Part 151
A young friend brings me from Ireland a couple of pipes, in common use among the labouring people in Dublin and Clonmel. Their shape and materials being wholly different from any in England, they are represented in the above engraving, which shows their exact size. The bowl part, formed of iron, like the socket of a candlestick, is inserted in a piece of mahogany carved, as here shown, in the shape of a violin, or a pair of bellows, or other whimsical form; and the mahogany is securely bound and ornamented with brass wire: to a small brass chain is attached a tin cover to the bowl. The tube is of dogwood, such as butchers’ skewers are made of, or of a similar hard wood; and, being movable, may be taken out for accommodation to the pocket, or renewal at pleasure. These pipes cost sixpence each.
The _dudeen_, or short pipe, the “little tube of magic power,” wherewith the Irish labourer amuses himself in England, is thus mentioned in a note on the “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland,” by Mr. Crofton Croker:--“_Dudeen_ signifies a little stump of a pipe. Small tobacco-pipes, of an ancient form, are frequently found in Ireland on digging or ploughing up the ground, particularly in the vicinity of those circular intrenchments, called Danish forts, which were more probably the villages or settlements of the native Irish. These pipes are believed by the peasantry to belong to the Cluricaunes, and when discovered are broken, or otherwise treated with indignity, as a kind of retort for the tricks which their supposed owners had played off.” Mr. Croker subjoins a sketch of one of these pipes, and adds, that “In the Anthologia Hibernica, vol i. p. 352, (Dublin, 1793,) there is a print of one, which was found at Brannockstown, county Kildare, sticking between the teeth of a human skull; and it is accompanied by a paper, which, on the authority of Herodotus, (lib. i. sec. 36,) Strabo, (lib. vii. 296,) Pomponius Mela, (2,) and Solinus, (c. 15,) goes to prove that the northern nations of Europe were acquainted with tobacco, or an herb of similar properties, and that they smoked it through small tubes--of course, long before the existence of America was known.”
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XLV.
FACETIÆ.
1.
_Holding in Capite._
_First Gent._ ’Tis well known I am a Gentleman. My father was a man of £500 a year, and he held something _in capite_ too.
_Second Gent._ So does my Lord something--
_Foolish Lord._ Nay, by my troth, what I hold _in capite_ is worth little or nothing.
2.
_Fool’s Experience._
_Page._ He that’s first a scholar, and next in love, the year after is either an arrant fool or a madman.
_Master._ How came your knavery by such experience?
_Page._ As fools do by news: somebody told me so, and I believe it.
3.
_Modern Sybarite._
----softly, ye villains!--the rogues of chairmen have trundled me over some damn’d nutshell or other, that gave me such a jerk as has half murder’d me.
4.
_Spare diet of Spaniards._
_Spaniard._ The air being thin and rarified generally provides us good stomachs.
_Englishman._ Aye, and the earth little or nothing to satisfy ’em with; I think a cabbage is a jewel among you.
_Span._ Why, truly a good cabbage is respected. But our people are often very luxurious, they abound very often.
_Eng._ O no such matter, faith, Spaniard! ’death, if they get but a piece of beef, they shall hang all the bones out, and write underneath _Here hath been beef eaten_, as if ’twere a miracle. And if they get but a lean hen, the feathers shall be spread before the door with greater pride than we our carpets at some princely solemnity.
5.
_Foolish Form._
_Servant_ (_to my Lord Stately’s Gentleman Usher._) Sir, here’s your Lord’s footman come to tell you, your Lord’s hat is blown out of his hand.
_Lord W._ Why did not the footman take it up?
_Usher._ He durst not, my Lord; ’tis above him.
_Lord W._ Where? a’top of the chimney?
_Usher._ Above his office, my Lord.
_Lord W._ How does this fool, for want of solid greatness, swell with empty ceremony, and fortify himself with outworks! That a man must dig thro’ rubbish to come at an ass.
_English Friar._
6.
_Cast Books._
_Waiting maid._ I have a new Bible too; and when my Lady left her Practice of Piety, she gave it me.
_Newcastle._
7.
_Good at guessing_
Nay, good Mr. Constable, you are e’en the luckiest at being wise that ever I knew.
_Newcastle._
8.
_Essays at Essays._
1. O eternal blockhead, did you never write Essays?
2. I did essay to write Essays, but I cannot say I writ Essays.
_Newcastle._
9.
_Hard words._
Indiscerptibility, and Essential Spissitude: words which, though I am no competent judge of, for want of languages, yet I fancy strongly ought to mean nothing.
_Mrs. Afra Behn._
10.
_Scandals to Atheism._
---- a late learned Doctor; who, though himself no great assertor of a Deity, yet was observed to be continually persuading this sort of men [the rakehelly blockheaded Infidels about town] of the necessity and truth of our religion; and being asked how he came to bestir himself so much this way, made answer, that it was because their ignorance and indiscreet debauch made them a Scandal to the Profession of Atheism.
_Behn._
11.
_Excuse for being afraid in a Storm._
_Master._ Courage! why what dost thou call courage? Hector himself would not have exchanged his ten years’ siege for our ten days’ storm at sea. A Storm! a hundred thousand fighting men are nothing to it; cities sack’d by fire, nothing. ’Tis a resistless coward, that attacks a man at disadvantage; an unaccountable magic, that first conjures down a man’s courage, and then plays the devil over him; and, in fine, it is a Storm!
_Mate._ Good lack, that it should be all these terrible things, and yet that we should outlive it!
_Master._ No god-a-mercy to our courages tho’, I tell you that now; but like an angry wench, when it had huffed and bluster’d itself weary, it lay still again.
_Behn._
12.
_Dutch Gallantry_
_Mate._ What, beat a woman, Sir?
_Master._ ’Psha, all’s one for that; if I am provoked, anger will have its effects upon whomsoe’er it light: so said Van Tromp, when he took his Mistress a cuff on the ear for finding fault with an ill-fashioned leg he made her. I liked his humour well.
_Behn._
13.
_Dutchman._
---- sitting at home in the chimney corner, cursing the face of Duke de Alva upon the jugs, for laying an imposition on beer.
_Behn._
14.
_Rake at Church._
---- I shall know all, when I meet her in the chapel to-morrow. I am resolved to venture thither, tho’ I am afraid the dogs will bark me out again, and by that means let the congregation know how much I am a stranger to the place.
_Durfey._
15.
_Lying Traveller_
You do not believe me then? the devil take me, if these home-bred fellows can be saved: they neither know nor believe half the creation.
_Lacy._
16.
_English Beau, contrasted with a French one._
---- a true-bred English Beau has indeed the powder, the essence, the toothpick, the snuff-box; and is as idle; but the fault is in the flesh--he has not the motion, and looks stiff under all this. Now a French Fop like a Poet, is born so, and would be known without clothes; it is in his eyes, his nose, his fingers, his elbows, his heels. They dance when they walk, and sing when they speak. We have nothing in that perfection as abroad; and our cuckolds, as well as our grapes, are but half ripened.
_Burnaby._
17.
_Fanciful Recipe, prescribed for sick Fancy._
The juice of a lemon that’s civil at seasons, Twelve dancing capers, ten lunatic reasons; Two dying notes of an ancient swan; Three sighs, a thousand years kept, if you can; Some scrapings of Gyges’s ring may pass, With the skin of a shadow caught in a glass; Six pennyworth of thoughts untold; The jelly of a star, before it be cold; One ounce of courtship from a country daughter; A grain of wit, and a quart of laughter.--
Boil these on the fire of Zeal (with some beech-coals, lest the vessel burst).--If you can get these ingredients, I will compound them for you. Then, when the patient is perfectly recovered, she shall be married in rich cloth of rainbow laced with sunbeams.
_Strode._
18.
_Beauties at Church._
Fair Women in Churches have as ill effect as fine Strangers in Grammar schools: for tho’ the boys keep on the humdrum still, yet none of ’em mind their lesson for looking about ’em.
_Fane._
19.
_Expedients._
I have observed the wisdom of these Moors: for some days since being invited by one of the chief Bashaws to dinner, after meat, sitting by a huge fire, and feeling his shins to burn, I requested him to pull back his chair, but he very understandingly sent for three or four masons, and removed the chimney.
_Brome._
20.
_Mayor of Queenborow, a Christian, giving orders for feasting Hengist, a Pagan King of Kent, who has invited himself to the Mayor’s table._
---- give charge the mutton come in all raw; the King of Kent is a Pagan, and must be served so. And let those officers, that seldom or never go to church, bring it in; it will be the better taken.
_Middleton._
21.
_Fat man’s device to get a dainty._
I have a privilege. I was at the tavern the other day; in the next room I smelt hot venison. I sent but a drawer to tell the company, “one in the house with a great belly longed for a corner,” and I had half a pasty sent me immediately.
_Shirley._
22.
_Miser’s Servant._
_Friend._ Camelion, how now, have you turned away your master?
_Camelion._ No; I sold my place. As I was thinking to run away, comes this fellow, and offers me a breakfast for my good will to speak to my master for him. I took him at his word, and resigned my office, and turned over my hunger to him immediately. Now I serve a man.
_Shirley._
23.
_Walking._
_Fine Lady._ I am glad I am come home, for I am even as weary with this walking; for God’s sake, whereabouts does the pleasure of walking lie? I swear I have often sought it till I was weary, and yet I could ne’er find it.
_T. Killegrew._
24.
_Foolish Suitor._
_Alderman._ Save you, Sir. _Suitor._ You do not think me damn’d, Sir, that you bestow That salutation on me? _Ald._ Good, Sir, no. Whom would you speak with here? _Suit._ Sir, my discourse Points at one Alderman Covel. _Ald._ I am the party. _Suit._ I understand you have a daughter, is Of most unknown perfections. _Ald._ She is as Heaven made her-- _Suit._ She goes naked then; The tailor has no hand in her.
C. L.
* * * * *
~Stories~
OF THE
~Craven Dales.~
No. III.
He had been in Yorkshire dale Among the winding scars, Where deep and low the hamlets lie, Beneath a little patch of sky, And little patch of stars.--WORDSWORTH.
* * * * *
_Proem._
In the summer of 1823 I was residing for a few days at a solitary inn amongst the hills of Craven. One afternoon I had planned an excursion to a neighbouring cave, but was prevented from going there by a heavy rain which had fallen during the whole of the day. I had no friends in the neighbourhood, and could not have procured at my inn any work worth the perusal. The library of my landlord was small, and the collection not remarkable for being well chosen; it consisted of Pamela, Baron Munchausen, Fox’s Martyrs, the Pilgrim’s Progress, and a few other publications of an equally edifying description. I should have been at a loss how to have spent the tedious hours, had I not had a companion. He was a stout, elderly man, a perfect stranger to me; and by his conversation showed himself possessed of a very considerable share of erudition: his language was correct, his remarks strong and forcible, and delivered in a manner energetic and pointed. While engaged in conversation, our ears were stunned by a number of village lads shouting and hallooing at the door of the inn. On inquiring of the landlord into the cause of this disturbance, we were informed that a poor woman, who was reputed to be a witch, had taken shelter at his house from the inclemency of the storm, and that some idle boys, on seeing her enter, were behaving in the rude manner already mentioned.
The landlord having left the room, I said to my companion, “So you have witches in Craven, sir; or, at least, those who pretend to be such. I thought that race of ignorant impostors had been long extinct, but am sorry to find the case is otherwise.”
The stranger looked at me, and said, “Do you then disbelieve the existence of witchcraft?”
“Most assuredly,” I replied.
“But you must confess that witchcraft _did_ exist?”
“I _do_; but think not its existing in the prophetical ages to be any evidence of its being permitted in the present.”
“But learned works have been written to prove the existence of it in late times--You are aware of the treatises of Glanvill and Sinclair?”
“True; and learned men have sometimes committed foolish actions; and certainly Glanvill and Sinclair, great as their talents undoubtedly were, showed no great wisdom in publishing their ridiculous effusions, which are nothing more than the overflowings of heated imaginations.”
My companion seeing I was not to be convinced by any arguments he could advance, but that, like the adder in holy writ, I was “deaf to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely,” thus addressed me:--“I _was_ like you, sceptical on the subject of our present discourse; but the doubts I once entertained have long since vanished; and if you can attend patiently to a history I will relate, I think you will be convinced that witchcraft _does_ exist; or at least has existed in very modern times.”
The stranger then related the story of
THE WISE WOMAN OF LITTONDALE.
“In the year 17--, in a lonely gill, not far distant from Arncliffe, stood a solitary cottage: a more wretched habitation the imagination cannot picture. It contained a single apartment, inhabited by an old woman, called Bertha, who was throughout the valley accounted a wise woman, and a practiser of the ‘art that none may name.’ I was at that time very young, and unmarried; and, far from having any dread of her, would frequently talk to her, and was always glad when she called at my father’s house. She was tall, thin, and haggard; her eyes were large, and sunk deep in their sockets; and the hoarse masculine intonations of her voice were anything but pleasing. The reason I took such delight in the company of Bertha was this--she was possessed of much historical knowledge, and related events which had occurred two or three centuries ago, in a manner so minute and particular, that many a time I have been induced to believe she had been a spectatress of what she was relating. Bertha was undoubtedly of great age; but what that age was no one ever knew. I have frequently interrogated her on the subject, but always received an evasive answer to my inquiries.
“In the autumn, or rather in the latter end of the summer of 17--, I set out one evening to visit the cottage of the wise woman. I had never beheld the interior; and, led on by curiosity and mischief, was determined to see it. Having arrived at the cottage, I knocked at the gate. ‘Come in,’ said a voice, which I knew was Bertha’s. I entered; the old woman was seated on a three-legged stool, by a turf fire, surrounded by three black cats and an old sheep-dog. ‘Well,’ she exclaimed, ‘what brings you here? what can have induced you to pay a visit to old Bertha?’ I answered, ‘Be not offended; I have never before this evening viewed the interior of your cottage; and wishing to do so, have made this visit; I also wished to see you perform some of your _incantations_.’ I pronounced the last word ironically. Bertha observed it, and said, ‘Then you doubt my power, think me an impostor, and consider my incantations mere jugglery; you _may_ think otherwise; but sit down by my humble hearth, and in less than half an hour you shall observe such an instance of my power as I have never hitherto allowed mortal to witness.’ I obeyed, and approached the fire. I now gazed around me, and minutely viewed the apartment. Three stools, an old deal table, a few pans, three pictures of Merlin, Nostradamus, and Michael Scott, a caldron, and a sack, with the contents of which I was unacquainted, formed the whole stock of Bertha. The witch having sat by me a few minutes, rose, and said, ‘Now for our incantations; behold me, but interrupt me not.’ She then with chalk drew a circle on the floor, and in the midst of it placed a chafing-dish filled with burning embers; on this she fixed the caldron, which she had half filled with water.
“She then commanded me to take my station at the farther end of the circle, which I did accordingly. Bertha then opened the sack, and taking from it various ingredients, threw them into the ‘charmed pot.’ Amongst many other articles I noticed a skeleton head, bones of different sizes, and the dried carcasses of some small animals. My fancy involuntarily recurred to the witch in Ovid--
Semina, floresque, et succos in coquit acres; Addidit et exceptas lunâ pernocte pruinas, Et strigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas, Vivacisque jecur cervi; quibus insuper addit, Ora caputque novem cornicis sæcula passæ.’
While thus employed, she continued muttering some words in an unknown language; all I remember hearing was the word _konig_. At length the water boiled, and the witch, presenting me with a glass, told me to look through it at the caldron. I did so, and observed a figure enveloped in the steam; at the first glance I knew not what to make of it, but I soon recognised the face of N----, a friend and intimate acquaintance: he was dressed in his usual mode, but seemed unwell, and pale. I was astonished, and trembled. The figure having disappeared, Bertha removed the caldron, and extinguished the fire. ‘_Now_,’ said she, ‘do you doubt my power? I have brought before you the form of a person who is some miles from this place; was there any deception in the appearance? I am no impostor, though you have hitherto regarded me as such.’ She ceased speaking: I hurried towards the door, and said, ‘Good night.’ ‘Stop,’ said Bertha, ‘I have not done with you; I will show you something more wonderful than the appearance of this evening: to-morrow, at midnight, go and stand upon Arncliffe bridge, and look at the water on the left side of it. Nothing will harm you; fear not.’
“‘And why should I go to Arncliffe bridge? What end can be answered by it? The place is lonely; I dread to be there at such an hour; may I have a companion?’
“‘No.’
“‘Why not?’
“‘Because the charm will be broken.’
“‘What charm?’
“‘I cannot tell.’
“‘You will not.’
“‘I will not give you any further information: obey me, nothing shall harm you.’
“‘Well, Bertha,’ I said, ‘you shall be obeyed. I believe you would do me no injury. I will repair to Arncliffe bridge to-morrow at midnight; good night.’”
I then left the cottage, and returned home. When I retired to rest I could not sleep; slumber fled my pillow, and with restless eyes I lay ruminating on the strange occurrences at the cottage, and on what I was to behold at Arncliffe bridge. Morning dawned, I arose unrefreshed and fatigued. During the day I was unable to attend to any business; my coming adventure entirely engrossed my mind. Night arrived, I repaired to Arncliffe bridge: never shall I forget the scene. It was a lovely night: the full orb’d moon was sailing peacefully through a clear blue cloudless sky, and its beams, like streaks of silvery lustre, were dancing on the waters of the Skirfare; the moonlight falling on the hills formed them into a variety of fantastic shapes; here one might behold the semblance of a ruined abbey, with towers and spires, and Anglo-Saxon and Gothic arches; at another place there seemed a castle frowning in feudal grandeur, with its buttresses, battlements, and parapets. The stillness which reigned around, broken only by the murmuring of the stream, the cottages scattered here and there along its banks, and the woods wearing an autumnal tinge, all united to compose a scene of calm and perfect beauty. I leaned against the left battlement of the bridge; I waited a quarter of an hour--half an hour--an hour--nothing appeared. I listened, all was silent; I looked around, I saw nothing. Surely, I inwardly ejaculated, I have mistaken the hour; no, it must be midnight; Bertha has deceived me, fool that I am, why have I obeyed the beldam? Thus I reasoned. The clock of the neighbouring church chimed--I counted the strokes, it was twelve o’clock; I _had_ mistaken the hour, and I resolved to stay a little longer on the bridge. I resumed my station, which I had quitted, and gazed on the stream. The river in that part runs in a clear still channel, and ‘all its music dies away.’ As I looked on the stream I heard a low moaning sound, and perceived the water violently troubled, without any apparent cause. The disturbance having continued a few minutes ceased, and the river became calm, and again flowed along in peacefulness. What could this mean? Whence came that low moaning sound? What caused the disturbance of the river? I asked myself these questions again and again, unable to give them any rational answer. With a slight indescribable kind of fear I bent my steps homewards. On turning a corner of the lane that led to my father’s house, a huge dog, apparently of the Newfoundland breed, crossed my path, and looked wistfully on me. ‘Poor fellow!’ I exclaimed, ‘hast thou lost thy master? come home with me, and I will use thee well till we find him.’ The dog followed me; but when I arrived at my place of abode, I looked for it, but saw no traces of it, and I conjectured it had found its master.
“On the following morning I again repaired to the cottage of the witch, and found her, as on the former occasion, seated by the fire. ‘Well, Bertha,’ I said, ‘I have obeyed you; I was yesterday at midnight on Arncliffe bridge.’
“‘And of what sight were you a witness?’
“‘I saw nothing except a slight disturbance of the stream.’
“‘I know,’ she said, ‘you saw a disturbance of the water, but did you behold nothing more?’
“‘Nothing.’
“‘Nothing! your memory fails you.’
“‘I forgot, Bertha; as I was proceeding home, I met a Newfoundland dog, which I suppose belonged to some traveller.’
“‘That dog,’ answered Bertha, ‘never belonged to mortal; no human being is his master. The dog you saw was Bargest; you may, perhaps, have heard of him.’
“‘I have frequently heard tales of Bargest, but I never credited them. If the legends of my native hills be true, a death may be expected to follow his appearance.’
“‘You are right, and a death will follow his last night’s appearance.’
“‘Whose death?’
“‘Not yours.’
“As Bertha refused to make any further communication, I left her. In less than three hours after I quitted her I was informed that my friend N----, whose figure I had seen enveloped in the mist of the caldron, had that morning committed suicide, by drowning himself at Arncliffe bridge, in the very spot where I beheld the disturbance of the stream!”
Such was the story of my companion; the tale amused me, but by no means increased my belief in witchcraft. I told the narrator so, and we again entered into a serious discussion, which continued till the inn clock struck seven, when the stranger left me, saying, that he could not stay any longer, as he had a distance of ten miles to travel that evening along a very lonely road.