Part 82
It is also customary in Northumberland for the midwife, &c. to provide two slices, one of bread and the other of cheese, which are presented to the first person they meet in the procession to church at the christening. The person who receives this homely present must give the child in return “three” different things, wishing it at the same time health and beauty. A gentleman happening once to fall in the way of such a party, and to receive the above present, was at a loss how to make the triple return, till he bethought himself of laying upon the child which was held out to him, a shilling, a halfpenny, and a pinch of snuff. When they meet more than one person together, it is usual to single out the nearest to the woman that carries the child.
Cowel says, it was a good old custom for God-fathers and God-mothers, every time their God-children asked them blessing, to give them a cake, which was a God’s-kichell: it is still a proverbial saying in some countries, “Ask me a blessing, and I will give you some plum-cake.”
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Among superstitions relating to children, the following is related by Bingham, on St. Austin: “If when two friends are talking together, a stone, or a dog, or a child, happens to come between them, they tread the stone to pieces as the divider of their friendship; and this is tolerable in comparison of beating an innocent child that comes between them. But it is more pleasant that sometimes the children’s quarrel is revenged by the dogs: for many times they are so superstitious as to dare to beat the dog that comes between them, who, turning again upon him that smites him, sends him from seeking a vain remedy, to seek a real physician.” Brand, who cites these passages, adduces the following
CHRISTENING CUSTOMS.
Dr. Moresin was an eye-witness to the following usages in Scotland. They take, on their return from church, the newly-baptized infant, and vibrate it three or four times gently over a flame, saying, and repeating it thrice, “Let the flame consume thee now or never.”
Martin relates, that in the Western Islands, the same lustration, by carrying of fire, is performed round about lying-in women, and round about children _before they are christened_, as an effectual means to preserve both the mother and infant from the power of evil spirits. This practice is similar to an ancient feast at Athens, kept by private families, called Amphidromia, on the fifth day after the birth of the child, when it was the custom for the gossips to run round the fire with the infant in their arms, and then, having delivered it to the nurse, they were entertained with feasting and dancing.
There is a superstition that a child who does not cry when sprinkled in baptism will not live.
Among the ancient Irish, the mother, at the birth of a man child, put the first meat into her infant’s mouth upon the point of her husband’s sword, with wishes that it might die no otherwise than in war, or by sword. Pennant says, that in the Highlands, midwives give new-born babes a small spoonful of earth and whisky, as the first food they take.
Giraldus Cambrensis relates, that “at the baptizing of the infants of the wild Irish, their manner was not to dip their right arms into the water, that so as they thought they might give a more deep and incurable blow.” Mr. Brand deems this a proof that the whole body of the child was anciently commonly immersed in the baptismal font.
In 1795 the minister of the parishes of South Ronaldsay and Burray, two of the Orkney islands, describing the manners of the inhabitants, says: “Within these last seven years, the minister has been twice interrupted in administering baptism to a female child, _before the male child_, who was baptized immediately after. When the service was over, he was gravely told he had done very wrong; for, as the female child was first baptized, she would, on her coming to the years of discretion, most certainly have a strong beard, and the boy would have none.”
The minister of Logierait, in Perthshire, describing the superstitious opinions and practices in that parish, says: “When a child was baptized privately, it was, not long since, customary to put the child upon a clean basket, having a cloth previously spread over it, with bread and cheese put into the cloth; and thus to move the basket three times successively round the iron crook, which hangs over the fire, from the roof of the house, for the purpose of supporting the pots when water is boiled, or victuals are prepared. This” he imagines, “might be anciently intended to counteract the malignant arts which witches and evil spirits were imagined to practise against new-born infants.”
It is a vulgar notion, that children, prematurely wise, are not long-lived, and rarely reach maturity. Shakspeare puts this superstition into the mouth of Richard the Third.
Bulwer mentions a tradition concerning children born open-handed, that they will prove of a bountiful disposition and frank-handed. A character in one of Dekker’s plays says, “I am the most wretched fellow: sure some _left-handed_ priest christened me, I am so unlucky.”
The following charms for infancy are derived from Herrick:
“Bring the holy crust of bread, Lay it underneath the head; ’Tis a certain charm to keep Hags away while children sleep.”
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“Let the superstitious wife Neer the child’s heart lay a knife; Point be up, and haft be down, (While she gossips in the towne;) This, ’mongst other mystick charms, Keeps the sleeping child from harmes.”
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BUNYAN’S HOLY WAR DRAMATISED.
A very beautiful manuscript was once put into the hands of one of Dr. Aikin’s correspondents by a provincial bookseller, to whom it had been offered for publication. It consisted of two tragedies upon the subject of John Bunyan’s Holy War: they were the _composition_ of a lady, who had fitted together scraps from Shakspeare, Milton, Young’s Night Thoughts, and Erskine’s Gospel Sonnets, into the dramatic form, with no other liberty than that of occasionally altering a name. The lady Constance, for instance, was converted into lady Conscience: the whole speeches and scenes were thus introduced in a wholesale sort of cento. The ghost in Hamlet also did for a Conscience.[251]
[251] Athenæum.
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GENTLEMEN OF THE PARISH.
Look up at the inscription on that venerable church defaced with plaster; what does it record? “_Beautified_ by Samuel Smear and Daniel Daub, churchwardens.” And so these honest gentlemen call disguising that fine, old, stone building, with a thick coat of lime and hair, or whitewash, _beautifying_ it!
What is the history of all this? Why the plain matter-of-fact is, that every parish officer thinks he has a right to make a round bill on the hamlet, during his year of power. An apothecary in office physics the poor. A glazier, first in cleaning, breaks the church-windows, and afterwards brings in a long bill for mending them. A painter repairs the commandments, puts new coats on Moses and Aaron, gilds the organ pipes, and dresses the little cherubim about the loft, as fine as vermilion, Prussian blue, and Dutch gold can make them. The late churchwardens chanced to be a silversmith and a woollen-draper; the silversmith new fashioned the communion plate, and the draper new clothed the pulpit, and put fresh curtains to the windows. All this might be done with some shadow of modesty, but to insult the good sense of every beholder with their _beautified_! Shame on them!
Dr. Burney tells of some parish officers, that they applied to Snetzler (a celebrated organ-builder) to examine their organ, and to make improvements on it--“Gentlemen,” said the honest Swiss, “your organ be wort von hondred pound, just now--well--I will spend von hondred pound upon it, and it shall then be wort fifty.”
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_For the Table Book._
THE ANGLER.
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.
Das Wasser rauscht’, das Wasser schwoll, &c.
There was a gentle angler who was angling in the sea, With heart as cool as only heart untaught of love can be; When suddenly the water rush’d, and swell’d, and up there sprung A humid maid of beauty’s mould--and thus to him she sung:
“Why dost thou strive so artfully to lure my brood away, And leave them then to die beneath the sun’s all-scorching ray? Couldst thou but tell how happy are the fish that swim below, Thou wouldst with me, and taste of joy which earth can never know.
“Do not Sol and Diana both more lovely far appear When they have dipp’d in Ocean’s wave their golden, silvery hair? And is there no attraction in this heaven-expanse of blue, Nor in thine image mirror’d in this everlasting dew?”
The water rush’d, the water swell’d, and touch’d his naked feet, And fancy whisper’d to his heart it was a love-pledge sweet; She sung another siren lay more ’witching than before, Half pull’d--half plunging--down he sunk, and ne’er was heard of more.
R. W. D.
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CLOSING THE EYES.
_For the Table Book._
A GIPSY’S FUNERAL.
EPPING FOREST.
It was considered a mark of the strongest affection by the ancients, that a son, when his father was dying, should lean over him and receive his last gasp,
“and kiss his spirit into happy rest.”
The Jews, Greeks, and Romans, esteemed it a high privilege for the nearest relative to close the eyes of the deceased body; as in Genesis, when Jacob’s sun was setting, “_Joseph_ shall put his hands upon thine eyes.” And in another place,--“The memory of the father is preserved in _the son_.” Again, (contra) “I have _no son_ to keep my name in remembrance.” And in Homer, “Let not the _glory_ of his eyes depart, without the _tender hand_ to move it silently to peace.” Ovid says, “Ille _meos oculos_ comprimat, ille tuos.” The performing this ceremony was so valued, that to die without friends to the due observance of this affectionate and last testimony, was thought an irreparable affliction.
The sudden death of a man was attributed to Apollo; of a woman, to Diana. If any relation were present, a vessel of brass was procured, and beaten loudly in the ears of the deceased to determine the point. The ringing of bells by the Romans, and others to this day is practised. The Irish wake partakes also of this usage. When the moon was in eclipse, she was thought asleep, and bells were rung to wake her: the eclipse having past, and the moon recovered her light, faith in this noisy custom became strengthened. Euripides says, when Hyppolitus was dying, he called on his father to close his eyes, cover his face with a cloth, and put a shroud over the corpse. Cassandra, desirous of proving the Trojan cause better than that of the Greeks, eulogizes their happy condition in dying at home, where the obsequies might be performed for them by their nearest relatives. Medea tells her children she once hoped they would have performed the duty for her, but she must do it for them. If a father, or the mother died a widow, the children attended to it: if the husband died, the wife performed it; which the Greeks lamented could not be done if they died at Troy. The duty devolved on the sister if her brother died; which caused Orestes to exclaim, when he was to suffer death so far from his home--“Alas! how shall my _sister_ shroud me now?”
Last month I was gratified by observing the funereal attentions of the gipsy tribes to _Cooper_, then lying in state on a common, near Epping forest. The corpse lay in a tent clothed with white linen; candles were lighted over the body, on which forest flowers and blossoms of the season were strewn and hung in posies. Cooper’s wife, dressed in black, perceiving I did not wish to see the face of her husband, said in perfect naïveté, “Oh, sir, don’t fear to look at him, I never saw his countenance so _pleasant_ in all my life.” A wit might have construed this sentence otherwise; but too much kindness emanated from this scene of rustic association to admit of levity. Her partner was cold, and her heart beat the pulsations of widowhood. The picture would have caught an artist’s eye. The gipsy-friends and relations sat mutely in the adjoining tents; and, like Job and his comforters, absorbed their grief in the silence of the summer air and their breasts. When Cooper was put in his coffin, the same feeling of attachment pervaded the scene. A train of several pairs, suitably clothed, followed their friend to the grave, and he was buried at the neighbouring church in quiet solemnity.
In addition to this, I transcribe a notice from a MS. journal, kept by a member of my family, 1769, which confirms the custom above alluded to. “Here was just buried in the church, (Tring,) the sister of the queen of the gipsies, to whom it is designed by her husband, to erect a monument to her memory of 20_l._ price. He is going to be married to the queen (sister to the deceased.) He offered 20_l._ to the clergyman to marry him directly; but he had not been in the town a month, so could not be married till that time. When this takes place, an entertainment will be made, and 20_l._ or 30_l._ spent. Just above esquire Gore’s park these _destiny readers_ have a camp, at which place the woman died; immediately after which, the survivors took all her wearing apparel and burnt them, including silk gowns, rich laces, silver buckles, gold earrings, trinkets, &c.,--for such is their custom.”
J. R. P.
_June, 1827._
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LITERARY INGENUITY.
Odo tenet mulum, madidam mappam tenet anna.
The above line is said, in an old book, to have “cost the inventor much foolish labour, for it is a perfect verse, and every word is the very same both backward and forward.”
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ST. JAMES’S PARK.
’Twas June, and many a gossip wench, Child-freighted, trod the central Mall; I gain’d a white unpeopled bench, And gazed upon the long canal. Beside me soon, in motley talk, Boys, nursemaids sat, a varying race; At length two females cross’d the walk, And occupied the vacant space.
In years they seem’d some forty-four, Of dwarfish stature, vulgar mien; A bonnet of black silk each wore, And each a gown of bombasin; And, while in loud and careless tones They dwelt upon their own concerns, Ere long I learn’d that Mrs. Jones Was one, and one was Mrs. Burns.
They talk’d of little Jane and John, And hoped they’d come before ’twas dark; Then wonder’d why with pattens on One might not walk across the park: They call’d it far to Camden-town, Yet hoped to reach it by and by; And thought it strange, since flour was down, That bread should still continue high.
They said last Monday’s heavy gales Had done a monstrous deal of ill; Then tried to count the iron rails That wound up Constitution-hill; This larum sedulous to shun, I don’d my gloves, to march away, When, as I gazed upon the one, “Good heavens!” I cried, “’tis Nancy Gray.”
’Twas Nancy, whom I led along The whiten’d and elastic floor, Amid mirth’s merry dancing throng, Just two and twenty years before. Though sadly alter’d, I knew her, While she, ’twas obvious, knew me not; But mildly said, “Good evening, sir,” And with her comrade left the spot.
“Is this,” I cried, in grief profound, “The fair with whom, eclipsing all, I traversed Ranelagh’s bright round, Or trod the mazes of Vauxhall? And is this all that Time can do? Has Nature nothing else in store; Is this of lovely twenty-two, All that remains at forty-four?
“Could _I_ to such a helpmate cling? Were such a wedded dowdy mine, On yonder lamp-post would I swing, Or plunge in yonder Serpentine!” I left the park with eyes askance, But, ere I enter’d Cleveland-row, Rude Reason thus threw in her lance, And dealt self-love a mortal blow.
“Time, at whose touch all mortals bow, From either sex his prey secures, His scythe, while wounding Nancy’s brow, Can scarce have smoothly swept o’er yours; By her you plainly were not known; Then, while you mourn the alter’d hue Of Nancy’s face, suspect your own May be a _little_ alter’d too.”
_New Monthly Magazine._
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ON CHANGE.
_To the Editor._
Sir,--We know that every thing in this world changes in the course of a few years; but what I am about to communicate to you is a change indeed.--“I’ve been roaming;” and in my city rounds I find the present residence and profession of the undernamed parties to be as follows:
ADAM is now an orange-merchant in Lower Thames-street; and a counseller in Old-square, Lincoln’s-inn.
EVE is a stove-grate manufacturer in Ludgate-hill; and a sheep-salesman at 41, West Smithfield.
CAIN is a builder at 22, Prince’s-row, Pimlico; and a surgeon, 154, Whitechapel-road.
ABEL is a dealer in china at 4, Crown-street, Soho; and a glover at 153, St. John-street-road.
MOSES is a slopseller at 4, James-place, Aldgate; and a clothes-salesman in Sparrow-corner, Minories.
AARON is a pawnbroker in Houndsditch, No. 129; and an oilman at Aldgate.
ABRAHAM keeps a childbed-linen-warehouse at 53, Houndsditch; and is a special pleader in Pump-court, in the Temple.
BENJAMIN is a fishmonger at 5, Duke’s-place.
MORDECAI keeps a clothes-shop near Shoreditch church.
ABSALOM is a tailor at No. 9, Bridge-road, Lambeth.
PETER is a cotton-dyer in Brick-lane.
I am, &c.,
SAM SAM’S SON.
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~Anonymiana.~
THE JEWS-HARP.
The Jews-trump, or, as it is more generally pronounced, the Jew-trump, seems to take its name from the nation of the Jews, and is vulgarly believed to be one of their instruments of music. Dr. Littleton renders Jews-trump by _sistrum Judaicum_. But there is not any such musical instrument as this described by the authors that treat of the Jewish music. In short, this instrument is a mere boy’s plaything, and incapable of itself of being joined either with a voice or any other instrument. The present orthography seems to be a corruption of the French, _jeu-trump_, a trump to play with: and in the Belgick, or Low-Dutch, from whence come many of our toys, a _tromp_ is a rattle for children. Sometimes they will call it a _Jews-harp_; and another etymon given of it is _Jaws-harp_, because the place where it is played upon is between the jaws. It is an instrument used in St. Kilda. (Martin, p. 73.)
QUID PRO QUO.
“Give you a Rowland for an Oliver.” This is reckoned a proverb of late standing, being commonly referred to Oliver Cromwell, as if he were the Oliver here intended: but it is of greater antiquity than the protector; for it is met with in Hall’s Chronicle, in the reign of Edward IV. In short, Rolland and Oliver were two of Charlemagne’s peers. (See Ames’s Hist. of Printing, p. 47, and Ariosto.) Rolando and Orlando are the same name; Turpin calling him Roland, and Ariosto Rolando.
FATHER AND SON.
“Happy is the son whose father is gone to the devil,” is an old saying. It is not grounded on the supposition, that such a father by his iniquitous dealings must have accumulated wealth; but is a satirical hint on the times when popery prevailed here so much, that the priests and monks had engrossed the three professions of law, physic, and divinity; when, therefore, by the procurement either of the confessor, the physician, or the lawyer, a good part of the father’s effects were pretty sure to go to the church; and when, if nothing of that kind happened, these agents were certain to defame him, and adjudge that such a man must undoubtedly be damned.
LIVING WELL.
“If you would live well for a week, kill a hog; if you would live well for a month, marry; if you would live well all your life, turn priest.” This is an old proverb; but by turning priest is not barely meant becoming an ecclesiastic, but it alludes to the celibacy of the Romish clergy, and is as much as to say, do not marry at all.
COUNTRY DANCES.
The term “country dance” is a corruption of the French _contre danse_, by which they mean that which we call a country-dance, or a dance by many persons placed opposite one to another: it is not from _contrée_, but _contre_.
THE VINE.
The Romans had so much concern with the vine and its fruit, that there are more terms belonging to it, and its parts, its culture, products, and other appurtenances, than to any other tree:--
_Vitis_, the tree; _palmes_, the branch; _pampinus_, the leaf; _racemus_, a bunch of grapes; _uva_, the grape; _capreolus_, a tendril; _vindemia_, the vintage; _vinum_, wine _acinus_, the grape-stone.
POSTHUMOUS HONOUR.
Joshua Barnes, the famous Greek professor of Cambridge, was remarkable for a very extensive memory; but his judgment was not exact: and when he died, one wrote for him this
_Epitaph._
Hic jacet Joshua Barnes, felicissimæ memoriæ, expectans judicium.
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THE KING’S ARMS.
When Charles II. was going home one night drunk, and leaning upon the shoulders of Sedley and Rochester, one of them asked him what he imagined his subjects would think if they could behold him in that pickle.--“Think!” said the king, “that I am my arms, supported by two beasts.”
Vol. II.--29.
When I designed with my friend W. a visit to the Dulwich gallery, which we did not effect, we did not foresee the consequence of diversion from our intent; and having been put out of our way, we strolled without considering “the end thereof.” Hence, our peradventure at the “Crooked Billet,” on Penge Common;[252] our loitering to sketch the “Bridge on the Road to Beckenham;”[253] the same, for the same purpose, at “the Porch of Beckenham Church-yard;”[254] the survey of “Beckenham Church;”[255] the view of its old Font in the public-house garden;[256] and the look at the hall of “Wickham Court,” and West Wickham church.[257] New and beautiful prospects opened to us from the latter village; and to the just enumerated six articles, and their engravings, respecting that part of the country, in the former volume of the _Table Book_, it is intended to add like abstracts of our further proceedings. In short, to be respectful and orderly, as one moiety of a walking committee, self-constituted and appointed, I take permission to “report progress, and ask leave to _go_ again.”
The “Crooked Billet” at Penge, and mine host of the “Swan” at West Wickham, have had visitors curious to trace the pleasant route, and remark the particulars previously described. While indulging the sight, there is another sense that craves to be satisfied; and premising that we are now penetrating further “into the bowels of the land,” it becomes a duty to acquaint followers with head-quarters. For the present, it is neither necessary nor expedient to nicely mark the road to “Keston Cross”--go which way you will it is an agreeable one. A Tunbridge or Seven-Oaks coach passes within a short half mile, and the Westerham coach within the same distance. If a delightful two hours’ lounging walk from Bromley be desired, take the turning from the Swan at Bromley to Beckenham church; go through the church-yard over a stile, keep the meadow foot-path, cross the Wickham road, and wander by hedge-row elms, as your will and the country-folk direct you, till you arrive at Hayes Common; then make for the lower or left-hand side of the common, and leaving the mill on the right, get into the cottaged lane. At a few hundred yards past the sheep-wash, formed in a little dell by the Ravensbourne, at the end of the open rise, stands “Keston Cross.”