Part 121
Having passed the Broom-maker’s, which stands at the corner of the lane we had come up, and being then in the road across Shirley Common towards Addington, we interchanged expressions of regret that we had not fallen in with any thing worth notice. A look-back induced a halt; we returned a few steps, and taking seats at the angle on the bank, I thought I perceived “capabilities,” in the home-view before our eyes, for a _Table Book_ notice. The loaded man, near the pile of poling, is represented proceeding towards a spot at some thirty yards distance, where a teamed waggon-frame was standing. It belonged to the master of the place--a tall, square-shouldered, middle-aged, active man, who looked as one having authority-who laboured, and was a master of labourers. He, and another man, and a lad, were employed, “all without hurry or care,” in loading the wain with poling. As I stood observing their progress he gave me a frank “Good-day, sir!” and I obtained some information from him respecting his business. His name is on his carts “John Bennett, Shirley Common.” He calls himself a “Broom-maker and Wood-dealer,” and he has more the character of a Wood-cutter than the figure of the Wood-man in the popular print. He and his men cut the materials for broom-making chiefly from the neighbouring common, and the wood he deals in from adjacent woods and copses. He sells the greater part of his brooms to shopkeepers and other consumers in Streatham and Camberwell. Much of his poling is sent farther off. A good deal, he told me, had gone to the duke of Devonshire for fencing; the load then preparing was for like use on a farm at Streatham, belonging to Mr. Hoare, of the Golden Cross, Charing Cross. He eyed W---- seated on the bank, sketching the spot, and said, that as soon as he had finished loading the wain, he would show us what was “going on in-doors.” Accordingly when he had concluded he walked with me to W----, who, by that time, had nearly finished. Seeing what had been effected in that way, he had “a sort of notion that the gentleman might like, perhaps, to _take off_ an old broom-maker, then at work, inside--as _curious_ an old chap as a man might walk a summer’s day without seeing--one that nobody could make either head or tail of--what you call an _original_.”
W---- and I were as desirous of something new as were the ancient inhabitants of Athens; and in search of it we entered the broom-manufactory--a small, warm, comfortable barn, with a grateful odour in it from the heath and birch-wood. Four or five persons were busy at work. Foremost within the door was the unmistakeable old “original.” Like his fellow-workmen he wore a leathern apron, and a heavy leathern sleeve on the left arm; and with that hand and arm he firmly held and compressed the heath into round bundles, of proper consistency and size, and strongly bound them with the other. He was apparently between sixty and seventy years of age, and his labour, which to a young man seemed light, was to him heavy, for it required muscular strength. There was some difficulty in getting him to converse. He was evidently suspicious; and, as he worked, his apprehensions quickened him to restlessness and over-exertion. To “take him off” while thus excited, and almost constantly in a bending posture, was out of the question. I therefore handed him a jug of his master’s home-brewed, and told him our wish. His countenance lighted up, and I begged him to converse with me for a few minutes, and to look me full in the face; I also assured him of the “wherewithal” for a jug of ale at night. He willingly entered into the compact, but the inquietude natural to his features was baffling to the hand that held the pencil. By this time the rumour that “Old Davy” was having his head “taken off” brought his master’s wife, and her daughters and sons, from the cottage, and several workmen from another outhouse, to witness the execution, Opposite to him was W---- with his sketch-book; his desire for a “three-quarter” view of the “original” occasioned me to seat myself on a heap of birch sideways, that the old man’s face might be directed to me in the required position. The group around us was numerous and differently interested: some kept their eyes upon “Old Davy;” others upon me, while I talked to him; as many as could command a view of the sketch-book were intent upon the progress of the portrait; and a few, who were excluded, endeavoured on tiptoe, and with outstretched necks, to obtain peeps at what was going on. W. steadily employed on the likeness--the old man “sitting,” cunningly smiling, looking unutterably wise at me, while W---- was steadily endeavouring for the likeness--the surrounding spectators, and the varied expressions of their various faces--the gleams of broken light from the only opening that admitted it, the door-way--the broad masses of shadow, and the rich browns of the shining birch and spreading heath, rudely and unequally piled, formed a picture which I regretted that W---- was a prominent figure in, because, engaged as he was, he could neither see nor sketch it.
This old labourer’s eccentricity was exceedingly amusing. He said his name was David Boxall; he knew not, or would not know, either where he was born, or where he had worked, or any thing more of himself, than that there he was; “and now,” said he, “make of me what you can.” “Ah!” said his master, in a whisper, “if you can make anything of him, sir, it’s more than we have been able to do.” The old fellow had a dissenting “humph” for every thing advanced towards him--except the ale-jug. The burthen of his talk was--he thought about nothing, cared about nothing--not he--why should he? Yet he was a perpetual inquirer. Craftily leering his quick-glancing eye while he asked a question, he waited, with a sarcastic smile, for an answer; and when given, out came his usual gruff “humph,” and “how do you _know_?” He affected to listen to explanations, while he assumed a knowing grin, to persuade his hearers that _he_ knew better. His knowledge, however, was incommunicable, and past all finding out. He continually indulged in “hum!” and “ha!” and a sly look; and these, to his rustic auditors, were signs of wisdom. He was what they called a “knowing old chap.” He had been the best broom-maker in the manufactory, and had earned excellent wages. When I saw him he was infirm, and did not get more than fourteen or sixteen shillings a week. Mr. Bennett’s men are paid piece-work, and can easily earn a guinea week. After the sketching was over, and his people had retired to their labour, we walked with him through his little garden of fruit-trees and vegetables to another shed, where they fashioned broom-handles, and some common husbandry implements of wood. On recrossing the garden he gathered us cherries from the trees, and discoursed on his hives of bees by the hedge-side. Having given something to his men to spend in drink, and to “Old Davy” something especially, we brought off his head, which would cost more to exhibit than a better subject, and therefore it has since rested without disturbance.
From the Broom-maker’s at Shirley Common, we had a pleasant walk into Addington, where there is a modern-built palace of the archbishop of Canterbury, with extensive old gardens and large hot-houses, and several good houses. We had passed Mr. Maberly’s seat and grounds on our way. A turn in the road gave us a view of Addington church in a retired spot, beyond a row of town-built dwellings, with little gardens in front, and a shop or two. The parish clerk lives in one of them. Upon request he accompanied us, with the keys, to the church, of ancient structure, lately trimmed up, and enclosed by a high wall and gates. There was nothing within worth seeing, except a tomb with disfigured effigies, and a mutilated ill-kept register-book, which, as it belonged to the immediate parish of the archbishop, seemed very discreditable. The “Cricketers,” nearly opposite to the church, accommodated us with as good refreshment as the village afforded, in a capacious parlour. The house is old, with a thatched roof. We found it an excellent resting-place; every way better, as an inn, than we could have expected in a spot so secluded. We had rambled and loitered towards it, and felt ourselves more wearied when about to depart than we wished; and, as a farmer’s family cart stood at the door, with the farmer himself in it, I proposed to W. to attempt gaining a lift. The farmer’s son, who drove it, said, that it was going our way, and that a ride was at our service. The driver got up in front, W. followed, and when I had achieved the climbing, I found him in conflict with a young calf, which persisted in licking his clothes. He was soon relieved from the inconvenience, by its attentions, in like manner, being shifted to me. The old farmer was a little more than “fresh,” and his son a little less. We had a laughable jolt upstanding, along a little frequented road; and during our progress I managed to bind the calf to good behaviour. Leaving West Wickham on our left, and its pleasant church and manor-house on the right, we ascended Keston Common, and passed over it, as we had nearly all the way, in merry conversation with the old farmer, who dwelt with great glee on his youthful fame, as one of the best cricket-players in Kent. We alighted before we came to the “Fox” public-house, where our companions accepted of a magnum of stiff grog in recompense for their civility. From thence we skirted Holwood, till we arrived at my old “head-quarters,” the “Cross” at Keston; and there we were welcomed by “mine host,” Mr. Young, and took tea. A walk to Bromley, and a stage from thence, brought us to “the Elephant”--and so home.
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THE WOOD FEAST.
_To the Editor._
Sir,--In the autumn it is customary at Templecoomb, a small village in Somersetshire, and its neighbourhood, for the steward of the manor to give a feast, called the “Wood feast,” to farmers and other consumers that buy their wood for hurdles, rick-fasts in thatching, poles, spikes, and sundry other uses.
When the lots are drawn in the copses, and each person has paid down his money, the feast is provided “of the best,” and few attend it but go home with the hilarity which good cheer inspires. This annual treat has its uses; for the very recollection of the meeting of old friends and keeping of old customs gives an impetus to industry which generally secures for his lordship his tenants’ _Wood money_--most excellent fuel for the consumption of the nobility.
I am, Sir, your constant reader,
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_Sept. 1827._
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CHOOSING COMMON CONSTABLES.
_For the Table Book._
It is annually the custom to hold a meeting, duly summoned, on Startley Common, Wilts, for the choice of new constables for the hundreds of the county. Lots are cast for those who are to serve for the ensuing year; and afterwards the parties present adjourn to a house for refreshment, which costs each individual about seventeen shillings. This may almost be regarded as an equivalent for serving the office--the lots mostly fall on the absentees.
P.
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~Garrick Plays.~
No. XXXVI.
[From “Love’s Dominion, a Dramatic Pastoral,” by Richard Flecknoe, 1634.]
_Invocation to Silence._
Still-born Silence, thou that art Floodgate of the deeper heart; Offspring of a heavenly kind; Frost o’ th’ mouth and thaw o’ th’ mind; Secresy’s Confident, and he That makes religion Mystery; Admiration’s speaking’st tongue,-- Leave thy desart shades, among Reverend Hermits’ hallow’d cells, Where retir’d’st Devotion dwells: With thy Enthusiasms come; Seize this Maid, and strike her dumb.
_Fable._
Love and Death o’ th’ way once meeting, Having past a friendly greeting, Sleep their weary eye-lids closing, Lay them down, themselves reposing; When this fortune did befall ’em, Which after did so much appal ’em; Love, whom divers cares molested, Could not sleep; but, whilst Death rested, All away in haste he posts him. But his haste full dearly costs him; For it chanced, that, going to sleeping, Both had giv’n their darts in keeping Unto Night; who (Error’s Mother) Blindly knowing not th’ one from th’ other, Gave Love Death’s, and ne’er perceiv’d it, Whilst as blindly Love receiv’d it: Since which time, their darts confounding, Love now kills, instead of wounding; Death, our hearts with sweetness filling, Gently wounds, instead of killing.
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[From “Andronicus,” a Tragedy, by Philonax Lovekin, 1661.]
_Effect of Religious Structures on different minds._
_Crato._ I grieve the Chapel was defaced; ’twas stately. _Cleobulus._ I love no such triumphant Churches-- They scatter my devotion; whilst my sight Is courted to observe their sumptuous cost, I find my heart lost in my eyes; Whilst that a holy horror seems to dwell Within a dark obscure and humble cell. _Crato._ But I love Churches, mount up to the skies For my devotion rises with their roof: Therein my soul doth heav’n anticipate.
_Song for Sleep._
Come, Somnus, with thy potent charms, And seize this Captive in thy arms; And sweetly drop on every sense Thy soul-refreshing influence. His sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste, Unto the peace do thou bind fast.-- On working brains, at school all day, At night thou dost bestow a play, And troubled minds thou dost set free; Thou mak’st both friends and foes agree: All are alike, who live by breath, In thee, and in thy brother Death.
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[From “Don Quixote,” a Comedy, in three parts, by Thomas D’Urfey, 1694.]
_Dirge, at the hearse of Chrysostom._
Sleep, poor Youth, sleep in peace, Relieved from love and mortal care; Whilst we, that pine in life’s disease, Uncertain-bless’d, less happy are.
Couch’d in the dark and silent grave, No ills of fate thou now can’st fear; In vain would tyrant Power enslave, Or scornful Beauty be severe.
Wars, that do fatal storms disperse, Far from thy happy mansion keep; Earthquakes, that shake the universe, Can’t rock thee into sounder sleep.
With all the charms of peace possest, Secure from life’s torment or pain, Sleep, and indulge thyself with rest; Nor dream thou e’er shalt rise again.[369]
C. L.
[369] _i. e._ “may thy sleep be so profound, as not even by dreams of a resurrection to be disturbed:” the language of passion, not of sincere profaneness.
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ÆSOP IN RUSSIA.
PETER THE GREAT’S SUMMER GARDEN.
Schræder, a celebrated Swedish gardener, was employed by the czar to execute a plan he had approved of, for the gardens of his summer palace. The work was already far advanced, and among the different parts that were finished, were two large divisions adjoining to the principal avenue, opposite to each other, enclosed with a hedge, and covered with turf. The czar, who came often to see the progress of his undertaking, on observing the two grass-plots, conceived a design of converting this place of mere amusement into a kind of school. “I am very well satisfied,” said the czar to the gardener, “with your performance, as well as with the variety and beauty of the several divisions that are finished: however, you must not be angry if I change the form of these two spots of ground. I should wish that the persons who walk in the garden might find the means of cultivating their minds; but in what way can we contrive this?”
“Sire,” said the gardener, “I know no other than to put books on the seats, protected from the rain, that those who walk in the garden may read when they sit down.”
“This is not far from my meaning,” said the czar, laughing, “but, books in a public garden! that will never do. Another idea has struck me. I should like to erect statues here, representing the different subjects of Æsop’s fables. For this purpose the ground must be differently laid out, that the division of the several parts may correspond with the fables I am speaking of.”
Schræder executed his orders with all possible intelligence and despatch, and much to the satisfaction of the emperor.
The garden consisted of four squares, with walks in the form of labyrinths leading to them. The angles were ornamented with figures, representing different subjects from Æsop’s fables, with a _jet d’eau_ concealed in a little basin, under moss or ruins, and surrounded with shells brought from lake Ilmen, or that of Novogorod. Most of the animals were as large as life, and of lead, gilt. They ejected water from their mouths, according to their various attitudes. In this way the walks were ornamented with sixty fables, forming as many _jets d’eau_. At the entrance was a statue of Æsop, likewise of lead, and gilt.
The czar very naturally supposed that few people would be able to discover the meaning of these figures, and that fewer would comprehend the instruction they were designed to convey. His majesty therefore ordered a post to be placed near each of them, and to these posts sheets of tin were fastened, on which the fables and their morals were written in the Russian language.
This place was the czar’s favourite walk; in its shades he often passed whole hours, recreating himself among these creatures of his creation.
This garden was afterwards nearly destroyed by a terrible tempest and inundation. The trees it contained were torn up by the roots, and the green hedges and figures of animals damaged, either by the fall of the timber or by the elements. The trees were raised, put into their places again, and propped up; but as it was not possible to repair the injuries done to the figures, the czar’s “summer garden” ceased to be a “garden of instruction.”
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LOVE OF GARDENS
IN DISTINGUISHED MEN.
Juvenal represents Lucan reposing in a garden.[370] Tasso pictures Rinaldo sitting beneath the shade in a fragrant meadow: Virgil describes Anchises seated beneath sweet-scented bay-trees; and Eneas, as reclining, remote from all society, in a deep and winding valley.[371] Gassendi, who ingrafted the doctrine of Galileo on the theory of Epicurus, took not greater pleasure in feasting his youthful imagination by gazing on the moon, than Cyrus, in the cultivation of flowers.--“I have measured, dug, and planted the large garden, which I have at the gate of Babylon,” said that prince; “and never, when my health permit, do I dine until I have laboured two hours in my garden: if there is nothing to be done, I labour in my orchard.” Cyrus is also said to have planted all the Lesser Asia. Ahasuerus was accustomed to quit the charms of the banquet to indulge the luxury of his bower:[372] and the conqueror of Mithridates enjoyed the society of his friends, and the wine of Falernium, in the splendid gardens, which were an honour to his name. Dion gave a pleasure-garden to Speucippus as a mark of peculiar regard.[373] Linnæus studied in a bower: Buffon in his summer-house; and when Demetrius Poliorcetes took the island of Rhodes, he found Protogenes at his palette, painting in his arbour. Petrarch was never happier than when indulging the innocent pleasures of his garden.--“I have made myself two,” says he, in one of his epistles; “I do not imagine they are to be equalled in all the world: I should feel myself inclined to be angry with fortune, if there were any so beautiful out of Italy.”
Many of the wisest and the best of men have signalized their love of gardens and shrubberies, by causing themselves to be buried in them; a custom once in frequent practice among the ancient Jews.[374] Plato was buried in the groves of Academus; and sir William Temple, though he expected to be interred in Westminster abbey, gave orders for his heart to be enclosed in a silver casket, and placed under a sun-dial, in that part of his garden immediately opposite the window of his library, from which he was accustomed to contemplate the beauties and wonders of the creation, in the society of a beloved sister.[375]
[370] The epithet he applies to _hortis_ is sufficiently curious. The scholiast cites Pliny, 1. xxxvi. c. 1. 2. The style of the Roman gardens in Trajan’s time is expressively marked:
Contentus fama jaceat Lucanus in hortis _Marmoreis_.
JUV. Sat. vii. 1. 79.
It was very well said by one of the first women of the present age, (Mrs. Grant,) that Darwin’s Botanic Garden is an Hesperian garden, glittering all over; the fruit gold, the leaves silver, and the stems brass.
[371] Eneid, lib. vi. 1. 679. lib. viii. 609.
[372] Esther, vii. 7. Tissaphernes had a garden, much resembling an English park, which he called _Alcibiades_.
[373] Plutarch in Vit. Dion.
[374] In the middle of the Campo Santo, which is the most ancient burying-place at Pisa, is a garden formed of earth, brought from the neighbourhood of Jerusalem.
[375] Philosophy of Nature.
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DUTCH ROYAL GARDEN AND SCHEVELING SCENERY.
DESCRIBED BY THE DEPUTATION OF THE CALEDONIAN HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY.
_August 26, 1817._ Late in the afternoon, we took a walk to the northward of the Hague, on the Amsterdam road, and entered a forest of large and ancient trees, by much the finest which we have seen on the continent, and evidently several centuries old. Many oaks, elms, and beeches were magnificent. Some of the oaks, at two feet from the ground, measured twelve feet in circumference, and had free and clean boles to the height of about forty feet. This wood, in all probability, gave rise to the name of the city; for _haag_ (the Dutch for Hague) signifies thicket or wood. It was originally a seat of the counts of Holland, and is often to this day called Graaf’s Haag, or Earl’s Wood.[376]
Although we had no guide, we easily found the palace called the “House in the Wood,” about two miles distant from the Hague; and having inquired for the gardener, Mr. Jacobus Munts, we readily procured access to the royal garden. It is kept in good order, and is now arranged in what is here reckoned the English style, the old formal hedges, and fantastically shaped trees, having been in a great measure removed. The grounds are now traversed by serpentine walks, laid with sand: these wind among groves of forest-trees, which have never been subjected to the shears; but the flexures are much too regular. Water, as usual, is the only defence, or line of separation, from the conterminous[377] fields, or from the high road. These ditches, though broad, brimful, and kept tolerably clean, have a dull aspect. Shrubs and flowers are planted in small compartments, cut out in the grassy covering of the lawn. The figures of these compartments are different, circles, ovals, and crescents. A bed of dahlias was now in flower, but presented nothing uncommon. Indeed, we learned that the collection had been procured from Antwerp only the year before. The plants in the borders and shrubberies were in general of the more common kinds; but some rarities also appeared. Among these the _passiflora cœrulea_ was here displaying its gorgeous flowers in the shrubbery; but we observed that it was contained in a pot sunk in the earth, and not well concealed. _Rosa Pennsylvanica_ was very abundant, and seemed not only to be healthy, but to produce its flowers freely.