Chapter 1

THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

VOL. XIII, NO. 359.] SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 1829. [Price 2d.

RUGBY SCHOOL

On the eastern border of Warwickshire, about 13 miles from Coventry, and 16 from Warwick, stands the cheerful town of Rugby, a place of great antiquity, but of little note previous to the erection of a grammar-school there, towards the close of the sixteenth century. The circumstances under which this school was founded, and the rank it has attained among our classical seminaries, may probably be interesting to the reader.

Rugby School was founded in the ninth year of Elizabeth, by Lawrence Sheriff, grocer, of London, chiefly as a free grammar-school for the children of the parishes of Rugby and Brownsover, and places adjacent. For the accommodation of the master, who was, "if it conveniently might be, to be ever a Master of Arts," he bequeathed a messuage at Rugby, in which it is probable he had himself resided during the last few years of his life, and he directed that there should be built, near this residence, a fair and convenient school-house, to defray which expense, and of a contiguous almshouse, he bequeathed the revenue of the rectory of Brownsover, and a third portion of twenty-four acres of land, situate in _Lamb's Conduit Fields_, "near London," and termed the Conduit Close. These eight acres were of trivial value at the period; and in 1653, the trustees of the property paid the schoolmaster a salary of 12_l_. a year, and each of the alms-men 7_s_. 7_d_. In 1686, the Lamb's Conduit property was leased for fifty years at 50_l_. per annum. The metropolis increased, and stretching one of its _Briareusian_ arms in this direction, the once neglected field rose in value, and in 1702 (thirty-four years before the expiration of the above term) the trustees granted a fresh lease to William (afterwards Sir William) Milman, of forty-three years, to commence at the termination of the former lease. Building was not then a mania, and Sir William obtained his term for 60_l_. per annum; so that until the year 1780, the annual produce of the estate belonging to the Rugby charity, was only 116_l_. 17_s_. 6_d_.! But, shortly after the grant of an extended term to Sir W. Milman, handsome streets of family houses sprung up, and it was computed that a ground-rent of at least 1,600_l_. would accrue to the charity on the expiration of his lease. A much greater income has, in fact, arisen, and the revenues will be materially increased on the termination of the present leases.

The flourishing finances of this noble institution are well managed by twelve trustees, chosen from the nobility and gentry of the country.[1]

The ancient buildings of the Rugby seminary were a humble tenement for the schoolmaster, a principal school-room, and two or three additional school-rooms, built at different times, as the finances would allow. These being found too limited, in 1808 the trustees commenced the erection of the present structure, from the designs of Mr. Henry Hakewill. It stands nearly on the same spot as the former humble building, and is composed of white brick, the angles, cornices, and dressings to the windows and openings being of Aldborough stone. The style of architecture is that of the reign of Elizabeth, the period at which the school was founded. The building is massy, august, and interesting from its graceful disposition of parts. The principal front is that represented in our engraving, which extends 220 feet.

The schools are entered by a gateway opposite the street, which leads to the principal court, a fine area, 90 feet long by 75 feet wide, with a plain cloister on the east, south, and west sides. The buildings on the south of the court comprise the dining hall, belonging to the boys in the head master's house, and three schools for different classes; those on the west are occupied by the great school; and on the north are the French and writing schools. The east side adjoins the offices belonging to the head master's house. About sixty boys are accommodated here; the remainder lodge in the houses of the other masters, and in the town of Rugby.

Lawrence Sheriff, the benevolent founder of this institution, was born at Brownsover, whence he removed to London, where he kept a grocer's shop in Newgate-street. A more gratifying portrait of true beneficence than Sheriff's bequest can scarcely be found in British annals; and this gratification is greatly enhanced by the justice with which his intentions have been carried into effect at Rugby. The alms-houses were originally for four poor old men; but the dwellings have been augmented in proportion to the increased revenues.

[1] Their annual meeting is in August, when the examination takes place. Fourteen exhibitions have been instituted, each of the exhibitioners being allowed forty pounds per annum to assist in their support, for seven years, at either university.

* * * * *

CHOICE HINTS FOR A PLAN TO DISCHARGE THE NATIONAL DEBT.

(_For the Mirror_.)

"Great events sometimes spring from trivial causes," of the truth of this adage, no man is, I think, so great a _heretic_, as to express any doubt--were such the case, it would be by no means difficult to conjure up a host of evidence, in support of our proposition; but, seeing that "such things are," let us at once to the point.

The present age is so rife in whims and proposals, that I am rather apprehensive, some may doubt the _feasibility_ of the following. Nevertheless, it is, methinks, quite as good, as many others which recently were strangled, in struggling for existence.

In looking over some old pamphlets the other day, I met with the following "true and particular account" of Mr. Peter Pounce, Postmaster, of Petersham, and his horse, Prance.

Now, according to my author (of whose veracity I entreat the reader to use his own discretion) it seems this Mr. Pounce was an exceedingly good kind of man, and that his horse, Prance, was also an exceedingly good kind of horse; moreover, when the postmaster travelled, he usually put up at the _George_, where there is exceeding good entertainment for both man and horse. Upon one occasion, being in great haste, Mr. Pounce directed the ostler not to put Prance into the stable, but to tie him to the brew-house door. Now, as cruel fate would have it, there was just within the nag's reach, a tub full of wine lees, which, luckless moment for him, (being thirsty) he unceremoniously quaffed off in a trice, without even _here's to you_.

The consequence was, Prance fell down dead drunk; nay, he acted death so much to the life, that his master, reckoning him absolutely defunct, had him flayed, and sold his skin to a tanner, who happened to be drinking in the alehouse kitchen. Mr. Pounce then walked in a solitary mood to his home, and communicated the melancholy affair to his good lady, who wept bitterly at Prance's untimely fate.

But leaving her to dry her eyes, we return to the nag--the weather being cold, he was by the loss of his skin, &c. quite sobered, and prudently trotted to his master's door, at which he whinnied with much clamour for admission.

Bless me, my dear, exclaims Mrs. P. our nag's ghost is at the door--I know him by his whinnies; upon which Mr. Pounce runs with alacrity to the door, and sure enough there he was--no ghost--but in propriâ personâ except his skin. In this exigence, the gentleman had four sheep killed forthwith, and covered the nag with a woollen garment. To make short of it, the horse rapidly recovered, and bore two tods of wool every year.

From this narration it is proposed to embrace the manifest advantages which offer themselves for improving the woollen trade--that great staple of Britain's wealth, in manner following:--

First, then, let an accurate estimate be taken of the number of sheep annually slaughtered in these kingdoms.

Secondly.--Let proper officers be appointed to collect these skins into commodious warehouses.

Lastly.--That such a number of horses, mares, and geldings as the said skins will conveniently cover, be flayed (without fear of Mr. Martin!) and their backs forthwith enveloped in fleece.

By this arrangement the following benefits will arise to the government and community:--

1. Every horse whose hide was formerly only useful after death, will then afford an annual profit by producing two tods of wool yearly, without any loss to the tanner or shoemaker, who will still necessarily have as many hides as heretofore.

2. The health of that useful animal the horse, which is probably liable to more disorders than any other (the human species excepted) will be much better preserved by woollen than a hairy covering.

3. There will be little occasion for saddles, &c. as the fleece will afford a very easy seat, much softer than leather, and well adapted for ladies and invalids.

Lastly.--There will be an annual acquisition of about 40 millions sterling, from this novel mode of procedure, of which please to accept the following algebraical demonstration:--

Let _x_ be the unknown quantity; _a_, the horses; _b_, the sheep; then per simple equations _x_, plus _a_, plus _b_, minus tods, plus sheepskins, equal one thousand--then minus sheep, plus horses, minus wool, plus tods, equal one million. Lastly, horses plus sheep, minus hides, plus fleeces, in all equal forty millions.

Quod erat demonstrandum.

There, reader, if you are still a sceptic, I cannot help it.

JACOBUS.

* * * * *

ANSWER OF THE LONDON STONE.[2]

(_For the Mirror_.)

Why hast thou mortal, on my slumber broken, And dragged my struggling spirit back to earth? Though "walls have ears," yet stones have never spoken. Why am I made the object of thy mirth? Why am I questioned thus to tell my fate, And primal use? Yet hear--whilst I relate.

When time was young, and earth was in her prime, Secure I slept within her spacious womb; And ages passed--I took no heed of time, Until some Druid burst my dismal tomb, And dragged me forth amidst the haunts of man. And then, indeed my life of woe began.

And ere great Caesar in triumphant pride, Led on by conquest, bade Rome's eagles soar To this fair isle; full many a victim died Upon my breast, and I was drenched with gore: For "midst the tangling horrors of the wood," I stood an altar, stained with human blood.

I've witnessed scenes, which I now dread to name, I've seen the captive bound in wicker rods Expire, midst shouts, to feed the sacred flame, And glut the fury of offended gods; Those days soon passed--the gospel's milder ray Dispelled the gloom, and spread a brighter day.

Then superstition tottered on her throne, And hid her head in shades of gloomy night; Quenched were her fires--her impious fanes o'er thrown, Her mists dispersed before the Prince of Light, Then sank my grandeur; in some lonely spot I slept for years unnoticed and forgot.

Until Vespasian, by Rome's stern command, To quench rebellion in my native isle, Brought his bold legions from a foreign strand, Our land to torture, and our towers to spoil; He hewed me in a fashion now unknown, And dubbed me, what I am, "The London Stone."

From me, the miles by Britons once were counted, Close to my side were monies lent and paid; If princes died--some gaudy herald mounted Upon my head, and proclamations read; Till Gresham rose; who used me very ill, He moved the place of commerce to Cornhill.

When reeling homewards from the tavern near, Oft with prince Henry has old honest Jack Sat on my breast, and I've been doomed to hear Him talk of valour, and of unpaid sack; And whilst he talked, the roysterers gave vent, To peals of laughter and of merriment.

Yes, I'm the hone that "City's Lord" essayed, To make the whetstone of his rebel sword; On me, with mischief rife, rebellious Cade Sat whilst he thought and dubbed himself a Lord; And bade my conduit pipe for one whole year At city's cost, run naught but claret clear.[3]

I could a tale of harrowing woes reveal, Whilst York and Lancaster for mastery tried: When men the ties of nature ceased to feel, When sires beneath their offsprings' sabres died; And sires 'gainst children clad themselves in arms, And England mourned the din of war's alarms.

Yes, I beheld the beauteous virgin queen, And all the dauntless heroes of her court; Where danger threatened, 'midst the danger seen, Bending their fearless way to Tilbury Fort; I heard the shouts of joy which Britons gave, When th' Armada sank beneath the wave.

I mind, Augusta,[4] well that fatal day, When to thy ports with dire contagion fraught. The laden vessel[5] stemmed its gallant way. And to thy sons the plague disastrous brought; Quick through thy walls the foul infection spread, And thou became the city of the dead.

Scarce ceased the plague--when to my aching sight Appeared a scene of most terrific woe; Around me burnt one monstrous blaze of light, I warmed, and almost melted with its glow; I burst the chains,[6] which bound me fast, asunder, And now remain, to learned men a wonder.

And when the city from her ruins rose, I soon was left deserted and forlorn; A porters' bench was raised beneath my nose. And I became the object of their scorn: I've heard the rascals, with a vacant stare, Ask, just like you, what business I had there?

Few years have passed, since I, by parish sages, Was called a monstrous nuisance to the street, And, though I'd borne the brunt of varying ages, Was doomed for pavement 'neath the horses' feet, Until a Maiden,[7] near to Sherborne Lane, Saved me--and rescued London from that stain.

And now, vain mortal, I have told thee all, My fate, my primal use, the what and which; And though my struggling spirit owned thy salt, Once more I'll slumber in my holy niche, And "Britain's sun may set," what's that to me, Since I, stone-blind and dumb, for aye will be.

J.E.

[2] See _Ode to London Stone_. MIRROR, No. 357, p. 114.

[3] See Shakspeare's Henry VI., part 2, act 4, scene 6.

[4] The ancient name for London.

[5] The cause of the great plague in 1665, was ascribed to the importation of infected goods from Holland, where the plague had committed great ravages the preceding year.

[6] Stowe in his history describes the London Stone, "fixed in the ground very deep, fastened with bars of iron and otherwise, so strongly set that if carts do runne against it through negligence, the wheels be broken, and the stone itself unshaken." See No. 64 of the Mirror for an account of London Stone.

[7] When the church of St. Swithin was repaired in 1798, some of the parishioners declared the London Stone a nuisance which ought to be removed. Fortunately, one gentleman, Thomas Maiden, of Sherborne Laue, interfered and rescued it from annihilation, and caused it to be placed in its present situation.

* * * * *

HAVER BREAD.

(_To the Editor of the Mirror_.)

A correspondent wishes to be informed of the definition of the word _avver_. In the 15th volume of the "Beauties of England and Wales," it is alluded to thus:--"This county (Westmoreland) being supposed unfavourable to the growth of wheat, black oats, called _haver_, and the species of barley called _bere_, or _bigg_, were the only grains it produced. Of the _haver_, bread was made, or the species of pottage called hasty pudding; this bread being made into thin unleavened cakes, and laid up in chests within the influence of the fire, has the quality of preserving its sweetness for several months; it is still in common use. The _bigg_ was chiefly made into malt, and each family brewed its own ale; during the hay harvest the women drank a pleasant sharp beverage, made by infusing mint or sage buttermilk in whey, and hence called _whey-whig_. Wheaten bread was used on particular occasions; small loaves of it were given to persons invited to funerals, which they were expected "to take and eat" at home, in religious remembrance of their deceased neighbour; a custom, the prototype of which is evidently seen in the establishment of the eucharist, for in this county it still bears its _Saxon name_, _Arvel bread_, from appull, _full of reverence_, meaning the holy bread used at the communion."

P.T.W.

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

* * * * *

BATTLE OF QUATRE BRAS.

Gray, as one of the party of dragoons who attended the Duke of Wellington, proceeded onward at a sharp pace through the marching columns, which his grace examined, with a close but quick glance, as he passed on, and after a march of seven leagues, came up with the Belgian troops under the Prince of Orange, who had been attacked and pushed back by the French. It was about seven o'clock; none of the British troops had yet arrived within some hours' march of the duke. The party of dragoons were ordered to remain in readiness for duty in a cornfield near the road, on a rising ground, which commanded a full view of the country in front, while the duke and his staff proceeded to the left.

The four biscuits which had been served out to each man at Brussels the night before, with some cold beef, and the contents of their canteen, helped to regale the dragoons after their long and rapid march, while the stout steeds that had borne them found a delightful repast in the high rye that waved under their noses. Here they beheld passing on the road beside them many wounded Belgians, and could see before them, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, the French bayonets glistening over the high fields of corn, and hear distinctly the occasional discharges of musketry from tirailleurs. Gray's heart leaped with joy, and he thought no more of Brussels.

"What's this place called?" inquired one of the dragoons, generally of his comrades.

"Called!--Oh, some jaw-breaking Dutch name of a yard long, I suppose," replied another. "Ax Gentleman Gray--he'll tell you."

"Well, Mr. Gray, do you know the name of this here place?"

"I believe," replied Gray, "we are near a point called _Quatre Bras_, or the four roads."

"Well," rejoined the other, "if there were half-a-dozen roads, it wouldn't be too much for these here Flemingers--yon road's not wide enough for them, you see. Look, here's a regiment o' them coming back!"

"Ah! poor fellows--we might be in the same situation," observed Gray; "remember that their force is not strong in comparison with the French, by the accounts that have been received; better to fall back at the first of a fight than at the last."

"I say, Jack," said another, with his mouth full of biscuit, "did you ever meet with such a devil of a roadster as the _carpolar_ there with the glazed cocked hat?"

"Who do you mean?" said Jack.

"Why the dook, to be sure--how he _did_ give it us on the long road through the forest."

"Ay--he's the lad; well, here's God bless his jolly old glazed hat any way," cried the trooper, swallowing a horn of grog; "he's the boy what has come from the Peninsula just to gi' 'em a leaf out of his book. He was a dancing last night--riding like a devil all the morning--and I'll warrant he'll be fighting all the afternoon by way of refreshing himself."

"He look'd serious enough this morning though, Master Tom, as he was turning out."

"Serious! and so did you; hasn't he enough to make him look serious? Bony, and all the flower of the French before him. I like to see him look serious; he's just a thinking a bit, that's all. Look, look, look! where he is now pelting away up the hill there. My eye! but he's a rum on'."

"Ay, just as he was in the ould ground," cried an Hibernian. "'Pon my sowl, I think I'm in Spain agin. There he is, success to him!--an' the smell o' the powther too so natural."

"The light troops are pushing on towards that wood," said Gray, fixing his eyes on a particular spot.

"Sure enough they are. Ah! we'll soon have the boys up who will set them off with a flea in their ear."

"Look--on the rising ground there, about half a mile away, how they are moving about--that is a train of artillery--see the guns--there is a regiment of infantry going to the left--do you see their bayonets? A fine open place here for a battle."

"Not so good as that which we passed--the plain fields we crossed immediately after we left the forest of Soignes," said Gray: "however, that little wood on our right, in front, which runs along the road, is a good flank, and the village before us is a strong point."

"Ay, but you see the Belgian troops couldn't keep it; the French have pushed them out of it."

"We'll soon have it again, I'll warrant; our men have a fine open ground here, to give the French a lesson in dancing," cried the corporal of the party, throwing himself down on his back in the corn. "Here I'll lie and rest myself; and I don't think I shall be disturb'd by the buzzing of the blue flies! I'll have a snooze, until the Highlanders shall come up."

The party remained undisturbed, as the last speaker had intimated, until about half-past one o'clock; nothing having been done in the way of attack by the French. During the interval, Gray employed himself in watching closely the scene around him, and mentally discussing the chances of the now inevitably approaching fight.

The hour of struggle was near--the pibroch burst upon the ears of the troopers, and up they started.

"Here they come," cried one.--"Here they come," cried another--"the gallant 42nd; look at the petticoat-devils, how they foot it along!"

All stood on the highest part of the ground, to witness the arrival of the troops, who were now within a quarter of a mile of them on the main road. A hum arose. Belgian officers galloped down the road, and across the fields in all directions; the duke was seen riding towards his expected soldiers, and the scene was life at all points. The pibroch's sound grew louder; and now the bands of the more distant regiments were heard; and the harmonious bugles of the rifle corps, mingled their sounds with the others. The long red line of Britons is fully before the sight, like a giant stream of blood on the ripe and mellow bosom of the earth. Picton is at its head, and the duke greets the heroic partner of his glory. The first of the regiments passes close to the troopers, and receives a cheer from them, which found a return in the relaxing muscles of the hardy Scots.

"What corps is that?" inquired one of the group.

"The Royal Highlanders, the 42nd--don't you see they are turned up with blue and gold?" replied another.

"And what's this with the yellow facings?"

"The old 92nd."

"And the other Scotch regiment, with the green and gold?"

"The 79th; three as good kilted corps as ever crossed the Tweed. And there's the 95th rifle boys, as green as the wood they are going to take. And there see the 28th,--and the 44th,--and the 32nd;--that's Picton's division; a glorious set of fellows as ever slept."

"And who are the fellows all in black?"

"The bold Brunswick corps, with death's head on their caps--the _undertakers_ of the French," cried the corporal.

Never did a young hero gaze on a gallant army with more enthusiastic feelings, than did Gray upon the troops before him--the sight stirred his heart-strings. They were within shot of their foe, and half an hour should see them in the bloody contest. He sighed to think that his own regiment was not yet come up, with which he might share the glory of the fight.