and at a very moderate rate were induced to poll.

“A gentleman, to make himself of any considerable use to either party, must possess a number of engaging, familiar, and condescending qualities; he must help a porter up with his load, shake hands with a fisherman, pull his hat off to an oyster wench, kiss a ballad-singer, and be familiar with a beggar. If, in addition to these amiable qualities, he is a tolerable good boxer, can play a good stick, and in the evening drink a pailful of all sorts of liquors, in going the rounds to solicit voters at their various clubs, then, indeed, he is a most highly finished useful agent. In all the above accomplishments and sciences, except drinking, which I never was fond of, I have the vanity to believe that I arrived nearer to perfection than any of my rivals. I should be ungrateful, indeed, if I did not testify my thanks to those gallant troops of high rank and distinguished fame--the knights of the strap, and the black diamond knights, (the Irish chairmen and coal heavers,) who displayed such bravery and attachment to our cause.”[223]

This was the cause to which Sam House was attached; and, perhaps, there was not greater difference between the scenes described by Hanger, and those at Garrett, than between the same scenes, and more recent ones, on similar occasions in the same city.

* * * * *

What has hitherto been related concerning the Garrett election, in 1781, is in consequence of the editor having had recourse to the remarkable drawings from whence the present engravings have been made. From that circumstance he was strongly induced to inquire concerning it, and, as a faithful historian, he has recorded only what he is able to authenticate. A few facts relating to the elections between that period and a much later one, are so blended as to defy positive appropriation to particular dates, from want of accurate recollection in the persons relating them; they are, therefore, annexed, as general traits of the usual mode of conducting these burlesques.

* * * * *

At one of the Garrett elections, after 1781, there was a sir Christopher Dash’em started as candidate. “Old John Jones” says he was a waterman, that his real name was Christopher Beachham, (perhaps Beauchamp,) that he was a fellow of “exceeding humour” and ready wit, and, as an instance of it, that being carried before a magistrate for cutting fences and posts, the justice was informed that the delinquent was no other than the celebrated sir Christopher Dash’em.--“Oh,” said the justice, “you are sir Christopher Dash’em, are you?”--“It’s what they please to style me,” observed sir Christopher.--“Oh! oh!” remarked the magistrate, “I have _heard_ of your _character_ a long while ago.”--“Then,” said sir Christopher, “I’ll be greatly obliged to your worship to tell me where it is, for I _lost_ it a long while ago.”

Sir Solomon Hiram, another Garrett candidate, was a shrewd, clever carpenter, of Battersea, named Thomas Solomon. It was his constant saying, that he “never bowed to wooden images,” by which he meant rank without talent. He succeeded in his election. The motto on his carriages was “Gin gratis! Porter for nothing!”

Our living chronicler, “John Jones,” says, that on the day of election, sir Solomon Hiram was “dressed like an old king, in a scarlet coat with gold lace, large sleeves with very large hanging cuffs; a wig such as George the Second wore, with large falling curls, and the tail in a silk bag: he held a roll of parchment in his hand, and looked for all the world--like a king.”

* * * * *

Nor must “old John Jones” himself be forgotten, for he rode as “master of the horse” at four elections in a marvellous proper dress. He was mounted on the largest dray horse that could be got, in the full regimentals of the Surrey yeomanry, grey, blue, and red: he had a cap on his head twenty-three inches high; and bore in his hand a sword seven feet long and four inches wide, like the sword of the “ancient and honourable Lumber Troop.” His boots were up to his hips, and he wore wooden spurs thirteen inches long, with steel rowels three inches in diameter. The mane of his horse was plaited with ears of corn, denoting a plentiful harvest and the coming cheapness of bread; and he had two pages to lead his horse.

The “Garrett cavalry” or troop of “horse guards,” of which “John Jones” was the commander, were forty boys of all ages and sizes, for whom flannel uniforms were purposely made, of the exact pattern of the Surrey yeomanry. They wore enormous cockades made of shavings, and were put a-straddle on horses of all sizes, and sorted thereto, as much as possible, by contraries. The smallest boys were on the largest horses, and the biggest boys on the least. It was their duty to join the candidates’ procession, and with the “master of the horse” at their head, proceed to the hustings in order “to preserve the freedom of election.”

* * * * *

At Richmond theatre, about thirty years ago, Foote’s “Mayor of Garratt” was performed for the benefit of Follett, a celebrated comedian and clown, and he was so happy as to secure sir Solomon Hiram, with every person who figured at Garratt, to represent the election as it had been really held just before. Sir Solomon came on the stage “just like a King,” with “old John Jones” on his right, as “master of the horse,” and “Robert Bates,” another great officer, on his left, all in their full election uniforms. The house was crowded to excess. Sir Solomon delivered all his speeches, “old John Jones” commanded and manœuvred his troop of horse, and every thing was performed that had been exhibited at Wandsworth, or on the hustings, by the real characters in the election. There was so great an audience, that the audience crowded on the stage, and it was with difficulty that the scenes were shifted.

SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN.

In the year 1785, sir John Harper, who had succeeded to the representation of Garrett, by the unbiassed choice of the electors, vacated his seat by death, and sir Jeffery Dunstan again became a candidate for their suffrages.

This distinguished individual was a child of chance--a foundling. He was picked up in the year 1759 at a churchwarden’s door in St. Dunstan’s in the East, and not being owned, was reared in the workhouse so as ultimately to attain about two-thirds the usual height of manhood, with knock-knees, and a disproportionately large head. At twelve years old, he was bound apprentice for nine years to the art, trade, mystery, and occupation of a green grocer; this was a long time to serve, and Jeffery, soaring to independence, adopted as a principle that “time was made for slaves, and not for freemen;” he therefore broke through time and servitude, and ran away to Birmingham. It was his pride that, though the hard labour in the factories of the “workshop of Europe” increased the malformation of his person, it added strength to his mind; and in 1776, he returned to London with his knees and ideas knocking together much more than before. He soon afterwards formed a matrimonial connection, and had two daughters, whom he called “Miss Nancy” and “Miss Dinah,” and who testified their filial politeness by uniformly calling him “papa.”

From the earliest period of sir Jeffery’s life, he was a friend to “good measures”--especially those for “spirituous liquors;” and he never saw the inside of a pot without going to the bottom of it. This determination of character created difficulties to him: for his freedom was not always regulated by the doctrines of the great Blackstone “on the rights of persons,” and consequences ensued that were occasionally injurious to sir Jeffery’s face and eyes. The same enlightened judge’s views of “the rights of things” do not seem to have been comprehended by sir Jeffery: he had long made free with the porter of manifold pots, and at length he made free with a few of the pots. For this he was “questioned,” in the high commission court of oyer and terminer, and suffered an imprisonment, which, according to his manner of life, and his notions of the liberty of the subject, was frivolous and vexatious. On his liberation, he returned to an occupation he had long followed, the dealing in “old wigs,” and some circumstances developed in the course of the preceding inquiry seem to favour a supposition, that the bag he carried had enabled him to conceal his previous “free trade” in pots. But, be that as it might, it is certain that to his armorial bearings of four wigs, he added a quart pot for a crest.

From the period that he obtained a “glorious minority” by his opposition to sir John Harper for Garrett, he looked for the first opening in the representation of that borough with a view to fill it himself. On the death of sir John, he issued an address to the electors, committees were formed, and an active canvass was commenced at every public-house to which the constituent body resorted for refreshment and solace. On the day of election, sir Jeffery left London in a splendid phaeton, with a body of friends in every possible description of vehicle, from a coal-waggon to a wheel-barrow drawn by dogs; the procession extended a mile in length, and sir Jeffery Dunstan was elected by an immense majority. At successive elections he was successively successful, and maintained his seat for Garrett until his death.

* * * * *

One of the answers to the editor’s request for particulars concerning the Garrett election, is the following letter:--

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--After frequently promising to do something for the _Every-Day Book_, I yesterday threw hastily together a few particulars regarding “sir Jeffery Dunstan:” they are authentic and at your service. Sir Jeffery, towards the latter part of his life, had a hoarse rough voice and bad utterance, from having lost the whole of his front teeth. The manner of his losing them is curious enough, and worth relating. He was one evening reciting his speeches at the “London Hospital” public-house, Whitechapel, where some young students were amusing themselves, who, seeing “sir Jeffery” in “merry mood,” hit upon a plan to have the teeth out of his head. A bargain was soon struck, ten shillings were clubbed among them, a pint of “Hodges’s best” was brought in--sir Jeffery sat down in the chair, and out came tooth the first--in the same manner out came another--and so, time after time, the wicked wags proceeded till they got them all.

At this house sir Jeffery was near losing his life, in addition to his teeth. He was “in the chair,” as usual, which was placed on the table, and he was supported by his friends “Ray the tinker,” who now lies in the same grave with him, and a “sir Charles Hartis,” a deformed fidler, and an unsuccessful candidate for Garratt honours. Such a _trio_ was scarcely ever seen, and very attractive. The sixpences collected from visiters, on entering, lay in a plate on the table, and “sir Jeffery” was on his legs giving them “old wigs,” in his best style, when, being top-heavy with liquor, he suddenly lost his balance, and over he went. “Ray the tinker” was upset, and the fiddle of “sir Charles” knocked into the fire; in a moment the candles were put out, and all was darkness and confusion; when a light was brought, sir Jeffery and the money were both missing, and he was considered the purloiner: but the fact was, some knaves who had an eye to the cash, took advantage of sir Jeffery’s fall, blew out the lights, stole the money, and picking up “sir Jeff” at the same moment, dragged him out of the house to fix the fraud on him. The poor fellow was found the next morning by some workmen almost frozen to death and pennyless, in a miserable hole, into which they had dropped him!

Sir Jeffery wore his shirt open, and the collar turned down. This was in him a sort of pride; for he would frequently in an exulting manner say _to inferiors_, “I’ve got a _collar_ to my shirt, sir.” In life his face was dark and dirty, but when coffined, says Mr. Thomas Michael, his skin was remarkably fair and clear.

Sir Jeffery once kept an ass that had but one ear, the other being close cropped off; with this poor creature, who carried the “wigs, &c.” he for many years collected a crowd but a few paces from the writer’s habitation. His wit and smart sayings flew about. Now the joke fell on himself, and now on his one-eared ass. Then he varied the cry of “old wigs,” by mimicking another’s singing-cry of, “lilly, lilly, lilly, lilly white--sand oh!” After the pence had well tumbled in, he would retire to his favourite retreat, the “Horse and Leaping Bar,” to dine on “duck and green peas,” or “roast goose and apple sauce,” &c.

At this house, which is on the south side of the high street, “sir Jeff,” in a “regular” manner, got “regularly drunk.” Here he sung the “London cries;” recited his mock speeches on the corruptions of parliament; and, placed in an arm chair on the table, nightly afforded sport to a merry company.

No sooner had sir Jeffery ceased to breathe, than the resurrection men were on the alert to obtain his body. They had nearly succeeded prior to interment, by drawing him through the window of the room in which he lay.

The surgeons of the day were eager to obtain a prize, but their hopes were disappointed by the late John Liptrap, esq. who had the body removed to a place of safety. This gentleman paid all the expences of sir Jeffery’s funeral; a grave ten feet deep was dug close to the north wall of the watchhouse of St. Mary, Whitechapel, where he now lies. The head of the coffin somewhat undermines the church-rail, and the public footway. His wife lies at his feet, and his daughter Dinah, sleeps the “sleep of death” at his side.

“Miss Nancy,”--sir Jeffery used to say, “Miss Nancy, make the gentlemen a curtsey,”--“Miss Nancy” survived them all; she married a costermonger, or to speak a little more politely, a knight of the “whip and hamper,” who is said to have added to his avocations that of snatching bodies for the surgeons, till death, the final snatcher, snatched him. Miss Nancy still survives.

Respecting sir Jeffery Dunstan’s death, his grave digger, Thomas Michael, relates this story. Sir Jeffery had called in at the sign of the Red Lion, opposite the London Hospital, a house where low company resorted. It was then kept by one George Float (who afterwards met a premature death himself) who supplied sir Jeffery with liquor at the expense of others, till he was completely “_non compos_.” He was then carried to the door of his house on the north side of the “Ducking pond,” and there left to perish, for he was found a corpse on the same spot the next morning.

It was strongly suspected that sir Jeffery’s death was purposely caused by resurrection men, for the liquor he was made to swallow was drugged. One of this fraternity endeavoured to stop the burial of the body, by pretending a relation from Ireland was on his way to claim it. The fellow disguised himself, and endeavoured to personate a native of that country, but the fraud was detected.

I am, &c.

_June 19, 1823._

T. W. L.

* * * * *

This obliging correspondent, who knew so much respecting sir Jeffery Dunstan, was likely to furnish more; particular inquiries were therefore addressed to him by letter, and he has since obligingly communicated as follows:--

FOR THE EVERY-DAY BOOK.

_Sir Jeffery Dunstan’s descendants._--_Sir Jeffery’s Hut._--_Whitechapel Obelisk._--_Dipping for old wigs._

To oblige Mr. Hone I set out in pursuit of “Miss Nancy,” who is now called “lady Ann,” thinking she might be able to furnish me with particulars regarding her father, “sir Jeffery,” and the “Garrett election.” Near the sign of the “Grave Maurice,” in the “road side” of Whitechapel, I addressed myself to a clean, elderly looking woman, whose brow bespoke the cares of three score years at least, and asked her if she could inform me whether sir Jeffery’s daughter, “Miss Nancy” was living or not? “Lord bless you, sir!” said she, “living! aye; I saw her pass with her cats-meat barrow not five minutes ago; and just now I saw running by, a little girl, the fourth generation from sir Jeffery.” I soon ascertained that “lady Ann” lived with her son and his wife, at No. 7, North-street, opposite the Jews’ burying ground, where I knocked boldly, and, to my surprise, was answered by a fine dark little girl of eleven, that her grandmother could not be seen, because she was “very drunk.”

At seven in the evening, by appointment I called, and saw the same little girl again, and was told her father was “drunk also,” and that her mother had instructed her to say, that many similar applications had been made, and “a deal of money offered,” for the information I sought; which spoke in plain terms they had nothing to communicate, or if they had, a good price must be paid for it.

Recollecting that I had been informed that a good likeness of “sir Jeffery” was to be seen at the “Blind Beggar,” near the turnpike, and supposing it not unlikely, from that circumstance, that the landlord of that house might know more of the man than I did myself, I resorted thither. The bar was crowded with applicants for “full proof,” and “the best cordials.” I took my station at the lower end, and calling for a glass of ale, it was served me by Mr. Porter himself, when I took the opportunity of asking him if he had not a portrait of sir Jeffery Dunstan in his parlour; he said there had been one there till lately, but that during the alterations it was removed. On my right hand was a man with a pint of ale and a glass in his hand, and a woman with him, seated on the top of a barrel. At this juncture the man called out to the landlord, “is it not somebody that ‘_I knows_,’ that you are talking about?” An answer was given in the affirmative. I looked at the man, and perceiving that he was about my own age, observed that his years, like mine, did not warrant much personal knowledge of the person of whom we had been speaking. “Why,” said Mr. Porter, smiling, “that is his grandson; that is sir Jeffery’s grandson.” I, too, could not help smiling on calling to mind that this was the very man that was “also drunk,” and that this, his money-loving wife, who had denied me an interview, I was addressing. I told them the nature of my visit to their house. She said her daughter had informed her of every thing. I then, to use a nautical phrase, “boxed all points of the compass,” without effect. They evidently knew nothing, or did not care to know; the wife, however, told me that her sister, who was either dead, or “abroad,” knew “all sir Jeffery’s speeches from the beginning to end;” and the husband recounted ’squire Liptrap’s kindness in many times escorting and protecting, by a file of soldiers, his grandfather to his home; and said, moreover, that _he_ himself was blamed for not claiming the _goold_ (gold) picked up with the foundling which is now accumulating in the funds of St. Dunstan’s parish.

I urged, “that none of us had any thing to boast of in point of ancestry, and that were I sir Jeffery’s grandson, my _great_ grandfather’s _great_ natural talent and ready flow of wit would induce me to acknowledge him as my _great_ ancestor under any circumstances.” This produced nothing more than that his grandfather, “though he could neither read nor write, could speak many languages.” I left them--the husband, as we say, “top heavy,” the wife expostulating to get him home, and at the same time observing they must be up by three o’clock in the morning “to be off with the cart.”

On my road homewards, I turned up Court-street to “Ducking-pond side,” to take a view of “sir Jeffery’s hut;” it is adjoining his late patron’s distillery, who permitted him to live there rent free. The door is bricked up, and it now forms part of a chandler’s shop. The thick black volumes of smoke from the immense chimnies were rolling above my head to the west, while beneath, in the same direction, came the pestiferous stench from those deadly slaughtering places for horses, that lie huddled together, on the right. It brought to my mind Mr. Martin’s story in the “House,” of the poor starving condemned “animals” and the “truss of hay.” I turned hastily away from the scene, and I conjure thee, reader, go not near it, for it breathes

“Pestilence, rottenness, and death.”

In my preceding notice of “sir Jeffery and his ass,” perhaps I have not been sufficiently explicit. In the “season,” he would sometimes carry the best of fruit in his hampers for sale, as well as his “bag of wigs.” The allusion to the “duck and green peas,” &c. was a sort of joke, which sir Jeffery used constantly, in his witty way, to put off to “standers-by” when “lady Ann,” or “Miss Dinah,” came from their “lady mother” to inform him that his dinner was ready.

An elderly friend of mine perfectly well recollects sir Jeffery’s “one-eared ass,” his hamper of russetings, and sir Jeffery himself, with his back placed against the side of the stone obelisk which then stood at the corner of the road, opposite Whitechapel church rails. There he kept the boys and girls at bay with the ready use of his hands; while his ready tongue kept the elder folks constantly laughing. But where is the stone obelisk. Gone--like sir Jeffery. The spirit of destruction, miscalled improvement, wantonly threw it down. It fell in the pride of its age and glory, before Time’s effacing hand had marked it. Away with destroyers, I say! They may have bettered the condition of the pathway by substituting an iron railway for one of wood, but have they done so by removing that excellent unoffending barrier, the “pillar of stone,” and placing in its stead a paltry old cannon choaked with a ball?

I recollect in my boyish days I never passed that “obelisk” without looking up, and reading on its sculptured sides, “twelve miles to Romford,” “seventeen to Epping.” Then it told the traveller westward, the exact distance to the Royal Exchange and Hyde Park-corner. All beyond it, in an easterly direction, to my youthful fancy, was fairy land; it spoke of pure air, green fields, and trees; of gentle shepherdesses, and arcadian swains. Delightful feelings, which only those who are born and bred in towns can fully enter into! It had originally a tongue of another description, for it seemed to say, in legible characters, “this is the east-end corner of the metropolis,”--at least it marked it as strongly as ever Hyde Park-corner did the west. Pardon the digression, reader, and I will conclude.

When sir Jeffery raised the cry of “old wigs,” the collecting of which formed his chief occupation, he had a peculiarly droll way of clapping his hand to his mouth, and he called “old wigs, wigs, wigs!” in every doorway. Some he disposed of privately, the rest he sold to the dealers in “Rag-fair.” In those days, “full bottoms” were worn by almost every person, and it was no uncommon thing to hear sea-faring persons, or others exposed to the cold, exclaim, “Well, winter’s at hand, and I must e’en go to Rosemary-lane, and have ‘_a dip_ for a wig.’” This “dipping for wigs” was nothing more than putting your hand into a large barrel and pulling one up; if you liked it you paid your shilling, if not, you dipped again, and paid sixpence more, and so on. Then, also, the curriers used them for cleaning the waste, &c. off the leather, and I have no doubt would use them now if they could get them.

Sir Jeffery’s ideas of “quality” ran very high at all times, and were never higher than when his daughter Nancy, “beautiful Miss Nancy,” was married to “lord Thompson,” a dustman.--“Twenty coaches,” said sir Jeffery, “to lady Ann’s wedding, madam, and all filled with the first nobility.” A dustman on his wedding-day, in our days, is content with a seat in a far different vehicle, and being carried on his brethren’s shoulders to collect a little of the “needful” to get drunk with at night. To the honour of “lord Thompson” be it said, after such a noble alliance, he soon “cut” the fraternity, and, as I have before observed, became a knight of the “whip and hamper,” _vulgo_ “a costermonger.”

_June 23, 1826._

T. W. L.

* * * * *

The last representative of Garrett was sir Jeffery Dunstan’s successor, the renowned sir Harry Dimsdale. From the death of sir Harry the seat remained vacant.

It must be added, however, that for this borough sir George Cook demanded to sit. No committee determined on the claims of the “rival candidates;” but the friends of sir George, an eminent dealer in apples and small vegetables near Stangate, maintained that he was the rightful member in spite of sir Harry Dimsdale’s majority, which was alleged to have been obtained by “bribery and corruption.”

* * * * *

Whatever distaste refinement may conceive to such scenes, it must not be forgotten that they constitute a remarkable feature in the manners of the times. It is the object of this work to record “manners,” and the editor cannot help expressing somewhat of the disappointment he feels, on his entreaties for information, respecting the elections for Garrett, having failed to elicit much information, which it is still in the power of many persons to communicate. He has original facts, of a very interesting nature, ready to lay before the public on this topic; but he omits to do it, in order to afford a few days longer to those who have the means of enabling him to add to his reserved collection. To that end he once more solicits the loan of hand-bills, advertisements, addresses, scraps, or any thing any way connected with the subject. He begs, and hopes, to be favoured with such matters with all possible speed. It is his wish to dispose of this election in the following sheet, and therefore “not a moment is to be lost.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·85.

[218] The Times, June 20, 1826.

[219] Manning and Bray’s History of Surrey.

[220] Sir Richard Phillips’ Walk to Kew.

[221] Lord George Gordon, who rendered himself so conspicuous during the riots in 1780, adopted in his latter days the habit and manners of a Jew. He died November 1, 1793, in Newgate where he had been confined two years, for a libel on the moral and political conduct of the Queen of France; three years more for a libel on the Empress of Russia, and ten months longer for not procuring the necessary security for enlargement. His last moments are said to have been imbittered by the knowledge that he could not be buried among the Jews, to whose religion he was warmly attached.

[222] It was at the Haymarket theatre. _Editor._

[223] Hanger’s Life.

~June 23.~

ST. JOHN’S EVE.

An ancient custom is still maintained by the inhabitants of Ripon, in Yorkshire. On midsummer-eve, every housekeeper, who, in the course of the year, has changed his residence into a new neighbourhood, spreads a table before his door in the street, with bread, cheese, and ale, for those who choose to resort to it. The guests, after staying awhile, if the master is of ability, are invited to supper, and the evening is concluded with mirth and good humour. The origin of this usage is unknown, but it probably was instituted for the purpose of introducing new comers to an early acquaintance with their neighbours; or, with the more laudable design of settling differences, by the meeting and mediation of friends.

* * * * *

The late rev. Donald M‘Queen, of Kilmuir, in the Isle of Sky, in certain reflections on ancient customs preserved in that island, mentions what he observed at this season in Ireland, where he conceives the catholic religion to have accommodated itself to the ancient superstitions of the natives, and grafted Christianity on pagan rites. He remarks, that “the Irish have ever been worshippers of fire and of Baal, and are so to this day. The chief festival in honour of the sun and fire is upon the 21st of June (23d?) when the sun arrives at the summer solstice, or rather begins its retrograde motion.”

Mr. M‘Queen says, “I was so fortunate in the summer of 1782 as to have my curiosity gratified. At the house where I was entertained, it was told me that we should see at midnight the most singular sight in Ireland, which was _the lighting of fires_ in honour of the sun. Accordingly, exactly at midnight, the _fires_ began to appear; and going up to the leads of the house, which had a widely extended view, I saw, on a radius of thirty miles, all around, the fires burning on every eminence which the country afforded. I had a farther satisfaction in learning, from undoubted authority, that the people _danced round the fires_, and at the close went through these fires, and made their sons and daughters, together with their cattle, pass through the fire, and the whole was concluded with religious solemnity.”[224]

* * * * *

The eve of the summer solstice was a season of divinations in early times, and with one of these, described by a living bard, the day may conclude.

_St. John’s Eve._

St. John the Baptist’s eve, how clear and bright Sinks the broad sun upon the waveless sea! Above, below, around him, shedding light, All glorious and beautiful to see: Garish as day, with night’s tranquillity Reposing on all things.--“Then bid farewell To household duties and its drudgery-- Come, one and all, and this fair maid shall tell Who shall be wise henceforth, from this our festival.”

At this fair summons men and women were Wont to assemble to decide their fate: The first begotten child with rose-deck’d hair Clad as a bride--her features all sedate, Like one of holy calling--walk’d in state, Before a bacchanal procession, loud In their mirth--dancing with glee elate-- And shouting as they went--a motley crowd Spreading along the shore, like shadow from a cloud.

And when arrived where they were summoned, they With water from the ocean, to the brim Fill a small vessel as the first essay Towards making into _one_ the future--(dim And dark as ’tis)--perceptible--to him Alone this boon.--When a young virgin, fair, With knocking heart that maketh her head swim Lest she, her hopes, have wither’d--from her hair Taketh a rose (her emblem) she had braided there;

And in the vessel drops it: Then the next, Lovely as Hebe, from her faery zone, Loosens the band that clasps it--somewhat vext That like the rose it floats not--as ’tis known, Or so imagined, that the charm hath flown From what’s beneath the surface--so she deem’d E’en when the next a diamond had thrown Into the vessel, which, though sunken, seemed A star upon the surface--it so upward gleamed.

After the fair ones, one and all, have cast The bauble that each prized as somewhat dear, The youths o’eranxious lest they be surpass’d By maidens in their zealous acts sincere, (Who crowd about them as they hover near The sacred vase, observing them the while;) Drop gold, and gems, and crystals for the ear, Adorn’d with quaint devices, to beguile With love, the heart that’s languishing, and free from guile.

Now all are gathered round in silence deep, Heart throbbing maids, (like knots of flowers fair, That bow unto the moon, whose soft rays sleep Upon their beauty,) and youths flush’d with care And keen anxiety, press forward there: Meanwhile, the little cherub-bride draws nigh, And from the vessel with her small hand fair, Brings forth the gem that gladdens some one’s eye, That grants to him or her the gift of prophecy.

_Barton Wilford._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 58·62.

[224] Cited by Brand.

~June 24.~

ST. JOHN’S DAY.

_Midsummer Day._

There are several interesting notices of usages on this day and midsummer-eve, in vol. i. from col. 825 to 855. To the account of the “old London watch” there cited, from “Stow’s Survey,” should be added from Mr. Douce’s notes, quoted by Mr. Brand, that the watch “was laid down in the twentieth year of Henry VIII;” and that “the chronicles of Stow and Byddel assign the sweating sickness as a cause for discontinuing the watch.” Mr. Douce adds, that “Niccols says the watches on midsummer and St. Peter’s-eve were laid down by licence from the king, ‘for that the cittie had then bin charged with the leavie of a muster of 15,000 men.’”

WARWICK BONFIRES.

A large paper copy of Brand’s “Popular Antiquities,” with MS. notes upon it by a gentleman of great reputation as an antiquary, and who has publicly distinguished himself by erudite dissertations on certain usages of ancient times, was some time ago most obligingly forwarded by that gentleman to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, with permission to use the valuable manuscript additions. Hitherto it happened, from peculiar circumstances, that the advantage has not been available, but this and future sheets will be enriched from that source. The gentleman referred to cites from--“an Indenture of covenant between Thomas Oken of _Warwick_ and his twelve feoffees, dated the 20th of January, 13 Elizabeth,” (1571,) the following clause:--

“Also that (the feoffees) their heirs or assignes shall lykewise yerelie, for ever, after the deceasse of the said Thomas Oken, distribute, or cause to be distributed, and paide, out of the yerelie revenewes of the forsaid lands and teneme’tes, to and amongest the _neyhgboures of the bonfire of the said T. O._, w’thin the High payv’ment Warde in the said towne of Warwick, towe shillinges of lawfull englysshe money, and thre shillings more of lawfull englysshe money, to be paid by equall porcions, to and amongest the neyhboures of _the other thre bonfyres_, beinge w’thin the said ward of the high pay’ment, to make merry w’^{t} all, at there said bonfyres, _yff any be in the vigilles or daies of seynt John Baptist and seynt Peter_; and yff they have noe bonfires, that then the same to be ymployed to some other good use or uses, as to them shal be thought metest and convenient.”

* * * * *

The same gentleman quotes and refers to the following illustration of the day:--

“It was the 24 June, (at Lödingen in Norway on the confines of Lapland) the festival of St. John the Baptist; and the people flocked from all quarters to sport the whole night round a blazing fire, kindled on the top of an adjacent hill: a practice common about the time of the solstice, to the whole of the Gothic tribes, being a vestige of that most ancient worship of the resplendant image of the divinity, the glorious luminary of day.”--Edinburgh Review, October, 1813, Art. _Von Buch’s Travels in Norway and Lapland._

THE COW-MASS

_At Dunkirk_.

The emperor Charles V. found it expedient to exhibit to the turbulent inhabitants of Dunkirk, a show called the _Cow-mass_, on St. John’s-day. Whether it has been resumed is uncertain, but in 1789 it was described to have been represented at that time in the following manner:--

The morning is ushered in by the merry peals of the _corillons_, or bell-playing. The streets are very early lined with soldiers; and, by eight o’clock, every house-top and window is filled with spectators, at least forty thousand exclusive of inhabitants.

About ten o’clock, after high mass at the great church, the show begins, by the townsmen being classed according to the different trades, walking two and two, each holding a burning wax candle, and at least a yard long, and each dressed not in their best apparel, but in the oldest and oddest fashion of their ancestors.

After the several companies is a pageant containing an emblematical representation of its trade, and this pageant is followed by patron saints, most of which are of solid silver adorned with jewels. Bands of music, vocal and instrumental, attend the companies, the chorusses of which are very solemn.

Then followed the friars and regular clergy, two and two, in the habits of their different orders, slow in their motion, and with the appearance of solemn piety.

Then came the abbot in a most magnificent dress, richly adorned with silver and gold, his train supported by two men in the dress of cardinals. The host was borne before him by an old white-bearded man of a most venerable aspect, surrounded by a great number of boys in white surplices, who strewed frankincense and myrrh under his feet; and four men supported a large canopy of wrought silver over his head, while four others sustained a large silver lantern, with a light in it at the end of a pole.

They then proceeded to the bottom of the street, where there was elevated a grand altar, ascended by a flight of steps; there the procession stopped, while the abbot came from under his canopy and took the host from the old man: ascending the altar, he held up the host in his elevated hands, and the vast multitude instantly fell on their knees, from the house-tops down to the dirt in the streets below.

After this solemnity, gaiety in the face of every one appeared, and the procession recommenced.

Other pageants came forth, from the great church, followed by a vast moving machine, consisting of several circular stages to represent _Heaven_; on the bottom stages appeared many friars and nuns, each holding white lilies in their hands, and on the uppermost stage but one were two figures, representing _Adam_ and _Eve_, and several winged angels, in white flowing garments. On the uppermost stage was one figure only, to represent God, on whom all the eyes of the lower figures were directed, with looks of adoration and humility; this machine was drawn by horses.

Next followed an enormous figure to represent _Hell_. It was something like an elephant, with a large head and eyes, and a pair of horns, on which several little devils, or rather boys dressed like devils, were sitting; the monster was hollow within, and the lower jaw was movable, by moving of which it frequently exhibited the inward contents, which was filled with full-grown devils, who poured out liquid fire from the “jaws of hell.” At the same time, the figure was surrounded by a great number of external devils dressed in crape, with hideous masks and curled tails.

Between the figures which represented “heaven” and “hell,” several young ladies passed with wreaths of flowers on their heads, and palms in their hands, riding in elegant carriages. After _Hell_ followed old Lucifer himself, armed with a pitchfork, and leading St. Michael the archangel in chains. Michael and Lucifer were followed by a person dressed in a kind of harlequin’s coat hung round with bells, holding a hoop in his hands, through which he frequently jumped, and showed many other feats of activity; but what, or who he represented I cannot say (except it were a _fool_).

Then came a grand carriage, covered with a superb canopy, from the middle of which hung a little dove; under the dove was a table covered with a carpet, at which were sitting two women dressed in white, with wings, pointing upwards to the dove. They represented the salutation of the Virgin Mary.

Next followed a group of dancing boys surrounding a stable, in which was seen the Virgin Mary again, and the child in the manger. This machine was followed by another fool, like the former, with a hoop of bells.

The next machine was a fish, fifteen feet long, moved by men, on wheels, concealed within; upon its back sat a boy, richly dressed, and playing upon a harp. The gold, silver, and jewels, which decorated this fish, were valued at ten thousand pounds and were finished by the city merchants, whose sons and daughters were the principal actors in the show. After the fish came another fool, with a hoop, as before.

Then appeared Joseph as flying from Egypt; a woman representing a virgin with a young child upon her lap, and mounted on an ass, which was led by Joseph, who had a basket of tools on his back, and a long staff in his hand. Joseph and his spouse were attended by several devils, who beat off the people that crowded too close upon the procession: these two were followed by a fourth fool, or hoop-dancer.

Then came a large and magnificent carriage, on which sat a person representing the _grand monarque_ sitting on a throne, dressed in his robes, with a crown, ball, and sceptre, lying before him on a table covered with embroidered velvet. His most christian majesty was attended by several devils, hoop-dancers, and banner-bearers.

Then followed another machine bearing the _queen_ in her royal robes, attended by a great many ladies and maids of honour; the jewels of her crown were said to be of vast value; on this stage there was a grand band of music, and many dancers richly attired.

Then followed Bacchus, a large fat figure, dressed in coloured silk, attended by a great number of bacchanals holding goblets up to their mouths as in the act of drinking, with a few more devils and hoop-dancers.

Then followed a kind of a sea triumph, in the front of which appeared Neptune with his trident and crown, in a large shell, surrounded by boys dressed in white, who were throwing out and drawing in a deep sea-lead, as sounding for land.

Six men followed in white shirts, with poles twenty-five feet long, decorated with bells and flowers; frequently shaking their poles, or endeavouring to break them; for he who could break one was exempted a whole year from all parish duty.

The pole-bearers were followed by a large ship, representing a ship of war drawn on wheels by horses, with sails spread, colours flying, and brass guns on board fired off very briskly: on the quarter-deck stood the admiral, captain and boatswain, who, when he whistled, brought forth the sailors, some dancing, others heaving the log, and the tops filled with boys.

The ship was followed by the representation of a large wood, with men in it dressed in green; a green scaly skin was drawn over their own, and their faces were masked to appear as savages, each squirting water at the people from large pewter syringes. This piece of machinery, which was very noble, was the production of the Jesuit’s college, and caused great jollity among the common people.

The wood was followed by a very tall man, dressed like an infant in a body-coat, and walking in a go-cart, with a rattle in his hand.

This infant was followed by a man forty-five feet high, with a boy looking out of his pocket, shaking a rattle and calling out.--“grandpapa! grandpapa!” He was clothed in blue and gold, which reached quite to the ground, and concealed a body of men who moved it and made it dance.

After him followed a figure nearly of the same stature, mounted on a horse of suitable size for the enormous rider, which made a most striking and elegant appearance, both man and horse being executed in a masterly manner. It was made in a moving posture, two of the feet being raised from the ground.

Then followed a woman of equal stature, and not inferior in elegance to those which preceded; she had a watch at her side as large as a warming-pan, and her head and breast richly decorated with jewels; her eyes and head turned very naturally; and as she moved along she frequently danced, and not inelegantly.

“Thus,” says its describer, “ended the _Cow-mass_, a show scarce exceeded by any in the known world.”[225]

_Midsummer Wrestling._

In the church of Bradmore, Nottinghamshire, is a monument for sir Thomas Parkyns, who is represented standing in a posture for wrestling, and in another part he appears thrown by Time, with the following lines, written by Dr. Friend:--

“Quem modo stravisti longo in certamine, Tempus, Hic recubat Britonum clarus in orbe pugil. Jam primum stratus; præter te vicerat omnes; De te etiam victor, quando resurget, erit.”

Which may be thus translated:--

Here lies, O Time! the victim of thy hand, The noblest boxer on the British strand: His nervous arm each bold opposer quell’d, In feats of strength by none but thee excell’d: Till, springing up, at the last trumpet’s call, He conquers thee, who wilt have conquer’d all.

The inscription underneath takes notice of his wife’s fortune, and the estates he purchased; that he rebuilt his farm-houses, was skilled in architecture and medicine, and that he wrote a book on wrestling, called “_The Cornish Hug Wrestler_.”

This gentleman was remarkable for his skill in that exercise; he trained many of his servants and neighbours to it, and when those manly (though now thought unpolished) diversions were in fashion, he exhibited his pupils in public with no small _éclat_.

By his will he left a guinea to be wrestled for at Bradmore every _midsummer-day_, and money to the ringers, of whom he also made one. He displayed his learning in several curious inscriptions. Over a seat by the road-side, _Hic sedeas, viator si tu defessus es ambulando_. The honour of a visit from a judge on the circuit, was commemorated at the horse-block by, _Hinc Justiciarius Dormer equum ascendere solebat_.

CHRONOLOGY.

1340. On the twenty-fourth of June, Edward III. fought a great naval battle off Sluys on the coast of Flanders, and gained a complete victory over the French. Edward’s force did not exceed two hundred and forty sail; the French had four hundred sail, and forty thousand men. The English took two hundred and thirty of the ships, and killed thirty thousand Frenchmen, and two of their admirals. Edward’s presence animated his archers, who were as invincible then, as they were six years afterwards on the plains of Cressy.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 59·57.

[225] Town and Country Magazine, 1789.

~June 25.~

1826.--_The first Sunday after Midsummer Day._

FELLOWSHIP PORTERS.

Mr. Brand says, “It is the duty of the rector of St. Mary at Hill, in which parish Billingsgate is situated, to preach a sermon every year, _on the first Sunday after midsummer-day_, before the society of Fellowship Porters, exhorting them to be charitable towards their old decayed brethren, and ‘to bear one another’s burthens.’”

It is remarkable that Mr. Brand, who was the rector of this church, and who quotes largely from the churchwardens’ accounts of that parish, in illustration of manifold customs whereon he treats, says nothing further respecting his “duty,” as rector, towards the Fellowship Porters: he does not even subjoin how long the annual sermon appeared to have been preached, nor does he say so much as a recent compiler who notices the custom as follows:--

“Annually on the Sunday after midsummer-day, according to ancient custom, the fraternity of Fellowship Porters of the city of London repair to the church of St. Mary at Hill in the morning, where, during the reading of the psalms, they reverently approach the altar, two and two, on the rails of which are placed two basins, and into these they put their respective offerings. They are generally followed by the congregation, and the money offered is distributed among the aged poor and inferior members of that fraternity.”[226]

* * * * *

The birds now begin to be very active in devouring the fruits, and cherryclacks are set up to drive them away; the perpetual flapping of which, in the light breezes by night, are too well-known to the student by the nightly lamp.

_The Cherryclack._

The lamplight student wan and pale, In his chamber sits at ease, And tries to read without avail; For every moment the light breeze Springs up and nestles in the trees.

And then he startles at the sound Of the noisy cherryclack, That drives its flippant windsails round With Lybs still puffing at his back, Provoking endless click-a-tee-clack.

The scholar tries and tries again To read, but can’t; confounds the cherries, And swears that every effort’s vain To answer all his master’s queries; For Greek and Latin quite a jeer is,

Where every chorus, every verse Is interrupted, for alack! When he begins one to rehearse, The thread is broke, himself thrown back, By this perpetual click-a-tee-clack.[227]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·55.

[226] Lambert’s Hist. of London, vol. ii p. 461.

[227] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.

~June 26.~

MIDSUMMER HARVEST

_In France_.

The harvest in Provence begins about midsummer; the process of gathering it in is very different from ours. It is cut, bound up in sheaves, and carried away immediately to the thrashing-floor, where it is stacked up. The thrashing-floor, or _aire_, (to give it the name by which it is called in the country,) is out in the open field; it is of a circular form, and paved sometimes with stone, sometimes with a stiff clay beaten down till it becomes nearly as hard as stone. In the parts near the _aire_, while one man cuts the corn and binds the sheaves, another takes them upon his back, two or three at a time, and carries them away to the _aire_; when the distance is somewhat greater, the sheaves are loaded upon an ass or mule; and when the distance is considerable, then a cart is employed, provided the ground be not too steep to admit of it, which happens not unfrequently. In no case is the corn left standing where it is cut, but carried away immediately.

When all is in this manner collected at the _aire_, it is spread out thick upon it, and one or two horses or mules blindfolded, with a man standing in the middle and holding the reins, are made to run round and round, till the corn is separated from the straw; after which the one is put into sacks and stored up in the granary, and the other put into a loft for winter food for the cattle. No such thing as a barn is to be seen, at least in the southern parts of Province.

Rain during harvest is so very unusual, that this whole process may be carried on without fear of interruption from wet, or of the corn being injured for want of shelter.

The scripture injunction, “not to muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn,” is explained by seeing this mode of thrashing. It is said both to be a more expeditious and effectual process than the flail; but it appears very hard work to the animals, especially being performed under the influence of such a burning sun. Our mode of thrashing is, perhaps, equally hard work to mankind.

During the time of harvest, which is considered as lasting till the corn is all thrashed and laid up, the peasant makes the cornstack his bed: he sleeps upon it, attended by his dog, as a precaution against nocturnal depredators; and the air and ground are both so dry, that he has nothing to apprehend from damps.[228]

CHRONOLOGY.

On the twenty-sixth of June, 1752, died cardinal Julius Alberoni. He was born in 1664; his father, a gardener near Parma, who obtained for him a small post in the cathedral where he took priests orders, was enabled by the fortune of war to serve Campistron, the French poet, who was secretary to the duke of Vendome, and who introduced him to that warrior, to whom Alberoni betrayed the granaries of his countrymen. Vendome perceived his talent for political intrigue, and in reward of this treason, appointed him to conduct a correspondence with the princess d’Ursins who governed the affairs of Spain. In quality of agent to the duke of Parma, Alberoni was settled at the Spanish court, and contrived to marry the princess to Philip V. The new queen gave him her confidence, and obtained for him a cardinal’s hat; he was made a grandee of Spain, and became prime minister, in which capacity he endeavoured to excite the Turks against the emperor, attempted the restoration of the pretender to the throne of England, aimed at dispossessing the duke of Orleans from the regency of France, and securing it for Philip V., and by these and other ambitious endeavours, raised a host of enemies against Philip, who could only obtain peace with France and England on condition of banishing Alberoni. He left Spain with immense property in his possession, and with the will of Charles II. by which Philip derived his title to the Spanish monarchy. The document was recovered from him by force, and the pope caused him to be arrested at Geneva for intriguing against the Turks. He went to Rome; the college of cardinals inquired into his conduct, and confined him for a year to the Jesuits’ college, and Clement XII. appointed him legate to Romana, where, at the age of seventy, he plotted the destruction of the little republic of San Marino, and was ludicrously defeated when he imagined brilliant success. Alberoni was baffled in almost every scheme of national aggression. He accumulated great wealth, a universal reputation for political intrigue, and at the age of eighty-seven, died rich and infamous.[229]

THE SEASON.

“Now” in this month, as in the month of July, and as, for example, in June, 1826, “we occasionally have one of those sultry days which make the house too hot to hold us, and force us to seek shelter in the open air, which is hotter;--when the interior of the blacksmith’s shop looks awful, and we expect the foaming porter pot to hiss, as the brawny forger dips his fiery nose into it;--when the birds sit open-mouthed upon the bushes; and the fishes fry in the shallow ponds; and the sheep and cattle congregate together in the shade, and forget to eat;--when pedestrians along dusty roads quarrel with their coats and waistcoats, and cut sticks to carry them across their shoulders; and cottagers’s wives go about their work gown-less; and their daughters are anxious to do the same, but that they have the fear of the vicar before their eyes;--when every thing seen beyond a piece of parched soil quivers through the heated air; and when, finally, a snow-white swan, floating above its own image, upon a piece of clear cool water into which a weeping-willow is dipping its green fingers, is a sight not to be turned from suddenly.”[230]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·15.

[228] Miss Plumptre.

[229] General Biographical Dictionary, vol. 1.

[230] Mirror of the Months.

~June 27.~

CHRONOLOGY.

_Fire in Lincoln’s Inn._

On the twenty-seventh of June, 1752, about one in the morning, a fire broke out in Lincoln’s-inn new square, by which No. 10 and 11 were entirely consumed. The chambers of R. Wilbraham, the hon. Edward Harley, hon. Charles York, E. Hoskyns, -- Chomley, Edmund Sawyer, master in chancery, and -- Ansell, Esqs. all in No. 10, with the papers, books, plate, furniture, and wearing apparel were totally destroyed. In the next staircase, No. 11, were Mr. John Sharpe, solicitor to the treasury, and Messrs. Edward Booth, Ambler, Fazakerly, Fellers, and Wilmot. The loss and difficulties in which many families were involved, the titles to whose properties were lodged with the above gentlemen, were not to be computed. Mr. Wilbraham had lately purchased an estate of great value, the title-deeds of which, among other numberless deeds, mortgages, &c. were burnt. His clerk, Mr. Pickering, lost above eleven hundred pounds in money and bank notes of his own and others, and securities for thirty thousand pounds more, also all the title-deeds of lord Leigh’s estate. When the fire was discovered most of the watch were asleep or drunk, and the wife of an upholder in Carey-street, whose husband left his bed to assist the sufferers, hanged herself in his absence.[231]

* * * * *

In 1752, was living at Clee-hall, near Ludlow, in Salop, lady Wadeley at the great age of 105. She had been blind for several years, but at that time could see remarkably well. She was then walking about in perfect health, and cutting a new set of teeth.[232]

* * * * *

THE GRAVE.

Why should the grave be terrible? Why should it be a word of fear, Jarring upon the mortal ear? There repose and silence dwell: The living hear the funeral knell, But the dead no funeral knell can hear. Does the gay flower scorn the grave? the dew Forget to kiss its turf? the stream Refuse to bathe it? or the beam Of moonlight shun the narrow bed, Where the tired pilgrim rests his head? No! the moon is there, and smiling too! And the sweetest song of the morning bird Is oft in that ancient yew-tree heard; And there may you see the harebell blue Bending his light form--gently--proudly, And listen to the fresh winds, loudly Playing around yon sod, as gay As if it were a holiday, And children freed from durance they.

_Bowring._

A remarkably fine impression, of which the above is a faithful copy both as to size and device, has been transmitted to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ by a gentleman, the initials of whose name are J. L., and from him the following account has been obtained.

The seal itself was drawn by ballast-heavers from the bed of the Thames opposite Queenhithe, in 1809 or 1810, and purchased from them by the late Mr. Bedder, of Basing-lane. He was by profession a bricklayer, but a man of considerable taste, a lover of antiquities, and the possessor of a collection of rare and curious coins in high preservation, which he had accumulated at a considerable expense.

This seal, from the inscription around it, appears to have been an official seal of the port of London. It is of silver, very thick, beautifully executed, and in the finest possible condition. By whom it is now possessed is not known to Mr. J. L., who received the impression from Mr. Bedder himself.

The editor may venture to assert that full justice is done to it in the preceding representation; and as he is unable to give further information, he will be happy to receive and communicate any other particulars respecting the original.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·57.

[231] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[232] Ibid.

~June 28.~

A VILLAGE FETE.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Wisbech, June 24, 1826._

Dear Sir,--The rural village of Wisbech St. Mary, two miles west of this town, has long been famous for its annual exhibition of rustic sports, under the patronage of John Ream, Esq., on whose lawn they are celebrated. The enclosed bill is an outline of the amusements for the present year. Knowing you have a pleasure in recording every thing that has a tendency to keep alive the manners and customs of our ancestors, I send it for insertion in the _Every-Day Book_.

And am,

Dear Sir,

Yours, with very great respect,

J. P.

[COPY.]

* * * * *

“Trembling age, with happy smile, Youth’s high-mettled Gambols view, And by fancy warm’d awhile, Scenes of former bliss renew; Love repeats his tender tale, Cheeks responsive learn to glow, And while Song and Jest prevail, Nut-brown tankards circling flow. Wouldst thou wish such joys to share, Haste then to the Village Fair.”

* * * * *

WISBECH ST. MARY’S RACES,

_And annual exhibition of Rustic Sports_, Will this Year be celebrated with the usual Splendour, on _Wednesday and Thursday, June 28th and 29th, 1826_.

* * * * *

_This Annual Festival_ is now considered as a superior Establishment to a Country Fair or other Merry-making, by the Numerous Respectable and Fashionable Assemblage of Company, who regularly attend from all parts of the Neighbourhood. Undisturbed by those scenes of intoxication and disorder, so usually prevalent at Village Feasts, the greatest harmony prevails throughout, and the superior Accommodation afforded by the Landlord of the WHEEL INN to all classes of well-behaved and respectable Visiters, cannot fail to render WISBECH ST. MARY’S RACES popular and attractive; or, in language more poetical--

“To gild with Joy the Wings of Time.”

The Sports to consist of Horse, Pony, and Donkey Racing;--Wheelbarrow Racing;--Jumping in Sacks;--Jingling Matches, and Foot Racing; all for

FREE PRIZES.

And to add a greater stimulus to the aspiring PLOUGH BOY, and for the encouragement of Agriculture in general, the Stewards purpose having

A PLOUGHING MATCH,

When will be given _a Sovereign_ for the best, and a _Half-sovereign_ for the second best Furrow, to be determined by impartial Judges chosen on the ground. The first Plough to start on Thursday Morning at Ten o’Clock precisely.

By the Plough _the Poor Weaver_ depends for his bread-- By the Plough we in turn behold the rich mow-- By the Plough all our tables with plenty are spread-- Then who but must wish _Success to the Plough_!

_A full Band is engaged to play loyal and popular Tunes during the Amusements, which will commence each Evening precisely at Five o’clock._

There’ll be a sound of revelry by night, And Saint Mary’s Village will assemble then Her Maids and Ploughmen: and bright The lights will shine o’er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily! and when Music arises with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look love to eyes, which speak again, And all go merry as a marriage bell.

_Tickets for the Ball to be had at the bar of the Wheel Inn._

(Leach, Printer, Wisbech.)

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·85.

~June 29.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the twenty-ninth of June, 1813, died at his house in St. Alban’s-street, London, Valentine Green, Esq. A.R.S., keeper of the British Institution; greatly respected for his superior talents as a mezzotinto engraver, for the purity and universality of his taste in works of art, for the general urbanity of his manners, and for that invariable benignity of disposition, which, in popular language, is usually styled “goodness of heart.”

Mr. Green, besides his distinguished merit as an artist, acquired considerable reputation as an author, by publishing, in 1796, a valuable work, entitled, “The History and Antiquities of the City and Suburbs of Worcester,” in two quarto volumes; a performance of great research and labour. He was born at Salford, near Chipping-Norton, in Oxfordshire, October 3, 1739.[233]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·70.

[233] Butler’s Chron. Exercises.

~June 30.~

LONDON PORTER.

All the world knows that London is famous for porter; it is not of this porter we speak to-day, but of a personage who derives his quality from the means by which he has attained the honour of doing credit to the corporation. The individual alluded to, was publicly made known by a police report of the thirtieth of June, 1826, viz.--

Mr. Alderman Wood came to the Mansion-house for the purpose of contradicting a statement which appeared in the _Courier_ newspaper, that he had persecuted a poor man, named Brown, and procured his discharge, for sticking up bills against him (Alderman Wood). He thought it worth while not to let such a statement go unanswered; for he never exercised such an influence in the course of his life, and he never heard of such a man until the charge was made in the newspaper. He wished to know whether there really was such a man connected with the Mansion-house establishment.

The Lord Mayor said, he believed there was such a man, not belonging to the Mansion-house, but to the Mansion-house porter. The fact was, that their porter, like the porter to the “Castle of Indolence,” had become so exceedingly fat, that he had employed a valet to do the only work which there was for him to do--namely, to sweep the gateway. This valet was the aforesaid Brown, in whom the liberty of the subject, and the constitution, was alleged to have been violated. How, or why, he had quitted the Mansion-house, the porter alone could tell.

The porter was then sent for, and he waddled into the justice-room. In answer to his lordship’s inquiries, he stated that he had employed Brown at half-a-crown per week, to sweep the door and do other work for him.

The LORD MAYOR.--When did he absent himself from his duty?--The porter replied, it was about three weeks ago.

The LORD MAYOR.--Did you discharge him from his office on constitutional grounds, or for acting against Mr. Alderman Wood?

The PORTER.--Bless your worship, no: I can’t tell why he went off.

Alderman Wood professed himself satisfied with this contradiction: he thought the affair unworthy of farther attention. He had been challenged to prove his statement respecting the bills, and he had proved it.[234]

* * * * *

From this description of the “initial” to the Mansion-house, he seemed “a fit and proper person” to be taken by a “limner,” and represented, by the art of the engraver, to the readers of the _Every-Day Book_. An artist every way qualified was verbally instructed to view him; but instead of transmitting his “faithful portrait,” he sent a letter, of which the following is a

COPY.

_To Mr. Hone._

Dear Sir,--I went this morning to the Mansion-house and had an interview with the porter, but _that_ porter was very different to what I expected to have found. Instead of a very fat lazy fellow, fatted by indolence, I found a short active little man, about five feet high, not fat, nor lean, but _a comfortable size_, dressed in black, powdered hair, and top boots, pleasing and easy in his manners, and such a one that every one would suppose would get an inferior person to do his dirty work. There is nothing extraordinary in him to be remarkable, therefore I made no sketch of him; but proceeded to Limehouse on a little business, and from thence home, and feel so excessively tired that I send this scrawl, hoping you will excuse me coming myself.

Yours respectfully,

---- ----

Between this gentleman’s “view of the _subject_,” and the preceding “report,” there is a palpable difference; where the mistake lies, it is not in the power of the editor to determine. The letter-writer himself is “of a comfortable size,” and is almost liable to the suspicion of having seen the porter of the Mansion-house, from the opposite passage of the Mansion-house tavern, as through an inverted telescope. The lord mayor’s alleged comparison of the porter at his own gate, with the porter of the “Castle of Indolence,” may justify an extract of the stanzas wherein “_that_ porter,” and “his man,” are described.

Wak’d by the crowd, slow from his bench arose A comely full spread porter, swoln with sleep: His calm, broad, thoughtless aspect, breath’d repose And in sweet torpour he was plunged deep, Nor could himself from ceaseless yawning keep; While o’er his eyes the drowsy liquor ran, Thro’ which his half-wak’d soul would faintly peep-- Then taking his black staff, he call’d his man, And rous’d himself as much as rouse himself he can.

The lad leap’d lightly at his master’s call: He was, to weet, a little rogueish page, Save sleep and play who minded naught at all, Like most the untaught striplings of the age. This boy he kept each band to disengage, Garters and buckles, task for him unfit, But ill becoming his grave personage, And which his portly paunch would not permit, So this same limber page to all performed it.

Meantime the master-porter wide display’d Great store of caps, of slippers, and of gowns; Wherewith he those that enter’d in array’d. Loose, as the breeze that plays along the downs, And waves the summer-woods when evening frowns, O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein, But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns, And heightens ease with grace, this done, right fain Sir porter sat him down, and turned to sleep again.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·40.

[234] The Times, July 1, 1826.

Our saxon fathers did full rightly call This month of July “Hay-monath,” when all The verdure of the full clothed fields we mow, And turn, and rake, and carry off; and so We build it up, in large and solid mows. If it be good, as every body knows, To “make hay while the sun shines,” we should choose Right “times for all things,” and no time abuse.

*

In July we have full summer. The “Mirror of the Months” presents its various influences on the open face of nature. “The rye is yellow, and almost ripe for the sickle. The wheat and barley are of a dull green, from their swelling ears being alone visible, as they bow before every breeze that blows over them. The oats are whitening apace, and quiver, each individual grain on its light stem, as they hang like rain-drops in the air. Looked on separately, and at a distance, these three now wear a somewhat dull and monotonous hue, when growing in great spaces; but these will be intersected, in all directions, by patches of the brilliant emerald which now begins to spring afresh on the late-mown meadows; by the golden yellow of the rye, in some cases cut, and standing in sheaves; by the rich dark green of the turnip-fields; and still more brilliantly by sweeps, here and there, of the bright yellow charlock, the scarlet corn-poppy, and the blue succory, which, like perverse beauties, scatter the stray gifts of their charms in proportion as the soil cannot afford to support the expenses attendant on them.”

On the high downs, “all the little molehills are purple with the flowers of the wild thyme, which exhales its rich aromatic odour as you press it with your feet; and among it the elegant blue heath-bell is nodding its half-dependent head from its almost invisible stem,--its perpetual motion, at the slightest breath of air, giving it the look of a living thing hovering on invisible wings just above the ground. Every here and there, too, we meet with little patches of dark green heaths, hung all over with their clusters of exquisitely wrought filigree flowers, endless in the variety of their forms, but all of the most curiously delicate fabric, and all, in their minute beauty, unparalleled by the proudest occupiers of the parterre. This is the singular family of plants that, when cultivated in pots, and trained to form heads on separate stems, give one the idea of the forest trees of a Lilliputian people.” Here, too, are the “innumerable little thread-like spikes that now rise from out the level turf, with scarcely perceptible seed-heads at top, and keep the otherwise dead flat perpetually alive, by bending and twinkling beneath the sun and breeze.”

In the green lanes “we shall find the ground beneath our feet, the hedges that enclose us on either side, and the dry banks and damp ditches beneath them, clothed in a beautiful variety of flowers that we have not yet had an opportunity of noticing. In the hedge-rows (which are now grown into impervious walls of many-coloured and many-shaped leaves, from the fine filigree-work of the white-thorn, to the large, coarse, round leaves of the hazel) we shall find the most remarkable of these, winding up intricately among the crowded branches, and shooting out their flowers here and there, among other leaves than their own, or hanging themselves into festoons and fringes on the outside, by unseen tendrils. Most conspicuous among the first of these is the great bind-weed, thrusting out its elegantly-formed snow-white flowers, but carefully concealing its leaves and stem in the thick of the shrubs which yield it support. Nearer to the ground, and more exposed, we shall meet with a handsome relative of the above, the common red and white wild convolvolus; while all along the face of the hedge, clinging to it lightly, the various coloured vetches, and the enchanter’s night-shade, hang their flowers into the open air; the first exquisitely fashioned, with wings like the pea, only smaller; and the other elaborate in its construction and even beautiful, with its rich purple petals turned back to expose a centre of deep yellow; but still, with all its beauty, not without a strange and sinister look, which at once points it out as a poison-flower. It is this which afterwards turns to those bunches of scarlet berries which hang so temptingly in autumn, just within the reach of little children, and which it requires all the eloquence of their grandmothers to prevent them from tasting. In the midst of these, and above them all, the woodbine now hangs out its flowers more profusely than ever, and rivals in sweetness all the other field scents of this month.

“On the bank from which the hedgerow rises, and on _this_ side of the now nearly dry water-channel beneath, fringing the border of the green path on which we are walking, a most rich variety of field-flowers will also now be found. We dare not stay to notice the half of them, because their beauties, though even more exquisite than those hitherto described, are of that unobtrusive nature that you must stoop to pick them up, and must come to an actual commune with them, before they can be even seen distinctly; which is more than our desultory and fugitive gaze will permit,--the plan of our walk only allowing us to pay the passing homage of a word to those objects that _will_ not be overlooked. Many of the exquisite little flowers, now alluded to generally, look, as they lie among their low leaves, only like minute morsels of many-coloured glass scattered upon the green ground--scarlet, and sapphire, and rose, and purple, and white, and azure, and golden. But pick them up, and bring them towards the eye, and you will find them pencilled with a thousand dainty devices, and elaborated into the most exquisite forms and fancies, fit to be strung into necklaces for fairy Titania, or set in broaches and bracelets for the neatest-handed of her nymphs.

“But there are many others that come into bloom this month, some of which we cannot pass unnoticed if we would. Conspicuous among them are the centaury, with its elegant cluster of small, pink, star-like flowers; the ladies’ bedstraw, with its rich yellow tufts; the meadow-sweet--sweetest of all the sweetners of the meadows; the wood betony, lifting up its handsome head of rose-coloured blossoms; and, still in full perfection, and towering up from among the low groundlings that usually surround it, the stately fox-glove.

“Among the other plants that now become conspicuous, the wild teasal must not be forgotten, if it be only on account of the use that one of the summer’s prettiest denizens sometimes makes of it. The wild teasal (which now puts on as much the appearance of a flower as its rugged nature will let it) is that species of thistle which shoots up a strong serrated stem, straight as an arrow, and beset on all sides by hard sharp-pointed thorns, and bearing on its summit a hollow egg-shaped head, also covered at all points with the same armour of threatening thorns--as hard, as thickly set, and as sharp as a porcupine’s quills. Often within this fortress, impregnable to birds, bees, and even to mischievous boys themselves, that beautiful moth which flutters about so gaily during the first weeks of summer, on snow-white wings spotted all over with black and yellow, takes up its final abode,--retiring thither when weary of its desultory wanderings, and after having prepared for the perpetuation of its ephemeral race, sleeping itself to death, to the rocking lullaby of the breeze.

“Now, too, if we pass near some gently lapsing water, we may chance to meet with the splendid flowers of the great water lily, floating on the surface of the stream like some fairy vessel at anchor, and making visible, as it ripples by it, the elsewhere imperceptible current. Nothing can be more elegant than each of the three different states under which this flower now appears; the first, while it lies unopened among its undulating leaves, like the halcyon’s egg within its floating nest; next, when its snowy petals are but half expanded, and you are almost tempted to wonder what beautiful bird it is that has just taken its flight from such a sweet birth-place; and lastly, when the whole flower floats confessed, and spreading wide upon the water its pointed petals, offers its whole heart to the enamoured sun. There is I know not what of awful in the beauty of this flower. It is, to all other flowers, what Mrs. Siddons is to all other women.”[235]

[235] Mirror of the Months.

~July 1.~

COCKLETOP.

_Munden._--_Farren._

July 1, 1826.--Mr. Farren appeared in the part of _Old Cockletop_, in O’Keefe’s farce of _Modern Antiques_, at the Haymarket theatre. This will be recollected as a crack character of Munden’s; and it was one which he had hit so happily, that it became almost impossible for any other actor to play it very successfully after him. There was a sort of elfin antic--a kind of immateriality about the crotchets of Munden in _Cockletop_. His brain seemed to have no more substance in it than the web of a spider; and he looked dried up in body and mind, almost to a transparency; he might have stood in a window and not been in the way--you could see the light through him. Farren is the bitterest old rascal on the stage. He looks, and moves always, as if he had a blister (that wanted fresh dressing) behind each ear; but he does not touch the entirely withered, crazy-brained, semi-bedlamite old rogue, in the way that Munden did. Munden contrived to give all the weakness possible to extreme age in _Cockletop_, without exciting an iota of compassion. All that there was of him was dry bones and wickedness. You could not help seeing that he would be particularly comical under the torture; and you could not feel the slightest compunction in ordering that he should undergo it. There never was any thing like his walking up and down Drury-lane stage in astonishment, and concluding he must be “at next door,” when he returns home from his journey, and finds all his servants in mourning! And the cloak that he wore too! And the appendage that he called his “stormcap!” He looked like a large ape’s skin stuffed with hay, ready to hang up in an apothecary’s shop! You ran over all the old fools that you knew, one after the other, to recollect somebody like him, but could not succeed! Farren plays _Foresight_ as well as Munden; and he plays _Cockletop_ very successfully; but it is hardly possible for one eminent actor to follow another in _trifling_ characters, where the first has made a hit rather by his own inventions than by any thing which the author has set down for him. Munden’s dancing in the ghost-scene with the servants, and his conclusion--striking an attitude, with the fingers of one hand open like a bunch of radish, as the fiddler, used to keep the audience in convulsions for two minutes. Farren avoided this trick, probably lest he should be charged with imitation; but acknowledged talent like his may use a latitude: he has originality enough to warrant his at least not avoiding the device which has been used by any actor, purely because it has been used by somebody else before him. Some passages that he gave were quite as good as Munden. In the scene where he fancies himself taken ill, the pit was in two minds to get up and cheer. He made a face like a bear troubled suddenly with symptoms of internal commotion! one who had eaten a bee-hive for the sake of the honey, and began to have inward misgivings that there must have been bees mixed up along with it. And Farren possesses the gift too--a most valuable one in playing to an English audience--of exhibiting the suffering without exciting the smallest sympathy! Whenever there is any thing the matter with him, you hope he’ll get worse with all your soul; and, if he were drowning--with _that_ face!--he must die:--you could not, if you were to die yourself, take one step, for laughing, to save him.[236]

_July._

The sun comes on apace, and thro’ the signs Travels unwearied; as he hotter grows, Above, the herbage, and beneath, the mines, Own his warm influence, while his axle glows; The flaming lion meets him on the way, Proud to receive the flaming god of day.

In fullest bloom the damask rose is seen, Carnations boast their variegated die, The fields of corn display a vivid green, And cherries with the crimson orient vie, The hop in blossom climbs the lofty pole, Nor dreads the lightning, tho’ the thunders roll.

The wealth of Flora like the rainbow shows, Blending her various hues of light and shade, How many tints would emulate the rose, Or imitate the lily’s bright parade! The flowers of topaz and of sapphire vie With all the richest tinctures of the sky.

The vegetable world is all alive, Green grows the gooseberry on its bush of thorn, The infant bees now swarm around the hive, And the sweet bean perfumes the lap of morn, Millions of embryos take the wing to fly, The young inherit, and the old ones die.

’Tis summer all--convey me to the bower, The bower of myrtle form’d by Myra’s skill, There let me waste away the noontide hour, Fann’d by the breezes from yon cooling rill, By Myra’s side reclin’d, the burning ray Shall be as grateful as the cool of day.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·07.

[236] The Times, July 3, 1826.

~July 2.~

_Will Wimble._

On the second of July, 1741, died at Dublin, Mr. Thomas Morecroft, “a baronet’s younger son, the person mentioned by the ‘Spectator’ in the character of _Will Wimble_.”

This notice is from the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for 1741, as also is the following:--

On the same day, in the same year, the earl of Halifax married Miss Dunck, with a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds. It appears that, “according to the will of Mr. Dunck, this lady was to marry none but an honest tradesman, who was to take the name of Dunck; for which reason his lordship took the freedom of the sadlers’ company, exercised the trade, and added the name to his own.”

(_For the Every-Day Book._)

A SHORTE AND SWEETE SONNETT ON THE SUBTILTIE OF LOVE

BY CORNELIUS MAY.

_From “the Seven Starres of Witte.”_

You cannot barre love oute Father, mother and you alle, For marke mee he’s a crafty boy, And his limbes are very smalle; He’s lighter than the thistle downe, He’s fleeter than the dove, His voice is like the nightingale; And oh! beware of love!

For love can masquerade When the wisest doe not see; He has gone to many a blessed sainte Like a virgin devotee; He has stolen thro’ the convent grate, A painted butterfly, And I’ve seene in many a mantle’s fold His twinkling roguish eye.

He’ll come doe what you will; The Pope cannot keepe him oute; And of late he’s learnt such evill waies You must hold his oathe in doute: From the lawyers he has learned Like Judas to betraye; From the monkes to live like martyred saintes Yet cast their soules awaye.

He has beene at courte soe long That he weares the courtier’s smile; For every maid he has a lure, For every man a wile; Philosophers and alchymistes Your idle toile give o’er, Young love is wiser than ye alle And teaches ten times more.

Strong barres and boltes are vaine To keepe the urchin in, For while the goaler turned the keye He would trapp him in his gin. You neede not hope by maile of proofe To shun his cruell darte, For he’ll change himselfe to a shirt of maile And lye nexte to your hearte.

More scathfull than an evill eye, Than ghost or grammerie, Not seventy times seven holy priestes Could laye him in the sea. Then father mother cease to chide I’ll doe the best I maye, And when I see young love coming I’ll up and run awaye.

On the second day of July, 1744, is recorded the birth of a son to Mr. Arthur Bulkeley.

The child’s baptism is remarkable from these circumstances. The infant’s godfathers, by proxy, were Edward Downes, of Worth, in Cheshire, Esq. his great-great-great-great uncle; Dr. Ashton, master of Jesus-college, Cambridge, and his brother, Mr. Joseph Ashton, of Surrey-street, in the Strand, his great-great-great uncles. His godmothers by their proxies were, Mrs. Elizabeth Wood, of Barnsley, Yorkshire, his great-great-great-great aunt; Mrs. Jane Wainwright, of Middlewood-hall, Yorkshire, his great-great grandmother; and Mrs. Dorothy Green, of the same place, his great grandmother. It was observed of Mrs. Wainwright, who was then eighty-nine years of age, that she could properly say, “Rise, daughter, go to thy daughter; for thy daughter’s daughter has a son.”

Mrs. Wainwright was sister to Dr. Ashton and his brother mentioned above, whose father and mother were twice married, “first before a justice of peace by Cromwell’s law, and afterwards, as it was common, by a parson; they lived sixty-four years together, and during the first fifty years in one house, at Bradway, in Derbyshire, where, though they had twelve children and six servants in family, they never buried one.”[237]

* * * * *

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 62·12.

[237] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~July 3.~

Dog days begin.

“ALL--FOR A PENNY!”

On the third of July, 1751, William Dellicot was convicted at the quarter-sessions for Salisbury, of petty larceny, for stealing one penny; whereby his effects, consisting of bank-notes to the amount of 180_l._, and twenty guineas in money, were forfeited to the bishop, as lord of the manor; but his lordship humanely ordered 100_l._ of the money to be put to interest for the benefit of the wretch’s daughter; 20_l._ to be given to his aged father, and the remainder to be returned to the delinquent himself.[238]

THE REGENT’S PARK.

A correspondent’s muse records an accommodation, which may be extended to other resorts, with the certainty of producing much satisfaction in wearied pedestrians.

CONGRATULATORY VERSES TO THE NEW SEATS IN THE REGENT’S-PARK, 1826 _versus_ CHAIRS.

I covet not the funeral chair Th’ Orlean maid was burnt in, when Enthusiasts’ voices rent the air To clasp their Joan of Arc again.

I, learned Busby’s chair, chuse not,[239] Nor of a boat in stormy seas, Nor on a bridge--the stony lot Of travellers not afraid to freeze.

I covet not the chair of state, Nor that St. Peter’s papal race Exalted for Pope Joan the great, But seek and find an easier place.

To halls and abbeys knights repaired, And barons to their chairs retired; The goblet, glove, and shield, were reared, As war and love their cause inspired.

Saint Edward’s chair the minster keeps, An antique chair the dutchess bears;[240] The invalid--he hardly sleeps, Though poled through Bath in easy chairs.[241]

The chairs St. James’s-park contains, The chairs at Kew and Kensington, Have rested weary hearts and brains That charmed the town, now still and gone.

I covet not the chair of guilt Macbeth upbraided for its ghost; Nor Gay’s, on which much ink was spilt, When he wrote fables for his host.

What of Dan Lambert’s?--Oberon’s chair? Bunyan’s at Bedford?--Johnson’s seat? Chaucer’s at Woodstock?--Bloomfield’s bare? Waxed, lasting, ended, and complete.[242]

Though without back, and sides, and arms, Thou, REGENT’S SEAT! art doubly dear! Nature appears in youthful charms For all that muse and travel here.

Canal, church, spire, and Primrose hill, With fowl and beast and chary sound, Invite the thought to peace, for still Thou, like a friend, art faithful found.

A seat, then, patience seems to teach, Untired the weary limbs it bears; To all that can its comforts reach, It succours through the round of years.

Whatever hand, or name, is writ In pencil on thy painted face; Let not one word of ribald wit Produce a blush, or man disgrace.

“BUSBY’S CHAIR.”

Talking of this--a word or two on “_Sedes Busbeiana_.”

The humorous representation of “Dr. Busby’s chair,” (on p. 34 of this volume,) personifying the several parts of grammar, as well as some of a schoolmaster’s _more serious_ occupation, said to have been from an original by sir Peter Lely, is ascertained by the editor to have been a mere _bagatelle_ performance of a young man some five-and-twenty years ago. It was engraved and published for Messrs. Laurie and Whittle, in Fleet-street, took greatly with the public, and had “a considerable run.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·30.

[238] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[239] Vide _Every-Day Book_, No. 54, vol. ii.

[240] Sedan chairs were first introduced into England in 1634. The first was used by the duke of Buckingham, to the indignation of the people, who exclaimed, _that he was employing his fellow creatures to do the service of beasts_.

[241] _Query_,--a pun on Charing-cross. _Printer’s devil._

[242] Bloomfield, poor fellow, declared to the writer, that one of his shop pleasures was that of the shoemaker’s country custom of _waxing_ his customers to the seat of St. Crispin, preparatory to the serving out the pennyworth of the _oil of strap_.

~July 4.~

TRANSLATION OF ST. MARTIN.

This day is thus noticed as a festival in the church of England calendar and the almanacs, wherein he is honoured with another festival on the eleventh of November.

The word “translation” signifies, in reference to saints, as most readers already know, that their remains were removed from the graves wherein their bodies were deposited, to shrines or other places for devotional purposes.

FOR THE HONOUR OF HACKNEYMEN.

“Give a dog an ill name and hang him”--give hackney-coachmen good characters and you’ll be laughed at: and yet there are civil coachmen in London, and honest ones too. Prejudice against this most useful class of persons is strong, and it is only fair to record an instance of integrity which, after all, is as general, perhaps, among hackneymen, as among those who ride in their coaches.

HONESTY REWARDED.--A circumstance took place on Tuesday, (July 4, 1826,) which cannot be made too generally known among hackney-coachmen, and persons who use those vehicles.

A gentleman took a coach in St. Paul’s churchyard, about twenty minutes before twelve, and was set down in Westminster exactly at noon. Having transacted his business there, he was proceeding homeward a little before one, when he suddenly missed a bank note for three hundred pounds, which he had in his pocket on entering the coach. He had not observed either the number or date of the note, or the number of the coach. He therefore returned to the bankers in the city, and ascertained the number and date of the note, then proceeded to the bank of England, found that it had not been paid, and took measures to stop its payment, if presented. After some further inquiry, he applied about half-past three, at the hackney-coach office, in Essex-street, in the Strand, and there to his agreeable surprise, he found that the coachman had already brought the note to the commissioners, at whose suggestion the gentleman paid the coachman a reward of fifty pounds. The name of the honest coachman should be known: it is John Newell, the owner and driver of the coach No. 314, and residing in Marylebone-lane.

It should also be known, that persons leaving property in hackney-coaches, may very generally recover it by applying without delay at the office in Essex-street. Since the act of parliament requiring hackney-coachmen to bring such articles to the office came into effect, which is not four years and a half ago, no less than one thousand and fifty-eight articles have been so brought, being of the aggregate value of forty-five thousand pounds, and upwards.[243]

* * * * *

Descend we from the coach, and, leaving the town, take a turn with a respected friend whither he would lead us.

FIELD PATHS.

(_For the Every-Day Book._)

I love our real old English footpaths. I love those rustic and picturesque stiles, opening their pleasant escapes from frequented places, and dusty highways, into the solitudes of nature. It is delightful to catch a glimpse of one on the village green, under the old elder-tree by some ancient cottage, or half hidden by the overhanging boughs of a wood. I love to see the smooth dry track, winding away in easy curves, along some green slope, to the churchyard, to the embosomed cottage, or to the forest grange. It is to me an object of certain inspiration. It seems to invite one from noise and publicity, into the heart of solitude and of rural delights. It beckons the imagination on, through green and whispering corn fields, through the short but verdant pasture; the flowery mowing-grass; the odorous and sunny hayfield; the festivity of harvest; from lovely farm to farm; from village to village; by clear and mossy wells; by tinkling brooks, and deep wood-skirted streams; to crofts, where the daffodil is rejoicing in spring, or meadows, where the large, blue geraneum embellishes the summer wayside; to heaths, with their warm, elastic sward and crimson bells, the chithering of grasshoppers, the foxglove, and the old gnarled oak; in short, to all the solitary haunts, after which the city-pent lover of nature pants, as “the hart panteth after the water-brooks.” What is there so truly English? What is so linked with our rural tastes, our sweetest memories, and our sweetest poetry, as stiles and fieldpaths? Goldsmith, Thomson, and Milton have adorned them with some of their richest wreaths. They have consecrated them to poetry and love. It is along the footpath in secluded fields,--upon the stile in the embowered lane,--where the wild-rose and the honey-suckle are lavishing their beauty and their fragrance, that we delight to picture to ourselves rural lovers, breathing in the dewy sweetness of a summer evening vows still sweeter. It is there, that the poet seated, sends back his soul into the freshness of his youth, amongst attachments since withered by neglect, rendered painful by absence, or broken by death; amongst dreams and aspirations which, even now that they pronounce their own fallacy, are lovely. It is there that he gazes upon the gorgeous sunset,--the evening star following with silvery lamp the fading day, or the moon showering her pale lustre through the balmy night air, with a fancy that kindles and soars into the heavens before him,--there, that we have all felt the charm of woods and green fields, and solitary boughs waving in the golden sunshine, or darkening in the melancholy beauty of evening shadows. Who has not thought how beautiful was the sight of a village congregation pouring out from their old grey church on a summer day, and streaming off through the quiet meadows, in all directions, to their homes? Or who, that has visited Alpine scenery, has not beheld with a poetic feeling, the mountaineers come winding down out of their romantic seclusions on a sabbath morning, pacing the solitary heath-tracks, bounding with elastic step down the fern-clad dells, or along the course of a riotous stream, as cheerful, as picturesque, and yet as solemn as the scenes around them?

Again I say, I love fieldpaths, and stiles of all species,--ay, even the most inaccessible piece of rustic erection ever set up in defiance of age, laziness, and obesity. How many scenes of frolic and merry confusion have I seen at a clumsy stile! What exclamations, and charming blushes, and fine eventual vaulting on the part of the ladies, and what an opportunity does it afford to beaux of exhibiting a variety of gallant and delicate attentions. I consider a rude stile as any thing but an impediment in the course of a rural courtship.

Those good old _turn-stiles_ too,--can I ever forget them? the hours I have spun round upon them, when a boy; or those in which I have almost laughed myself to death at the remembrance of my village pedagogue’s disaster! Methinks I see him now. The time a sultry day;--the domine a goodly person of some eighteen or twenty stone;--the scene a footpath sentinelled with turn-stiles, one of which held him fast, as in utter amazement at his bulk. Never shall I forget his efforts and agonies to extricate himself, nor his lion-like roars, which brought some labourers to his assistance, who, when they had recovered from their convulsions of laughter, knocked off the top, and let him go. It is long since I saw a turnstile, and I suspect the Falstaffs have cried them down. But, without a jest, stiles and fieldpaths are vanishing every where. There is nothing upon which the advance of wealth and population has made so serious an inroad. As land has increased in value, wastes and heaths have been parcelled out and enclosed, but seldom have footpaths been left. The poet and the naturalist, who before had, perhaps, the greatest _real_ property in them, have had no allotment. They have been totally driven out of the promised land. Nor is this all. Goldsmith complained, in his day, that--

“The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park’s extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; The robe, that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green.”

And it is but too true that “the pressure of contiguous pride” has driven farther and farther, from that day to this, the public from the rich man’s lands. “They make a solitude and call it peace.” Even the quiet and picturesque footpath that led across his lawn, or stole along his wood-side, giving to the poor man, with his burden, a cooler and a nearer cut to the village, is become a nuisance. One would have thought that the rustic labourer with his scythe on his shoulder, or his bill-hook and hedging mittens in his hand, the cottage dame in her black bonnet and scarlet cloak, the bonny village maiden in the sweetness of health and simplicity, or the boy strolling along full of life and curiosity, might have had sufficient interest, in themselves, for a cultivated taste, passing occasionally at a distance across the park or lawn not only to be tolerated, but even to be welcomed as objects agreeably enlivening the stately solitude of the hall. But they have not. And what is more, _they_ are commonly the most jealous of pedestrian trespassers who seldom visit their own estates, but permit the seasons to scatter their charms around their villas and rural possessions without the heart to enjoy, or even the presence to behold them. How often have I myself been arrested in some long-frequented dale, in some spot endeared by its own beauties and the fascinations of memory, by a board, exhibiting, in giant characters, _Stopped by an order of Sessions!_ and denouncing the terms of the law upon trespassers. This is a little too much. I would not be querulous for the poor against the rich. I would not teach them to look with an envious and covetous eye upon their villas, lawns, cattle, and equipage; but when the path of immemorial usage is closed, when the little streak, almost as fine as a mathematical line, along the wealthy man’s ample field, is grudgingly erased, it is impossible not to feel indignation at the pitiful monopoly. Is there no village champion to be found bold enough to put in his protest against these encroachments, to assert this public right--for a right it is, as authentic as that by which the land itself is held, and as clearly acknowledged by the laws? Is there no local “Hampden with dauntless breast” to “withstand the little tyrant of the fields,” and to save our good old fieldpaths? If not, we shall, in a few years, be doomed to the highways and the hedges: to look, like Dives, from a sultry region of turnpikes, into a pleasant one of verdure and foliage which we may not approach. Already the stranger, if he lose his way, is in jeopardy of falling into the horrid fangs of a steel-trap; the botanist enters a wood to gather a flower, and is shot with a spring-gun; death haunts our dells and copses, and the poet complains, in regretful notes, that he--

“Wanders away to field and glen Far as he may for the gentlemen.”

I am not so much of a poet, and so little of a political economist, as to lament over the progress of population. It is true that I see, with a _poetical_ regret, green fields and beautiful fresh tracts swallowed up in cities; but my joy in the increase of human life and happiness far outbalances that imaginative pain. But it is when I see _unnecessary and arbitrary_ encroachments upon the _rural_ privileges of the public that I grieve. Exactly in the same proportion as our population and commercial habits gain upon us, do we need all possible opportunities to keep alive in us the spirit of nature.

“The world is too much with us, late and soon Getting and spending; we lay waste our powers, Little there is in nature that is ours.”

_Wordsworth._

We give ourselves up to the artificial habits and objects of ambition, till we endanger the higher and better feelings and capacities of our being; and it is alone to the united influence of religion, literature, and nature, that we must look for the preservation of our moral nobility. Whenever, therefore, I behold one of our old fieldpaths closed, I regard it as another link in the chain which Mammon is winding around us,--another avenue cut off by which we might fly to the lofty sanctuary of nature for power to withstand him.

H.

BELLS AND BELL RINGING AT BURY ST. EDMUND’S.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Lambeth, July 13, 1826._

My dear Sir,--To your late interesting notices of “Bells” and “Bell-ringing,” the following singular letter, which appears in a Suffolk paper, may be added. I happen to know something of this “jangling;” and when I resided in the town of Bury St. Edmund’s some years back, was compelled to listen to “the most hideous noise” of St. James’s lofty opponents. But “who shall decide when doctors disagree?”--Why, Mr. Editor,--_we_ will. It is a hardship, a cruelty, a usurpation, a “tale of woe.” Listen to St. James’s statement, and then let us raise our bells, and ring a “righte sounde and merie” peal, such as will almost “split the ears of the groundlings.”--

“_To the Editor of the Bury Post._

“Sir,--Since we have been repeatedly asked why St. James’s ringers lost the privilege of ringing in St. Mary’s steeple, as far as it lies in our power we will answer it. Ever since the year 1714, up to the period of 1813, the ringing in this town was conducted by one company only, who had the liberty of ringing at both steeples; and in St. Mary’s steeple there are recorded two peals rung by the Bury company, one of which was rung in 1779, and the other in 1799. In 1813, the bells of St. Mary’s wanting some repairs, the ringers applied to the churchwardens, and they having declined doing any thing to them, the ringers ceased from ringing altogether until the bells were repaired. At length an offer was made to the churchwardens to raise a _young_ company, which offer was accepted by them, and the bells were partially repaired. In consequence of which a company was raised, and a part of it consisted of old men who were incapable of learning to ring; youth being the only time when such an art can be acquired. It was agreed that when this company could ring one course of eight (or 112 changes), that each one should receive one pound, which they have never asked for, well knowing they were never entitled to it; at the same time, it appears evident that the parish consented they should learn to ring. In 1817, only two years and a half after the company was raised, three bells were obliged to be rehung, at nearly twenty pounds’ expense. Taking an account of the annual repairs of the bells, and the repairs in 1814, the three years of sixteen-change ringers cost the parish nearly thirty pounds, which would have rehung the whole peal, being a deal more than what the old ringers would have caused them to be repaired for in 1814. We, the present company of St. James’s ringers, are well aware that St. Mary’s company had the offer to learn to ring in September, 1814, which we made no opposition to; and if St. Mary’s had learnt, we would have gladly taken them by the hand as brother ringers; but after twelve years’ arduous struggle in endeavouring to learn to ring, they are no forwarder than the first week they began. They could only then ring (no more than they can now) sixteen changes, and that very imperfectly, being but a very small part of the whole revolution of changes on eight bells, which consist of 40,320. We, St. James’s ringers, or ‘old ringers,’ as we have been commonly called, often get blamed for the _most hideous noise_ made in St. Mary’s steeple; and after the jangling of the bells, miscalled ringing, which they afforded the other evening, we indulge in the hope that our future use of the steeple will be generally allowed.

“We are, Sir, most gratefully,

“Your humble servants,

“ST. JAMES’S RINGERS.”

Ah! much respected “St. James’s company,” do “indulge the hope” of making St. Mary’s bells speak eloquently again. If my pen can avail, you shall soon pull “Old Tom’s” tail in that steeple; and all his sons, daughters, and kindred around him, shall lift up their voices in well-tuned chorus, and sing “hallelujahs” of returning joy. “Those evening bells, those evening bells,” which used to frighten all the dogs and old women in the parish, and which used to make me wish were suspended round the ringers’ necks, shall utter sweet music and respond delightedly to lovers’ vows and tales whispered in shady lanes and groves, in the vicinity of your beautiful town. You, worthy old bellmen, who have discoursed so rapidly on the marriages of my father, and uncle, and cousin, and friend, and acquaintance, who would have (for a guinea!) paid the same compliment to myself, (although I was wedded in a distant land, and like a hero of romance and true knight-errant, claimed my fair bride, without consulting “father or mother, sister or brother,”) and made yourselves as merry _at my expense_, as my pleasantest friends or bitterest enemies could have wished, had I hinted such a thing!

Oh! respectable churchwardens--discharge the “_young_ company,” who chant unfeelingly and unprofitably. Remember the “old ringers!”

“Pity the sorrows of the poor old men.”

Respect talent--consider their virtues--patronise that art which “can only be attained when young”--and which the “_young_ company” _cannot_ attain--(does this mean they are stupid?)--and console the “old ringers,” and let them pull on until they are pulled into their graves! Think how they have _moved_ the venerable tower of old St. James’s with their music[244]--nay, until the very bricks and stones above, wished to become more intimately acquainted with them! Do not let a stigma be cast upon them--for, should the good town’s-people imagine the “most hideous noise” was caused by the “old ringers,” their characters are gone for ever--they dare not even look at you through a sheet of paper! How “many a time and oft” have they fired their _feux de joie_ on the king’s birthday--how many thousand changes pealed for the alderman’s annual feast--how many “tiddle-lol-tols” played on the celebration of your election--parish dinners, &c. &c. Then think of their fine--half-minute--scientific--eloquent “tolls” for the death of the “young--the brave--and the fair!” Oh!--respectable gentlemen in office--“think of these things.”

I can aver, the ringers of St. Mary’s are only to be equalled in the _variety_ of their tunes, and unaccountable changes, by “the most hideous noise” of our Waterloo-road bellmen. I suppose they _are_ a “_young_ company.” I can only say, then, I wish they were _old_, if there were any chance of their playing in tune and time.

And now, farewell, my good “old ringers” of St. James’s. I have done all I can for you, and will say there is as much difference between your ringing and the “_young_ company” at St. Mary’s, as there is between the fiddling of the late Billy Waters and Signor Spagnoletti, the leader of the large theatre in the Haymarket!

Farewell! May you have possession of St. Mary’s steeple by the time you see this in the _Every-Day Book_; and may the first merry peal be given in honour of your considerate and faithful townsman--

S. R.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 60·67

[243] Daily papers.

[244] A few years ago it was unsafe to ring the ten bells in St. James’s steeple. It has been repaired--I cannot say its fine Saxon architecture either beautified or improved.

~July 5.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the fifth of July, 1685, the duke of Monmouth’s enterprise against James II. was ended by the battle of Sedgemoor, near Bridgwater, in Somersetshire. The duke’s army consisting of native followers attacked the king’s veteran troops, routed them, and would finally have conquered, if error in Monmouth as a leader, and the cowardice of lord Gray, one of his commanders, had not devoted them to defeat.

LETTER OF

~Oliver Cromwell~

_Now first published_.

To several letters of distinguished individuals, first brought to light in these sheets, the editor is enabled to add another. If the character of the writer, and the remarkable event he communicates, be considered in connection with the authority to whom the letter was addressed, it will be regarded as a document of real importance.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_July 1, 1826._

Sir,--I had intended to have sent you this communication in time for insertion under the date of the twenty-sixth of June, which, according to the New Style, corresponds with the fourteenth, on which the letter was written, a copy of which I send:--it is from Oliver Cromwell to the Speaker Lenthall, giving an account of the battle of Naseby.--It was presented to me a great many years ago by a friend in Northamptonshire, and is, I think, an historical curiosity.--I make no comment on its style; it speaks for itself.

I am, &c.

E. S. F.

[COPY.]

“_To the Honourable_ W. LENTHALL,

“_Speaker to the Commons House of Parliament_.

“Sir,

“Being Commanded by you to this Service, I think myself bound to acquaint you with the good hand of God towards you and us: We marched yesterday after the King, who went before us from Daventry to Haversbrowe, and quartered about Six Miles from him--he drew out to meet us--Both armies engag’d.--We, after three hours fight--very doubtful,--at last routed his army--kill’d and took about 5000--very many officers--but of what quality, we yet know not.--We took also about 200 Carag. all he had--and all his Guns being 12 in number--whereof two were Demi Culverins and I think the rest Fasces--we pursued the Enemy from three miles short of Haversbrowe to nine beyond--Ever to sight of Leicester, whither the King fled.--Sir--this is none other but the hand of God:--and to him alone belongs the Glory--wherein none are to share with him.--The General served you with all faithfulness and honor--and the best recommendation I can give of him is, that I dare say, he attributes all to God and would rather perish than to assume to himself, which is an honest and thriving way--Yet as much for Bravery must be given him in this Action as to a man.--Honest men served you faithfully in this Action.--Sir, they are trusty--I beseech you, in the Name of God, not to discourage them.--I wish this Action may beget thankfulness and Humility in all that are concern’d in it--He that ventures his Life for the good of his Country--I wish he trusts God for the liberty of his Conscience and you for the Liberty he fights for.--In this, he rests who is your most humble Servant

“O. Cromwell.”

“_Haversbrowe, June 14, 1645._”

* * * * *

The gentleman who possesses Cromwell’s original letter is known to the editor, who thus publicly expresses his thanks to him, as he has done privately, for having communicated so valuable an historical document to the public, through the _Every-Day Book_.

HERIOT’S HOSPITAL,

_Edinburgh_.

With the particulars respecting this foundation in the present volume, it was intended to give the two engravings subjoined. They were ready, and the printer waited for them, and delayed the publication an entire day, while the engraver’s messenger carried them about with him, without the accompaniment of a recollection that they were in his pocket, until after the sheet had appeared without them. This is a disclosure of _one_ of the many “secret sorrows” lately endured by the editor, who begs the reader to bear in mind that the cuts belong to col. 766.

This armorial bearing is carved on many parts of the edifice.

The present fac-simile of his signature, is from one engraved from his subscription to an “acompt,” in his “Memoirs” before quoted.

SWAN-HOPPING SEASON.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_June 24, 1826._

Sir,--It was about this season of the year, though I am not aware of any precise day being fixed for the excursion, that the chief magistrate of the city, in the stately barge, attended by all the “pride, pomp, and circumstance” of flags, gilding, and music, used, when I was a boy, which is a good thirty years ago, to proceed up the river Thames as far as Staines, and, I believe, pour a glass of wine, or perform some such ceremony, upon a stone, which, standing in a meadow a short distance above Staines-bridge, marks the city’s watery jurisdiction. The custom may, for aught I know to the contrary, be still continued, though I suspect it has become obsolete, and my conjecture is strengthened by not observing in your _Every-Day Book_ any mention of this civic excursion, or “_Swan-hopping_,” as I believe it was called. My reason for reviving the memory of it now, is to introduce an authentic anecdote. Your invitations to correspondents have been frequent; and should I be fortunate enough to assist you to a column in a way that will be gratifying to you and your numerous readers, I shall rejoice in the opportunity.

I am, Sir, &c.

N. G.

_City Swan-hopping._

The following curious circumstance occurred, several years ago, at a tavern in the vicinity of Putney-bridge. Several members of one of the city companies having accompanied the chief magistrate on an excursion up the river, quitted his lordship, and landed at the house in question. A boat containing a party of six ladies, elegantly dressed, and rowed by two watermen, in scarlet jackets, put in at the same time.

The happy citizens relieved from the controul of their dames, could not resist this opportunity of showing their gallantry and politeness. They stepped forward and offered their aid to assist the ladies in landing; the offer was accepted; and this act of civility was followed by others. They walked, talked, and laughed together, till dinner was announced. The gentlemen went to the larger room; the ladies sat down to a repast laid out for them by their order in a smaller one.

After some time the ladies again returned to the lawn, where the gentlemen occasionally joined them and continued their civilities till the watermen informed them the tide served for their return to town. The gentlemen then assisted the ladies on board, and wished them a safe voyage. Soon after they called for their bill, which was handed to the chairman in due form; but it is impossible to express the surprise which marked his countenance on reading the following items:--“Dinner, desert, wine, tea, &c. for the ladies, 7_l._ 10_s._;” together with a charge of twelve shillings for servants’ refreshments. The landlord was sent for and questioned as to this charge, who said the ladies had desired the bill should be delivered to their _spouses_, who would settle it. An explanation now took place, when it appeared the parties were strangers to each other; for these sprightly dames, taking advantage of the occasional civilities of the gallant and unsuspecting _swan-hoppers_, had imposed themselves on honest _Boniface_, nothing loth perhaps to be imposed on, as the wives of the city company, and, as such, had been served with an elegant dinner, desert, wine, &c. which they had left their _husbands_ to pay for. The discovery at first disconcerted the gentlemen, but the wine they had drank having opened their hearts and inspired them with liberality, they took the trick put upon them in good part, and paid the bill; and the recollection of the _wives_ of the city company, long afterwards afforded them an ample subject for conversation and laughter.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--The following beautiful lines were written in the summer of the year 1808, at Sheffield, and have not been published; as they are no mean effusion, perhaps they will not disgrace your interesting little work.

Believe me, Sir, &c.

_July 9, 1826._

C. T.

THE OAK AND THE WILLOW.

When the sun’s dazzling brightness oppresses the day, How delightful to ramble the forests among! And thro’ the arched boughs hung with woodbine so gay, To view the rich landscape, to hear the sweet song!

And lo! where the charms of the wild woodland vale, Expanding in beauty, enrapture the sight; Here the woods in dark majesty wave in the gale, There the lawns and the hills are all blazing in light.

From yonder high rocks, down the foaming stream rushes, Then gleams thro’ the valley o’ershadowed with trees, While the songsters of spring, warbling wild from the bushes, With exquisite melody charm the faint breeze.

The peasant boy now with his cattle descends, Winding slow to the brook down the mountain’s steep tide; Where the larch o’er the precipice mournfully bends, And the mountain-ash waves in luxuriance beside.

And mark yonder oak--’tis the cliff’s nodding crest, That spreads its wide branches and towers sublime; The morning’s first glances alight on its breast, And evening there spends the last glimpse of her time.

But hark! the storm bursts, and the raging winds sweep-- See the lightning’s swift flash strikes its branches all bare! E’en the leaves, where the sunbeams delighted to sleep, Are scorched in the blaze, and are whirled thro’ the air.

Yet the shrubs in the vale closely sheltered from harm, Untouched by the tempest, scarce whisper a sound; While the mountains reecho the thunder’s alarm, The winds are restrained by the rock’s massy bound.

Thus the rich and the great who engross fortune’s smiles, Feel the rankling of care often torture their rest, While peace all the toils of the peasant beguiles, Or hope’s higher raptures awake in his breast.

Then mine be the lot of the willow that weeps, Unseen in the glen o’er the smooth flowing rill, ’Mongst whose pensile branches the flow’ret creeps, And the strains of the night-bird the ear sweetly thrill.

Some nook in the valley of life shall be mine, Where time imperceptibly swiftly glides by, True friendship and love round my heart shall entwine, And sympathy start the warm tear in my eye.

Then haply my wild harp will make such sweet notes, That the traveller climbing the rock’s craggy brow, May stop and may list, as the music still floats, And think of the bard in the valley below.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·32.

~July 6.~

OLD MIDSUMMER DAY.

This day is still marked in our almanacs, on account of its being adhered to, in a few places, as a “good old day,” of the “good old times.”

LAYING OUT OF LANDS

_In the Parish of Puxton, Somerset_.

The subjoined letter was duly received according to its date, and is now in due time inserted. The editor has very few omissions of this kind to apologize for: if he has prematurely, and therefore unduly, introduced some communications which arrived too late for their proper days, he may be excused, perhaps, in consideration of the desire expressed by some correspondents, that their papers should appear in a “reasonable” time or not at all. Unhappily he has experienced the mishap of a “reasonable” difference, with one or two of his contributors. From the plan of this work, certain matters-of-fact could only range, with propriety, under certain days; while it has been conceived of, by some, as a magazine wherein any thing could come, at any time. In this dilemma he has done the best in his power, and introduced, in a few instances, papers of that nature out of place. On two or three occasions, indeed, it seemed a courtesy almost demanded by the value of such articles, that they should not await the rotation of the year. The following curiously descriptive account of a remarkable local custom is from a Somersetshire gentleman, who could be relied on for a patient endurance of nine months, till this, its due season arrived.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_Bristol, October 19, 1825._

Sir,--Having observed in your _Every-Day Book_, p. 837, vol i. mention of an ancient custom of dividing lands, which formerly took place on the Saturday before old midsummer-day, in the parish of Puxton, in Somersetshire, (taken from Mr. Collinson’s history of that county,) I now send you a more explicit and enlarged account, with the marks as they were cut in each person’s allotment.

The two large pieces of common land called Dolemoors, which lie in the parishes of Congresbury, Week St. Lawrence and Puxton, were allotted in the following manner. On the Saturday preceding midsummer-day O. S. the several proprietors (of the estates having any right in those moors) or their tenants, were summoned at a certain hour in the morning, by the ringing of one of the bells at Puxton, to repair to the church, in order to see the chain (kept for the purpose of laying out Dolemoors) measured. The proper length of such chain was ascertained by placing one end thereof at the foot of the arch, dividing the chancel from the body of the church, and extending it through the middle aisle, to the foot of the arch of the west door under the tower, at each of which places marks were cut in the stones for that purpose. The chain used for this purpose was only eighteen yards in length, consequently four yards shorter than the regular land-measuring chain. After the chain had been properly measured, the parties repaired to the commons. Twenty-four apples were previously prepared, bearing the following marks, viz. Five marks called “Pole-axes,” four ditto “Crosses,” two ditto “Dung-forks, or Dung-pikes,” one mark called “Four Oxen and a Mare,” one ditto “Two Pits,” one ditto “Three Pits,” one ditto “Four Pits,” one ditto “Five Pits,” one ditto “Seven Pits,” one “Horn,” one “Hare’s-tail,” one “Duck’s-nest,” one “Oven,” one “Shell,” one “_Evil_,” and one “Hand-reel.”

It is necessary to observe that each of these moors was divided into several portions called furlongs, which were marked out by strong oak posts, placed at regular distances from each other; which posts were constantly kept up. After the apples were properly prepared, they were put into a hat or bag, and certain persons fixed on for the purpose, began to measure with the chain before-mentioned, and proceeded till they had measured off one acre of ground; at the end of which, the boy who carried the hat or bag containing the marks took out one of the apples, and the mark which such apple bore, was immediately cut in the turf with a large knife kept for that purpose: this knife was somewhat in the shape of a scimetar with its edge reversed. In this manner they proceeded till the whole of the commons were laid out, and each proprietor knowing the mark and furlong which belonged to his estate, he took possession of his allotment or allotments accordingly, for the ensuing year. An adjournment then took place to the house of one of the overseers, where a certain number of acres reserved for the purpose of paying expenses, and called the “out-let or out-drift,” were let by inch of candle.

During the time of letting, the whole party were to keep silence, (except the person who bid,) under the penalty of one shilling. When any one wished to bid, he named the price he would give, and immediately deposited a shilling on the table where the candle stood; the next who bid, also named his price and deposited his shilling in like manner, and the person who first bid was then to take up his shilling. The business of letting thus proceeded till the candle was burnt out, and the last bidder, prior to that event, was declared the tenant of the out-let, or out-drift, for the ensuing year.

Two overseers were annually elected from the proprietors or their tenants. A quantity of strong ale or brown-stout was allowed for the feast, or “revel,” as it was called; also bread, butter and cheese, together with pipes and tobacco, of which any reputable person, whose curiosity or casual business led him to Puxton on that day, was at liberty to partake, but he was expected to deposit at his departure one shilling with the overseer, by way of forfeit for his intrusion. The day was generally spent in sociality and mirth, frequently of a boisterous nature, from the exhilarating effects of the brown-stout before alluded to; for it rarely happened but that some of the junior part of the company were desirous of making a trial of their skill in the _sublime_ art of pugilism, when hard knocks, thumps, bangs, and kicks, and consequently black eyes, bloody noses, and sore bones, were distributed with the greatest liberality amongst the combatants.

“And now the field of _Death_, the lists Are enter’d by antagonists.”

In this stage of the business, some venerable yeoman usually stepped forward and harangued the contending parties, in some such speech as the following, which I am sorry to say was most commonly thrown away upon these pot-valiant champions:--

“What rage, O friends! what fury Doth you to these dire actions hurry? What towns, what garrisons might you, With hazard of this blood subdue, Which now y’are bent to throw away In vain untriumphable fray?”

Yet after these _civil_ broils, the parties seldom bore each other any grudge or ill-will, and generally at the conclusion of the contest,

“Tho’ sorely bruis’d, their limbs all o’er With ruthless bangs still stiff and sore,”

they shook hands, became good friends again, and departed with the greatest sang-froid to apply

“Fit med’cines to each glorious bruise They got in fight, reds, blacks, and blues; To mollify th’ uneasy pang Of ev’ry honourable bang.”

In the year 1779, an attempt was made to procure an act of parliament for allotting these moors in perpetuity; but an opposition having been made by a majority of the proprietors, the plan was relinquished. I have now by me a printed copy of the bill drawn up on that occasion. The land, however, was actually enclosed and allotted in the year 1811, and the ancient mode of dividing it, and consequently the drunken festival, or _revel_, from that time discontinued.

The following marks are correct delineations of those used, being taken from the originals in the book appropriated for the purpose of keeping the accounts of this very singular and ancient usage.

++===============================================++ || ~The Marks for Allotting Dolmoors.~ || ++-----------------------+------+----------------++ || |No. of| || || | each.| || || | | || || Pole-axe | 5 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Cross | 4 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Dung-fork, or pike | 2 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Four Oxen & a Mare | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Two Pits | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Three Pits | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Four Pits | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Five Pits | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Seven Pits | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Horn | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Hare’s-tail | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Duck’s-nest | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Oven | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Shell | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Evil | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || Hand-reel | 1 | [Illustration] || || | | || || A--d B----tt Delt. || ++===============================================++

I have from my youth lived within a few miles of the place mentioned, and have often heard of the “humours of Dolmoor revel,” and on one occasion attended personally the whole day for the purpose of observing them, and ascertaining the customs of this rude, rural festival. As the customs before-mentioned are now become obsolete, it would be pleasing to many of your readers, to see them recorded in your very interesting and popular work. These customs originated in all probability with our Saxon ancestors, and it would be unpardonable to consign them to total oblivion.

I am, Sir,

Yours respectfully,

G. B.

After this description of the method of “laying out of lands,” at a period of the year when steam boats are conveying visiters to the “watering places on the Thames,” it seems prudent and seasonable to notice another custom--

LAYING OUT OF WIVES

_In the Fens of Essex and Kent_.

And, first, as to this “grave” custom on the London side of the Thames, we have the epistolary testimony of a writer in the year 1773, viz.--

Sir,--Nothing but that unaccountable variety of life, which my stars have imposed upon me, could have apologised for my taking a journey to the fens of Essex. Few strangers go into those scenes of desolation, and fewer still (I find) return from thence--as you shall hear.

When I was walking one morning between two of the banks which restrain the waters in their proper bounds, I met one of the inhabitants, a tall and emaciated figure, with whom I entered into conversation. We talked concerning the manners and peculiarities of the place, and I condoled with him very pathetically on his forlorn and meagre appearance. He gave me to understand, however, that his case was far from being so desperate as I seemed to apprehend it, for that he had never looked better since he buried the first of his last nine wives.

“Nine wives!” rejoined I, eager and astonished, “have you buried nine wives?”

“Yes,” replied the fen-man, “and I hope to bury nine more.”

“Bravissimo!”--This was so far from allaying my astonishment, that it increased it. I then begged him to explain the miraculous matter, which he did in the following words:--

“Lord! master,” said he, “we people in the fens here be such strange creatures, that there be no creatures like us; we be like fish, or water-fowl, or others, for we be able to live where other folks would die sure enough.”

He then informed me, that to reside in the fens was a certain and quick death to people who had not been bred among them; that therefore when any of the fen-men wanted a wife, they went into the upland country for one, and that, after they carried her down among the fens, she never survived long: that after her death they went to the uplands for another, who also died; then “another, and another, and another,” for they all followed each other as regular as the change of the moon; that by these means some “poor fellows” had picked up a good living, and collected together from the whole a little snug fortune; that he himself had made more money this way than he ever could do by his labour, for that he was now at his tenth wife, and she could not possibly stand it out above three weeks longer; that these proceedings were very equitable, for such girls as were born among themselves they sent into the uplands to get husbands, and that, in exchange, they took their young women as wives; that he never knew a better custom in his life, and that the only comfort he ever found against the ill-nature and caprice of women was the fens. This woman-killer then concluded with desiring me, if I had a wife with whom I was not over head and ears in love, to bring her to his house, and it would kill her as effectually as any doctor in Christendom could do. This offer I waved; for you know, sir, that (thank God) I am not married.

This strange conversation of my friend, the fen-man, I could not pass over without many reflections; and I thought it my duty to give notice to my countrymen concerning a place which may be converted in so peculiar a manner to their advantage.[245]

* * * * *

So far is from the narrative of a traveller into _Essex_, who, be it observed, “speaks for himself,” and whose account is given “without note or comment;” it being certain that every rightly affected reader will form a correct opinion of such a narrator, and of the “fearful estate” of “upland women” who marry “lowland men.”

* * * * *

As regards the “custom of Kent,” in this matter, we have the account of a “Steam-boat Companion,” who, turning “to the Kentish shore,” says thus:--

YENLET CREEK

Divides the isle of Grean from All-hallows, on the main land, and from the cliff marshes.

Who would believe while beholding these scenes of pleasure before us, that for six months in the year the shores of this hundred (Hoo) were only to be explored by the amphibious; that the sun is seldom seen for the fog, and that every creature in love with life, flies the swamps of Hoo, preferring any station to its ague dealing vapours, its fenny filth, and muddy flats; a station, that during the winter season is destitute of every comfort, but fine eels, luscious flounders, smuggled brandy, Holland’s gin, and sea-coal fire. We will here relate a whimsical circumstance that once took place in this neighbourhood while we were of the party.

It was at that time of the year when nature seems to sicken at her own infirmities, we think it was in the month of November, we were bound to Sheerness, but the fog coming on so gloomily that no man could discover his hand a yard before him, our waterman, whether by design or accident we cannot pretend to say, mistook the Thames, and rowed up the Yenlet creek. After a long, cold, and stubborn pull, protesting at the time he had never (man or boy) seen any thing so dismal, he landed us near Saint Mary’s, that church yonder, with the very lofty and white spire, and then led us to an alehouse, the sign of which _he_ called the _Red Cock and Cucumber_, and the aleman he hailed by the merry name of

_John Piper_,

And a very pleasant fellow John turned out to be; if he was a little hyperbolical, his manner sufficiently atoned for the transgression. The gloom of the day was soon forgotten, and the stench arising from filthy swamps less regarded. At our entrance we complained heavily of the insupportable cloud with which we had been enveloped.

“Ha! ha! ha!” sang out the landlord, “to be sure it is too thick to be eaten with a spoon, and too thin to be cut with a knife, but it is not so intolerable as a scolding wife, or a hungry lawyer.”

“Curse the fog,” cried our waterman,

“Bless the fog,” answered our landlord, “for it has made a man of me for life.”

“How do you make that appear?” we requested to know.

“Set you down, sir, by a good sea-coal fire, for we pay no pool duties here, take your grog merrily, and I’ll tell you all about it presently,” rejoined the tapster, when drawing a wooden stool towards us, while his wife was preparing the bowl, John Piper thus began:--

“You must know, sir, I was born in this fog, and so was my mother and her relatives for many past generations; therefore you will see, sir, a fog is as natural to me as a duck-pool to a dab-chick. When poor dame Piper died, I found myself exceedingly melancholy to live alone on these marshes, so determined to change my condition by taking a wife. It was very fortunate for me, sir, I knew a rich old farmer in the _uplands_, and he had three blooming daughters, and that which made the thing more desirable, he had determined to give each a portion of his honourably acquired property. The farmer had for many years been acquainted with my good father, gone to rest, and this gave me courage to lay my case before him. The elder girl was the bird for me, the farmer gave his consent, and we were married. Directly after, I quitted the uplands for the fog, with a pretty wife and five hundred golden guineas in my pocket, as good as ever bribed a lawyer to sell his client, or a parliament-man to betray his country. This was a good beginning, sir, but alas! there is no comfort without a cross; my wife had been used from her infancy to a fine keen open air, and our _low_land vapours so deranged her constitution, that within nine months, Margaret left me and went to heaven.

“Being so suddenly deprived of the society of one good woman, where could I apply for another, better than to the sack from whence I drew the first sample? The death of my dear wife reflected no disgrace on me, and the old man’s second daughter having no objection to a good husband, we presently entered into the bonds of holy matrimony, and after a few days of merriment, I came home with Susan, from the sweet hills to the fogs of the _low_lands, and with four hundred as good guineas in my purse as ever gave new springs to the life of poverty. Similar causes, sir, they say produce similar effects; and this is certainly true, for in somewhere about nine months more, Susan slept with her sister.

“I ran to the _up_lands again, to condole with my poor old Nestor, and some how or other so managed the matter, that his youngest daughter, Rosetta, conceived a tender affection for Piper. I shall never forget it, sir, while I have existence; I had been there but a few days, when the good farmer, with tears in his eyes, thus addressed me: ‘Piper, you have received about nine hundred pounds of my money, and I have about the same sum left; now, son, as you know how to make a good use of it, I think it is a pity it should go out of the family; therefore, if you have a fancy for Rosetta, I will give you three hundred pounds more, and the remnant at my departure.’

“Sir, I had always an aversion to stand _shilly shally_, ‘make haste and leave nothing to waste,’ says the old proverb. The kind girl was consenting, and we finished the contract over a mug of her father’s best October. From the hills we ran to the _fog_land, and in less than two years more, poor Rosetta was carried up the churchway path, where the three sisters, as they used to do in their infancy, lie by the side of each other; and the old man dying of grief for the loss of his favourite, I placed him at their head, and became master of a pretty property.

“A short time after, a wealthy widow from Barham, (of the same family,) came in the summer time to our place. I saw her at church, and she set her cap at Piper; I soon married her for her _Eldorado metal_, but alas! she turned out a shrew. ‘Nil desperandum’ said I, Piper, to myself, the _winter_ is coming in good time; the winter came, and stood my friend; for the _fog_ and the ague took her by the hand and led her to Abraham’s bosom.

“An innkeeper’s relict was the next I ventured on, she had possessions at Sittingbourne, and they were hardly mine before my good friend, the fog, laid Arabella ‘at _all-fours_’ under the turf, in St. Mary’s churchyard; and now, sir, her sister, the cast-off of a rich Jew, fell into my trap, and I led her smiling, like a vestal, to the temple of Hymen; but although the most lively and patient creature on earth, she could not resist the powers of the _fog_, and I for the sixth time became a widower, with an income of three hundred a year, and half the cottages in this blessed hundred. To be brief, sir, I was now in want of nothing but a contented mind; thus, sir, through the _fog_ you treated with such malignity, I became qualified for a country member. But alas! sir, there is always something unpleasant to mingle with the best of human affairs, envy is ever skulking behind us, to squeeze her gall-bag into the cup of our comforts, and when we think ourselves in safety, and may sing the song of ‘O! be joyful,’ our merriment ends with a ‘miseracordia.’”

After a short pause, “Look, sir,” said Piper, in a loud whisper, “at that woman in the bar, now making the grog, she is my seventh wife; with her I had a fortune also, but of a different nature from all the rest. I married her without proper consideration--the wisest are sometimes overtaken; Solomon had his disappointments; would you think it, sir? she was _fogborn_ like myself, and withal, is so tough in her constitution, that I fear she will hold me a tight tug to the end of my existence, and become my survivor.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” interjected Mrs. Piper, (who had heard all the long tale of the tapster,) “there is no fear about that, John, and bury as many _up_land _husbands_, when you lie under the turf, as you, with the fog, have smothered _wives_.”

Our Yorick now became chop-fallen, and a brisk wind springing up from the north-west, the fog abated, and we took to our boat.[246]

* * * * *

If there be truth in these narratives, the “_low_land lasses” of the creeks, have good reason for their peculiar liking to “_high_land laddies;” and “_up_land” girls had better “wither on the virgin thorn,” than marry “_low_land” suitors and--

“Fall as the leaves do And die in October.”

Far be it from the editor, to bring the worthy “neither fish nor flesh” swains, of the Kent and Essex fens and fogs, into contempt; he knows nothing about them. What he has set down he found in “the books,” and, having given his authorities, he wishes them every good they desire--save wives from the _up_lands.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 61·75.

[245] Universal Magazine.

[246] The Steam-boat Companion, by Thomas Nichols, 1823, p. 150.

~July 7.~

THOMAS A BECKET.

Strange to say, the name of this saint, so obnoxious to the early reformers, is still retained in the church of England calendar; the fact is no less strange that the day of his festival is the anniversary of the translation of his relics from the undercroft of the cathedral of Canterbury, in the year 1220, to a sumptuous shrine at the east end of the church, whither they attracted crowds of pilgrims, and, according to the legends of the Romish church, worked abundant miracles.

This engraving is from a drawing by Mr. Harding, who states that he made it from a very rare engraving. The drawing belongs to Mr. J. J. A. F., who favoured the editor by lending it for the present purpose.

* * * * *

St. Thomas of Canterbury, bishop and martyr, attained the primacy during the reign of Henry II. He advanced the interests of the church against the interests of the kingdom, till a parliament declared his possessions forfeited, and Becket having left the kingdom, Henry seized the revenues of the see.

It appears from an old tract that this churchman was a swordsman. He accompanied Henry in one of his campaigns with a retinue of seven hundred knights and gentlemen, kept twelve hundred horse in his own pay, and bore his dignity with the carriage of the proudest baron. “His bridle was of silver, his saddle of velvet, his stirrups, spurs, and bosses, double gilt. His expenses far surpassing the expenses of an earl. He fed with the fattest, was clad with the softest, and kept company with the pleasantest. And the king made him his chancellor, in which office he passed the pomp and pride of Thomas [Wolsey] Cardinal, as far as the one’s shrine passeth the other’s tomb in glory and riches. And, after that, he was a man of war, and captain of five or six thousand men in full harness, as bright as St. George, and his spear in his hand; and encountered whosoever came against him, and overthrew the jollyest rutter that was in all the host of France. And out of the field, hot from blood-shedding, was he made bishop of Canterbury, and did put off his helm, and put on his mitre; put off his harness, and on with his robes; and laid down his spear, and took his cross, ere his hands were cold; and so came, with a lusty courage of a man of war, to fight another while against his prince for the pope; when his prince’s cause were with the law of God and the pope’s clean contrary.”

After his disgrace by the king he wore a hair shirt, ate meats of the driest, excommunicated his brother bishops, and “was favoured with a revelation of his martyrdom,” at Pontigni. Alban Butler says, “whilst he lay prostrate before the altar in prayers and tears, he heard a voice, saying distinctly, ‘Thomas, Thomas, my church shall be glorified in thy blood.’ The saint asked, ‘Who art thou, Lord?’ and the same voice answered, ‘I am Jesus Christ, the son of the living God, thy brother.’” He then returned to England, excited rebellious commotions, and on Christmas-day, 1170, preached his last sermon to his flock, on the text, “And peace to men of good-will on earth.” These are the words wherein Alban Butler expresses the “text,” which, it may be as well to observe, is a garbled passage from the New Testament, and was altered perhaps to suit the saint’s views and application. Room cannot be afforded in this place for particulars of his preceding conduct, or an exact description of his death, which is well-known to have been accomplished by “four knights,” who, from attachment to the king, according to the brutal manners of those days, revenged his quarrel by killing St. Thomas, while at prayers in Canterbury cathedral.

* * * * *

The following interesting paper relates to one of the knights who slew Becket--

SIR WILLIAM DE TRACY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_June, 1826._

Sir,--I beg leave to transmit to you an account of the burial place of sir William de Tracy, one of the murderers of Thomas à Becket, archbishop of Canterbury, in the reign of Henry the Second. I regret, at the same time, that distance from the spot precludes the possibility of my taking a drawing of the tomb, but I have by me its measurement, and the inscription, which I copied with as great care as possible when there.

The parish church of Morthoe, probably built by Tracy himself, is situated on the bold and rocky coast of the north of Devon. It stands on an eminence, near the sea-shore, is sheltered by hills on the north and south, but open towards the west, on which side is the fine bay of Woolacombe. The interior of the church presents the humblest appearance; its length is near 80 feet, its breadth 18, excepting the middle, which, with an aisle, measures 30. On the west side is a recess, 15 feet by 14, in the centre of which is the vault, containing the remains of de Tracy. The rustic inhabitants of the parish can give no other account of the tomb than the traditionary one, that it contains the remains of a giant, to whom, in the olden time, all that part of the country belonged.

The vault itself is 2 feet 4 in. high; 7 feet 6 in. long at the base; three feet and a half broad at one end of ditto, and two feet and a half, at the other. The large black slab covering the top of the vault is half a foot in thickness. Engraved on this slab is the figure of a person in robes, holding a chalice in one hand; and round the border is an inscription, which is now almost illegible. I had a drawing of the whole, which I have lost, but with the account I wrote at the time of visiting the place, I have preserved the inscription, as far as I was able to make it out.[247]

On the east side of the vault are three armorial bearings, and the carved figures of two nuns; on the north is the crucifixion; on the west side, there is nothing but Gothic carving; and the south end is plain.

An old and respectable farmer, residing at Morthoe, informed me that about fifty or sixty years ago “a gentleman from London” came down to take an account of the tomb, and carried away with him the skull and one of the thigh bones of de Tracy. He opened and examined the vault with the connivance of a negligent and eccentric minister, then resident in the parish, who has left behind him a fame by no means to be envied.

The gentleman alluded to by the worthy yeoman was no doubt the celebrated antiquary Gough, who, in his “Sepulchral Monuments in Great Britain,” has given a long account of the life and burialplace of Tracy. In his introduction to that laborious and very valuable work, page ciii. he says:--“The instances of figures cut in the slab, and not inlaid with metal, nor always blacked, are not uncommon.” Among the instances which he cites to illustrate this remark, he mentions the slab on the vault of “William de Tracy, Rector of Morthoe, Devon, 1322.”--Here we find the gigantic knight dwindled to a parson; and the man whose name should be for ever remembered with gratitude by his countrymen, the hero who happily achieved a far more arduous enterprise, a work of greater glory than did the renowned but fabled saint, over the devouring dragon--forgotten beneath the robe of an obscure village rector! The parish of Morthoe is, however, not a rectory, but what is called a “perpetual curacy,” and the living is at present not worth much more than seventy pounds per annum.

Since I have, by the merest accident, got hold of Gough, I will extract what he records of the forgotten Tracy, as it may not be unentertaining to the lover of history to peruse a detail of the ultimate fate of one of the glorious four, who delivered their country from perhaps the greatest pest that was ever sent to scourge it.

“William de Tracy, one of the murderers of Becket, has been generally supposed, on the authority of Mr. Risdon, (p. 116.) to have built an aisle in the church of Morthoe, Devon; and to have therein an altar-tomb about 2 feet high, with his figure engraven on a grey slab of Purbeck marble, 7 feet by 3, and 7 inches thick, and this inscription, [in Saxon capitals,]

“SYRE [Guillau] ME DE TRACY [gist icy, Diu de son al] ME EYT MERCY.

“On the upper end of this tomb is carved in relief the crucifixion, with the virgin and St. John, and on the north side some Gothic arches, and these three coats; I. Az. 3 lions passant guardant, Arg. 2. Arg. 3. two bars, G. Az. a saltire, Or.----The first of these is the coat of _William Camville_, formerly patron of this church: the second, that of the _Martins_, formerly lords of Barnstaple, who had lands in this neighbourhood: the third, that of the _Saint Albins_, who had also estates in the adjoining parish of Georgeham.

“The figure on the slab is plainly that of a priest in his sacerdotal habit, holding a chalice between his hands, as if in the act of consecration.----Bishop Stapledon’s register, though it does not contain the year of his institution, fixes the date of his death in the following terms, ‘_Anno, 1322, 16 Decr. Thomas Robertus præsentat. ad eccles. de Morthoe vacantem per mortem Wilhelmi de Traci, die dominic. primo post nativ. Virginis per mortem Will. de Campvill_.’

“The era of the priest is therefore 140 years later than that of the knight. It does not appear by the episcopal registers that the Tracies were ever patrons of Morthoe, except in the following instances:--

“Anno, 1257, Cal. Junii, John Allworthy, presented by Henry de Traci, guardian of the lands and heirs of Ralph de Brag. Anno, 1275. Thomas Capellanus was presented to this rectory by Philip de Weston. In 1330, Feb. 5, Henry de la Mace was presented to this rectory by William de Camville. In 1381, Richard Hopkins was presented by the dean and chapter of Exeter, who are still patrons.

“It is probable that the stone with the inscription to William de Tracy did not originally belong to the altar-tomb on which it now lies; but by the arms seems rather to have been erected for the patron _William de Camville_, it being unusual in those days to raise so handsome a monument for a priest, especially as the altar-tomb and slab are of very different materials, and the benefice itself is of very inconsiderable value. It is also probable the monument of Traci lay on the ground, and that when this monument was broken open, according to Risdon, in the last century, this purbeck slab was placed upon the altar-tomb though it did not at first belong to it.

“The Devonshire antiquaries assert that sir William de Tracy retired to this place after he had murdered Becket. But this tradition seems to rest on no better authority than the misrepresentation of the inscription here given, and because the family of Traci possessed the fourth part of a fee in Woolacombe within this parish, which is still called after their name. But the Tracies had many possessions in this country, as Bovey Traci, Nymett Traci, Bedford Traci, &c. William de Traci held the honor of Barnstaple, in the beginning of Henry the Second’s reign. King John granted the Barony of Barnstaple to Henry de Traci, in the 15th of his reign; and the family seem to have been possessed of it in the reign of Henry III. I am indebted to the friendship of the present Dean of Exeter for the above observations, which ascertain the monument in question.

“I shall digress no farther on this subject than to observe of sir William de Traci, that four years after the murder of Becket he had the title of Steward, i. e. Justice of Normandy, which he held but two years. He was in arms against King John in the last year of his reign, and his estate was confiscated; but on his return to his allegiance, 2 Henry III. it was restored. He was living, 7 Henry III. (Dugd. Bar. i. 622.) consequently died about or after 1223, having survived Becket upwards of 57 years.”[248]

Another slight mention is made of Tracy in p. 26. In describing Becket’s shrine he quotes Stowe to this effect,--“The shrine of Thomas à Becket (says Stowe) was builded about a man’s height, all of stone, then upward of timber plain, within which was a chest of iron, containing the bones of Thomas Beckett, skull and all, with the wound of his death, and the piece cut out of his scull laid in the same wound.” Gough remarks:--“He should have added the point of Sir William Traci, the fourth assassin’s sword, which broke off against the pavement, after cutting off his scull, so that the brains came out.

‘In thulke stede the verthe smot, y^{t} the other adde er ydo, And the point of is suerd brec in the marbreston a tuo, Zat thulke point at Canterbury the monckes lateth wite, Vor honor of the holi man y^{t} therewith was ismite. With thulke strok he smot al of the scolle & eke the crowne That the brain ron al ebrod in the pauiment ther donne.’”

(Robert of Glouces. p. 476.)

This long extract, Mr. Editor, has, I confess, made me rather casuistical on the subject of Tracy’s tomb. I shall, however, search some of the old chroniclers and see if they throw any light upon the biography of our knight. Hume mentions Tracy, and his three companions, but is perfectly silent with respect to the cutting off the top of the churchman’s skull. His words are, “they followed him thither, attacked him before the altar, and having cloven his head with many blows, retired without meeting any opposition.” Should you, in the mean time, insert this, you will shortly hear again from

Your obedient servant,

R. A. R.

* * * * *

Distrusting his own judgment on the subject of the preceding letter, the editor laid it before a gentleman whose erudition he could rely on for the accuracy of any opinion he might be pleased to express, and who obligingly writes as follows:--

THE TOMB AT MORTHOE.

R. A. R.’s letter, submitted to me through the kindness of Mr. Hone, certainly conveys much interesting miscellaneous information, although it proves nothing, and leaves the question, of who is actually the tenant of this tomb, pretty much where he finds it. In my humble opinion, the circumstance of technical heraldic bearings, and those moreover quartered, being found upon it, completely negatives the idea of its being the tomb of Becket’s assassin. It is well known that the first English subject who ever bore arms quarterly is Hastings, earl of Pembroke, who died in the reign of Edward III. and is buried in Westminster abbey.

Family arms seem not to have been continuedly adopted, till towards the time of Edward I.

W. P.

* * * * *

The death of Becket appears to have been sincerely deplored by Henry II., inasmuch as the pope and his adherents visited the sin of the four knights upon the king, and upbraided him with his subjects by ecclesiastical fulminations. He endeavoured to make peace with the church by submitting to a public whipping. A late biographer records his meanness in the following sentences:

In 1174 king Henry went on a pilgrimage to the tomb of the late archbishop Becket, with the fame of whose miracles the whole realm was now filled, and whom the pope, by a bull dated in March the year before, had declared a saint and a martyr, appointing an anniversary festival to be kept on the day of his death, in order (says the bull) that, being continually applied to by the prayers of the faithful, he should intercede with God for the clergy and people of England.

Henry, therefore, desiring to obtain for himself this intercession, or to make others believe that the wrath of an enemy, to whom it was supposed that such power was given, might be thus averted from him, thought it necessary to visit the shrine of this new-created saint; and, as soon as he came within sight of the tower of Canterbury cathedral, (July 10,) at the distance of three miles, descended from his horse, and walked thither barefoot, over a road that was full of rough and sharp stones, which so wounded his feet that in many places they were stained with his blood.

When he got to the tomb, which was then in the crypt (or under-croft) of the church, he threw himself prostrate before it, and remained, for some time, in fervent prayer; during which, by his orders, the bishop of London, in his name, declared to the people, that “he had neither commanded, nor advised, nor by any artifice contrived the death of Becket, for the truth of which, he appealed, in the most solemn manner, to the testimony of God; but, as the murderers of that prelate had taken occasion from his words, too inconsiderately spoken, to commit this offence, he voluntarily thus submitted himself to the discipline of the church.”

After this he was scourged, at his own request and command, by all the monks of the convent, assembled for that purpose, from every one of whom, and from several bishops and abbots there present, he received three or four stripes.

This sharp penance being done, he returned to his prayers before the tomb, which he continued all that day, and all the next night, not even suffering a carpet to be spread beneath him, but kneeling on the hard pavement.

Early in the morning he went round all the altars of the church, and paid his devotions to the bodies of the saints there interred; which having performed, he came back to Becket’s tomb, where he staid till the hour when mass was said in the church, at which he assisted.

During all this time he had taken no kind of food; and, except when he gave his naked body to be whipped, was clad in sackcloth. Before his departure, (that he might fully complete the expiation of his sin, according to the notions of the church of Rome,) he assigned a revenue of forty pounds a year, to keep lights always burning in honour of Becket about his tomb. The next evening he reached London, where he found it necessary to be blooded, and rest some days.[249]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 62·00.

[247] Unfortunately it was not discovered that some of the letters, in the inscription referred to, could not be represented by the usual Saxon types, till it was too late to remedy the accident by having them engraven on wood; and hence the inscription is, of necessity, omitted.--_Editor._

[248] Gough’s Sepul. Mon. vol. i. p. 39, 40.

[249] Lord Lyttleton.

~July 8.~

CHRONOLOGY.

July 8, 1533, Ariosto, the celebrated Italian poet, died at Ferrara: he was born in 1474, at the castle of Reggio in Lombardy.

THE SEASON.

In high summer, persons accustomed to live “well” should diminish the usual quantity of their viands and fluids: wine should be taken very sparingly, and spirituous liquors seldom. Habits of indulgence at this period of the year fill many graves.

* * * * *

It may not be amiss to cite

A CURIOUS ADVERTISEMENT,

_From the Bahama Gazette, June 30, 1795_.

WHEREAS the subscriber, through the pernicious habit of drinking, has greatly hurt himself in purse and person, and rendered himself odious to all his acquaintance, and finding there is no possibility of breaking off from the said practice, but through the impossibility to find the liquor; he therefore begs and prays that no persons will sell him, for money or on trust, any sort of spirituous liquors, as he will not in future pay it, but will prosecute any one for an action of damage against the temporal and eternal interests of the public’s humble, serious, and sober servant,

JAMES CHALMERS.

Witness WILLIAM ANDREWS.

_Nassau, June 28, 1795._

ARRIVALS EXTRAORDINARY.

At the commencement of July, 1826, hedgehogs were seen wandering along the most public streets of Oldham, in Lancashire, during the open day. It is presumed that, as the brooks from which these animals were wont to be supplied with drink had been dried up from the long-continued drought, they were obliged to throw themselves upon the mercy and protection of their “good neighbours in the town.”[250]

* * * * *

In this month we have a host of whizzing insects to prevent our lassitude becoming downright laziness. From the kind of resentment they excite, we may pretty well imagine the temper and disposition of the persons they provoke.

THE DROWNING FLY.

In yonder glass behold a drowning fly! Its little feet how vainly does it ply! Its cries we hear not, yet it loudly cries, And gentle hearts can feel its agonies! Poor helpless victim--and will no one save? Will no one snatch thee from the threat’ning wave? Is there no friendly hand--no helper nigh, And must thou, little struggler--must thou die? Thou shalt not, whilst this hand can set thee free, Thou shalt not die--this hand shall rescue thee! My finger’s tip shall prove a friendly shore, There, trembler, all thy dangers now are o’er. Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear; Go, join thy num’rous kindred in the air. Away it flies; resumes its harmless play; And lightly gambols in the golden ray.

Smile not, spectators, at this humble deed; For you, perhaps, a nobler task’s decreed. A young and sinking family to save: To raise the infant from destruction’s wave! To you, for help, the victims lift their eyes-- Oh! hear, for pity’s sake, their plaintive cries; Ere long, unless some guardian interpose, O’er their devoted heads the flood may close!

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 63·07.

[250] Manchester Gazette.

~July 9.~

WOLVERHAMPTON FAIR.

Every year on the ninth of July, the eve of the _great fair_ of Wolverhampton, there was formerly a procession of men in antique armour, preceded by musicians playing the _fair tune_, and followed by the steward of the deanry manor, the peace officers, and many of the principal inhabitants. Tradition says, the ceremony originated when Wolverhampton was a great emporium of wool, and resorted to by merchants of the staple from all parts of England. The necessity of an armed force to keep peace and order during the fair, (which is said to have lasted fourteen days, but the charter says only eight,) is not improbable. This custom of _walking the fair_, as it was called, with the armed procession, &c. was first omitted about the year 1789.[251]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 63·87.

[251] Shaw’s Staffordshire.

~July 10.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the tenth of July, 1740, died sir Charles Crispe, bart. of Oxfordshire. He was great-grandson of sir Nicholas Crispe, bart. who spent 100,000_l._ in the service of king Charles I. and II. He took out a commission of array for the city of London, for which the parliament offered 1000_l._ reward to bring him alive or dead. The city of London sent him commissioner to Breda, to invite over king Charles II. who took him in his arms, and kissed him, and said, “Surely the city has a mind highly to oblige me, by sending over my father’s old friend to invite me.” He was the first who settled a trade to the coast of Africa.[252]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 62·85.

[252] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~July 11.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the eleventh of July, 1804, general Hamilton of New-York was killed in a duel by colonel Burr, the vice-president of the United States.

MEMORANDUM.

_To Men of Honour._

WHEREAS certain persons who contemn the obligations of religion, are nevertheless mindful of the law of the land: And whereas it is supposed by some of such persons, that parties contemplating to fight a duel and bound over before a magistrate to keep the peace, may, notwithstanding, fight such duel in foreign parts: BE IT KNOWN, that the law which extends protection to all its subjects, can also punish them for breach of duty, and that, therefore, offences by duelling beyond sea, are indictable and punishable in manner and form, the same as if such duels were fought within the United kingdom.

* * * * *

After this warning against a prevailing offence, we may become acquainted with the character of an unoffending individual, through the pen of a respected friend to this work.

* * * * *

CHEAP TOMMY.

_For the Every-Day Book._

If I forget thee, worthy old Tam Hogg, May I forget that ever knives were cheap:-- If I forget thy barrow huge and steep, Slow as a snail, and croaking like a frog:-- Peripatetic, stoic, “cynic dog,” If from my memory perish thee, or thine, May I be doomed to gnaw asunder twine, Or shave with razor that has chipped a log! For in thy uncouth tabernacle dwelt Honest philosophy; and oh! far more Religion thy unstooping heart could melt, Nor scorned the muse to sojourn at thy door; What pain, toil, poverty didst thou endure, Reckless of earth so heaven might find thee pure!

* * * * *

In my native village of Heanor, in Derbyshire, some sixteen or seventeen years ago, there appeared a singular character, whose arrival excited a _sensation_, and became an epoch in its history. Some boys who had been strolling to a distance brought an account that a little man, with a barrow as large as a house, was coming along the lane, at “a snail’s gallop.” Forth sallied a troop of gazers who found a small, thick-set, round-faced man, in an old, red, soldier’s jacket, and cocked hat, sitting on the handle of his barrow, which was built and roofed after the manner of a caravan; and was a storehouse of some kind of merchandise, what they yet knew not. He sat very quietly as they came round him, and returned their greetings in a way short and dry, and which became markedly testy and impatient, as they crowded more closely, and began to ask questions. “Not too fast, my masters; not too fast! my first answer can’t overtake your twentieth question.” At length he rose, and, by the aid of a strong strap passed over his shoulders, heaved up the handles of his barrow, and placing his head against it, like a tortoise under a stone, proceeded at a toilsome rate of some few hundred yards per hour. This specimen of patient endurance amazed the villagers. A brawny labourer would have thought it a severe toil to wheel it a mile; yet this singular being, outdoing the phlegmatic perseverance of an ass, casting Job himself in the background for patience, from league to league, from county to county, and from year to year, urged on his ponderous vehicle with almost imperceptible progression.

It was soon found that he was not more singular in appearance, than eccentric in mind. A villager, thinking to do him a kindness, offered to wheel his barrow, but what was the surprise of the gazers to see him present the man payment when he had moved it a considerable way, and on its being refused, to behold him quietly raise the barrow, turn it round, and wheel it back to the identical spot whence the villager set out.

On reaching the hamlet, he took up his quarters in a stable, and opened his one-wheeled caravan, displaying a good assortment of cutlery ware. It was there I first saw him, and was struck with his grave and uncomplying air, more like that of a beadle stationed to keep off intruders, than of a solicitous vender of wares. He was standing with a pair of pliers, twisting wire into scissor-chains; keeping, at the same time, a shrewd eye upon the goods. The prices were so wonderfully low that it was whispered the articles could not be good, or they were stolen: yet I did not perceive that either idea was sufficient to dissuade the people from buying, or from attempting to get them still lower. Then it was that his character and temper showed themselves. He laid aside the goods attempted to be chaffered for, saying,--“You shall not have them at all, I tell no lies about them nor shall you.” In fact his goods were _goods_. So much so, that many of them are in use in the village to this day: he desired only such a profit as would supply the necessities of one who never slept in a bed, never approached a fire for the sake of its warmth, nor ever indulged in any luxury. His greatest trial appeared to be to bear with the sordid spirit of the world. When this did not cross him he became smiling, communicative, and, strange as it may seem, exceedingly intelligent. I well recollect my boyish astonishment when he quoted to me maxims of Plato and Seneca, and when I heard him pouring out abundance of anecdote from the best sources. He had a real spirit of kindliness in him, though the most immediately striking features of his mind were shrewdness and rigid notions of truth; which, as he practised it himself, he seemed to expect from the whole world. He had a tame hedgehog which partook his fare, slept in a better nest than himself, and was evidently a source of affectionate enjoyment. He was fond of children; but he had a stern spirit of independence which made him refuse gifts and favours, unless permitted to make some return. My mother frequently sent him warm messes in the wintry weather, and he brought her a scissor-chain and a candlestick of brass-wire. He was a writer of anagrams, acrostics, and so forth; and one epitaph written for one of his bystanders was,--

“Too bad for heaven, too good for hell, So where he’s gone I cannot tell.”

He always slept with his barrow chained to his leg; and on Sundays kept himself totally shut up, except during service time, standing the day through, reading his bible.

When his character was known, he grew to be a general favourite. His stable became a sort of school, where he taught, to a constant audience, more useful knowledge than has emanated from many a philosopher, modern or antique. The good-will he excited evidently pleased the old man; he came again, and again, till at length years rolled away without his reappearance, and he was considered as dead. But not so. For ten or eleven years he was still going on his pilgrimage, a wanderer and an outcast; probably doing voluntary penance for some sin or unhappiness of youth; for he carefully kept aloof of his native country, Scotland, and though he spoke of one living sister with tearful eyes, he had not seen her for many, many years. In 1820 he had found his way to Midsomer Norton, near Bristol, where he was hooted into the town by a troop of boys, a poor, worn-down object, of the most apparent misery. This I accidentally learnt, a short time ago, from a little book, the memorial of his last days, written by the worthy clergyman of that place, and published by Simpkin and Marshall, London.

What a tale would the history of those years have displayed. What scenes of solitary travel, exhaustion, suffering, insults, and occasional sympathy and kindness, breaking, like cheering sunbeams, through the ordinary gloom. _His barrow was gone!_ Poverty had wrung from him, or weakness had compelled him to abandon, that old companion of his travels. I have often thought what must have been his feelings at that parting. Poor old man, it was his house, his friend, his dog, his everything. What energies had he not expended in propelling it from place to place. It could not have been left without a melancholy pang,--without seeming to begin a more isolated and cheerless existence. But I cannot dwell upon the subject. It is sufficient to say that he found in the rev. William Read, who wrote the little book just mentioned, an excellent friend in the time of final need. That he retained the same eccentric, yet consistent character to the last; displaying, in a concluding scene of such bodily wretchedness and sufferings as has seldom been paralleled, the same astonishing endurance, nay ebullient thankfulness of heart; and that his piety seems to have worn off much of his asperity of manner.

A didactic poem called “The Flower Knot,” or, “The Guide Post,” was found after his death, a composition of no ordinary merit, from which we will quote two passages, and bid a final adieu to our old friend under every name of Thomas Hogg, Tam Hogg, or Cheap Tommy.

_Wit._

“Pope calls it feather--does he not say right? ’Tis like a custard weak, and bears no weight; But had it not that wiping feather been The poet’s lines had never shone so clean. Wisdom on foot ascends by slow degrees; But wit has wings, and soars aloft with ease. The sweetest wine makes vinegar most sour, So wit debased is hell’s consummate power.”

_Hope._

“Fountain of song, it prayer begins and ends; Hope is the wing by which the soul ascends. Some may allege I wander from the path, And give to Hope the proper rights of Faith. Like love and friendship, these, a comely pair, What’s done by one, the other has a share: When heat is felt, we judge that fire is near, Hope’s twilight comes,--Faith’s day will soon appear. Thus when the christian’s contest doth begin Hope fights with doubts, till Faith’s reserves come in. Hope comes desiring and expects relief; Faith follows, and peace springs from firm belief. Hope balances occurrences of time; Faith will not stop till it has reached the prime. Just like copartners in joint stock of trade, What one contracts is by the other paid. Make use of Hope thy labouring soul to cheer, Faith shall be giv’n, if thou wilt persevere. We see all things alike with either eye, So Faith and Hope the self-same object spy. But what is Hope? or where, or how begun? It comes from God, as light comes from the sun.”

H.

* * * * *

In consequence of this interesting narrative concerning Thomas Hogg, the “little book--the memorial of his last days” by the rev. Mr. Read, was procured by the editor. It is entitled “The Scottish Wanderer,” and as our kind correspondent “H.” has only related his own observations, probably from apprehension that his narrative might be deemed of sufficient length, a few particulars are extracted from Mr. Read’s tract respecting the latter days of this “singular character.”

Mr. Read commences his “Memoir of Thomas Hogg,” by saying--“On Sunday the ninth of January 1820, as I was proceeding in the services of the day, my attention was attracted by a wretched object seated in the nave of the church. There was an air of devout seriousness about him, under all the disadvantages of tattered garments and squalid appearance, which afforded a favourable presentiment to my mind. When the service was over the stranger disappeared.”

Mr. Read conceived that he was some poor passing beggar, who had been allured by the fire in the stove, but to his surprise on the following Sunday the same object presented himself, and took his station, as before, near the stove. He seemed to be a man decrepit with age: his head resting upon his bosom, which was partly exposed, betokened considerable infirmity. Under a coarse and dirty sackcloth frock was to be seen a soldier’s coat patched in various places, which was strangely contrasted with the cleanliness of his shirt. His whole appearance was that of the lowest degree of poverty. His devout attention induced Mr. Read when the service was concluded to inquire who this old man was. “Sir,” replied his informant, “he is a person who works at the blacksmith’s shop; he is a remarkable man, and carries about with him a bible, which he constantly reads.”

In the course of the week Mr. Read paid him a visit. He found him standing by the side of the forge, putting some links of iron-wire together, to form a chain to suspend scissors. The impressions of wretchedness excited by his first appearance were greatly heightened by the soot, which, from the nature of his occupation, had necessarily gathered round his person; and after a few general observations Mr. Read went to Mr. H. S., the master of the shop, who informed him that on Tuesday the fourth of January, in the severely cold weather which then prevailed, this destitute object came to his shop, almost exhausted with cold and fatigue. In his passage through the neighbouring village of P----, he had been inhumanly pelted with snow-balls by a party of boys, and might probably have perished, but for the humanity of some respectable inhabitants of the place, who rescued him from their hands. Having reached Mr. S.’s shop, he requested permission to erect, in a shed which adjoined the shop, his little apparatus, consisting of a slight table, with a box containing his tools. The benevolent master of the premises kindly stationed him near the forge, where he might pursue his work with advantage. In the evening, when the workmen were about to retire, Mr. S. asked him where he intended to lodge that night. The old man inquired if there were any ox-stall or stable near at hand, which he might be permitted to occupy. His benefactor offered his stable, and the poor creature, with his box and table upon his back, accompanied Mr. S. home, where as comfortable a bed as fresh straw, and shelter from the inclemency of the weather, could afford, was made up. One of Mr. S.’s children afterwards carried him some warm cider, which he accepted with reluctance, expressing his fears lest he should be depriving some part of the family of it.

The weather was very cold: the thermometer, during the past night, had been as low as six or seven degrees of Fahrenheit. In the morning he resumed his post by the side of the forge. Mr. S. allowed him to retain his station as long as he needed it; and contracted so great a regard for him, as to declare, that he never learned so complete a lesson of humility, contentment, and gratitude, as from the conduct of this man.

The poor fellow’s days continued to be passed much in the manner above described; but he had exchanged the stable, at night, for the shop, which was warmer, as soon as his benevolent host was satisfied respecting his principles; and with exemplary diligence he pursued his humble employment of making chains and skewers. He usually dined on hot potatoes, or bread and cheese, with occasionally half a pint of beer. If solicited to take additional refreshment, he would decline it, saying, “I am thankful for the kindness,--but it would be _intemperate_.”

At an early hour in the afternoon of the first Saturday which he spent in this village, he put by his work, and began to hum a hymn tune. Mr. S. asked him if he could sing. “No, sir,” he replied. “I thought,” added Mr. S., “I heard you singing.” “I was only composing my thoughts a little,” said the poor man, “for the sabbath.”

On Mr. Read being informed of these particulars, he was induced to return to the stranger with a view to converse with him. He says “There was a peculiar bluntness in his manner of expressing himself, but it was very far removed from any thing of churlishness or incivility. All his answers were pertinent, and were sometimes given in such measured terms as quite astonished me. The following was a part of our conversation.--‘Well, my friend, what are you about?’ ‘Making scissor-chains, sir.’ ‘And how long does it take you to make one?’ With peculiar archness he looked up in my face, (for his head always rested upon his bosom, so that the back part of it was depressed nearly to the same horizontal plane with his shoulders,) and with a complacent smile, said, ‘Ah! and you will next ask me how many I make in a day; and then what the wire costs me; and afterwards what I sell them for.’ From the indirectness of his reply, I was induced to conclude that he was in the habit of making something considerable from his employment, and wished to conceal the amount of his gains.” It appeared, however, that he was unable, even with success in disposing of his wares, to earn more than sixpence or sevenpence a day, and that his apparent reluctance to make known his poverty proceeded from habitual contentment.

Mr. Read asked him, why he followed a vagrant life, in preference to a stationary one, in which he would be better known, and more respected? “The nature of my business,” he replied, “requires that I should move about from place to place, that, having exhausted my custom in one spot, I may obtain employment in another. Besides,” added he, “my mode of life has at least this advantage, that if I leave my friends behind me, I leave also my enemies.”

When asked his age, he replied, with a strong and firm voice, “That is a question which I am frequently asked, as if persons supposed me to be a great age: why, I am a mere boy.”

“A mere boy!” repeated Mr. Read; “and pray what do you mean by that expression?”--“I am sixty-five years of age, sir; and with a light heel and a cheerful heart, hope to hold out a considerable time longer.” In the course of the conversation, he said, “It is not often that I am honoured with the visits of clergymen. Two gentlemen, however, of your profession once came to me when I was at ----, in ----, and I expressed a hope that I should derive some advantage from their conversation. ‘We are come,’ said they, ‘with the same expectation to you, for we understand that you know many things.’ I told them that I feared they would be greatly disappointed.” He then stated that the old scholastic question was proposed to him, “Why has God given us two ears and one mouth?” “I replied,” said he, “that we may hear twice as much as we speak;” adding, with his accustomed modesty, “I should not have been able to have given an answer to this question if I had not heard it before.”

Before they parted, Mr. Read lamented the differences that existed between persons of various religious persuasions. The old man rejoined in a sprightly tone, “No matter; there are two sides to the river.” His readiness in reply was remarkable. Whatever he said implied contentment, cheerfulness, and genuine piety. Before Mr. Read took leave of him, he inquired how long he intended to remain in the village. He answered, “I do not know; but as I have house-room and fire without any tax, I am quite satisfied with my situation, and only regret the trouble I am occasioning to my kind host.”

Until the twentieth of the month Mr. Read saw but little of him. On the morning of that day he met him creeping along under a vast burden; for on the preceding Monday he had set out on a journey to Bristol, to procure a fresh stock of wire, and with half a hundred weight of wire upon his back, and three halfpence in his pocket, the sole remains of his scanty fund, he was now returning on foot, after having passed two days on the road, and the intervening night before a coal-pit fire in a neighbouring village. The snow was deep upon the ground, and the scene indescribably desolate. Mr. Read was glad to see him, and inquired if he were not very tired. “A little, a little,” he replied, and taking off his hat, he asked if he could execute any thing for me. An order for some trifling articles, brought him to Mr. Read on the following Wednesday, who entered into conversation with him, and says, “he repeated many admirable adages, with which his memory appeared to be well stored, and incidentally touched on the word _cleanliness_. Immediately I added, ‘cleanliness is next to godliness;’ and seized the opportunity which I had long wanted, but from fear of wounding his mind hesitated to embrace, to tell him of the absence of that quality in himself. He with much good nature replied, ‘I believe I am _substantially_ clean. I have a clean shirt every week: my business, however, necessarily makes me dirty in my person.’ ‘But why do you not dress more tidily, and take more care of yourself? You know that God hath given us the comforts of life that we may enjoy them. Cannot you afford yourself these comforts?’ ‘That question,’ said he emphatically, but by no means rudely, ‘you should have set out with. No, sir, I cannot afford myself these comforts.’”

Mr. Read perceiving his instep to be inflamed, and that he had a miserable pair of shoes, pressed a pair of his own upon him.

On the following day he visited him, and found him working upon his chains while sitting,--a posture in which he did not often indulge. Mr. Read looked at his foot, and found the whole leg prodigiously swollen and discoloured. It had inflamed and mortified from fatigue of walking and inclemency of the weather during the journey to Bristol. Mr. Read insisted on his having medical assistance. “The doctor is expected in the village to-day, and you _must_ see him: I will give orders for him to call in upon you.” “That is kind, _very_ kind,” he replied. At this moment an ignorant talker in the shop exclaimed in a vexatious and offensive manner, that he would not have such a leg (taking off his hat) “for _that_, full of guineas.” The old man looked up somewhat sharply at him, and said, “nor I, if I could help it.” The other, however, proceeded with his ranting. The afflicted man added, “You only torture me by your observations.” This was the only instance approaching to impatience he manifested.

It appears that of late he had slept in one corner of the workshop, upon the bare earth, without his clothes, and with the only blanket he had, wrapped round his shoulders. It was designed to procure him a bed in a better abode; but he preferred remaining where he was, and only requested some clean straw. He seemed fixed to his purpose; every thing was arranged, as well as could be, for his accommodation.

Early the next morning Mr. Read found the swelling and blackness extending themselves rapidly towards the vital parts. The poor fellow was at times delirious, and convulsed; but he dozed during the greater part of the day. It was perceived from an involuntary gesture of the medical gentleman on his entrance, that he had not before witnessed many such objects. He declared there was but little hope of life. Warm fomentations, and large doses of bark and port wine were administered. A bed was provided in a neighbouring house, and Mr. Read informed the patient of his wish to remove him to it, and his anxiety that he should take the medicines prescribed. He submitted to every thing proposed, and added, “One night more, and I shall be beyond the clouds.”

On the Saturday his speech was almost unintelligible, the delirium became more frequent, and his hands were often apparently employed in the task to which they had been so long habituated, making links for chains; his respiration became more and more hurried; and Mr. Read ordered that he should be allowed to remain quite quiet upon his bed. At certain intervals his mind seemed collected, and Mr. R. soothed him by kind attentions. He said, “There are your spectacles; but I do not think they have brought your bible? I dare say you would like to read it?” “By-and-by,” he replied: “I am pretty well acquainted with its contents.” He articulated indistinctly, appeared exhausted, and on Sunday morning his death-knell was rung from the steeple. He died about two o’clock in the morning without a sigh. His last word was, in answer to the question, how are you?--“Happy.”

A letter from a gentleman of Jedburgh, to the publishers of Mr. Read’s tract, contains the following further particulars respecting this humble individual.

* * * * *

At school he seldom associated with those of his own age, and rarely took part in those games which are so attractive to the generality of youth, and which cannot be condemned in their own place. His declining the society of his schoolfellows did not seem to arise from a sour and unsocial temper, nor from a quarrelsome disposition on his part, but from a love of solitude, and from his finding more satisfaction in the resources of his own mind, than in all the noise and tumult of the most fascinating amusements.

* * * * *

He was, from his youth, noted for making shrewd and sometimes witty remarks, which indicated no ordinary cast of mind; and in many instances showed a sagacity and discrimination which could not be expected from his years. He was, according to the expressive language of his contemporaries, an “auld farrend” boy. He began at an early period to make scissor-chains, more for amusement than for profit, and without ever dreaming that to this humble occupation he was to be indebted for subsistence in the end of his days. When no more than nine or ten years of age, he betook himself to the selling of toys and some cheap articles of hardware; and gave reason to hope, from his shrewd, cautious, and economical character, that he would gradually increase his stock of goods, and rise to affluence in the world. His early acquaintances, considering these things, cannot account for the extreme poverty in which he was found at the time of his death. He appears to have been always inattentive to his external dress, which, at times, was ragged enough; but was remarkable for attention to his linen--his shirts, however coarse, were always clean. This was his general character in the days of his youth. On his last visit to Jedburgh, twenty-nine years before his death, he came with his clothes in a most wretched condition. His sisters, two very excellent women, feeling for their brother, and concerned for their own credit, got a suit of clothes made without delay. Dressed in this manner, he continued in the place for some time, visiting old acquaintances, and enjoying the society of his friends. He left Jedburgh soon after; and, from that time, his sisters heard no more of their brother.

* * * * *

Hogg’s father was not a native of Jedburgh. Those with whom I have conversed seem to think that he came from the neighbourhood of Selkirk, and was closely connected with the progenitor of the _Ettrick Shepherd_. He, properly speaking, had no trade; at least did not practise any: he used to travel through the country with a pack containing some hardware goods, and at one time kept a small shop in Jedburgh. All accounts agree that the father had, if not a talent for poetry, at least a talent for rhyming.

* * * * *

He appears to have had a most excellent mother, whom he regularly accompanied to their usual place of public worship, and to whom he was indebted for many pious and profitable instructions, which seem to have been of signal service to her son when she herself was numbered with the dead and mouldering in the dust.

* * * * *

During the time of his continuance in Jedburgh and its vicinity, he evinced a becoming regard to the external duties of religion; but nothing of that sublime devotion which cheered the evening of his days, and which caused such astonishing contentment in the midst of manifold privations. My own belief is, from all the circumstances of the case, that the pious efforts of his worthy mother did not succeed in the first instance, but were blessed for his benefit at an advanced period of life. The extreme poverty to which he was reduced, and the corporal ailments under which he had laboured for a long time, were like breaking up the fallow ground, and causing the seed which had been sown to vegetate.

* * * * *

We must here part from “the Scottish Wanderer.” Some, perhaps, may think he might have been dismissed before--“for what was he?” He was not renowned, for he was neither warrior nor statesman, but to be guileless and harmless is to be happier than the ruler of the turbulent, and more honourable than the leader of an army. If his life was not illustrious, it was wise; for he could not have been seen, and sojourned in the hamlets of labour and ignorance, without exciting regard and communicating instruction. He might have been ridiculed or despised on his first appearance, but where he remained he taught by the pithy truth of his sayings, and the rectitude of his conduct: if the peripatetic philosophers of antiquity did so much, they did no more. Few among those who, in later times, have been reputed wise, were teachers of practical wisdom: the wisdom of the rest was surpassed by “Cheap Tommy’s.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 64·07.

~July 12.~

A VICIOUS SWAN.

In July, 1731, “an odd accident happened in Bushy-park to one of the helpers in the king’s stables, riding his majesty’s own hunting horse, who was frighted by a swan flying at him out of the canal, which caused him to run away, and dash out his brains against the iron gates; the man was thrown on the iron spikes, which only entering his clothes did him no hurt. Some time before, the same swan is said to have flown at his highness the duke, but caused no disaster.”[253]

* * * * *

This, which is noticed by a pleasant story in column 914 as the “swan-hopping season,” is a time of enjoyment with all who are fond of aquatic pleasures. On fine days, and especially since the invention of steam-boats, crowds of citizens and suburbans of London glide along the Thames to different places of entertainment on its banks.

ANNUAL EXCURSION TO TWICKENHAM.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--As it is the object of the _Every-Day Book_ to preserve a faithful portraiture of the prominent features and amusements of the age, as well as the customs of the “olden time,” I subjoin for insertion a brief account of an unobtruding society for the relief of the distressed; with the sincere hope that its laudable endeavours may be followed by many others.

A number of respectable tradesmen, who meet to pass a few social hours at the house of Mr. Cross, Bethnal-green, impressed by the distresses of the thickly-populated district in which they reside, resolved to lay themselves and friends under a small weekly contribution, to allay, as far as possible, the wretchedness of their poorer neighbours. They feel much gratification in knowing that in the course of two years their exertions have alleviated the sorrows of many indigent families. Nearly four hundred friends have come forward as subscribers to assist them in their praise-worthy undertaking; yet such is the misery by which they are surrounded--such are the imperative demands on their bounty, that their little fund is continually impoverished.

In furtherance of their benevolent views they projected an annual excursion to Twickenham, sometime in the month of July; the profits from the tickets to be devoted to the _Friend-in-Need Society_. I have joined them in this agreeable trip, and regard the day as one of the happiest in my existence. A few gentlemen acted as a committee, and to their judicious arrangements much of the pleasure of the day is due. The morning was particularly favourable: at eight o’clock the “Diana” steam-packet left her moorings off Southwark-bridge, and bore away up the river with her long smoky pendant; a good band of music enlivened the scene by popular airs, not forgetting the eternal “Jagher chorus.” I arrived on board just at starting, and having passed the usual “how d’ye does,” seated myself to observe the happy circle. They appeared to have left “old care” behind them; the laugh and joke resounded from side to side, and happiness dwelt in every countenance. There was no unnecessary etiquette; all were neighbours and all intimate. As soon as we began to get clear of London, the beautiful scenery formed a delightful panoramic view. Battersea, Wandsworth, Putney, Kew, and Richmond, arose in succession; when, after staying a short time at the latter place to allow those who were disposed to land, we proceeded on to Twickenham Aite, an island delightfully situated in the middle of the Thames, where we arrived about twelve o’clock. Preparation had been made for our reception: the boat hauled up alongside the island for the better landing; tents were erected on the lawn; a spacious and well-stocked fruit-garden was thrown open for our pleasure; and plenty of good cheer provided by “mine host” of the “Eel-pie house.” On each side of the lawn might be seen different parties doing ample justice to “ham sandwiches, and bottled cider.” After the repast, the “elder” gentlemen formed into a convivial party; the “report of the society” was read; and, afterwards, the song and glee went merrily round; while the younger formed themselves in array for a country-dance, and nimbly footed to the sound of sweet music “under the greenwood tree:” the more juvenile felt equal delight at “kiss-in-the-ring,” on the grass-plat.

He must have been a stoic indeed who could have viewed this scene without feelings of delight, heightened as it was by the smiles of loveliness. These sports were maintained until time called for our departure; when having re-embarked, the vessel glided heavily back, as if reluctant to break off such happy hours. The dance was again renewed on board--the same hearty laugh was again heard; there was the same exuberance of spirits in the juniors; no one was tired, and all seemed to regret the quickly approaching separation. About nine o’clock we safely landed from the boat at Queenhithe stairs, and after a parting “farewell,” each pursued the way home, highly delighted with the excursion of the day, enhanced as it was by the reflection, that in the pursuit of pleasure we had assisted the purposes of charity.

J. H. C.

_Kingsland-road, July, 1826._

SWAN-HOPPING.

It appears that formerly--“When the citizens, in gaily-decorated barges, went up the river annually in August, to mark and count their swans, which is called swan-hopping, they used to land at Barn Elms, and, after partaking of a cold collation on the grass, they merrily danced away a few hours. This was a gala-day for the village; and happy was the lad or lass admitted into the party of the fine folks of London. This practice has, however, been long discontinued.”[254]

“SWAN-HOPPING”--_Explained_.

The yearly visit of members of the corporation of London to the swans on its noble river, is commonly termed “Swan-_hop_ping.” This name is a vulgar and long used corruption of “Swan-_up_ping,” signifying the duties of the official visiters, which was to “take _up_” the swans and mark them. The ancient and real term may be gathered from the old laws concerning swans, to have been technically and properly used. They were manorial and royal birds; and in proof of their estimation in former times, a rare and valuable quarto tract of four leaves, printed in 1570, may be referred to. It mentions the “_vpping_ daies;” declares what persons shall “_vp_ no swannes;” and speaks of a court no longer popularly known, namely, “the king’s majesties justices of sessions of swans.” This curious tract is here reprinted verbatim, viz:--

THE

~Order for Swannes~

both by

THE STATUTES, AND BY THE AUNCIENT ORDERS AND CUSTOMES, USED WITHIN THE REALME OF ENGLAND.

THE ORDER FOR SWANNES.

First, Ye shall enquire if there be any person that doth possesse any Swanne, and hath not compounded with the Kings Maiesty for his Marke (that is to say) six shillings eight pence, for his Marke during his life: If you know any such you shall present them, that all such Swans and Cignets, may be seazed to the King.

2. Also you shall enquire, if any person doth possesse any Swan, or Cignet, that may not dispend the cleare yearly value of five Markes of Freehold, except Heire apparant to the Crowne: then you shall present him. 22 Edw. iv. cap. 6.

3. Also, If any person or persons doe drive away any Swanne or Swannes, breeding or prouiding to breed; be it vpon his own ground; or any other mans ground: he or they so offending, shall suffer one yeeres imprisonment, and fine at the Kings pleasure, thirteene shillings four pence. 11 Hen. vii.

4. If there be found any Weares vpon the Riuers, not hauing any Grates before them; It is lawfull for every Owner, Swan-Masters, or Swanne-herdes, to pull vp, or cut downe the Birth-net, or Gynne of the said Weare or Weares.

5. If any person, or persons, be found carrying any Swan-hooke, and the same person being no Swan-herd, nor accompanied with two Swan-herds: every such person shall pay to the King. Thirteene shillings four pence, (that is to say) Three shillings foure pence to him that will informe, and the rest to the King.

6. The auncient custome of this Realme hath and dothe allow to every owner of such ground where any such Swan shall heirie, to take one Land-bird; and for the same, the Kings Maiestie must have of him that, hath the Land-bird, Twelve pence, Be it vpon his owne ground, or any other.

7. It is ordained, that if any person, or persons, do convey away or steale away the Egge, or Egges of any Swannes, and the same being duely proued by two sufficient witnesses, that then euery such offender shall pay to the King thirteene shillings foure pence, for euery Egge so taken out of the Nest of any Swanne.

8. It is ordained, that euery owner that hath any Swans, shall pay euery yeare yearly for euery Swan-marke, foure pence to the Master of the Game for his Fee, and his dinner and supper free on the Upping daies: And if the saide Master of the Game faile of the foure pence, then he shall distraine the Game of euery such owner, that so doth faile of payment.

9. If there be any person or persons, that hath Swannes, that doe heirie vpon any of their seuerall waters, and after come to the co’mon Riuer, they shall pay a Land-bird to the King, and be obedient to all Swanne Lawes: for diuers such persons doe use collusion, to defraud the King of his right.

10. It is ordained, that euery person, hauing any Swans, shal begin yearly to mark, the Monday next after St. Peters day, and no person before; but after as conueniently may be, so that the Master of the Kings Game, or his Deputy, be present. And if any take vpon him or them, to marke any Swanne or Cignet, in other manner, to forfeit to the Kings Maiestie for euery Swan so marked fortie shillings.

11. It is ordained, that no person or persons being Owners, or Deputies, or seruants to them, or other, shall go on marking without the Master of the Game, or his Deputie be present, with other Swan-herds next adioyning, vpon paine to forfeit to the Kings Maiesty, fortie shillings.

12. It is ordained, that no person shall hunt any Duckes, or any other chase in the water, or neere the haunt of Swans in Fence-time, with any Dogge or Spaniels: viz. from the feast of Easter to Lammas: vpon paine for euery time so found in hunting, to forfeit sixe shillings eight pence.

13. It is ordained, that if any person doth set any snares or any manner of Nets, Lime, or Engines, to take Bittorns or Swans, from the Feast of Easter to the Sunday after Lammas day; He or they to forfeit to the Kings Maiestie for euery time so setting, six shillings eight pence.

14. It is ordained that no person take vp any Cignet unmarked, or make any sale of them, but that the Kings Swan-herd, or his Deputie be present, with other Swan-herds next adioyning, or haue knowledge of the same: vpon paine to forfeit to the Kings Maiestie fortie shillings.

15. It is ordained that the Swan-herdes of the Duchie of Lancaster, shall vp no Swannes, or make any sale of them, without the Master of the Swannes or his Deputy be present: vpon paine to forfeite to the Kings Maiestie forty shillings.

16. And in like manner, the Kings Swan-herd shal not enter into the Libertie of the Duchie, without the Duchies Swanherd be there present: vpon the like paine to forfeite forty shillings.

17. It is ordained, that if any Swannes or Cignets be found double marked, they shall be seaz’d to the Kings vse, till it be prooved to whom the same Swans or Cignets doe belong: And if it cannot be prooved to whome they doe belong, that then they be seazd for the King, and his Grace to be answered to the value of them.

18. It is ordained that no person make sale of any white Swans nor make delivery of them, without the Master of the Game be present or his Deputy, with other Swan-herds next adioyning; vpon paine to forfiet forty shillings: whereof six shillings eight pence to him that will informe: and the rest to the Kings Maiestie.

19. It is ordained, that no person shall lay Leapes, set any Nets, or Dragge, within the common streames or Riuers vpon the day time, from the Feast of the Inuention of the Crossse, vnto the Feast of Lammas: vpon paine so oft as they be found so offending, to forfeit twenty shillings.

20. It is ordained, that if the Master of the Swans, or his Deputy, do seaze, or take vp any Swa’nes, as strayes, for the Kings Maiesty, that he shall keepe them in a Pit within twenty foote of the Kings streame, or within twenty foote of the common High-way, that the Kings subiects may have a sight of the said Swans so seazed, vpon paine of forty shillings.

21. It is ordained, that if any person doe raze out, counterfeit, or alter the Marke of any Swanne, to the hindering or losse of any mans Game, and any such offendor duly prooved before the Kings Maiesties Commissioners of Swannes, shal suffer one yeares imprisonment, and pay three pounds six shillings eight pence, to the King.

22. It is ordained, that the Commons (that is to say) Dinner and Supper, shall not exceed above twelve pence a man at the most: If there be any Game found where the dinner or supper is holden, vpon that Riuer, the owner being absent and none there for him, the Master of the Game is to lay out eight pence for him, and he is to distraine the Game of him that faileth the paiment of it.

23. It is ordained, that there shall be no forfeiture of any white Swanne or Cignet, but only to the Kings Grace, as well within the Franchise and Liberties, as without, and if any doe deliver the Swanne or Signet so seazed, to any person, but only to the Master of the Kings Game, or to his Deputy, to the Kings vse; he is to forfeit sixe shillings eight pence; and the Swannes to be restored vnto the Master of the Game.

24. It is ordained, that no person shall take any Gray Swans, or Cignets, or white Swans flying, but that he shall within foure dayes next after, deliver it, or them, to the Master of the Kings Game, and the Taker to haue for his paines eight pence. And if he faile, and bring him not, he forfeits forty shillings to the King.

25. It is ordained, that no person, having any Game of his own shall not be Swan-herd for himselfe; nor keeper of any other mans Swannes: upon paine to forfeit to the Kings Maiestie forty shillings.

26. It is ordained, that no Swan-herd, fisher, or fowler, shall vex any other Swan-herd, fisher or fowler, by way of action, but only before the Kings Maiesties Justices of Sessions of Swans, vpon paine of forfeiting to the Kings Grace forty shillings.

27. The Master of the Kings Game, shal not take away any vnmarked Swan coupled with any other mans Swan, for breaking of the brood: and when they doe Heirie, the one part of the Cignets to the King, and the other to the owner of the marked Swanne.

28. Also, any man whatsoever he be, that killeth any Swanne with dogge, or Spaniels, shall forfeit to the King forty shillings, the owner of the Dogge to pay it, whether he be there or no. Also, the Maister of the Swannes, is to have for every White Swanne and Gray vpping, a penny, and for every Cignet two pence.

29. It is ordained, that if any Heirie be leyed with one Swan, the Swan and the Cignets shall be seazed for the King, till due proofe be had whose they are, and whose was the Swan, that is away; Be it Cobbe or Pen.

30. Lastly, If there be any other misdemeanour, or offence committed or done by the owner of any Game, Swan-herd, or other person whatsoeuer, contrary to any law, ancient custome, or vsage heretofore vsed and allowed, and not before herein particularly mentioned or expressed, you shal present the same offence, that reformation may be had, and the offendors punished, according to the quantitie and qualitie of the seuerall offences.

FINIS.

_God Saue the King._

* * * * *

It may be presumed that “the Order for Swannes” fairly illustrates the origin of the term “swan _hop_ping;” perhaps the “order” itself will be regarded by some of the readers of the _Every-Day Book_ as “a singular rarity.”

“SWAN WITH TWO NECKS,”

_Lad-lane_.

The sign of the “Swan with two necks,” at one of our old city inns, from whence there are “passengers and parcels booked” to all parts of the kingdom, is manifestly a corruption. As every swan belonging to the king was marked, according to the swan laws, with two _nicks_ or notches; so the old sign of this inn was the royal bird so marked, that is to say, “the swan with two _nicks_.” In process of time the “two n_i_cks” were called “two n_e_cks;” an ignorant landlord hoisted the foul misrepresentation; and, at the present day, “the swan with two n_i_cks” is commonly called or known by “the name or sign” of “the swan with two n_e_cks.”

* * * * *

“A Southern Tourist,” in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for 1793, giving an account of his summer rambles, which he calls “A naturalist’s stray in the sultry days of July,” relates that he “put up for the night at the Bush-inn, by Staines-bridge,” and describes his sojournment there with such mention of the swans as seems fitting to extract.

“_The Swan at Staines._”

“This inn is beautifully situated: a translucent arm of the Thames runs close under the windows of the eating-rooms, laving the drooping streamers of the Babylonian willows that decorate the garden, and which half conceal the small bridge leading into it. In these windows we spent the evening in angling gudgeons for our supper, and in admiring a company of swans that were preening themselves near an aite in the river. The number of these birds on the Thames is very considerable, all swimming between Marlow and London, being protected by the dyers and vintner’s companies, whose properties they are. These companies annually send to Marlow six wherries, manned by persons authorized to count and to mark the swans, who are hence denominated swan-hoppers. The task assigned them is rather difficult to perform; for, the swans being exceeding strong, scuffling with them amongst the tangles of the river is rather dangerous, and recourse is obliged to be had to certain strong crooks, shaped like those we suppose the Arcadian shepherds to have used.”

The swan is a royal bird, and often figured in the princely pleasures of former kings of England.

In Edward the fourth’s time none was permitted to keep swans, who possessed not a freehold of at least five marks yearly value, except the king’s son: and by an act of Henry the Seventh, persons convicted of taking their eggs were liable to a year’s imprisonment, and a fine at the will of the sovereign.[255]

* * * * *

More anciently, if a swan was stolen in an open and common river, the same swan or another, according to old usage, was to be hanged in a house by the beak, and he who stole it was compelled to give the owner as much corn as would cover the swan, by putting and turning the corn upon the head of the swan, until the head of the swan was covered with corn.[256]

* * * * *

In the hard winter of 1726, a swan was killed “at Emsworth, between Chichester and Portsmouth, lying on a creek of the sea, that had a ring round its neck, with the king of Denmark’s arms on it.”[257]

* * * * *

For indications of the weather, by the flight of the swans on the Thames, see vol. i. col. 505.

It is mentioned by the literary lord Northampton, as formerly “a paradox of simple men to thinke that a swanne cannot hatch without a cracke of thunder.”[258]

THE SWAN’S DEATH SONG.

The car of Juno is fabled to have been drawn by swans. They were dedicated to Venus and Apollo. To the latter, according to Banier, because they were “reckoned to have by instinct a faculty of prediction;” but it is possible that they were consecrated to the deity of music, from their fabled melody at the moment of death.

Buffon says, the ordinary voice of the tame swan is rather low than canorous. It is a sort of creaking, exactly like what is vulgarly called the swearing of a cat, and which the ancients denoted by the imitative word _drensare_. It would seem to be an accent of menace or anger; nor does its love appear to have a softer. In the “Mémoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions” is a dissertation by M. Morin, entitled, “Why swans, which sung so well formerly, sing so ill now.”

The French naturalist further remarks, that “swans, almost mute, like ours in the domestic state, could not be those melodious birds which the ancients have celebrated and extolled. But the wild swan appears to have better preserved its prerogatives; and with the sentiment of entire liberty, it has also the tones. The bursts of its voice form a sort of modulated song.” He then cites the observations of the abbé Arnaud on the song of two wild swans which settled on the magnificent pools of Chantilly. “One can hardly say that the swans of Chantilly sing, they cry; but their cries are truly and constantly modulated; their voice is not sweet; on the contrary, it is shrill, piercing, and rather disagreeable; I could compare it to nothing better than the sound of a clarionet, winded by a person unacquainted with the instrument. Almost all the melodious birds answer to the song of man, and especially to the sound of instruments: I played long on the violin beside our swans, on all the tones and chords. I even struck unison to their own accents, without their seeming to pay the smallest attention: but if a goose be thrown into the basin where they swim with their young, the male, after emitting some hollow sounds, rushes impetuously upon the goose, and seizing it by the neck, plunges the head repeatedly under water, striking it at the same time with his wings; it would be all over with the goose, if it were not rescued. The swan, with his wings expanded, his neck stretched, and his head erect, comes to place himself opposite to his female, and utters a cry, to which the female replies by another, which is lower by half a tone. The voice of the male passes from A (_la_) to B flat (_si bémol_); that of the female, from G sharp (_sol dièse_) to A. The first note is short and transient, and has the effect of that which our musicians call _sensible_; so that it is not detached from the second, but seems to _slip_ into it. Fortunately for the ear, they do not both sing at once; in fact, if while the male sounded B flat, the female struck A, or if the male uttered A, while the female gave G sharp, there would result the harshest and most insupportable of discords. We may add, that this dialogue is subjected to a constant and regular rhythm, with the measure of two times.”

* * * * *

M. Grouvelle observes, that “there is a season when the swans assemble together, and form a sort of commonwealth; it is during severe colds. When the frost threatens to usurp their domain, they congregate and dash the water with all the extent of their wings, making a noise which is heard very far, and which, whether in the night or the day, is louder in proportion as it freezes more intensely. Their efforts are so effectual, that there are few instances of a flock of swans having quitted the water in the longest frosts, though a single swan, which has strayed from the general body, has sometimes been arrested by the ice in the middle of the canals.”

* * * * *

Buffon further remarks, that the shrill and scarcely diversified notes of the loud clarion sounds, differ widely from the tender melody, the sweet and brilliant variety of our chanting birds. Yet it was not enough that the swan sung admirably, the ancients ascribed to it a prophetic spirit. It alone, of animated beings, which all shudder at the prospect of destruction, chanted in the moment of its agony, and with harmonious sounds prepared to breathe the last sigh. They said that when about to expire, and to bid a sad and tender adieu to life, the swan poured forth sweet and affecting accents, which, like a gentle and doleful murmur, with a voice low, plaintive, and melancholy, formed its funeral song. This tearful music was heard at the dawn of day, when the winds and the waves were still: and they have been seen expiring with the notes of their dying hymn. No fiction of natural history, no fable of antiquity, was ever more celebrated, oftener repeated, or better received. It occupied the soft and lively imaginations of the Greeks: poets, orators, even philosophers adopted it as a truth too pleasing to be doubted. And well may we excuse such fables; they were amiable and affecting; they were worth many dull, insipid truths; they were sweet emblems to feeling minds. The swan, doubtless, chants not its approaching end; but, in speaking of the last flight, the expiring effort of a fine genius, we shall ever, with tender melancholy, recal the classical and pathetic expression, “_It is the song of the swan!_”

Shakspeare nobly likens our island to the eyrie of the royal bird:--

--------------I’ the world’s volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; In a great pool, a swan’s nest.

Nor can we fail to remember his beautiful allusions to the swan’s death-song. Portia orders “sweet music” during Bassanio’s deliberation on the caskets:--

Let music sound while he doth make his choice: Then if he lose, he makes a swan-like end-- Fading in music.

And after the Moor has slain his innocent bride, Æmilia exclaims while her heart is breaking, and sings--

Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan, And die in music--Willow, willow, willow.

After “King John” is poisoned, his son, prince Henry, is told that in his dying frenzy “he sung,”--the prince answers--

-------’Tis strange that death should sing.-- I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; And from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest.

* * * * *

The muse of “Paradise” remarks, that

---------The swan with arched neck Between her white wings mantling, proudly rowes Her state with oary feet: yet oft they quit The dank, and rising on stiff pennons, tour The mid æreal sky.

* * * * *

Opportunities for observing the flight of the wild swan are seldom, and hence it is seldom mentioned by our poets. The migrations of other aquatic birds are frequent themes of their speculation.

TO A WATER-FOWL.

Whither, ’midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler’s eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong. As darkly painted on the crimson sky Thy figure floats along.

Seek’st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or maize of river wide, Or where the rocky billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean’s side? There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-- The desert and illimitable air,-- Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fann’d, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere; Yet stoop not, weary to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Soon o’er thy shelter’d nest.

Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallow’d up thy form; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He, who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky the certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 64·02.

[253] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[254] Ibid.

[255] Buffon, _note_.

[256] Cowel.

[257] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[258] Brand.

~July 13.~

THE CORNISH FALSTAFF.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Anthony Payne, the Falstaff of the sixteenth century, was born in the manor-house at Stratton, in Cornwall, where he died, and was buried in the north aisle of Stratton church, the 13th of July, 1691. In early life he was the humble, but favourite attendant of John, eldest son of sir Beville Granville, afterwards earl of Bath, whom he accompanied throughout many of his loyal adventures and campaigns during the revolution and usurpation of Cromwell. At the age of twenty he measured the extraordinary height of seven feet two inches, with limbs and body in proportion, and strength equal to his bulk and stature. The firmness of his mind, and his uncommon activity of person, together with a large fund of sarcastic pleasantry, were well calculated to cheer the spirits of his noble patron during the many sad reverses and trying occasions which he experienced after the restoration. His lordship introduced Payne to Charles the Second; “the merry monarch” appointed him one of the yeomen of his guard. This office he held during his majesty’s life; and when his lordship was made governor of the citadel of Plymouth, Payne was placed therein as a gunner. His picture used to stand in the great hall at Stowe, in the county of Cornwall, and is now removed to Penheale, another seat of the Granville family. At his death the floor of the apartment was taken up in order to remove his enormous remains. As a Cornishman, in point of size, weight, and strength he has never been equalled.

The nearest to Anthony Payne was Charles Chillcott, of Tintagel, who measured six feet four inches high, round the breast six feet nine inches, and weighed four hundred and sixty pounds. He was almost constantly occupied in smoking--three pounds of tobacco was his weekly allowance; his pipe _two inches_ long. One of his stockings would contain six gallons of wheat. He was much pleased with the curiosity of strangers who came to see him, and his usual address to them was, “Come under my arm, little fellow.” He died 5th of April, 1815, in his sixtieth year.

_Ancient Cornish names of the Months._

JANUARY was called _Mis_ (a corruption of the Latin word _mensis_, a month) _Genver_, (an ancient corruption of its common name, January,) or the cold air month.

FEBRUARY, _Hu-evral_, or the whirling month.

MARCH, _Mis Merh_, or the horse month; also, _Meurz_, or _Merk_, a corruption of March.

APRIL, _Mis Ebrall_, or the primrose month; _Abrilly_, or the mackerel month; also _Epiell_, a corruption of its Latin appellative, _Aprilis_.

MAY, _Miz Me_, or the flowery month; _Me_, being obviously a corruption of May, or _Maius_, the original Latin name.

JUNE, _Miz Epham_, the summer month, or head of summer.

JULY, _Miz Gorephan_, or the chief head of the summer month.

AUGUST, _Miz East_, or the harvest month.

SEPTEMBER, _Mis Guerda Gala_, or the white straw month.

OCTOBER, _Miz Hedra_, or the watery month.

NOVEMBER, _Miz Dui_, or the black month.

DECEMBER, _Miz Kevardin_, or in Armoric _Miz Querdu_, the month following the black month, or the month also black.

SAM SAM’S SON.

_June 21, 1826._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 63·55.

~July 14.~

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 14th of July, 1766, the Grand Junction Canal, connecting the Irish sea to the British ocean, was commenced by Mr. Brindley.

FRENCH REVOLUTION.

From the destruction of the Bastille this day in the year 1789,[259] the commencement of the French revolution is dated.

Miss Plumptre mentions a singular allegorical picture in the _Hotel de Ville_, or Guildhall, of the city of Aix. It represented the three orders of the state--the nobles, the clergy, and the _tiers-état_--in their relative situations before the revolution. In the middle is a peasant, with the implements of his profession about him, the scythe, the reaping-hook, the _pioche_, which is a sort of pick-axe used in Provence to turn up the ground in steep parts where a plough cannot be used, a spade, a vessel for wine, &c. On his shoulders he supports a heavy burden, intended to represent the state itself; while on one side of him is a noble, and on the other an ecclesiastic, in the costume of their respective orders, who just touch the burden with one hand, while he supports it with his whole strength, and is bowed down by it. The intention of the allegory is to show, that it is on the peasantry, or _tiers-état_, that the great burden of the state presses, while the nobles and clergy are scarcely touched by it. Above the burden, which is in the form of a heart, is the motto, _nihil aliud in nobis_, “There is nothing else in our power.” From the costume of the figures, which is that of the sixteenth century, it is conjectured that the picture was of that date; but no tradition is preserved of the time when, or the person by whom it was executed.

This remarkable painting hung in the guard-room, on one side of the door of the room where the consuls of Aix held their meetings for the settling the impositions of the rates and taxes; a room which was consequently in theory the sanctuary of _equity_, the place where to each member of the community was allotted the respective proportion which in justice was demanded of him for supporting the general good of the whole. “This,” says Miss Plumptre, “was a very fine piece of satire, and it is only surprising that it should have been suffered to hang there: it probably had occupied the place so long, that it had ceased from time immemorial to excite attention; but it shows that even two centuries before the revolution there were those who entertained the opinions which led finally to this tremendous explosion, and that these opinions did not then first start into existence.”

ORIGIN OF THE JACOBIN CLUB.

The Brétons were even from the commencement of the revolution among the most eager in the popular cause, and the original republican party arose among them. Bailly, the first president of the national constituent assembly, and afterwards the celebrated mayor of Paris, mentions, in a posthumous work, that an association was formed at Versailles as early as in June, 1789, even before the taking of the Bastille, of the deputies of _Brétagne_ to the _tiers-état_, which was known by the name of the _comité_ Bréton; and he goes on to say:--“This may be called the original of the society afterwards so celebrated as the _Jacobin Club_, and was disapproved by all who did not belong to it. The Brétons were certainly excellent patriots, but ardent, vehement, and not much given to reflection; nor have I any doubt but that the first idea of establishing a republic was engendered by the overstrained notions of liberty cherished in this club. To them, consequently, must be imputed the origin of those fatal divisions which afterwards arose between the adherents of a limited monarchy, and those who would not be satisfied with any thing short of a republic;--divisions which occasioned so many and so great misfortunes to the whole country.”

This province was, in the sequel, reputed to be one of the parts of France the most attached to the Bourbon interest, because the arbitrary proceedings of the convention had afforded a handle for another set of anarchists to rise in opposition to them. In this conflict it would be difficult to determine on which side the greatest want of conduct was shown,--which party was guilty of the greatest errors.

SUPERSTITIONS OF BRITTANY.

Like the people of Wales, who boast that their ancestors were never conquered by the Saxons, the Brétons affirm that their country alone, of all the provinces of Gaul, was never bowed to the Frankish yoke; and that they are the true descendants of the ancient Armoricans, its first known inhabitants. They allow the Welsh to be of the same stock as themselves, and are proud of affinity with a people who, like themselves, firmly and effectually resisted a foreign yoke; but they claim precedence in point of antiquity, and consider themselves as the parent stock from which Britain was afterwards peopled. Indeed from the great resemblance between the Brétons and the Welsh, a strong argument may be drawn to conclude that they had a common origin. As Wales is to England the great repository of its ancient superstitions, so is Brittany to France. Here was the prime seat of the Druidical mysteries, nor were they banished till the conversion of the country to Christianity. In the southern provinces, when Woden and Thor ceded their places to Apollo and Diana, the gods of Roma Antica were installed in their seats, till they in their turn were displaced by the legions of the papal hierarchy: but the deities established in Brittany by the Celto-Scythian inhabitants maintained their ground till they were overpowered by the army of popish saints, whose numbers so far exceeded the Celtic deities, that it was impossible to resist the invasion. Yet if the ancient deities were conquered, and honoured no longer under their original names, their influence remained. The wonders attributed to them were not forgotten. Their remembrance was still cherished, their miracles were transferred to another set of champions, and the Thors and Wodens were revived under the names of St. Pol, St. Ferrier, &c.

The old religion of the Druids secured unbounded authority over the minds of the people. This engine was too powerful to be lightly relinquished; and the papacy instead of directing them to the sublime contemplation of one all-powerful, all-commanding governor of the universe, through whom alone all live and move and have their being, transferred to new names the ancient reveries of a supernatural agency perpetually interposing in all the petty affairs of mankind. The operators in this agency, genii, fairies, dæmons, and wizards, were all comprehended under the one denomination of saints. Enchanters and dragons were exchanged for pious solitaries and wonderful ascetics, who calmed tempests with a word, walked on the waves of the ocean as on dry land, or wafted over it upon cloaks or millstones; who metamorphosed their staves into trees, and commanded fountains to rise under their feet; by whom the sick were healed; whose shadows were pretended to have raised the dead; and whose approach might be perceived by the perfume their bodies spread throughout the air.

* * * * *

Two of the most illustrious and wonder-working saints of the country, Saint _Pol de Léon_ and Saint _Jean du Doigt_, were established at only a short distance from Morlaix; the former a little to the north-west of the town, the latter a little to the north-east. The town of St. Pol de Léon stands on the coast. From the boldness and beauty of the workmanship of the cathedral, it was supposed that it could hardly have been executed by mortal hands; it would have been to the honour of the saint to have ascribed it to him, as a notable worker of miracles, but, by the most fervent, the architecture is attributed to the devil.

Miss Plumptre says, “The name of this episcopal see has become familiar in England, from its bishop having made a very conspicuous figure in his emigration hither, and having here at length ended his days. I did not find the character of this prelate more popular among his fellow-countrymen in Brétagne, than it had been among his fellow-emigrants in London: they gave him the same character,--of one of the most haughty, insolent, and over-bearing among the ecclesiastical dignitaries in France; and while the Brétons had in general an almost superstitious veneration for their clergy, they regarded this bishop with very different sentiments.”

* * * * *

The honour of having given birth to St. Pol de Léon is ascribed to England about the year 490. When a boy he gave an earnest of what might in future be expected of him. The fields of the monastery in which he was a student, were ravaged by such a number of birds, that the whole crop of corn was in danger of being devoured. St. Pol summoned the sacrilegious animals to appear before the principal of the monastery, St. Hydultus, that they might receive the correction they merited. The birds, obedient to his summons, presented themselves in a body; but St. Hydultus, being of a humane disposition, only gave them a reproof and admonition, and then let them go, even giving them his benediction at their departure. The grateful birds never after touched the corn of the monastery. In a convent of nuns hard by, situated on the sea-shore, and extremely exposed to the tempestuous winds of the north, lived a sister of St. Pol. She represented the case of the convent to her brother; when he ordered the sea to retire four thousand paces from the convent; which it did immediately. He then directed his sister and her companions to range a row of flints along the shore for a considerable distance; which was no sooner done than they increased into vast rocks, they so entirely broke the force of the winds, that the convent was never after incommoded.

* * * * *

For some reason or other, it does not appear what, St. Pol de Léon took a fancy to travel, and walked over the sea one fine morning from England to the Isle of Batz. Immediately on landing there, by a touch of his staff--for saints used a staff instead of a wand, which was the instrument employed by fairies--he cured three blind men, two who were dumb, and one who was a cripple with the palsy.

* * * * *

A count de Guythure, who was governor of Batz at the saint’s arrival laboured under a mortal uneasiness of mind, on account of a little silver bell belonging to the reigning king of England, the possession of which, in defiance of the injunction contained in the tenth commandment, he coveted exceedingly. St. Pol ordered a fish to swallow the bell, and bring it over: this was instantly performed; but the saint had provided a rival to himself, for the bell became a no less celebrated adept in miracles than he was, and between them both the want of physicians in the country was entirely precluded. The bell was afterwards deposited among the treasures in the cathedral of St. Pol de Léon.

* * * * *

But the Isle of Batz was visited with even a heavier affliction than the mortal uneasiness of its governor; it was infested by a terrible dragon, which devoured men, animals, and every thing that came in its way. St. Pol, dressed in his pontificial robes and accompanied by a young man whom he had selected for the purpose, repaired to the monster’s cavern, and commanded him to come forth. He soon appeared, making dreadful hissings and howlings; a stroke of the saint’s staff silenced him: a rope thrown round his neck, and an order to lead him away finished all opposition. St. Pol conducted him to the northernmost point of the island; another stroke of his staff precipitated the monster into the sea, and he never more returned.

* * * * *

The count de Guythure, charmed with the saint, resigned his splendid palace to him, and retired to Occismor on the continent, the place where the town now stands. The saint converted the palace into a monastery; and, there being no water, had recourse to his staff again, and produced a fountain of fresh water still existing on the sea-shore, which is not affected by the overflowing of the sea.

St. Pol was afterwards bishop of Occismor, on which occasion the place changed its name. Here he continued to work miracles, till, growing weary of mankind, he retired again to the Isle of Batz, where he died at the age of a hundred and two years. The inhabitants of the island and the people of Occismor disputed for his body; the dispute was settled by each agreeing to accept half. They were about to carry this agreement into execution, when the body suddenly disappeared, and was afterwards found on the sea-shore at Occismor, which was considered as a plain indication that the saint himself chose that for the place of his interment. Such are the kind of fables related of this saint.

* * * * *

An occurrence in the town of St. Pol de Léon about the end of the seventeenth century, has only this of prodigy in it, that such facts are not common. A seigneur of the neighbourhood had accumulated debts to so large an amount, that he was entirely unable to discharge them, and knew not what means to pursue for extricating himself from his embarrassments. Three of his tenants, farmers, offered to undertake the management of his affairs, if he would resign every thing in trust to them for a certain term of years; and they proffered to allow him half the revenue he had drawn from them, and with the remainder to pay off his debts, taking to themselves only what profit they might be able to derive from the speculation. The seigneur agreed to the proposal, and every part of the agreement was punctually performed by the farmers. At the term agreed on the estates were returned to the owner, not merely disencumbered, but exceedingly increased in value, and in a state of excellent cultivation, while the farmers had at the same time made a fair profit to themselves. At the final conclusion of the agreement they made a present to the seigneur’s lady of eight horses, that she might come to church, as they said, in a manner suitable to her rank.

In Brittany, mingled with the legends of saints are its still more ancient superstitions. There is scarcely a rock, a fountain, a wood, or a cave, to which some tale of wonder is not attached. From thence omens and auguries are drawn regarding the ordinary occurrences of life. Every operation of nature is attributed by the Brétons to miraculous interposition: they believe that the air, the earth, and the waters are peopled with supernatural agents of all sorts and descriptions.

* * * * *

Likewise there are fountains, into which if a child’s shirt or shift be thrown and it sinks, the child will die within the year; if it should swim, it is then put wet on the child, and is a charm against all kinds of diseases. The waters of some fountains are poured upon the ground by those who have friends at sea, to procure a favourable wind for them during four-and-twenty hours.

* * * * *

Another mode of procuring a favourable wind is to sweep up the dust from a church immediately after mass, and blow it towards the side on which the friends are expected to return. The croak of the raven and the song of the thrush are answers to any questions put to them; they tell how many years any one is to live, when he is to be married, and how many children he is to have. Any noise which cannot be immediately accounted for foretells some misfortune, and the howling of a dog is as sure forerunner of death in a family of Brittany as in England. The noise of the sea, or the whistling of the wind heard in the night, is the lamentation of the spirit of some one who has been drowned, complaining for want of burial.

* * * * *

A dæmon or spirit of some kind, called the _Teusarpouliet_, often presents himself to the people under the form of a cow, a dog, a cat, or some other domestic animal; nay, he will sometimes in his assumed form do all the work of the house.

* * * * *

_Jean gant y Tan_, “John and his fire,” is a dæmon who goes about in the night with a candle on each finger, which he keeps constantly turning round very quick. What end this is to answer does not appear; there seems none, but the pleasure of frightening any body who may chance to meet him.

* * * * *

Another nocturnal wanderer is a spectre in white carrying a lantern; he appears at first like a mere child, but as you look at him he increases in size every moment, till he becomes of a gigantic stature, and then disappears. Like the other he seems to have no object in his walks except to frighten people. One of the servants in the house where Miss Plumptre resided very gravely gave her an account of a rencontre which she once had with this gentleman. She had been out on an errand, and returning home over the _Place du Peuple_ she saw a light coming towards her, which she thought at first was somebody with a lantern; but as it came near she perceived the white figure, and it began to increase in size,--so then she knew what it was, and she put her hands before her face, and ran screaming home. Her master, she said, laughed at her for a fool, and said it was her own fancy, because he had never happened to see the spectre; nay, she did not know whether he would believe in it if he did see it; but nobody should persuade her out of her senses; she saw it as plain as ever she saw any thing in her life, and she had never ventured since to go out by herself after dark without a lantern, for the spectre never presents himself before people who carry a light.

* * * * *

The _Cariguel Ancou_, or “Chariot of death,” is a terrible apparition covered with a white sheet, and driven by skeletons; and the noise of the wheels is always heard in the street passing the door of a house where a person is dying.

* * * * *

The _Buguel-nos_ is a beneficent spirit of a gigantic stature, who wears a long white cloak, and is only to be seen between midnight and two in the morning. He defends the people against the devil by wrapping his cloak round them; and while they are thus protected they hear the infernal chariot whirl by, with a frightful noise, the charioteer making hideous cries and howlings: it may be traced in the air for a long time after, by the stream of light which it leaves behind it.

* * * * *

There are a set of ghostly washerwoman called _ar cannerez nos_, or “nocturnal singers,” who wash their linen always by night, singing old songs and tales all the time: they solicit the assistance of people passing by to wring the linen; if it be given awkwardly, they break the person’s arm; if it be refused, they pull the refusers into the stream, and drown them.

* * * * *

In the district of Carhaix is a mountain called St. Michael, whither it is believed all dæmons cast out from the bodies of men are banished: if any one sets his foot at night within the circle they inhabit, he begins to run, and will never be able to cease all the rest of the night. Nobody therefore ventures to this mountain after dark.

* * * * *

The Brétons throw pins or small pieces of money into certain wells or springs, for good luck; in others the women dip their children, to render them inaccessible to pain. They watch the graves of their friends for some nights after their interment, lest the devil should seize upon them, and carry them off to his dominions.

* * * * *

In the district of Quimperlé there is a fountain called Krignac: to drink three nights successively of this at midnight is an infallible cure for an intermittent fever; or, if it should not succeed it is a sure sign that the patient’s time is come, and he has nothing to do but quietly wait the stroke of death.

If a person who keeps bees has his hives robbed, he gives them up immediately, because they never can succeed afterwards. This idea arises from an old Bréton proverb, which says, _Nesquét a chunche, varlearch ar laër_ “No luck after the robber.” But why the whole weight of the proverb is made to fall upon the bee-hives, it might be difficult to determine.

In other parts of the country they tie a small piece of black stuff to the bee-hives, in case of a death in the family, and a piece of red in the case of a marriage; without which the bees would never thrive. On the death of any one, they draw from the smoke of the fire an augury whether his soul be gone to the regions of the blessed or the condemned: if the smoke be light and mount rapidly, he is gone to heaven; if it be thick and mount slowly, he is doomed to the regions below. If the left eye of a dead person do not close, his nearest relation is to die very soon.

* * * * *

The Brétons have the legend of St. Guénolé, whose sister had an eye plucked out by a goose; the saint took the eye out of the goose’s entrails, and restored it to its place without its appearing in any way different from what it was before.

They tell you likewise of St. Vincent Ferrier, who, while he was celebrating mass at Vannes, perceived that he had lost his gloves and parapluie; and recollecting that he had left them at Rome went thither to seek them, and returned and finished his mass, without one of his congregation having perceived his absence.

They have also a narrative of a wolf who ate up a poor man’s ass. St. Malo ordered the wolf to perform the functions of the ass, which he continued to do ever after; and though sometimes shut up in the stable with the sheep, never offered to touch them, but contentedly fed on thistles, and such other provender as his predecessor used to have.

* * * * *

A peasant boy in the district of Lesneven was never able to pronounce any other words than _O itroun guerhes Mari_, “O lady Virgin Mary.” This he was perpetually repeating, and he passed among the country people for an idiot. As he grew up he would live no longer with his parents in their cottage, but slept in the hollow of a tree, and ran about the woods making his usual cry; in the coldest weather he plunged into the water up to his neck, still uttering his usual words, and came up without receiving any injury. After he died, a lily sprang from the spot where he was interred. “A miracle!” was the immediate cry, and a church was built over the grave, dedicated to _Notre Dame de Follgoat_, “Our lady of the madman of the woods,” where notable miracles were afterwards performed.

* * * * *

Certain ruins near the coast, a little to the south of Brest, are reputed to be those of a palace which belonged to the _Courils_, a sort of pigmies, who deal in sorceries, are very malicious, and are great dancers. They are often seen by moonlight skipping about consecrated stones or any ancient druidical monument; they seize people by the hand, who cannot help following them in all their movements; and when the spirits have made them dance as long as they please, they trip up their heels, leave them sprawling on the ground, and go laughing away.

* * * * *

There are in more than one place near the western coast stones set up in the same manner as those at Stonehenge. A species of genii, called _Gaurics_, are supposed to dance among them; and the stones are called, in general, _Chior-gaur_, or “The giants’ dance.” In one of the places where some of these stones are to be seen, the people of the neighbourhood, if asked what they mean, say that it was a procession to a wedding which was all in a moment changed into stone for some crime, but they do not know what. In another place they are reputed to be the funeral procession of a miser, who received this punishment because in his lifetime he had never given any thing to the poor.

These are only a few out of the innumerable superstitions which prevail throughout Bretagne, but they are sufficient to give a perfect idea of the power which imagination has over the minds of these people.[260]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 63·30.

[259] See vol. i. col. 935.

[260] Miss Plumptre.

~July 15.~

ST. SWITHIN.

For this saint, and his supposed miraculous power over the weather, see vol. i. p. 953.

* * * * *

On this day in the year 1743 died, “in earnest,” the wife of one Kirkeen, who was twice at Dublin ready to be buried; but came to life to her loving husband’s great disappointment, who fearing the like accident immediately put her into a coffin, had it nailed up, and buried her the next day.

As wrapp’d in death like sleep Xantippe lay, ’Twas thought her soul had gently stole away; Th’ officious husband, with a pious care, Made no delay her funeral pile to rear: Too fast, alas! they move the seeming dead, With heedless steps the hasty bearers tread, And slipping thump the coffin on the ground, Which made the hollow womb of earth resound; The sudden shock unseal’d Xantippe’s eyes, O! whither do you hurry me? she cries; Where is my spouse?--lo! the good man appears, And like an ass hang down his dangling ears; Unwillingly renews his slavish life, To hug the marriage chain, and hated wife. For ten long tedious years he felt her pow’r, At length ’twas ended in a lucky hour; But now the husband, wiser than before, Fearing a fall might former life restore, Cries, “Soft, my friends! let’s walk in solemn measure, Nor make a toil of that which gives us pleasure.”[261]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 62·60.

[261] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~July 16.~

SILENCE OF THE BIRDS.

Dr. Forster observes, there is one circumstance that will always render the country in July and August less pleasing than in the other summer and spring months, namely, that the birds do not sing. _Aves mutae_ might be regularly entered into the calendar for these two months.

Silence girt the woods; no warbling tongue Talked now unto the echo of the groves. Only the curled streams soft chidings kept; And little gales that from the greene leafe swept Dry summer’s dust, in fearefull whisperings stirred, As loth to waken any singing bird.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 62·37.

~July 17.~

A PENANCE.

“The Times” of July 17, 1826, says that on Sunday last Isaac Gaskill, bone-setter and farmer, of Bolton-by-the-Sands, did penance for the crime of incest in the parish church of that place. As the punishment is not very common, we subjoin, as a matter of curiosity to some of our readers, the

_Form of Penance_.

“Whereas, I, good people, forgetting my duty to Almighty God, have committed the detestable sin of incest, by contracting marriage, or rather the show or effigy of marriage, with Mary Ann Taylor, the sister of my late wife, and thereby have justly provoked the heavy wrath of God against me, to the great danger of my own soul, and the evil example of others; I do earnestly repent, and am heartily sorry for the same, desiring Almighty God, for the merits of Jesus Christ, to forgive me both this and all other offences, and also hereafter so to assist me with his Holy Spirit, that I never fall into the like offence again; and for that end and purpose I desire you all here present to pray with me, and for me, saying, ‘Our father,’” &c.--_Westmoreland Chronicle._

NINEPENNY MARL.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,--There is an ancient game, played by the “shepherds of Salisbury Plain,” and “village rustics” in that part of the country, called “Ninepenny Marl.” Not having read any account of it in print, I hasten to describe it on your historical and curious pages. Decyphering and drawing lines on the sand and ground are of great antiquity; and where education has failed to instruct, nature has supplied amusement. The scheme, which affords the game of “Ninepenny Marl,” is cut in the clay, viz.:--

+-----------+-----------+ |\ | /| | +---------+---------+ | | |\ | /| | | | +-------+-------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-+-+ +-+-+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-------+-------+ | | | |/ | \| | | +---------+---------+ | |/ | \| +-----------+-----------+

or it might be drawn upon the crown of a hat with chalk. In cottages and public houses, it is marked on the side of a pair of bellows, or upon a table, and, in short, any plain surface. “Marl” is played, like cards, by two persons; each person has nine bits of pipe, or stick, so as to distinguish it from those of the opponent. Each puts the pipe or stick upon one of the points or corners of the line, alternately, till they are all filled. There is much caution required in this, or your opponent will avail himself of your error, by placing his man on the very point which it is necessary you should occupy; the chief object being to make a perfect line of three, either way, and also to prevent the other player doing so. Every man that is taken is put into the square till no further move can be made. But if the vanquished be reduced to only three, he can hop and skip into any vacant place, that he may, if possible, even at the last, form a line, which is sometimes done by very wary manœuvres. However simple “Ninepenny Marl” may appear, much skill is required, particularly in the choice of the first places, so as to form the lines as perfectly and quickly as possible. This game, like cards, has its variations. But the above imperfectly described way is that to which I was accustomed when a boy. I have no doubt, Mr. Editor, many of your country readers are not wholly ignorant of the innocent occupation which “Ninepenny Marl” has afforded in the retirement of leisure; and with strong recollections of its attractions,

I am, Sir,

Your obliged correspondent,

*, *, P.

_P---- T--, July, 1826._

P. S. “The shepherds of Salisbury Plain” are so proverbially idle, that rather than rise, when asked the road across the plain, they put up one of their legs towards the place, and say, “_Theek woy!_” (this way)--“_Thuck way!_” (that way.)

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 63·17.

~July 18.~

On Friday the eighteenth of July, 1806, the sale of the magnificent collection of natural history and curiosities formed by sir Ashton Lever, was concluded by Messrs. King and Lochee, of King-street, Covent-garden.

* * * * *

It is impossible to give an adequate account of the “Leverian Museum,” but its celebrity throughout Europe seems to require some further notice than a bare mention: a few facts are subjoined to convey an idea of its extent, and of the gratification the lovers of natural history and antiquities must have derived from its contemplation.

The last place wherein the Leverian collection was exhibited, was in a handsome building on the Surrey side of the Thames, near Blackfriars-bridge, consisting of seventeen different apartments, occupying nearly one thousand square yards. In these rooms were assembled the rarest productions in the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms, with inimitable works of art, and the various dresses, manufactures, implements of war, &c. of the Indian nations in North and South America, Otaheite, Botany-bay and other foreign parts, collected by the late captain Cook and other navigators.

* * * * *

The preceding engraving represents the rotunda of the museum, from a print published about twenty years before the sale took place. It is an accurate record of the appearance of that part of the edifice, until the auction, which was held on the premises, finally broke up the rare assemblage of objects exhibited. After the sale the premises were occupied for many years by the library, apparatus, and other uses of the Surrey Institution. They are now, in 1826, used for recreation of another kind. On the exterior of the building is inscribed “Rotunda Wine Rooms.” It is resorted to by lovers of “a good glass of wine” and “a cigar,” and there is professional singing and music in “the Rotunda” every Tuesday and Thursday evening.

* * * * *

The last editor of Mr. Pennant’s “London,” in a note on his author’s mention of the Leverian Museum, remarks its dispersion, by observing that “this noble collection, which it is said was offered to the British Museum for a moderate sum, was sold by auction in 1806. The sale lasted thirty-four days. The number of lots, many containing several articles, amounted to four thousand one hundred and ninety-four.”

This statement is somewhat erroneous. An entire copy of the “Catalogue of the Leverian Museum,” which was drawn up by Edward Donavan, Esq. the eminent naturalist, is now before the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, with the prices annexed. It forms an octavo volume of four hundred and ten pages, and from thence it appears that the sale lasted sixty-five days, instead of thirty-four, and that the lots amounted to 7879, instead of 4194, as stated by Mr. Pennant’s editor.

ORDER OF THE CATALOGUE.

_Days._