Chapter 2

While I am on the subject of volcanic phenomena, I may as well add a word on the origin of the trass or tufa, which is so thickly spread over this country. It is similar to that found near Naples, at Mont d'Or, Carbal, and other parts of Italy; and, indeed, all the products of the latter district are pretty nearly the same as these, allowing for the difference of a slate surface in the one case, and a sandy and alluvial soil in the other. The idea of the trass having any connexion with a deluge, is, I believe, now exploded; and geologists have agreed that it is the actual substance ejected by the volcano, subsided into a firm paste. The rain has always been observed to fall heavily after eruptions, and the water running down the sides of the hills, has formed this crust, which makes the bottom and sides of the Laach. The same causes are in action now; and if ever the lake should rise so high as to burst its banks, it would overflow the whole country, and carry terrible destruction with it. Such an event was actually foreseen by the sagacious monks who formerly inhabited the abbey, for they cut a canal nearly a mile long, to give the water vent; and the discharge by it continues to this day. The abbey is now untenanted, and is in a deplorable state of ruin; it was once celebrated for its hospitality and a fine gallery of pictures; all, however, have vanished, and the ruins are now the property of M. Delius, a magistrate of Treves. The situation is so beautiful, surrounded as it is with fine timber, that one would suppose it worth his while to repair the place, particularly as stone is so plentiful in the neighbourhood. It forms, however, as it is, a picturesque addition to the interest of the excursion to the lake, I returned by the mineral spring of Heilbrunn, well satisfied with my inspection of the country. The distance from Brohl to the abbey is little more than five miles, and it is one which I would advise all tourists on the Rhine to make if they have time, whether they be geologists or non-geologists. I fancied I had a clearer conception of. Aetna and Vesuvius, and the living fires, from having witnessed the funnels of the extinct ones. At all events, though little is known as to the causes of volcanic phenomena, enough is ascertained to convince us that subterranean fire exists under the whole of Europe, there not being one country or district exempt from occasional earthquakes, or some such signs of terror.

D.

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK

GARDEN OF BREMHILL PARSONAGE.

_The Residence of the Rev. W. L. Bowles._

The garden contains upwards of two acres, with a gravel-walk under the windows. A Gothic porch has been added, the bow-windows being surmounted with the same kind of parapet as the house, somewhat more ornamental. It lies to the morning sun; the road to the house, on the north, enters through a large arch. The garden is on a slope, commanding views of the surrounding country, with the tower of Calne in front, the woods of Bowood on the right, and the mansion and woods of Walter Heneage, Esq. Towards the south. The view to the south-east is terminated by the last chalky cliffs of the Marlborough downs, extending to within a few miles of Swindon. In the garden, a winding path from the gravel-walk, in front of the house, leads to a small piece of water, originally a square pond.

This walk, as it approaches the water, leads into a darker shade, and descending some steps, placed to give a picturesque appearance to the bank, you enter a kind of cave, with a dripping rill, which falls into the water below, whose bank is broken by thorns, and hazels, and poplars, among darker shrubs. Here an urn appears with the following inscription:--"M.S. Henrici Bowles, qui ad Calpen, febre ibi exitiali grassante, publicè missus, ipse miserrimè periit--1804. Fratri posuit."--Passing round the water, you come to an arched walk of hazels, which leads to the green in front of the house, where, dipping a small slope, the path passes near an old and ivied elm. As this seat looks on the magnificent line of Bowood park and plantations, the obvious thought could not be well avoided:

"When in thy sight another's vast domain Spreads its dark sweep of woods, dost thou complain? Nay! rather thank the God who placed thy state Above the lowly, but beneath the great; And still his name with gratitude revere, Who bless'd the sabbath of thy leisure here."

The walk leads round a plantation of shrubs, to the bottom of the lawn, from whence is seen a fountain, between a laurel arch; and through a dark passage a gray sun-dial appears among beds of flowers, opposite the fountain.

The sun-dial, a small, antique, twisted column, gray with age, was probably the dial of the abbot of Malmesbury, and counted his hours when at the adjoining lodge; for it was taken from the garden of the farm-house, which had originally been the summer retirement of this mitred lord. It has the appearance of being _monastic_, but a more ornate capital has been added, the plate on which bears the date of 1688. I must again venture to give the appropriate inscription:--

"To count the brief and unreturning hours, This Sun-Dial was placed among the flowers, Which came forth in their beauty--smiled and died, Blooming and withering round its ancient side. Mortal, thy day is passing--see that flower, And think upon the Shadow and the Hour!"

The whole of the small green slope is here dotted with beds of flowers; a step, into some rock-work, leads to a kind of hermit's oratory, with crucifix and stained glass, built to receive the shattered fragments, as their last asylum, of the pillars of Stanly Abbey.

The dripping water passes through the rock-work into a large shell, the gift of a valued friend, the author of "The Pleasures of Memory;" and I add, with less hesitation, the inscription, because it was furnished by the author of "The Pains of Memory," a poem, in its kind, of the most exquisite harmony and fancy, though the author has long left the bowers of the muses, and the harp of music, for the severe professional duties of the bar. I have some pride in mentioning the name of Peregrine Bingham, being a near relation, as well as rising in character and fame at the bar. The verses will speak for themselves, and are not unworthy his muse whose poem suggested the comparisons. The inscription is placed over the large Indian shell:--

"Snatch'd from an Indian ocean's roar, I drink the whelming tide no more; But in this rock, remote and still, Now serve to pour the murmuring rill. Listen! Do thoughts awake, which long have slept-- Oh! like his song, who placed me here, The sweetest song to Memory dear, When life's tumultuous storms are past, May we, to such sweet music, close at last The eyelids that have wept!"

Leaving the small oratory, a terrace of flowers leads to a Gothic stone-seat at the end, and, returning to the flower-garden, we wind up a narrow path from the more verdant scene, to a small dark path, with fantastic roots shooting from the bank, where a grave-stone appears, on which an hour-glass is carved.

A root-house fronts us, with dark boughs branching over it. Sit down in that old carved chair. If I cannot welcome some illustrious visitors in such consummate verse as Pope, I may, I hope, not without blameless pride, tell you, reader, in this chair have sat some public characters, distinguished by far more noble qualities than "the nobly pensive St. John!" I might add, that this seat has received, among other visiters, Sir Samuel Romilly, Sir George Beaumont, Sir Humphry Davy--poets as well as philosophers, Madame de Stael, Dugald Stewart, and Christopher North, Esq.

Two lines on a small board on this root-house point the application:--

"Dost thou lament the dead, and mourn the loss Of many friends, oh! think upon the cross!"

Over an old tomb-stone, through an arch, at a distance in light beyond, there is a vista to a stone cross, which, in the seventeenth century, would have been idolatrous!

To detail more of the garden would appear ostentatious, and I fear I may be thought egotistical in detailing so much. I shall, however, take the reader, before we part, through an arch, to an old yew, which has seen the persecution of the loyal English clergy; has witnessed their return, and many changes of ecclesiastical and national fortune. Under the branches of that solitary but mute historian of the pensive plain, let us now rest; it stands at the very extreme northern edge of that garden which we have just perambulated. It fronts the tower, the churchyard, and looks on to an old sun-dial, once a _cross_. The _cross_ was found broken at its foot, probably by the country iconoclasts of the day. I have brought the interesting fragment again into light, and placed it conspicuously opposite to an old Scotch fir in the churchyard, which I think it not unlikely was planted by Townson on his _restoration_. The accumulation of the soil of centuries had covered an ascent of four steps at the bottom of this record of silent hours. These steps have been worn in places, from the act of frequent prostration or kneeling, by the forefathers of the hamlet, perhaps before the church existed. From a seat near this old yew tree, you see the churchyard, and battlements of the church, on one side; and on the other you look over a great extent of country. On a still summer's evening, the distant sound of the hurrying coaches, on the great London road, are heard as they pass to and from the metropolis. On this spot this last admonitory inscription fronts you:--

"There lie the village dead, and there too I, When yonder dial points the hour, shall lie. Look round, the distant prospect is display'd, Like life's fair landscape, mark'd with light and shade. Stranger, in peace pursue thy onward road, But ne'er forget thy lone and last abode!"

_History of Bremhill, by Mr. Bowles._

* * * * *

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

PAPER MARKS.

Paper, for the purpose of writing or printing, was first manufactured in this country, according to Anderson, about the year 1598, in the reign of Elizabeth. There is reason, however, to believe, that its manufacture existed here previous to that time. John Tate is recorded to have had a paper-mill at Hertford, in the reign of Henry VII. and the first book printed on English paper, came out in 1495 or 6. It was entitled "Bartholomeus de proprietatibus rerum," and was printed on paper made by John Tate, jun.

The different paper marks are objects of some curiosity. Probably they gave the names to the different sorts, many of which names are retained, though the original marks of distinction have been relinquished. _Post_ paper originally bore the wire mark of a postman's horn, as appears on specimens of paper of the date 1679. The fleur de lis was the peculiar mark of demy, most likely originating in France. The open _hand_ is a very ancient mark, giving name to a sort, which though still in use, is considerably altered in size and texture.

_Fool's-Cap_--the name is still continued though the original design of a fool's cap is relinquished.

_Pot Paper._--There were various designs of pots or drinking vessels; this paper retains its proportions and size according to early specimens, but the mark is exchanged for that of the arms of England.

The original manufacturer in this country, John Tate, marked his paper with a star of eight points, within a double circle. The device of John Tate, jun. was a wheel; his paper is remarkably fine and good.

Various other paper marks were in use, adopted most likely at the will or caprice of the manufacturer. Thus we have the unicorn and other non-descript quadrupeds, the bunch of grapes, serpent, and ox'head surmounted by a star, a great favourite; the cross, crown, globe, initials of manufacturers' names; and, at the conclusion of the 17th century and commencement of the last, arms appear in escutcheons with supporters.

* * * * *

SINGULAR REGULATIONS OF THE HOUSEHOLD OF HENRY VIII.

The only alteration in the following is the difference of the orthography which I have made for the benefit of your readers. They are extracts from a curious manuscript, containing directions for the household of Henry VIII.

"His highness' baker shall not put alum in the bread, or mix rye, oaten, or bean flour with the same, and if detected, he shall be put into the stocks.

"His highness' attendants are not to steal any locks or keys, tables, forms, cupboards, or other furniture of noblemen's or gentlemen's houses, where he goes to visit.

"Master cooks shall not employ such scullions as go about naked, or lie all night on the ground before the kitchen fire.

"No dogs to be kept in the court, but only a few spaniels for the ladies.

"Dinners to be at ten, and suppers at four.

"The officers of his privy chamber shall be loving together, no grudging or grumbling, or talking of the king's pastime.

"The king's barber is enjoined to be cleanly, not to frequent the company of misguided women, for fear of danger to the king's royal person.

"There shall be no romping with the maids on the staircase, by which dishes and other things are often broken!

"The pages shall not interrupt the kitchen maids.

"The grooms shall not steal his highness's straw for bed, sufficient being allowed to them.

"Coal only to be allowed to the king's, queen's, and lady Mary's chambers.[2]

"The brewers not to put any brimstone in the ale.

"Twenty-four loaves a-day for his highness' greyhounds.

"Ordered--that all noblemen and gentlemen at the end of the session of parliament, depart to their several counties, on pain of the royal displeasure."

The following items contain nothing very remarkable, and if they did, perhaps I have copied enough already for a specimen of this ludicrous manuscript.

W. H. H.

[2] Hence it was found necessary for the pages and servants to run about to warm themselves with different diversions before going to bed.

* * * * *

FOUR THIEVES' VINEGAR.

In an old tract printed in the year 1749, it is stated that one Richard _Forthave_, who lived in Bishopsgate-street Without, sold and invented "_a vinegar_," which had a great run, and he soon became noted; and from this it may be concluded that the length of time has caused the above corruption. The article in the pamphlet is headed "Forthave's Vinegar."

W. H. H.

* * * * *

FISH.

Philip II. of Spain, the consort of our Queen Mary, gave a whimsical reason for not eating fish. "They are," said he, "nothing but element congealed, or a jelly of water."

It is related of Queen Aterbates, that she forbade her subjects ever to touch fish, "lest," said she, with calculating forecast, "there should not be enough left to regale their sovereign."

* * * * *

A GENTLEMAN'S FASHION.

In the reign of Henry VII. Sir Philip Calthorpe, a Norfolk knight, sent as much cloth of fine French tawney, as would make him a gown, to a tailor in Norwich. It happened, one John Drakes, a shoemaker, coming into the shop, liked it so well, that he went and bought of the same, as much for himself, enjoining the tailor to make it of the same fashion. The knight was informed of this, and therefore commanded the tailor to cut his gown as full of holes as his shears could make. John Drakes's was made "of the same fashion," but he vowed he would never be of the _gentleman's_ fashion again.

C. F E.

* * * * *

CONVEYANCING.

The oldest conveyance of which we have any account, namely, that of the Cave of Macpelah, from the sons of Heth to Abraham, has many unnecessary and redundant words in it. "And the field of Ephron, which was in Macpelah, which was before Manire, the field, and the cave which was therein, and all the trees that were in the field, that were in all the borders round about, were made sure unto Abraham." The parcels in a modern conveyance cannot well be more minutely characterized.

* * * * *

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

THE HUSBAND'S COMPLAINT.

"Will she thy linen wash and hosen darn?"

GAY.

I'm utterly sick of this hateful alliance Which the ladies have form'd with impractical Science! They put out their washing to learn hydrostatics, And give themselves airs for the sake of pneumatics.

They are knowing in muriate, and nitrate, and chlorine, While the stains gather fast on the walls and the flooring-- And the jellies and pickles fall wofully short, With their chemical use of the still and retort.

Our expenses increase, (without drinking French wines.) For they keep no accounts, with their tangents and sines-. And to make both ends meet they give little assistance, With their accurate sense of the squares of the distance.

They can name every spot from Peru to El Arish, Except just the bounds of their own native parish; And they study the orbits of Venus and Saturn, While their home is resign'd to the thief and the slattern.

Chronology keeps back the dinner two hours, The smoke-jack stands still while they learn motive powers; Flies and shells swallow up all our every-day gains, And our acres are mortgaged for fossil-remains.

They cease to reflect with their talk of refraction-- They drive us from home by electric attraction-- And I'm sure, since they've bother'd their heads with affinity, I'm repuls'd every hour from my learned divinity.

When the poor, stupid husband is weary and starving, Anatomy leads them to give up the carving; And we drudges the shoulder of mutton must buy, While they study the line of the _os humeri_.

If we 'scape from our troubles to take a short nap, We awake with a din about limestone and trap; And the fire is extinguished past regeneration, For the women were wrapt in the deep-coal formation.

'Tis an impious thing that the wives of the laymen, Should use Pagan words 'bout a pistil and stamen, Let the heir break his head while they fester a Dahlia, And the babe die of pap as they talk of mammalia.

The first son becomes half a fool in reality, While the mother is watching his large ideality; And the girl roars uncheck'd, quite a moral abortion, For we trust her benevolence, order, and caution.

I sigh for the good times of sewing and spinning, Ere this new tree of knowledge had set them a sinning; The women are mad, and they'll build female colleges,-- So here's to plain English!--a plague on their ologies!

_London Mag_.

* * * * *

THE EDITOR'S ROOM.

_July 28, 1828._

And so, most tasteful and provident public, you are going out of town on Saturday next?--We envy you. Mars is gone, and Sontag is gone, and Pasta is going--and Velluti is out of voice--and they are playing tragedies at the Haymarket--and Vauxhall will never be dry again--and the Funny Club are drenched to their skins every day--and "the sweet shady side of Pall Mall" is a forgotten blessing. You will be dull in the country if this weather continue--but not so dirty as upon the Macadam. So go.

We shall stay behind, with the Duke of Wellington, to look after business. It would not do for either of us to be gadding, while Ireland, and Turkey, and Portugal want watching. The times are getting ticklish. The stocks are rising most dreadfully, as the barometer falls; and the Squirearchy are beginning to dread that the patridges will be drowned. That will be a sad drawback from the delights of a two-shilling quartern-loaf. For ourselves, we have plenty of work cut out for us, in this our abiding place. The fewer the books which are published, the more we shall have to draw upon our own genius; and the duller the season, the more vivacious must we be to put our readers in spirits. But we have consolation approaching in the shape of amusing work. Immediately that parliament is up, the newspapers will begin to lie, "like thunder," Tom Pipes would say. What mysterious murders, what heart-rending accidents, what showers of bonnets in the Paddington Canal, what legions of unhappy children dropped at honest men's doors! We have got a file of the "Morning Herald" for the last ten years;--and we give the worthy labourers in the accident line, fair notice, that if they hash up the old stories with the self-same sauce, as they are wont to do, without substituting the pistol for the razor, and not even changing the Christian name of the young ladies who always drown themselves when parliament is up, we shall take the matter into our own hands, and write a "Chapter of Accidents" that will drive these poor pretenders to the secrets of hemp and rats-bane fairly out of the field.--Ibid.

* * * * *

AWKWARDNESS.

Man is naturally the most awkward animal that inhales the breath of life. There is nothing, however simple, which he can perform with the smallest approach to gracefulness or ease. If he walks,--he hobbles, or jumps, or limps, or trots, or sidles, or creeps--but creeping, sidling, limping, hobbling, and jumping, are by no means walking. If he sits,--he fidgets, twists his legs under his chair, throws his arm over the back of it, and puts himself into a perspiration, by trying to be at ease. It is the same in the more complicated operations of life. Behold that individual on a horse! See with what persevering alacrity he hobbles up and down from the croupe to the pommel, while his horse goes quietly at an amble of from four to five miles in the hour. See how his knees, flying like a weaver's shuttle, from one extremity of the saddle to another, destroy, in a pleasure-ride from Edinburgh to Roslin, the good, gray kerseymeres, which were glittering a day or two ago in Scaife and Willis's shop. The horse begins to gallop--Bless our soul! the gentleman will decidedly roll off. The reins were never intended to be pulled like a peal of Bob Majors; your head, my friend ought to be on your own shoulders, and not poking out between your charger's ears; and your horse ought to use _its_ exertions to move on, and not you. It is a very cold day, you have cantered your two miles, and now you are wiping your brows, as if you had run the distance in half the time on foot.

People think it a mighty easy thing to roll along in a carriage. Step into this noddy. That creature in the corner is evidently in a state of such nervous excitement that his body is as immovable as if he had breakfasted on the kitchen poker; every jolt of the vehicle must give him a shake like a battering-ram; do you call this coming in to give yourself a rest? Poor man, your ribs will ache for this for a month to come! But the other gentleman opposite: see how flexible he has rendered his body. Every time my venerable friend on the coach-box extends his twig with a few yards of twine at the end of it, which he denominates "a whupp," the suddenness of the accelerated motion makes his great, round head flop from the centre of his short, thick neck, and come with such violence on the unstuffed back, that his hat is sent down upon the bridge of his nose with a vehemence which might well nigh carry it away. Do you say that man is capable of taking a _pleasure_ ride? Before he has been bumped three miles, every pull of wind will be jerked out of his body, and by the time he has arrived at Roslin, he will be a dead man. If that man prospers in the world, he commits suicide the moment he sets up his carriage.