Chapter 3

We must notice a few of the details. The three guards are foremost in the picture, and in merit; the struggle in their countenances between discipline and a sense of the ludicrous scene before them is admirably represented; as well as the little urchin with his tin sword. The centre figure of the High Sheriff, with his tattered and faded finery of office, is equally clever; but the skill with which the artist has contrived to express his forced mirth, and mopstick bravado, is still more forcible. The troubled countenance of the Lord Mayor is an excellent portrait of the indignation of little authority when perturbed by men of greater place. The faces of the turnkey and the sergeant are likewise admirable; and that of the soldier looking towards the latter for orders, is like an excellent piece of byplay in the farce. The drunken patriot, behind the High Sheriff, is well entitled to the attention which the artist, in his explanation, suggests; but the spectator must not dwell too long on this sorrowful wreck of fallen nature. The group in the foreground of the right hand corner, is an episode which must not be omitted, for it corresponds with the fine portrait in the same situation in the "Election" picture. The reckless dissipation of the fine, young fox-hunter, the half intoxicated chuckle with which he holds the bottle, the grief of his daughter and wife, and the little shoeless boy with his hoop, are finely contrasted with the rich humour and extravagant burlesque of all around them. The slyness of the Head Constable, in the left hand corner, half smothered in his mock robes, is expressively told; and the painter is a capital likeness.

From the success of Mr. Haydon in the particular line of art requisite for scenes of real humour, it is not unlikely that his execution of the first picture, the "Election" may prove one of the most fortunate events in his professional career, and turn out to be one of the "sweet uses of adversity," by eliciting talent which he probably did not believe himself to possess. Much as we admire this style of art, we can but deplore that purchasers cannot be found for such pictures as his _Entry into Jerusalem_, and _Judgment of Solomon_, both which, with two others, are exhibited in the room with the Chairing of the Members. Out of the scores of new churches which are yearly completed, surely some altar-pieces might be introduced with propriety; and when we consider the peculiar influence which such scenes as those chosen by Mr. Haydon are known to possess over the human heart, we do not think their entire exclusion from modern churches contributes to their devotional character.

Such pictures are intended for better purposes than mere seclusion in large galleries and mansions, of which there are but comparatively few in England; and it is always with regret that we see these noble efforts of art in such profitless situations. Occasionally a nobleman, or parochial taste, introduces a valuable painted window, and sometimes an altarpiece into a church; but we wish the practice were more general.

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RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS

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ENGLAND IN THE DAYS OF GOOD "QUEEN BESS."

The misery and mendicity which prevailed in this country before the provisions of the poor laws in the time of Elizabeth became duly enforced, might be proved by the following extract from a curious old pamphlet, which describes, in very forcible language, the poverty and idleness which prevailed in one of the fairest and most fertile districts of the kingdom, viz.--

The Golden Vale in Herefordshire, (being ye pride of al that country,) being the richest yet (for want of employment) the plentifullest place of poore in the kingdom--yielding two or three hundred folde; the number so increasing (idleness having gotten the upper hand;) if trades bee not raised--beggery will carry such reputation in my quarter of the country, as if it had the whole to halves.

There bee, says this author, within a mile and a halfe from my house every waye, five hundred poore habitations; whose greatest meanes consist in spinning flaxe, hemp, and hurdes. They dispose the seasons of the yeare in this manner; I will begin with May, June, and July, (three of the merriest months for beggers,) which yield the best increase for their purpose, to raise multitudes: whey, curdes, butter-milk, and such belly provision, abounding in the neighbourhood, serves their turne. As wountes or moles hunt after wormes, the ground being dewable, so these idelers live intolerablie by other meanes, and neglect their painfull labours by oppressing the neighbourhood. August, September, and October, with that permission which the Lord hath allowed the poorer sorte to gather the eares of corne, they do much harme. I have seen three hundred leazers or gleaners in one gentleman's corn-field at once; his servants gathering and stouking the bound sheaves, the sheaves lying on the ground like dead carcases in an overthrown battell, they following the spoyle, not like souldiers (which scorne to rifle) but like theeves desirous to steale; so this army holdes pillaging, wheate, rye, barly, pease, and oates; oates, a graine which never grew in Canaan, nor AEgypt, and altogether out of the allowance of leazing.

Under colour of the last graine, oates, it being the latest harvest, they doe (without mercy in hotte bloud) steale, robbe orchards, gardens, hop-yards, and crab trees; so what with leazing and stealing, they doe poorly maintaine themselves November, December, and almost all January, with some healpes from the neighbourhood.

The last three moneths, February, March, and Aprill, little labour serves their turne, they hope by the heat of the sunne, (seasoning themselves, like snakes, under headges,) to recover the month of May with much poverty, long fasting, and little praying; and so make an end of their yeares travel in the Easter holy days.

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BEGGARS.

In the earlier periods of their history, both in England and Scotland, beggars were generally of such a description as to entitle them to the epithet of _sturdy_; accordingly they appear to have been regarded often as impostors and always as nuisances and pests. "Sornares," so violently denounced in those acts, were what are here called "masterful beggars," who, when they could not obtain what they asked for by fair means, seldom hesitated to take it by violence. The term is said to be Gaelic, and to import a soldier. The life of such a beggar is well described in the "Belman of London," printed in 1608--"The life of a beggar is the life of a souldier. He suffers hunger and cold in winter, and heate and thirste in summer; he goes lowsie, he goes lame; he is not regarded; he is not rewarded; here only shines his glorie. The whole kingdome is but his walk; a whole cittie is but his parish. In every man's kitchen is his meate dressed; in every man's sellar lyes his beere; and the best men's purses keepe a penny for him to spend."

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CURIOUS MANORIAL CUSTOM.

At King's Hill, about half a mile north-east of Rocford Church, Essex, is held what is called the _Lawless Court_, a whimsical custom, the origin of which is not known. On the Wednesday morning next after Michaelmas day, the tenants are bound to attend upon the first cock-crowing, and to kneel and do their homage, without any kind of light, but such as heaven will afford. The steward of the court calls all such as are bound to appear, with as low a voice as possible, giving no notice when he goes to execute his office; however, he that does not give an answer is deeply amerced. They are all to whisper to each other, nor have they any pen and ink, but supply that deficiency with a coal; and he that owes suit and service, and appears not, forfeits to the lord of the manor double his rent every hour he is absent.

A tenant, some years ago, forfeited his land for non attendance, but was restored to it, the lord taking only a fine.

HALBERT H.

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SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

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THE PET DOG.

Dogs, when they are sure of having their own way, have sometimes ways as odd as those of the unfurred, unfeathered animals, who walk on two legs, and talk, and are called rational. My beautiful, white greyhound, Mayflower, for instance, is as whimsical as the finest lady in the land. Amongst her other fancies, she has taken a violent affection for a most hideous stray dog, who made his appearance here about six months ago, and contrived to pick up a living in the village, one can hardly tell how. Now appealing to the charity of old Rachael Strong, the laundress--a dog-lover by profession; now winning a meal from the light-footed and open-hearted lasses at the Rose; now standing on his hind-legs to extort, by sheer beggary, a scanty morsel from some pair of "drowthy cronies," or solitary drover, discussing his dinner or supper on the alehouse-bench; now catching a mouthful, flung to him in pure contempt by some scornful gentleman of the shoulder-knot, mounted on his throne, the coach-box, whose notice he had attracted by dint of ugliness; now sharing the commons of Master Keep the shoemaker's pigs; now succeeding to the reversion of the well-gnawed bone of Master Brow the shopkeeper's fierce house-dog; now filching the skim-milk of Dame Wheeler's cat:--spit at by the cat; worried by the mastiff; chased by the pigs; screamed at by the dame; stormed at by the shoemaker; flogged by the shopkeeper; teased by all the children, and scouted by all the animals of the parish;--but yet living through his griefs, and bearing them patiently, "for sufferance is the badge of all his tribe;"--and even seeming to find, in an occasional full meal, or a gleam of sunshine, or a whisp of dry straw, on which to repose his sorry carcass, some comfort in his disconsolate condition.

In this plight was he found by May, the most high-blooded and aristocratic of greyhounds; and from this plight did May rescue him;-- invited him into her territory, the stable; resisted all attempts to turn him out; reinstated him there, in spite of maid, and boy, and mistress, and master; wore out every body's opposition, by the activity of her protection, and the pertinacity of her self-will; made him sharer of her bed and her mess; and, finally, established him as one of the family as firmly as herself.

Dash--for he has even won himself a name amongst us, before he was anonymous--Dash is a sort of a kind of a spaniel; at least there is in his mongrel composition some sign of that beautiful race. Besides his ugliness, which is of the worst sort--that is to say, the shabbiest--he has a limp on one leg that gives a peculiarly one-sided awkwardness to his gait; but, independently of his great merit in being May's pet, he has other merits which serve to account for that phenomenon--being, beyond all comparison the most faithful, attached, and affectionate animal that I have ever known; and that is saying much. He seems to think it necessary to atone for his ugliness by extra good conduct, and does so dance on his lame leg, and so wag his scrubby tail, that it does any one, who has a taste for happiness, good to look at him--so that he may now be said to stand on his own footing. We are all rather ashamed of him when strangers come in the way, and think it necessary to explain that he is May's pet; but amongst ourselves, and those who are used to his appearance, he has reached the point of favouritism in his own person. I have, in common with wiser women, the feminine weakness of loving whatever loves me--and, therefore, like Dash. His master has found out that Dash is a capital finder, and, in spite of his lameness, will hunt a field, or beat a cover with any spaniel in England--and, therefore, _he_ likes Dash. The boy has fought a battle, in defence of his beauty, with another boy, bigger than himself, and beat his opponent most handsomely-- and, therefore, _he_ likes Dash; and the maids like him, or pretend to like him, because we do--as is the fashion of that pliant and imitative class. And now Dash and May follow us every where, and are going with us now to the Shaw, or rather to the cottage by the Shaw, to bespeak milk and butter of our little dairy-woman, Hannah Bint--a housewifely occupation, to which we owe some of our pleasantest rambles--_Miss Mitford_.--_Month. Mag_.

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FROM THE ROMAIC.

When we were last, my gentle Maid, In love's embraces twining, 'Twas Night, who saw, and then betray'd! "Who saw?" Yon Moon was shining. A gossip Star shot down, and he First told our secret to the Sea.

The Sea, who never secret kept, The peevish, blustering railer! Told it the Oar, as on he swept; The Oar informed the Sailor. The Sailor whisper'd it to his fair, And she--she told it every where!

_New Monthly Magazine_.

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NOTES OF A READER.

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EELS.

The problem of the generation of eels is one of the most abstruse and curious in natural history; but we have been much pleased, and not a little enlightened, by some observations on the subject in Sir Humphrey Davy's delightful little volume, _Salmonia_, of which the following is the substance:--

Although the generation of eels occupied the attention of Aristotle, and has been taken up by the most distinguished naturalists since his time, it is still unsolved. Lacepède, the French naturalist, asserts, in the most unqualified way, that they are _viviparous_; but we do not remember any facts brought forward on the subject. Sir Humphrey then goes on to say--This is certain, that there are two migrations of eels--one up and one down rivers, one _from_ and the other _to_ the sea; the first in spring and summer, the second in autumn or early winter. The first of very small eels, which are sometimes not more than two or two and a half inches long; the second of large eels, which sometimes are three or four feet long, and which weigh from 10 to 15, or even 20 lbs. There is great reason to believe that all eels found in fresh water are the results of the first migration; they appear in millions in April and May, and sometimes continue to rise as late even as July and the beginning of August. I remember this was the case in Ireland in 1823. It had been a cold, backward summer; and when I was at Ballyshannon, about the end of July, the mouth of the river, which had been in flood all this month, under the fall, was blackened by millions of little eels, about as long as the finger, which were constantly urging their way up the moist rocks by the side of the fall. Thousands died, but their bodies remaining moist, served as the ladder for others to make their way; and I saw some ascending even perpendicular stones, making their road through wet moss, or adhering to some eels that had died in the attempt. Such is the energy of these little animals, that they continue to find their way, in immense numbers, to Loch Erne. The same thing happens at the fall of the Bann, and Loch Neagh is thus peopled by them; even the mighty Fall of Shaffausen does not prevent them from making their way to the Lake of Constance, where I have seen many very large eels. There are eels in the Lake of Neufchatel, which communicates by a stream with the Rhine; but there are none in the Lake of Geneva, because the Rhone makes a subterraneous fall below Geneva; and though small eels can pass by moss or mount rocks, they cannot penetrate limestone rocks, or move against a rapid descending current of water, passing, as it were, through a pipe. Again: no eels mount the Danube from the Black Sea; and there are none found in the great extent of lakes, swamps, and rivers communicating with the Danube--though some of these lakes and morasses are wonderfully fitted for them, and though they are found abundantly in the same countries, in lakes and rivers connected with the ocean and the Mediterranean. Yet, when brought into confined water in the Danube, they fatten and thrive there. As to the instinct which leads young eels to seek fresh water, it is difficult to reason; probably they prefer warmth, and, swimming at the surface in the early summer, find the lighter water warmer, and likewise containing more insects, and so pursue the courses of fresh water, as the waters from the land, at this season, become warmer than those from the sea. Mr. J. Couch, in the Linnaean Transactions, says the little eels, according to his observation, are produced within reach of the tide, and climb round falls to reach fresh water from the sea. I have sometimes seen them in spring, swimming in immense shoals in the Atlantic, in Mount Bay, making their way to the mouths of small brooks and rivers. When the cold water from the autumnal flood begins to swell the rivers, this fish tries to return to the sea; but numbers of the smaller ones hide themselves during the winter in the mud, and many of them form, as it were, masses together. Various authors have recorded the migration of eels in a singular way; such as Dr. Plot, who, in his History of Staffordshire, says they pass in the night across meadows from one pond to another; and Mr. Arderon, in the Philosophical Transactions, gives a distinct account of small eels rising up the flood-gates and posts of the water-works of the city of Norwich; and they made their way to the water above, though the boards were smooth planed, and five or six feet perpendicular. He says, when they first rose out of the water upon the dry board, they rested a little--which seemed to be till their slime was thrown out, and sufficiently glutinous--and then they rose up the perpendicular ascent with the same facility as if they had been moving on a plane surface.--There can, I think, be no doubt that they are assisted by their small scales, which, placed like those of serpents, must facilitate their progressive motion; these scales have been microscopically observed by Lewenhoeck. Eels migrate from the salt water of different sizes, but I believe never when they are above a foot long--and the great mass of them are only from two and a half to four inches. They feed, grow, and fatten in fresh water. In small rivers they seldom become very large; but in large, deep lakes they become as thick as a man's arm, or even leg; and all those of a considerable size attempt to return to the sea in October or November, probably when they experience the cold of the first autumnal rains. Those that are not of the largest size, as I said before, pass the winter in the deepest parts of the mud of rivers and lakes, and do not seem to eat much, and remain, I believe, almost torpid. Their increase is not certainly known in any given time, but must depend upon the quantity of their food; but it is probable they do not become of the largest size from the smallest in one or even two seasons; but this, as well as many other particulars, can only be ascertained by new observations and experiments. Block states, that they grow slowly, and mentions that some had been kept in the same pond for fifteen years. As very large eels, after having migrated, never return to the river again, they must (for it cannot be supposed that they all die immediately in the sea) remain in salt water; and there is great probability that they are then confounded with the conger, which is found from a few ounces to one hundred pounds in weight.

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At Munich, every child found begging is taken to a charitable establishment; the moment he enters his portrait is given to him, representing him in his rags, and he promises by oath to keep it all his life.

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INFANCY.

[This is _one_ of the gems of the quarto volume of poetry recently published by the author of the "Omnipresence of the Deity;" but in our next we intend stringing together a few of the resplendent beauties which illumine almost every page.]

On yonder mead, that like a windless lake Shines in the glow of heaven, a cherub boy Is bounding, playful as a breeze new-born, Light as the beam that dances by his side. Phantom of beauty! with his trepid locks Gleaming like water-wreaths,--a flower of life, To whom the fairy world is fresh, the sky A glory, and the earth one huge delight! Joy shaped his brow, and Pleasure rolls his eye, While Innocence, from out the budding lip Darts her young smiles along his rounded cheek. Grief hath not dimm'd the brightness of his form, Love and Affection o'er him spread their wings, And Nature, like a nurse, attends him with Her sweetest looks. The humming bee will bound From out the flower, nor sting his baby hand; The birds sing to him from the sunny tree; And suppliantly the fierce-eyed mastiff fawn Beneath his feet, to court the playful touch.

To rise all rosy from the arms of sleep, And, like the sky-bird, hail the bright-cheek'd morn With gleeful song, then o'er the bladed mead To chase the blue-wing'd butterfly, or play With curly streams; or, led by watchful Love, To hear the chorus of the trooping waves, When the young breezes laugh them into life! Or listen to the mimic ocean roar Within the womb of spiry sea-shell wove,-- From sight and sound to catch intense delight, And infant gladness from each happy face,-- These are the guileless duties of the day: And when at length reposeful Evening comes, Joy-worn he nestles in the welcome couch, With kisses warm upon his cheek, to dream Of heaven, till morning wakes him to the world.

The scene hath changed into a curtain'd room, Where mournful glimmers of the mellow sun Lie dreaming on the walls! Dim-eyed and sad, And dumb with agony, two parents bend O'er a pale image, in the coffin laid,-- Their infant once, the laughing, leaping boy, The paragon and nursling of their souls! Death touch'd him, and the life-glow fled away, Swift as a gay hour's fancy; fresh and cold As winter's shadow, with his eye-lids seal'd, Like violet-lips at eve, he lies enrobed An offering to the grave! but, pure as when It wing'd from heaven, his spirit hath return'd, To lisp his hallelujahs with the choirs Of sinless babes, imparadised above.

_Death, a Poem, by R. Montgomery._

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THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY.

What a fashionable place Soon the Regent's Park will grow! Not alone the human race To survey its beauties go; Birds and beasts of every hue, In order and sobriety, Come, invited by the Zo- Ological Society.

Notes of invitation go To the west and to the east. Begging of the Hippopo- Tamus here to come and feast: Sheep and panthers here we view, Monstrous contrariety! All united by the Zo- Ological Society.

Monkeys leave their native seat, Monkeys green and monkeys blue, Other monkeys here to meet, And kindly ask, "Pray how d'ye do?" From New Holland the emu, With his better moiety, Has paid a visit to the Zo- Ological Society.

Here we see the lazy tor- Toise creeping with his shell, And the drowsy, drowsy dor- Mouse dreaming in his cell; Here from all parts of the U- Niverse we meet variety, Lodged and boarded by the Zo- Ological Society.

Bears at pleasure lounge and roll, Leading lives devoid of pain, Half day climbing up a poll, Half day climbing down again; Their minds tormented by no su- Perfluous anxiety, While on good terms with the Zo- Ological Society.

Would a mammoth could be found And made across the sea to swim! But now, alas! upon the ground The bones alone are left of him: I fear a hungry mammoth too, (So monstrous and unquiet he.) By hunger urged might eat the Zo- Ological Society!

_The Christmas Box._