Part 71
Menage says, they were first employed in Europe in 1240, in the Alphonsian Tables, made under the direction of Alphonso, son to king Ferdinand of Castile, by Isaac Hazan, a Jew of Toledo, and Abel Ragel, an Arabian. Dr. Wallis conceives they were generally used in England about the year 1130.
In the indexes of some old French books these figures are called Arabic ciphers, to distinguish them from Roman numerals.
NUMBER X, 10.
It is observed by Huet as a remarkable circumstance, that for calculation and numerical increase the number 10 is always used, and that decimal progression is preferred to every other. The cause of this preference arises from the number of our fingers, upon which men accustom themselves to reckon from their infancy. First, they count the units on their fingers, and when the units exceed that number, they have recourse to another ten. If the number of tens increase, they still reckon on their fingers; and if they surpass that number, they then commence a different species of calculation by the same agents; as thus--reckoning each finger for tens, then for hundreds, thousands, &c.
From this mode of reckoning by the fingers then, we have been led to prefer the number ten, though it is not so convenient and useful a number as twelve. Ten can only be divided by two and five, but twelve can be divided by two, three, four, and six.
The Roman numbers are adduced in proof of the origin of reckoning by the number ten, viz.--
The units are marked by the letter I, which represent a finger.
The number five is marked by the letter V, which represents the first and last finger of a hand.
Ten, by an X, which is two V’s joined at their points, and which two V’s represent the two hands.
Five tens are marked by an L; that is half the letter E, which is the same as C, the mark for a hundred.
Five hundred is marked by a D, half of the letter Φ, which is the same as M, the mark for a thousand.
According to this, the calculation of the Roman numbers was from five to five, that is, from one hand to the other. Ovid makes mention of this mode, as also of the number ten:--
“Hic numeris magno tunc in honore fuit. Seu quia tot digiti per quos numerare solemnus, Seu quia bis quino femina mense parit. Seu quod ad usque decem numero crescente venitur: Principium spatiis sumitur inde novis.”
Vitruvius also makes the same remark; he says, “Ex manibus denarius digitorum numerus.”
We have refined, however, upon the convenience which nature has furnished us with to assist us in our calculations; for we not only use our fingers, but likewise various figures, which we place in different situations, and combine in certain ways, to express our ideas.
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Many unlettered nations, as the inhabitants of Guinea, Madagascar, and of the interior parts of America, know not how to count farther than ten. The Brasilians, and several others, cannot reckon beyond five; they multiply that number to express a greater, and in their calculations they use their fingers and toes. The natives of Peru use decimal progression; they count from one to ten; by tens to a hundred; and by hundreds to a thousand. Plutarch says, that decimal progression was not only used among the Grecians, but also by every uncivilized nation.
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~Omniana.~
FOX, THE QUAKER.
This individual, many years deceased, was a most remarkable man in his circle; a great natural genius, which employed itself upon trivial or not generally interesting matters. He deserved to have been known better than he was. The last years of his life he resided at Bristol. He was a great Persian scholar, and published some translations of the poets of that nation, which were well worthy perusal. He was self-taught, and had patience and perseverance for any thing. He was somewhat eccentric, but had the quickest reasoning power, and consequently the greatest coolness, of any man of his day, who was able to reason. His house took fire in the night; it was situated near the sea; it was uninsured, and the flames spread so rapidly nothing could be saved. He saw the consequences instantly, made up his mind to them as rapidly, and ascending a hill at some distance in the rear of his dwelling, watched the picture and the reflection of the flames on the sea, admiring its beauties, as if it were a holiday bonfire.
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DIVING-BELLS.
The first diving-bell we read of was nothing but a very large kettle, suspended by ropes, with the mouth downwards, and planks to sit on fixed in the middle of its concavity. Two Greeks at Toledo, in 1588, made an experiment with it before the emperor Charles V. They descended in it, with a lighted candle, to a considerable depth. In 1683, William Phipps, the son of a blacksmith, formed a project for unloading a rich Spanish ship sunk on the coast of Hispaniola. Charles II. gave him a ship with every thing necessary for his undertaking; but being unsuccessful, he returned in great poverty. He then endeavoured to procure another vessel, but failing, he got a subscription, to which the duke of Albemarle contributed. In 1687, Phipps set sail in a ship of two hundred tons, having previously engaged to divide the profits according to the twenty shares of which the subscription consisted. At first all his labours proved fruitless; but at last, when he seemed almost to despair, he was fortunate enough to bring up so much treasure, that he returned to England with the value of 200,000_l._ sterling. Of this sum he got about 20,000_l._, and the duke 90,000_l._ Phipps was knighted by the king, and laid the foundation of the fortunes of the present noble house of Mulgrave. Since that time diving-bells have been often employed. On occasion of the breaking in of the water of the Thames during the progress of the tunnel under the Thames, Mr. Brunel frequently descended in one to the bed of the river.
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GAMING.
----“The ruling passion strong in death.”
In “Arliquiniana” avarice, and love of gaming, are exemplified by the following anecdote:--
A French woman, who resided on her estate in the country, falling ill, sent to the village curate, and offered to play with him. The curate being used to gaming, gladly entertained the proposal, and they played together till he lost all his money. She then offered to play with him for the expenses of her funeral, in case she should die. They played, and the curate losing these also, she obliged him to give her his note of hand for so much money lent, as her funeral expenses would amount to. She delivered the note to her son, and died within eight or ten days afterwards, and the curate was paid his fees in his own note of hand.
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THE TANNER.
AN EPIGRAM.
A Bermondsey tanner would often engage, In a long _tête-à-tête_ with his dame, While trotting to town in the Kennington stage, About giving their villa a name.
A neighbour, thus hearing the skin-dresser talk, Stole out, half an hour after dark, Pick’d up in the roadway a fragment of chalk, And wrote on the palings--“_Hide_ Park!”[221]
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FRIENDSHIP ON THE NAIL.
When Marigny contracted a friendship with Menage, he told him he was “upon his _nail_.” It was a method he had of speaking of all his friends; he also used it in his letters; one which he wrote to Menage begins thus: “Oh! illustrious of my _nail_.”
When Marigny said, “you are upon my _nail_,” he meant two things--one, that the person was always present, nothing being more easy than to look at his nail; the other was, that good and real friends were so scarce, that even he who had the most, might write their names on his nail.
[221] New Monthly Magazine.
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~Notice~
TO THE CHANCE CUSTOMERS
OF THE
COMPANY OF FLYING STATIONERS.
Formerly there was a numerous class who believed every thing they saw in print. It is just possible that a few of these persuadable persons may survive; I therefore venture to remark, that my name printed on the squibs now crying about the streets is a forgery.
W. HONE.
_June 8, 1827._
Vol. I.--25.
The parish of Beckenham lends its name to the hundred, which is in the lath of Sutton-at-Hone. It is ten miles from London, two miles north from Bromley, and, according to the last census, contains 196 houses and 1180 inhabitants. The living is a rectory valued in the king’s books at 6_l._ 18_s._ 9_d_. The church is dedicated to St. George.
----Beyond “Chaffinch’s River” there is an enticing field-path to Beckenham, but occasional sights of noble trees kept us along the high road, till the ring of the blacksmith’s hammer signalled that we were close upon the village. We wound through it at a slow pace, vainly longing for something to realize the expectations raised by the prospect of it on our way.
Beckenham consists of two or three old farm-like looking houses, rudely encroached upon by a number of irregularly built dwellings, and a couple of inns; one of them of so much apparent consequence, as to dignify the place. We soon came to an edifice which, by its publicity, startles the feelings of the passenger in this, as in almost every other parish, and has perhaps greater tendency to harden than reform the rustic offender--the “cage,” with its accessory, the “pound.” An angular turn in the road, from these lodgings for men and cattle when they go astray, afforded us a sudden and delightful view of
“The decent church that tops the neighb’ring hill.”
On the right, an old, broad, high wall, flanked with thick buttresses, and belted with magnificent trees, climbs the steep, to enclose the domain of I know not whom; on the opposite side, the branches, from a plantation, arch beyond the footpath. At the summit of the ascent is the village church with its whitened spire, crowning and pinnacl’ing this pleasant grove, pointing from amidst the graves--like man’s last only hope--towards heaven.
This village spire is degradingly noticed in “An accurate Description of Bromley and Five Miles round, by Thomas Wilson, 1797.” He says, “An extraordinary circumstance happened here near Christmas, 1791; the steeple of this church was destroyed by lightning, but a new one was put up in 1796, made of copper, in the form of an extinguisher.” The old spire, built of shingles, was fired on the morning of the 23d of December, in the year seventeen hundred and _ninety_, in a dreadful storm. One of the effects of it in London I perfectly remember:--the copper roofing of the new “Stone Buildings” in Lincoln’s Inn was stripped off by the wind, and violently carried over the opposite range of high buildings, the Six Clerks’ offices, into Chancery Lane, where I saw the immense sheet of metal lying in the carriage way, exactly as it fell, rolled up, with as much neatness as if it had been executed by machinery. As regards the present spire of Beckenham church, its “form,” in relation to its place, is the most appropriate that could have been devised--a picturesque object, that marks the situation of the village in the forest landscape many miles round, and indescribably graces the nearer view.
We soon came up to the corpse-gate of the church-yard, and I left W. sketching it,[222] whilst I retraced my steps into the village in search of the church-keys at the parish clerk’s, from whence I was directed back again, to “the woman who has the care of the church,” and lives in the furthest of three neat almshouses, built at the church-yard side, by the private benefaction of Anthony Rawlings, in 1694. She gladly accompanied us, with the keys clinking, through the mournful yew-tree grove, and threw open the great south doors of the church. It is an old edifice--despoiled of its ancient font--deprived, by former beautifyings, of carvings and tombs that in these times would have been remarkable. It has remnants of brasses over the burial places of deceased rectors and gentry, from whence dates have been wantonly erased, and monuments of more modern personages, which a few years may equally deprave.
There are numerous memorials of the late possessors of Langley, a predominant estate in Beckenham. One in particular to sir Humphry Style, records that he was of great fame, in his day and generation, in Beckenham: he was “Owner of Langley in this parish, Knight and Baronet of England and Ireland, a gentleman of the privy chamber in ordinary to James I., one of the cupbearers in ordinary to King Charles, and by them boath intrusted with the weighty affairs of this countye: Hee was justice of peace and quorum, Deputy lieftenant, and alsoe (an hono’r not formerly conferred upon any) made Coronell of all the trayned band horse thereof.”
The possession of Langley may be traced, through the monuments, to its last heritable occupant, commemorated by an inscription; “Sacred to the Memory of Peter Burrell, Baron Gwydir, of Gwydir, Deputy Great Chamberlain of England, Born July 16, 1754; Died at Brighton, June 29th, 1820, aged 66 years.” After the death of this nobleman Langley was sold. The poor of Beckenham speak his praise, and lament that his charities died with him. The alienation of the estate deprived them of a benevolent protector, and no one has arisen to succeed him in the character of a kind-hearted benefactor.
A tablet in this church, to “Harriet, wife of (the present) J. G. Lambton, Esq. of Lambton Hall, Durham,” relates that she died “in her twenty-fifth year.”
Within the church, fixed against the northern corner of the west end, is a plate of copper, bearing an inscription to this import:--Mary Wragg, of St. John’s, Westminster, bequeathed 15_l._ per annum for ever to the curate of Beckenham, in trust for the following uses; viz. a guinea to himself for his trouble in taking care that her family vault should be kept in good repair; a guinea to be expended in a dinner for himself, and the clerk, and parish officers; 12_l._ 10_s._ to defray the expenses of such repairs; if in any year the vault should not require repair, the money to be laid out in eighteen pennyworth of good beef, eighteen pennyworth of good bread, five shillings worth of coals, and 4_s._ 6_d._ in money, to be given to each of twenty of the poorest inhabitants of the parish; if repairs should be required, the money left to be laid out in like manner and quantity, with 4_s._ 6_d._ to as many as it will extend to; and the remaining 8_s._ to be given to the clerk. In consequence of Mary Wragg’s bequest, her vault in the church-yard is properly maintained, and distribution made of beef, bread, and money, every 28th of January. On this occasion there is usually a large attendance of spectators; as many as please go down into the vault, and the parochial authorities of Beckenham have a holiday, and “keep wassel.”
There is carefully kept in this church a small wooden hand-box, of remarkable shape, made in king William’s time, for the receipt of contributions from the congregation when there are collections. As an ecclesiastical utensil with which I was unacquainted, W. took a drawing, and has made an engraving of it.
This collecting-box is still used. It is carried into the pews, and handed to the occupants, who drop any thing or nothing, as they please, into the upper part. When money is received, it passes through an open slit left between the back and the top enclosure of the lower half; which part, thus shut up, forms a box, that conceals from both eye and hand the money deposited. The contrivance might be advantageously adopted in making collections at the doors of churches generally. It is a complete security against the possibility of money being withdrawn instead of given; which, from the practice of holding open plates, and the ingenuity of sharpers, has sometimes happened.
In the middle of two family pews of this church, which are as commodious as sitting parlours, there are two ancient reading desks like large music stands, with flaps and locks for holding and securing the service books when they are not in use. These pieces of furniture are either obsolete in churches, or peculiar to that of Beckenham; at least I never saw desks of the like in any other church.
Not discovering any thing further to remark within the edifice, except its peal of five bells, we strolled among the tombs in the church-yard, which offers no inscriptions worth notice. From its solemn yew-tree grove we passed through the “Lich-gate,” already described. On our return to the road by which we had approached the church, and at a convenient spot, W. sketched the view he so freely represents in the engraving. The melodists of the groves were in full song. As the note of the parish-clerk rises in the psalm above the common voice of the congregation, so the loud, confident note of the blackbird exceeds the united sound of the woodland choir: one of these birds, on a near tree, whistled with all his might, as if conscious of our listening, and desirous of particular distinction.
Wishing to reach home by a different route than that we had come, we desired to be acquainted with the way we should go, and went again to the almshouses which are occupied by three poor widows, of whom our attendant to the church was one. She was alone in her humble habitation making tea, with the tokens of her office-bearing, the church keys, on the table before her. In addition to the required information, we elicited that she was the widow of Benjamin Wood, the late parish-clerk. His brother, a respectable tradesman in London, had raised an excellent business, “Wood’s eating-house,” at the corner of Seething-lane, Tower-street, and at his decease was enabled to provide comfortably for his family. Wood, the parish-clerk, had served Beckenham in that capacity many years till his death, which left his widow indigent, and threw her on the cold charity of a careless world. She seems to have outlived the recollection of her husband’s relatives. After his death she struggled her way into this almshouse, and gained an allowance of two shillings a week; and on this, with the trifle allowed for her services in keeping clean the church, at past threescore years and ten, she somehow or other contrives to exist.
We led dame Wood to talk of her “domestic management,” and finding she brewed her own beer with the common utensils and fire-place of her little room, we asked her to describe her method: a tin kettle is her boiler, she mashes in a common butter-firkin, runs off the liquor in a “crock,” and tuns it in a small-beer-barrel. She is of opinion that “poor people might do a great deal for themselves if they knew _how_: _but_,” says she, “where there’s a _will_, there’s a _way_.”
*
* * * * *
A font often denotes the antiquity, and frequently determines the former importance of the church, and is so essential a part of the edifice, that it is incomplete without one. According to the rubrick, a church may be without a pulpit, but not without a font; hence, almost the first thing I look for in an old church is its old stone font. Instead thereof, at Beckenham, is a thick wooden baluster, with an unseemly circular flat lid, covering a sort of wash-hand-basin, and this the “gentlemen of the parish” call a “font!” The odd-looking thing was “a present” from a parishioner, in lieu of the ancient stone font which, when the church was repaired after the lightning-storm, was carried away by Mr. churchwarden Bassett, and placed in his yard. It was afterwards sold to Mr. Henry Holland, the former landlord of the “Old Crooked Billet,” on Penge Common, who used it for several years as a cistern, and the present landlord has it now in his garden, where it appears as represented in the engraving. Mr. Harding expresses an intention of making a table of it, and placing it at the front of his house: in the interim it is depicted here, as a hint, to induce some regard in Beckenham people, and save the venerable font from an exposure, which, however intended as a private respect to it by the host of the “Crooked Billet,” would be a public shame to Beckenham parish.
[222] Mr. W.’s engraving of his sketch is on p. 715.
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_For the Table Book._
GONE OR GOING.
1.
Fine merry franions, Wanton companions, My days are ev’n banyans With thinking upon ye; How Death, that last stringer, Finis-writer, end-bringer, Has laid his chill finger, Or is laying, on ye.
2.
There’s rich Kitty Wheatley, With footing it featly That took me completely, She sleeps in the Kirk-house; And poor Polly Perkin, Whose Dad was still ferking The jolly ale firkin-- She’s gone to the Work-house:
3.
Fine gard’ner, Ben Carter (In ten counties no smarter) Has ta’en his departure For Proserpine’s orchards; And Lily, postillion, With cheeks of vermilion, Is one of a million That fill up the church-yards.
4.
And, lusty as Dido, Fat Clemitson’s widow Flits now a small shadow By Stygian hid ford; And good Master Clapton Has thirty years nap’t on The ground he last hap’t on; Intomb’d by fair Widford;
5.
And gallant Tom Docwra, Of Nature’s finest crockery, Now but thin air and mockery, Lurks by Avernus; Whose honest grasp of hand, Still, while his life did stand, At friend’s or foe’s command, Almost did burn us.
6.
(Roger de Coverly Not more good man than he), Yet is he equally Push’d for Cocytus, With cuckoldy Worral, And wicked old Dorrel, Gainst whom I’ve a quarrel-- His death might affright us!
7.
Had he mended in right time, He need not in night time, (That black hour, and fright-time,) Till sexton interr’d him, Have groan’d in his coffin, While demons stood scoffing-- You’d ha’ thought him a coughing-- My own father[223] heard him!
8.
Could gain so importune, With occasion opportune, That for a poor Fortune, That should have been ours,[224] In soul he should venture To pierce the dim center, Where will-forgers enter, Amid the dark Powers?--
9.
Kindly hearts I have known; Kindly hearts, they are flown; Here and there if but one Linger, yet uneffaced,-- Imbecile, tottering elves, Soon to be wreck’d on shelves, These scarce are half themselves, With age and care crazed.
10.
But this day, Fanny Hutton Her last dress has put on; Her fine lessons forgotten, She died, as the dunce died; And prim Betsey Chambers, Decay’d in her members, No longer remembers Things, as she once did:
11.
And prudent Miss Wither Not in jest now doth _wither_, And soon must go--whither Nor I, well, nor you know; And flaunting Miss Waller-- _That_ soon must befal her, Which makes folks seem taller,[225]-- Though proud, once, as Juno!
ELIA.
[223] Who sat up with him.
[224] I have this fact from Parental tradition only.
[225] Death lengthens people to the eye.
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~Scottish Legends.~
HIGHLAND SCENERY.
The scenery and legend of Mr. James Hay Allan’s poem, “The Bridal of Caölchairn,” are derived from the vicinity of Cruachan, (or Cruachan-Beinn,) a mountain 3390 feet above the level of the sea, situated at the head of Loch Awe, a lake in Argyleshire. The poem commences with the following lines: the prose illustrations are from Mr. Allan’s descriptive notes.