XII.
At child-baptism there are At the baptism of a bell there are public prayers made. more prayers used, and (excepting salvation) greater things are prayed for, and more blessings on the bell, than on the child. But for the better proof of this point, I shall here give part of one of the very curious prayers put up for the bell at its baptism:--
--------Lord grant that wheresoever this holy bell, thus washed (or baptized) and blessed, shall sound, all deceits of Satan, all danger of whirlwind, thunders, lightnings, and tempests, may be driven away, and that devotion may increase in Christian men when they hear it. _O Lord, sanctify it by thy Holy Spirit_; that when it sounds in thy people’s ears they may adore Thee! May their faith and devotion increase, the devil be afraid, and tremble and fly at the sound of it. _O Lord, pour upon it thy heavenly blessing_! that the fiery darts of the devil may be made to fly backwards at the sound thereof; that it may deliver from danger of wind and thunder, &c., &c. And grant, Lord, that all that come to the church at the sound of it, may be free from all temptations of the devil. _O Lord, infuse into it the heavenly dew of thy Holy Ghost_, that the devil may always fly away before the sound of it, &c., &c.
The doctrine of the church of Rome concerning bells is, first, that they have merit, and pray God for the living and the dead; secondly, that they produce devotion in the hearts of believers; thirdly, that they drive away storms and tempests; and, fourthly, that they drive away devils.
The dislike of evil spirits to the sound of bells, is extremely well expressed by Wynkin de Worde, in the _Golden Legend_:--“It is said, the evil spirytes that ben in the region of th’ ayre, doubte moche when they here the belles rongen: and this is the cause why the belles ringen whan it thondreth, and whan grete tempeste and to rages of wether happen, to the ende that the feinds and wycked spirytes should ben abashed and flee, and cease of the movynge of tempeste.”
As to the names given to bells, I beg leave to add, that the bells of Little Dunmow Priory, in Essex, new cast A. D. 1501, were baptized by the following names:--
Prima in honore _Sancti Michaelis_ Archangeli.
Secunda in honore _S. Johannis_ Evangelisti.
Tertia in honore _S. Johannis_ Baptisti.
Quarta in honore _Assumptionis_ beatæ _Mariæ_.
Quinta in honore _Sancti Trinitatis_, et omnium Sanctorum.
In the _clochier_ near St. Paul’s stood the four greatest bells in England, called _Jesus’s bells_; against these sir Miles Partridge staked 100_l._, and won them of Henry VIII. at a cast of dice.
I conclude with remarking, that the Abbé Cancellieri, of Rome, lately published a work relative to bells, wherein he has inserted a long letter, written by Father Ponyard to M. de Saint Vincens, on the history of bells and steeples. The Abbé wrote this dissertation on the occasion of two bells having been christened, which were to be placed within the tower of the capitol.
I am, sir,
Your obedient servant,
Sept. 11.
R. H. E.
* * * * *
R. H. E. “wise and good” as he was, and he was both--he is now no more--would not willingly have misrepresented the doctrines of the Romish church, though he abhorred that hierarchy. It seems, however, that he may be mistaken in affirming, that the Romish church maintains of bells that “they have merit, and pray God for the living and the dead.” His affirmation on this point may be taken in too extensive a sense: It is no doubt a Romish tenet that there is “much virtue in bells,” but the precise degree allowed to them at this period, it would be difficult to determine without the aid of a council.
* * * * *
At Hatherleigh, a small town in Devon, exist two remarkable customs:--one, that every morning and evening, soon after the church clock has struck five and nine, a bell from the same steeple announces by distant strokes the number of the day of the month--originally intended, perhaps, for the information of the unlearned villagers: the other is, that after a funeral the church bells ring a lively peal, as in other places after a wedding; and to this custom the parishioners are perfectly reconciled by the consideration that the deceased is removed from a scene of trouble to a state of rest and peace.
* * * * *
When Mr. Colman read his Opera of “_Inkle and Yarico_” to the late Dr. Mosely, the Doctor made no reply during the progress of the piece. At the conclusion, Colman asked what he thought of it. “It won’t do,” said the Doctor, “Stuff--nonsense.” Every body else having been delighted with it, this decided disapprobation puzzled the circle; he was asked why? “I’ll tell you why,” answered the Critic; “you say in the finale--
‘Now let us dance and sing, While all Barbadoe’s bells do ring.’
It won’t do--there is but one bell in all the island!”
* * * * *
With a citation from the poet of Erin, the present notice will “ring out” delightfully.
_Evening Bells._
Those evening bells, those evening bells, How many a tale their music tells, Of youth and home, and that sweet time Since last I heard their soothing chime.
Those joyous hours are passed away, And many a friend that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells.
And so ’twill be when I am gone, That tuneful peal will still ring on, While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing thy praise, sweet evening bells!
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 36·64.
[42] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.
[43] Sept. 17, 1816.
~January 30.~
_King Charles’s Martyrdom_, 1644.--Holiday at the Public Offices, 1826.
It is recorded that, after King Charles the First received sentence of death, on Saturday the 27th, he spent the next day in devout exercises. He refused to see his friends, and ordered them to be told, that his time was precious, and the best thing they could do was to pray for him. On Monday the 29th, his children were brought to take their leave of him, viz. the lady Elizabeth and the duke of Gloucester. He first gave his blessing to the lady Elizabeth, bidding her that when she should see her brother James, she should tell him that it was his father’s last desire that he should no more look upon his brother Charles as his eldest brother only, but be obedient to him as his sovereign; and that they should love one another, and forgive their father’s enemies. The king added, “Sweetheart, you will forget this.” “No,” said she, “I shall never forget it as long as I live.” He bid her not grieve and torment herself for him; for it would be a glorious death he should die, it being for the laws and liberties of this land, and for maintaining the true Protestant religion. He recommended to her the reading of “Bishop Andrews’s Sermons,” “Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity,” and “Archbishop Laud’s Book against Fisher.” He further told her, that he had forgiven all his enemies, and hoped God would likewise forgive them. He bade her tell her mother, that his thoughts had never strayed from her, and that his love should be the same to the last. After this he took the duke of Gloucester, being then a child of about seven years of age, upon his knees, saying to him, “Sweetheart, now they will cut off thy father’s head:” upon which the child looked with great earnestness upon him. The king proceeding, said, “Mark, child, what I say, they will cut off my head, and perhaps make thee a king: but mark what I say, you must not be a king so long as your brothers Charles and James do live; for they will cut off your brothers’ heads when they can catch them, and cut off thy head too at last: and therefore I charge you do not be made a king by them.” At which the child fetched a deep sigh, and said, “I will be torn in pieces first.” Which expression falling from a child so young, occasioned no little joy to the king. This day the warrant for execution was passed, signed by fifty-nine of the judges, for the king to die the next day, between the hours of ten in the morning and five in the afternoon.
On the 30th, “The king having arrived at the place of execution, made a long address to colonel Tomlinson; and afterwards turning to the officers, he said, ‘Sirs, excuse me for this same: I have a good cause and a gracious God: I will say no more.’ Then turning to colonel Hacker, he said, ‘Take care that you do not put me to pain;’ and said, ‘This and please you--’ A gentleman coming near the axe, he said, ‘Take heed of the axe--pray take heed of the axe.’ Then speaking to the executioner (who was masked) he said, ‘I shall say but very short prayers, and when I thrust out my hands--.’ Then he asked the bishop for his cap, which, when he had put on, he said to the executioner, ‘Does my hair trouble you?’ who desiring it might be all put under his cap, it was put up by the bishop and executioner. Turning to the bishop, he said, ‘I have a good cause, and a gracious God on my side.’ To which the bishop answered, ‘There is but one stage more, which, though turbulent and troublesome, yet it is a very short one; it will soon carry you a very great way. It will carry you from earth to heaven; and there you will find, to your great joy, the prize you hasten to,--a crown of glory.’ The king added, ‘I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance is, no disturbance in the world.’ The bishop replied, ‘You are exchanged from a temporal to an eternal crown, a good exchange.’ Then the king asked the executioner if his hair was well. After which, putting off his cloak, doublet, and his George, he gave the latter to the bishop, saying, ‘Remember.’ After this he put on his cloak again over his waistcoat, inquiring of the executioner if the block was fast, who answered it was. He then said, ‘I wish it might have been a little higher.’ But it was answered him, it could not be otherwise now. The king said, ‘When I put out my hands this way, then--.’ He prayed a few words standing, with his hands and eyes lift up towards heaven, and then stooping down, laid his neck on the block. Soon after which the executioner putting some of his hair under his cap, the king thought he had been going to strike, bade him stay for the sign. After a little time the king stretched forth his hand, and the executioner took off his head at one stroke. When his head was held up, and the people at a distance knew the fatal stroke was over, there was nothing to be heard but shrieks, and groans, and sobs, the unmerciful soldiers beating down poor people for this little tender of their affection to their prince. Thus died the worthiest gentleman, the best master, the best friend, the best husband, the best father, and the best Christian, that the age in which he lived produced.”[44]
* * * * *
Sir Philip Warwick, an adherent to this unfortunate king, says, “His deportment was very majestic; for he would not let fall his dignity, no not to the greatest foreigners that came to visit him and his court: for though he was far from pride, yet he was careful of majesty, and would be approached with respect and reverence. His conversation was free; and the subject matter of it, on his own side of the court, was most commonly rational; or if facetious, not light. With any artist or good mechanic, traveller, or scholar, he would discourse freely; and as he was commonly improved by them, so he often gave light to them in their own art or knowledge: for there were few gentlemen in the world that knew more of useful or necessary learning than this prince did; and yet his proportion of books was but small, having, like Francis the First of France, learnt more by the ear than by study. His way of arguing was very civil and patient; for he never contradicted another by his authority, but by his reason; nor did he by petulant dislike quash another’s arguments; and he offered his exception by this civil introduction, ‘By your favour, Sir, I think otherwise, on this or that ground;’ yet he would discountenance any bold or forward address unto him. And in suits, or discourses of business, he would give way to none abruptly to enter into them, but looked that the greatest persons should in affairs of this nature address to him by his proper ministers, or by some solemn desire of speaking to him in their own persons. His exercises were manly, for he rid the great horse very well; and on the little saddle he was not only adroit, but a laborious hunter, or field-man. He had a great plainness in his own nature, and yet he was thought, even by his friends, to love too much a versatile man; but his experience had thoroughly weaned him from this at last. He kept up the dignity of his court, limiting persons to places suitable to their qualities, unless he particularly called for them. Besides the women who attended on his beloved queen and consort, the lady Henrietta Maria, sister of the French king, he scarcely admitted any great officer to have his wife in the family. His exercises of religion were most exemplary; for every morning early, and evening, not very late, singly and alone, in his own bed-chamber, or closet, he spent some time in private meditation, (for he dared reflect and be alone,) and through the whole week, even when he went to hunt, he never failed, before he sat down to dinner, to have part of the liturgy read to him and his menial servants, came he ever so hungry or late in: and on Sundays and Tuesdays he came, commonly at the beginning of service, well attended by his court lords and chief attendants, and most usually waited on by many of the nobility in town, who found those observances acceptably entertained by him. His greatest enemies can deny none of this; and a man of this moderation of mind could have no hungry appetite to prey upon his subjects, though he had a greatness of mind not to live precariously by them. But when he fell into the sharpness of his afflictions, (than which few men underwent sharper,) I dare say I know it, (I am sure conscientiously I say it,) though God dealt with him, as he did with St. Paul, not remove the thorn, yet he made his grace sufficient to take away the pungency of it; for he made as sanctified an use of his afflictions as most men ever did. As an evidence of his natural probity, whenever any young nobleman or gentleman of quality who was going to travel, came to kiss his hand, he cheerfully would give them some good counsel leading to moral virtue, especially a good conversation; telling them, that if he heard they kept good company abroad, he should reasonably expect they would return qualified to serve their king and country well at home; and he was careful to keep the youth in his time uncorrupted. The king’s deportment at his trial, which began on Saturday the 20th of January, 1648, was very majestic and steady; and though usually his tongue hesitated, yet at this time it was free, for he was never discomposed in mind; and yet, as he confessed himself to bishop Juxon, who attended him, one action shocked him very much; for whilst he was leaning in the court upon his staff, which had a head of gold, the head broke off on a sudden: he took it up, but seemed unconcerned; yet told the bishop, it really made a great impression on him; and to this hour (says he) I know not possibly how it should come. It was an accident I myself have often thought on, and cannot imagine how it came about; unless Hugh Peters, who was truly and really his gaoler, (for at St. James’s nobody went to him but by Peters’s leave,) had artificially tampered upon his staff. But such conjectures are of no use.”
* * * * *
In the Lansdowne collection of MSS. a singular circumstance before the battle of Newbury is thus related:--
“The king being at Oxford went one day to see the public library, where he was shown, among other books, a _Virgil_, nobly printed and exquisitely bound. The lord Falkland, to divert the king, would have his majesty make a trial of his fortune by the _sortes Virgilianæ_, which every body knows was not an unusual kind of augury some ages past. Whereupon the king opening the book, the period which happened to come up was part of Dido’s imprecation against Æneas, which Mr. Dryden translates thus:--
Yet let a race untamed, and haughty foes, His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose; Oppressed with numbers in th’ unequal field, His men discouraged and himself expelled, Let him for succour sue from place to place, Torn from his subjects and his sons’ embrace, First let him see his friends in battle slain, And their untimely fate lament in vain; And when at length the cruel war shall cease, On hard conditions may he buy his peace. Nor let him then enjoy supreme command, But fall untimely by some hostile hand, And lie unburied on the barren sand.
_Æneid_, b. iv. l. 88.
“It is said, king Charles seemed concerned at this accident, and that the lord Falkland observing it, would likewise try his own fortune in the same manner, hoping he might fall upon some passage that could have no relation to his case, and thereby divert the king’s thoughts from any impression the other might have upon him. But the place that Falkland stumbled upon was yet more suited to his destiny[45] than the other had been to the king’s; being the following expressions of Evander upon the untimely death of his son Pallas, as they are translated by the same hand:--
O Pallas! thou hast failed thy plighted word To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword: I warned thee, but in vain; for well I knew What perils youthful ardour would pursue. That boiling blood would carry thee too far; Young as thou wert in dangers--raw in war! O curst essay in arms,--disastrous doom,-- Prelude of bloody fields and fights to come.
_Æneid_, b. xi. l. 230.”
_Remarkable 30th of January Sermon._
On the 30th of January, 1755, the rev. John Watson, curate of Ripponden, in Yorkshire, preached a sermon there which he afterwards published. The title-page states it as “proving that king Charles I. did not govern like a good king of England.” He also printed “An Apology for his Conduct yearly on the 30th of January.” In these tracts he says, “For some years last past I have preached on the 30th of January, and my labours were employed in obviating the mistakes which I knew some of my congregation entertained with regard to the character of king Charles I.; and in proving that if it was judged rebellion in those who took up arms against that unfortunate prince, who had made so many breaches in the constitution, it must be an aggravation of that crime, to oppose the just and wise measures of the present father of his country, king George. The chief reason for publishing the sermon is to confute a commonly received opinion that I applauded therein the act of cutting off the king’s head, which any one may quickly see to be without foundation. For when I say that the resistance he met with was owing to his own mal-administration, nothing else can be meant than the opposition he received from a wise, brave, and good parliament:--not that shown him by those furious men who destroyed both the parliament and him, and whose conduct I never undertook to vindicate. It has been observed that I always provide a clergyman to read prayers for me on the 30th of January; but not to read that service is deemed criminal, because in subscribing the 36th canon I obliged myself to use the form prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer. The office for the 30th of January is no part of the _Liturgy_ of the church of England. By the liturgy of the church I mean the contents of _The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments, and other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church_, &c., established by the act of uniformity, in the year 1662; and whatever has been added since, I suppose no clergyman ever bound himself by subscription to use; the reason is because the law requires no more.”
Mr. Watson then says, on the authority of Wheatly, in his “Illustration of the Common Prayer,” Johnson in his “Clergyman’s Vade Mecum,” and the author of “The Complete Incumbent,” that the services for the 30th of January and the 29th of May are not confirmed by act of parliament, and that penalties do not attach for the non-celebration of the service on those days. “I cannot in conscience read those prayers,” says Watson, “wherein the king is called a _Martyr_. I believe the assertion to be false, and therefore why should I tell a lie before the God of Truth! What is a martyr? He is a witness, for so the word in the original imparts. Robert Stephens tells us, that they are martyrs who have died giving a testimony of divinity to Christ, but if this be true king Charles can be no martyr, for he was put to death by those who believed in the divinity of Christ as well as he. What were the grounds then for giving him this glorious title? his dying rather than give up episcopacy? I think lord Clarendon hath proved the contrary: he consented to suspend episcopacy for three years, and that money should be raised upon the sale of the church lands, and only the old rent should be reserved to the just owners and their successors. My charity leads me so far, that I hope king Charles meant well when he told the princess Elizabeth that he should _die a martyr_, and when he repeated it on the scaffold. But this might be nothing else but a pleasing deception of the mind; and if saying that _he died a martyr_ made him such, then the duke of Monmouth also was the same, for he died with the same words in his mouth, which his grandfather, king Charles, had used before. King Charles II. seems to have had no such opinion of the matter; for when a certain lord reminded his majesty of his swearing in common discourse, the king replied, ‘_Your martyr swore more than ever I did_,’ which many have deemed a jest upon the title which his father had got. In fact, we, of this generation, should never have judged, that he who swore to preserve the religion, laws, and liberties of his country inviolate, and yet broke through every one of these restraints--that he, who put an English fleet into the hands of the French to crush the protestants there, who were struggling to maintain their religion and liberties--that he, who contrary to the most solemn promises, did sacrifice the protestant interest in France--that he, who concurred with Laud in bringing the church of England to a kind of rivalship, for ornaments, &c., with the church of Rome--that he, who could consent, when he married the French king’s daughter, that their children were to be educated by their mother until thirteen years of age--that he, who gave great church preferments to men who publicly preached up popish doctrines; and that protected known papists from the penalties of the law, by taking several very extraordinary steps in their behalf--that he, who permitted an agent, or a kind of nuncio from Rome, to visit the court publicly, and bestowed such offices as those of lord high treasurer, secretary of state, chancellor of the exchequer, &c., on papists--that he, who by proclamation could command the Lord’s day to be profaned (for I can call it no less) by revels, plays, and many sorts of ill-timed recreations, punishing great numbers of pious clergymen for refusing to publish what their consciences forbad them to read: and to name no more--that he, who could abet the Irish massacre, wherein above three hundred thousand protestants were murdered in cold blood, or expelled out of their habitations. (_Vide_ Temple’s ‘Irish Rebellion,’ page 6) I say, we, at this period of time, should not have thought such a one worthy to be deemed a martyr for the cause of protestantism; but that it has been a custom in the church for near a century to call him so. However, it is time seriously to consider whether it is not proper to correct this error; at least, it should be shown to be no error if we must keep it, for, at present, many of the well-meaning members of the church are offended at it.”
The writer cited, goes on to observe, “My second objection against reading this service is, that I judge it to be contrary both to reason and the contents of the Bible, to say that ‘the blood of king Charles can be required of us or our posterity.’ There is not, I suppose, one man alive who consented to the king’s death. We know nothing of it but from history, therefore none of us were concerned in the fact; with what reason then can it be averred that we ought to be responsible for it, when it neither was nor is in our power to prevent it. But what if we disclaim the sins of our forefathers, or are the posterity of those who fought for the king, are we still to be in danger of suffering? Such seems to be the doctrine of this service, where all, without exception, are called upon to pray that they ‘may be freed from the vengeance of his righteous blood.’ I could prove, from undoubted records, that the family I came from were royalists; but I think it sufficient to say, that I never did nor ever will consent, that a king shall be beheaded, or otherwise put to death; therefore let others say what they will, I look upon myself to be innocent, and why should I plead with God as if I thought myself guilty? But we are told that they ‘were the crying sins of this nation which brought down this heavy judgment upon us.’ I think it is more clear, that a series of ill-judged and ill-timed acts, on the part of the king, brought him into the power of his opposers, and that, afterwards, the ambition of a few men led him to the scaffold. Let it only be remembered, that at the beginning of his reign he entered into a war for the recovery of the Palatinate against the consent of his parliament; and when he could not get them to vote him money enough for his purpose he extorted it illegally from his subjects; refusing to join the parliament in redressing the grievances of the nation; often threatening them; and even counteracting their designs; which, at last, bred so many disputes, that he overstepped all bounds, and had the misprudence to attempt the seizing of five members in the house; on which the citizens came down by land and water, with muskets on their shoulders, to defend the parliament: soon after which so great a distrust arose between the two houses and him, that all likelihood of agreement wholly ceased. This was the cause whereon to make war--sending the queen to Holland to buy arms, himself retiring from the capital, and soon after erecting his standard at Nottingham. Not succeeding, he was made prisoner, and when many expected his restoration, a violent opposition in the army broke forth; a design was formed to change the monarchy into a republic, and to this, and nothing else, he fell a sacrifice. If the real cause of the king’s death was the wickedness of those times, does it not follow that his death was permitted by God as a punishment for that wickedness; and if so, why should we fear that God will still visit for it? Will the just and merciful Judge discharge his vengeance on two different generations of men for the offences committed by one? Such doctrine as this should be banished from every church, especially a christian one; for it has no foundation in reason or revelation.” The reasons of this clergyman of the established church for his dissent from the established usage are still further remarkable.
Mr. Watson states other objections to this service. “In the hymn used instead of _Venite exultemus_, it is said, _They fought against him without a cause_: the contrary of which, when it is applied to king Charles, I think has been owned by every historian. The parliament of England were always more wise and good, than to raise armies against the kings who gave them no occasion to do so; and I cannot but entertain this favourable opinion of that which began to sit in the year 1640. There is nothing more true than that the king wanted to govern by an arbitrary power. His whole actions showed it, and he could never be brought to depart from this. Either, therefore, his people must have submitted to the slavery, or they must have vindicated their freedom openly; there was no middle way. But should they have tamely received the yoke? No, surely; for had they done so, they had deserved the worst of evils; and the bitter effects thereof, in all probability, had not only been derived to _us_, but our _posterity_. Happy Britons, that such a just and noble stand was made! May the memories of those great patriots that were concerned in it be ever dear to Englishmen; and to all true Englishmen they will!
“In the same hymn it is likewise affirmed that _False witnesses rose up against him, and laid to his charge things that he knew not_. Which on this occasion cannot be truly said, because as the chief fact to be proved was the king’s being in arms, it cannot be supposed that out of more than 200,000 men who had engaged with him, a sufficient number of true witnesses could be wanting. What, therefore, Mr. Wheatly could think when he said that his hymn is as solemn a composure, and as pertinent to the occasion as can be imagined or contrived, I cannot tell. I am sure a broad hint is given therein, that the clergy in king Charles’s time were a set of wicked people, and that it was through their unrighteousness, as well as that of the laity, that the king lost his life. The words are these, ‘For the sins of the people, and the iniquities of the priests, they shed the blood of the just in the midst of Jerusalem.’ Let those defend this passage who are able, for I own myself incapable of doing it consistently.”
Mr. Watson says, “I am not by myself in thinking that this service for the 30th of January needs a review; many sensible, worthy men think further--that it is time to drop it; for they see that it is unseasonable now, and serves no other end than as a bone of contention in numberless parishes, preventing friendship, and good will being shown towards such of the clergy as cannot in all points approve of it; excepting that (as I have found by experience) it tends to make bad subjects. A sufficient argument this, was there no other, why it should either be altered, or taken away; but I presume not to dictate; and, therefore, I urge this no further: had I not a sincere regard for the church of England, I should have said less; but notwithstanding any reports to the contrary, I declare myself to be a hearty well-wisher to her prosperity. Did I not prefer her communion to that of any other, I would instantly leave her, for I am not so abandoned as to play the hypocrite that I detest, and have often detested it to my great loss. But I am not of that opinion, that it is for the interest of the church to conceal her defects; on the contrary, I think I do her the greatest service possible by pointing them out, so that they may be remedied to the satisfaction of all good men. She ought not to be ashamed of the truth, and falsehood will never hurt her.”
* * * * *
It appears that Mr. Watson’s conduct obtained much notice; for he preached another sermon at Halifax, entitled “Moderation; or a candid disposition towards those that differ from us, recommended and enforced.” This he also printed, with the avowed view of “promoting of that moderation towards all men which becometh us as Christians, is the ornament of our profession, and which we should therefore labour to maintain, as we desire to walk worthy of the vocation wherewith we are called, with all lowliness and meekness, with long suffering, forbearing one another in love, endeavouring to keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace.” He proceeds to observe in this discourse, that “whoever reflects upon the nature of human constitutions, will readily allow the impossibility of perfection in any of them; and whoever considers the mutability of human things, will grant that nothing can be so well devised, or so sure established, which, in continuance of time, will not be corrupted. A change of circumstances, to which the best constituted state is liable, will require such alterations as once would have been needless: and improvement of observation will demand such regulations as nothing else could have discovered to have been right. Of this the wise founders of the established church of England were very sensible; they prudently required no subscription to perfection in the church, well knowing that they but laid the foundation stone of a much greater building than they could live to see completed. The Common Prayer, since it was first properly compiled, in the year 1545, has undergone sixteen alterations, as defects became visible, and offence was thereby given to the promoting of separations and divisions: noble examples these--fit for the present age to imitate! for, as ninety years have elapsed since the last review, this experienced age has justly discovered that the amendments, at that time made, were not sufficient. I could produce you many instances; but I forbear; for I am very sensible how tender a point I am discussing. However, I cannot but observe, that for my own part, upon the maturest and most sober consideration, I take him to be a greater friend to Christianity in general, and to this church in
## particular, who studies to unite as many dissenters as may be to us, by
a reasonable comprehension, than he who is against it.”
It is urged by Mr. Watson, that the church of England herself does not claim a perfection which is insisted upon as her distinguishing quality by some of her over zealous advocates. He says, “The first reformers were wise and good men, but the Common Prayer they published was little better than popery itself; many indeed have been the alterations in it made since then; but as, through the unripeness of the times, it never had any but imperfect emendations, we may reasonably suppose it capable of still further improvements.” Deeming the service appointed for this day as inappropriate, and referring to suggestions that were in his time urged upon public attention for a review of the liturgy, he proceeds to say, “There may be men at work that misrepresent this good design; that proclaim, as formerly, the church’s danger; but let no arts like these deceive you; they must be enemies in disguise that do it, or such who have not examined what they object to with sufficient accuracy. What is wished for, your own great Tillotson himself attempted: this truly valuable man, with some others but little inferior to himself, being sensible that the want of a sufficient review drew many members from the church, would have compromised the difference in a way detrimental to no one, beneficial to all; and had he not been opposed by some revengeful zealots, had certainly completed what all good men have wished for.”
* * * * *
The Editor of the _Every-Day Book_ has Mr. Watson’s private copies of these printed tracts, with _manuscript_ additions and remarks on them by Mr. Watson himself. It should seem from one of these notes, in his own hand-writing, that his opinions were not wholly contemned. Regarding his latter discourse, he observes that “the late Dr. Sharp, archdeacon of Northumberland, in a pamphlet, called ‘A Serious Inquiry into the Use and Importance of External Religion;’ quotes this sentence, “_Where unity and peace are disregarded, devotion must be so too, as it were by natural consequences_. I have borrowed these words from a sermon preached at Halifax, by John Watson, A. M., which, if any man, who has sixpence to spare, will purchase, peruse, and lay to heart, he will lay out his time and his money very well.” Archdeacon Sharp was father of the late Granville Sharp, the distinguished philanthropist and hebraist.
* * * * *
Mr. Watson was born at Presburg, in Cheshire, and educated at Brazen Nose college, Oxford, where he obtained a fellowship. He wrote a History of Halifax, in 2 vols. 4to., 1775; and a History of the Warren Family, by one of whom he was presented to the rectory of Stockport, where he died, aged 59 years. He also wrote a review of the large Moravian hymn book, and several miscellaneous pieces. There is a portrait of him by Basire.
* * * * *
By those who believe that Charles was “guiltless of his country’s blood,” and that the guilt “of his blood” is an entail upon the country not yet cut off, it may be remarked as a curious fact, that at about that season, eighty years after the king “bowed his head” on the scaffold at Whitehall, it was “a very sickly time.” It is recorded, that in 1733 “people were afflicted this month with a _head-ach_ and fever which very few escaped, and many died of; particularly between Tuesday, the twenty-third, and Tuesday, the _thirtieth_ of January, there died upwards of fifteen hundred in London and Westminster.”[46] On the twenty-third of January, 1649, the king having peremptorily denied the jurisdiction of the court, the president, Bradshaw, “ordered his contempt to be recorded: on the thirtieth of January he was beheaded.” During these days, and the intervening ones, the fatal London head-ach prevailed in 1733.
* * * * *
On the second of March, 1772 Mr. Montague moved in the house of commons to have so much of the act of 12th C. II. c. 30, as relates to the ordering the thirtieth of January to be kept as a day of fasting and humiliation, to be repealed. His motive he declared to be, to abolish, as much as he could, any absurdity from church as well as state. He said that he saw great and solid reasons for abolishing the observation of that day, and hoped that it was not too harsh a name to be given to the service for the observation of that day, if he should brand it with the name of impiety, particularly in those parts where Charles I. is likened to our Saviour. On a division, there being for the motion 97, and against it 125, it was lost by a majority of 27.
_The Calves-head Club._
On the 30th of January, 1735, certain young noblemen and gentlemen met at a French tavern in Suffolk-street, (Charing Cross,) under the denomination of the “Calves-head Club.” They had an entertainment of calves’ heads, some of which they showed to the mob outside, whom they treated with strong beer. In the evening, they caused a bonfire to be made before the door, and threw into it with loud huzzas a calf’s-head dressed up in a napkin. They also dipped their napkins in red wine, and waved them from the windows, at the same time drinking toasts publicly. The mob huzzaed as well as “their betters,”--but at length broke the windows, and became so mischievous that the guards were called in to prevent further outrage.[47]
These proceedings occasioned some verses in the “Grub-street Journal,” wherein are the following lines:--
Strange times! when noble peers secure from riot Cann’t keep _Noll’s_ annual festival in quiet. Through sashes broke, dirt, stones and brands thrown at em, Which, if not _scand_ was _brand-alum-magnatum_-- Forced to run down to vaults for safer quarters, And in cole-holes, their ribbons hide and garters. They thought, their feast in dismal fray thus ending, Themselves to shades of death and hell descending: This might have been, had stout Clare-market mobsters With cleavers arm’d, outmarch’d St. James’s lobsters; Numsculls they’d split, to furnish other revels, And make a _calves-head feast_ for worms and devils.
[Illustration: ~The Calves-head Club in Suffolk Street, 1734.~]
There is a print entitled “The true Effigies of the Members of the Calves-head Club, held on the 30th of January, 1734, in Suffolk Street, in the County of Middlesex.” This date is the year before that of the disturbance related, and as regards the company, the health drinking, huzzaing, a calf’s head in a napkin, a bonfire, and the mob, the scene is the same; with this addition, that there is a person in a mask with an axe in his hand. The engraving above is from this print.
On a work entitled the “History of the Calves-head Club,” little reliance is to be placed for authenticity. It appears, however, that their toasts were of this description: “The pious memory of Oliver Cromwell.” “Damn----n to the race of the Stuarts.” “The glorious year 1648.” “The man in the mask, &c.” It will be remembered that the executioner of Charles I. wore a mask.
_Oranges and Bells._
A literary hand at Newark is so obliging as to send the communication annexed, for which, in behalf of the reader, the editor offers his sincere thanks.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
_Newark, Dec. 10, 1825._
On the 30th of January, the anniversary of king Charles’s martyrdom, and on Shrove Tuesday, we have a custom here, which I believe to be singular, having never heard of it elsewhere. On those days, there are several stalls placed in the market-place, (as if for a regular market,) having nothing but oranges: you may purchase them, but it is rarely the case; but you “raffle” for them, at least that is their expression. You give the owner a halfpenny, which entitles you to one share; if a penny, to two, and so on; and when there is a sufficient sum, you begin the raffle. A ball nearly round, (about the size of a hen’s egg,) yet having twenty-six square sides, each having a number, being one to twenty-six, is given you: (some balls may not have so many, others more, but I never saw them.) You throw the ball down, what I may term, the chimney, (which is so made as to keep turning the ball as it descends,) and it falls on a flat board with a ledge, to keep it from falling off, and when it stops you look at the number. Suppose it was twelve, the owner of the stall uses this expression, “Twelve is the highest, and one gone.” Then another throws; if his is a lesser number, they say, “Twelve is the highest, and two gone;” if a higher number, they call accordingly. The highest number takes oranges to the amount of all the money on the board. When they first begin, a halfpenny is put down, then they call “One, and who makes two?” when another is put down, it is “Two, and who makes three?” and so on. At night the practice is kept up at their own houses till late hours; and others go to the inns and public-houses to see what they can do there.
Also every day, at six in the morning, and night, at eight o’clock, we have a bell rung for about a quarter of an hour: it is termed six o’clock and eight o’clock bell. On saint days, Saturdays, and Sundays, the time is altered to seven o’clock in the morning, and to seven o’clock at night, with an additional ringing at one o’clock at noon. Again, at eight o’clock on Sunday morning, all the bells are tolled round for a quarter of an hour.
I have mentioned the above, that, if they come within the notice of the _Every-Day Book_, you would give them insertion, and, if possible, account for their origin.
Whilst on the subject of “bells,” perhaps you can mention how “hand bells came into the church, and for what purpose.” We have a set in this church.
I am, &c.
H. H. N. N.
* * * * *
The editor will be glad to receive elucidations of either of these usages.
Accounts of local customs are particularly solicited from readers of the _Every-Day Book_ in every part of the country.
* * * * *
To the notice of this day in the Perennial Calendar, the following stanzas are subjoined by Dr. Forster. They are evident “developments” of phrenological thought.
VERSES ON A SKULL
_In a church-yard._
O empty vault of former glory! Whate’er thou wert in time of old, Thy surface tells thy living story, Tho’ now so hollow, dead, and cold, For in thy form is yet descried The traces left of young desire; The Painter’s art, the Statesman’s pride, The Muse’s song, the Poet’s fire; But these, forsooth, now seem to be Mere lumps on thy periphery.
Dear Nature, constant in her laws, Hath mark’d each mental operation, She ev’ry feeling’s limit draws On all the heads throughout the nation, That there might no deception be; And he who kens her tokens well, Hears tongues which every where agree In language that no lies can tell-- Courage--Deceit--Destruction--Theft-- Have traces on the skullcap left.
But through all Nature’s constancy An awful change of form is seen, Two forms are not which quite agree, None is replaced that once hath been; Endless variety in all, From Fly to Man, Creation’s pride, Each shows his proper form--to fall Eftsoons in time’s o’erwhelming tide, And mutability goes on With ceaseless combination.
’Tis thine to teach with magic power Those who still bend life’s fragile stem, To suck the sweets of every flower, Before the sun shall set to them; Calm the contending passions dire, Which on thy surface I descry, Like water struggling with the fire In combat, which of them shall die; Thus is the soul in Fury’s car, A type of Hell’s intestine war.
Old wall of man’s most noble par, While now I trace with trembling hand Thy sentiments, how oft I start, Dismay’d at such a jarring band! Man, with discordant frenzy fraught, Seems either madman, fool, or knave; To try to live is all he’s taught-- To ’scape her foot who nought doth save In life’s proud race;--(unknown our goal) To strive against a kindred soul.
These various organs show the place Where Friendship lov’d, where Passion glow’d, Where Veneration grew in grace, Where justice swayed, where man was proud-- Whence Wit its slippery sallies threw On Vanity, thereby defeated; Where Hope’s imaginary view Of things to come (fond fool) is seated; Where Circumspection made us fear, Mid gleams of joy some danger near.
Here fair Benevolence doth grow In forehead high--here Imitation Adorns the stage, where on the Brow Are Sound, and Color’s legislation. Here doth Appropriation try, By help of Secrecy, to gain A store of wealth, against we die, For heirs to dissipate again. Cause and Comparison here show, The use of every thing we know.
But here that fiend of fiends doth dwell, While Ideality unshaken By facts or theory, whose spell Maddens the soul and fires our beacon. Whom memory tortures, love deludes, Whom circumspection fills with dread, On every organ he obtrudes, Until Destruction o’er his head Impends; then mad with luckless strife, He volunteers the loss of life.
And canst thou teach to future man The way his evils to repair-- Say, O momento,--of the span Of mortal life? For if the care Of truth to science be not given, (From whom no treachery it can sever,) There’s no dependance under heaven That error may not reign for ever. May future heads more learning cull From thee, when my own head’s a skull.
* * * * *
There is a _parish_ game in Scotland, at this season of the year, when the waters are frozen and can bear practitioners in the diversion. It prevails, likewise, in Northumberland, and other northern parts of south Britain; yet, nowhere, perhaps, is it so federalized as among the descendants of those who “ha’ wi’ Wallace bled.” This sport, called _curling_, is described by the georgical poet, and will be better apprehended by being related in his numbers: it being premised that the time agreed on, or the appointment for playing it, is called the _tryst_; the match is called the _bonspiel_; the boundary marks for the play are called the _tees_; and the stones used are called _coits_, or _quoits_, or _coiting_, or _quoiting-stones_.
Now rival parishes, and shrievedoms, keep, On upland lochs, the long-expected tryst To play their yearly bonspiel. Aged men, Smit with the eagerness of youth, are there, While love of conquest lights their beamless eyes, New-nerves their arms, and makes them young once more.
The sides when ranged, the distance meted out, And duly traced the tees, some younger hand Begins, with throbbing heart, and far o’ershoots, Or sideward leaves, the mark: in vain he bends His waist, and winds his hand, as if it still Retained the power to guide the devious stone, Which, onward hurling, makes the circling groupe Quick start aside, to shun its reckless force. But more and still more skilful arms succeed, And near and nearer still around the tee, This side, now that, approaches; till at last, Two, seeming equidistant, straws, or twigs, Decide as umpires ’tween contending coits.
Keen, keener still, as life itself were staked, Kindles the friendly strife: one points the line To him who, poising, aims and aims again; Another runs and sweeps where nothing lies. Success alternately, from side to side, Changes; and quick the hours un-noted fly, Till light begins to fail, and deep below, The player, as he stoops to lift his coit, Sees, half incredulous, the rising moon. But now the final, the decisive spell Begins; near and more near the sounding stones, Some winding in, some bearing straight along, Crowd justling all around the mark, while one, Just slightly touching, victory depends Upon the final aim: long swings the stone. Then with full force, careering furious on, Rattling it strikes aside both friend and foe, Maintains its course, and takes the victor’s place. The social meal succeeds, and social glass; In words the fight renewed is fought again, While festive mirth forgets the winged hours.-- Some quit betimes the scene, and find that home Is still the place where genuine pleasure dwells.
_Grahame._
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 36·85.
[44] Clarendon.
[45] Lord Falkland engaged in a thoughtless skirmish and perished in it.
[46] British Chronologist, 177.
[47] Gents. Mag. and Brit. Chron.
~January 31.~
_King George IV. proclaimed._--Holiday at the Exchequer.
_Wakes._
A newspaper of this day,[48] in the year 1821, relates the following anecdote:--
All through Ireland the ceremonial of wakes and funerals is most punctually attended to, and it requires some _sçavoir faire_ to carry through the arrangement in a masterly manner. A great adept at the business, who had been the prime manager at all the wakes in the neighbourhood for many years, was at last called away from the death-beds of his friends to his own. Shortly before he died he gave minute directions to his people as to the mode of waking him in proper style. “Recollect,” says he, “to put three candles at the head of the bed, after you lay me out, and two at the foot, and one at each side. Mind now, and put a plate with the salt on it just a top of my breast. And, do you hear? have plenty of tobacco and pipes enough; and remember to make the punch strong. And--but what the devil is the use of talking to you? sure I know you’ll be sure to botch it, as I won’t be there myself.”
* * * * *
MR. JOHN BULL, an artist, with poetical powers exemplified in the first volume[49] by a citation from his poem entitled “The Museum,” which deserves to be better known, favours the _Every-Day Book_ with the following original lines. The conflict between the cross and the crescent, renders the communication peculiarly interesting to those who indulge a hope that the struggle will terminate in the liberation of Greece from “worse than Egyptian bondage.”
THE RAINBOW IN GREECE.
_By Mr. John Bull._
Arch of peace! the firmament Hath not a form more fair Than thine, thus beautifully bent Upon the lighten’d air.
Well might the wondrous bards of yore Of thee so sweetly sing; Thy fair foot on their lovely shore Returning with the spring!
An angel’s form to thee they gave, Celestial feign’d thy birth, Saw thee now span the light green wave, And now the greener earth.
Yet then, where’er thy smile was seen On land, or billowy main, Thou seem’d to watch, with look serene, O’er Freedom’s glorious reign.
Thy brilliant arch, around the sky, The nurse of hope appear’d, Sweet as the light of liberty, Wherewith their souls were cheer’d!
But ah! if thou, when Greece was young, Didst visit realms above; Go and return, as minstrels sung A messenger of love:
What tale, in heaven, hast thou to tell, Of tyrants and their slaves-- Despots, and soul-bound men that dwell Without their fathers’ graves!
Oh! when they see thy beauteous bow, Surround their ancient skies, Do not the Grecian warriors know, ’Tis then their hour to rise?
Let them unsheath the daring sword, And, pointing up to thee, Speak to their men one fiery word, And march to set them free
Upon thine arch of hope they’d glance, And say, “The storm is o’er! “The clouds are breaking off--advance, “We will be slaves no more!”
* * * * *
The “Mirror of the Months” represents of the coming month, that--
Now the Christmas holidays are over, and all the snow in Russia could not make the first Monday in this month look any other than _black_, in the home-loving eyes of little schoolboys; and the streets of London are once more evacuated of happy wondering faces, that look any way but straight before them; and sobs are heard, and sorrowful faces seen to issue from sundry post-chaises that carry sixteen inside, exclusive of cakes and boxes; and theatres are no longer conscious or unconscious _éclats de rire_, but the whole audience is like Mr. Wordsworth’s cloud, “which moveth altogether, if it move at all.”
* * * * *
In the gardens of our habitations, and the immense tracts that provide great cities with the products of the earth, the cultivator seizes the first opportunity to prepare and dress the bosom of our common mother. “Hard frosts, if they come at all, are followed by sudden thaws; and now, therefore, if ever, the mysterious old song of our school days stands a chance of being verified, which sings of
‘Three children sliding on the ice, All on a _summer’s_ day!’
Now the labour of the husbandman recommences; and it is pleasant to watch (from your library-window) the plough-team moving almost imperceptibly along, upon the distant upland that the bare trees have disclosed to you.--Nature is as busy as ever, if not openly and obviously, secretly, and in the hearts of her sweet subjects the flowers; stirring them up to that rich rivalry of beauty which is to greet the first footsteps of spring, and teaching them to prepare themselves for her advent, as young maidens prepare, months beforehand, for the marriage festival of some dear friend.--If the flowers think and feel (and he who dares to say that they do not is either a fool or a philosopher--let him choose between the imputations!)--if the flowers think and feel, what a commotion must be working within their silent hearts, when the pinions of winter begin to grow, and indicate that he is at least meditating his flight. Then do _they_, too, begin to meditate on May-day, and think on the delight with which they shall once more breathe the fresh air, when they have leave to escape from their subterranean prisons; for now, towards the latter end of this month, they are all of them at least awake from their winter slumbers, and most are busily working at their gay toilets, and weaving their fantastic robes, and shaping their trim forms, and distilling their rich essences, and, in short, getting ready in all things, that they may be duly prepared to join the bright procession of beauty that is to greet and glorify the annual coming on of their sovereign lady, the spring. It is true none of all this can be seen. But what a race should we be, if we knew and cared to know of nothing, but what we can see and prove!”[50]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·35.
[48] New Times.
[49] P. 299.
[50] Mirror of the Months.
[Illustration: FEBRUARY.]
When, in the zodiac, the Fish wheel round, They loose the floods, and irrigate the ground. Then, husbandmen resume their wonted toil, Yoke their strong steers, and plough the yielding soil: Then prudent gard’ners seize the happy time, To dig and trench, and prune for shoots to climb, Inspect their borders, mark the silent birth Of plants, successive, from the teeming earth, Watch the young nurslings with paternal care, And hope for “growing weather” all the year. Yet February’s suns uncertain shine, For rain and frost alternately combine To stop the plough, with sudden wintry storms-- And, often, fearful violence the month deforms.
~February 1.~
_Flowers._
A good garden in a sunny day, at the commencement of this month, has many delightful appearances to a lover of nature, and issues promises of further gratification. It is, however, in ball-rooms and theatres that many of the sex, to whose innocence and beauty the lily is likened, resort for amusement, and see or wear the mimic forms of floral loveliness. Yet this approach to nature, though at an awful distance, is to be hailed as an impulse of her own powerful working in the very heart of fashion; and it has this advantage, that it supplies means of existence to industry, and urges ingenuity to further endeavour. Artificial wants are rapidly supplied by the necessity of providing for real ones; and the wealthy accept drafts upon conditions which indigence prescribes, till it becomes lifted above poverty to independence.
The manufacture of artificial flowers is not wholly unknown in England, but our neighbours, the French, eclipse us in the accuracy and variety of their imitations. Watering-places abound with these wonders of their work-people, and in the metropolis there are depôts, from whence dress-makers and milliners are supplied by wholesale.
* * * * *
The annexed literal copy of a French flower-maker’s card, circulated during the summer of 1822 among the London shopkeepers, is a whimsical specimen of self-sufficiency, and may save some learners of French from an overweening confidence in their acquisition of that language, which, were it displayed in Paris, would be as whimsical in that metropolis as this English is in ours.
M. MARLOTEAU et C^{ie}.
_Manufacturers from Paris_,
37, MONTMORENCY-STREET,
_To London 14 Broad street, Oxford street._
Acquaint the Trade in general, that they have just established in LONDON.
A Warhouse for FRENCH FLOWERS, for each Season, feathar from hat ladies of their own Manufacture elegant fans of the NEWEST TASTE.
And of Manufactures of PARIS, complette sets ornaments for balls, snuff boxes scale gold and silver, boxes toilette, ribbons and embroidered, hat et cap, from Ladies of the newest Taste, China, all sorts, etc.
He commit generally the articles from Paris, Manufacturers.
And send in all BRITISH CITY.
Attandance from Nine o’Clock in the Morning till five in the Afternoon.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·70.
~February 2.~
_Purification_, or _Candlemas_. 1826.--Holiday at the Public Offices.
This day, the festival of “the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary,” is sometimes called _Christ’s Presentation_, the _Holiday of St. Simeon_, and _The Wives’ Feast_. An account of its origin and celebration is in vol. i. p. 199. A beautiful composition in honour of the Virgin is added as a grace to these columns.
_Portuguese Hymn._
TO THE VIRGIN MARY.
_By John Leyden._
Star of the wide and pathless sea, Who lov’st on mariners to shine, These votive garments wet to thee, We hang within thy holy shrine. When o’er us flushed the surging brine, Amid the warring waters tost, We called no other name but thine, And hoped, when other hope was lost, Ave Maris Stella!
Star of the vast and howling main, When dark and lone is all the sky, And mountain-waves o’er ocean’s plain Erect their stormy heads on high; When virgins for their true loves sigh, And raise their weeping eyes to thee, The star of Ocean heeds their cry, And saves the foundering bark at sea. Ave Maris Stella!
Star of the dark and stormy sea, When wrecking tempests round us rave, Thy gentle virgin form we see Bright rising o’er the hoary wave. The howling storms that seem to crave Their victims, sink in music sweet, The surging seas recede to pave The path beneath thy glistening feet, Ave Maris Stella!
Star of the desert waters wild, Who pitying hears the seaman’s cry, The God of mercy, as a child, On that chaste bosom loves to lie; While soft the chorus of the sky Their hymns of tender mercy sing, And angel voices name on high The mother of the heavenly king, Ave Maris Stella!
Star of the deep! at that blest name The waves sleep silent round the keel, The tempests wild their fury tame That made the deep’s foundations reel: The soft celestial accents steal So soothing through the realms of woe,
* * * * *
* * * * * Ave Maris Stella!
Star of the mild and placid seas, Whom rainbow rays of mercy crown, Whose name thy faithful Portuguese O’er all that to the depths go down, With hymns of grateful transport own, When gathering clouds obscure their light, And heaven assumes an awful frown, The star of Ocean glitters bright, Ave Maris Stella!
Star of the deep! when angel lyres To hymn thy holy name essay, In vain a mortal harp aspires To mingle in the mighty lay! Mother of God! one living ray Of hope our grateful bosoms fires When storms and tempests pass away, To join the bright immortal quires. Ave Maris Stella!
* * * * *
On Candlemas-day, 1734, there was a grand entertainment for the judges, sergeants, &c. in the Temple-hall. The lord chancellor, the earl of Macclesfield, the bishop of Bangor, together with other distinguished persons, were present, and the prince of Wales attended _incog._ At night the comedy of “Love for Love” was acted by the company of his Majesty’s revels from the Haymarket theatre, who received a present of 50_l._ from the societies of the Temple. The judges, according to an ancient custom, danced “round the coal fire,” singing an old French song.[51]
* * * * *
THE COAL AND THE DIAMOND
_A Fable for Cold Weather._
A coal was hid beneath the grate, (’Tis often modest merit’s fate,) ’Twas small, and so, perhaps, forgotten; Whilst in the room, and near in size, In a fine casket lined with cotton, In pomp and state, a diamond lies. “So, little gentleman in black,” The brilliant spark in anger cried, “I hear, in philosophic clack, Our families are close allied; But know, the splendour of my hue, Excell’d by nothing in existence, Should teach such little folks as you To keep a more respectful distance.”
At these reflections on his name, The coal soon redden’d to a flame; Of his own real use aware, He only answer’d with a sneer-- “I scorn your taunts, good bishop _Blaze_, And envy not your charms divine; For know, I boast a double praise, As I can _warm_ as well as shine.”
[Illustration: ~Elizabeth Woodcock.~]
She was in prison, as you see, All in a cave of snow; And she could not relieved be, Though she was frozen so. Ah, well a-day!
For she was all froze in with frost, Eight days and nights, poor soul! But when they gave her up for lost, They found her down the hole. Ah, well-a-day!
_MS. Ballad._
On Saturday, the 2d of February, 1799, Elizabeth Woodcock, aged forty-two years, went on horseback from Impington to Cambridge; on her return, between six and seven o’clock in the evening, being about half a mile from her own home, her horse started at a sudden light, probably from a meteor, which, at this season of the year, frequently happens. She exclaimed, “Good God! what can this be?” It was a very inclement, stormy night; a bleak wind blew boisterously from the N. E.; the ground was covered by great quantities of snow that had fallen during the day. Many of the deepest ditches were filled up, whilst in the open fields there was but a thin covering; but in roads and lanes, and in narrow and enclosed parts, it had so accumulated as to retard the traveller. The horse ran backwards to the brink of a ditch, and fearing lest the animal should plunge into it, she dismounted, intending to lead the animal home; but he started again, and broke from her. She attempted to regain the bridle; but the horse turned suddenly out of the road, over a common field, and she followed him. Having lost one of her shoes in the snow, and wearied by the exertion she had made, and by a heavy basket on her arm, her pursuit of the horse was greatly impeded; she however persisted, and having overtaken him about a quarter of a mile from whence she alighted, she gained the bridle, and made another attempt to lead him home. But on retracing her steps to a thicket contiguous to the road, she became so much fatigued, and her left foot, which was without a shoe, was so much benumbed, that she was unable to proceed farther. Sitting down upon the ground in this state, and letting go the bridle, “Tinker,” she said, calling the horse by his name, “I am too much tired to go any farther; you must go home without me:” and exclaimed, “Lord have mercy upon me! what will become of me?” The ground on which she sat was upon a level with the common field, close under the thicket on the south-west. She well knew its situation, and its distance from her own house. There was then only a small quantity of snow drifted near her; but it accumulated so rapidly, that when Chesterton bell rang at eight o’clock, she was completely hemmed in by it. The depth of the snow in which she was enveloped was about six feet in a perpendicular direction, and over her head between two and three. She was incapable of any effectual attempt to extricate herself, and, in addition to her fatigue and cold, her clothes were stiffened by the frost; and therefore, resigning herself to the necessity of her situation, she sat awaiting the dawn of the following day. To the best of her recollection, she slept very little during the night. In the morning, observing before her a circular hole in the snow, about two feet in length, and half a foot in diameter, running obliquely upwards, she broke off a branch of a bush which was close to her, and with it thrust her handkerchief through the hole, and hung it, as a signal of distress, upon one of the uppermost twigs that remained uncovered. She bethought herself that the change of the moon was near, and having an almanac in her pocket, took it out, though with great difficulty, and found that there would be a new moon the next day, February the 4th. Her difficulty in getting the almanac from her pocket arose, in a great measure, from the stiffness of her frozen clothes; the trouble, however, was compensated by the consolation which the prospect of so near a change in her favour afforded. Here, however, she remained day after day, and night after night, perfectly distinguishing the alterations of day and night, hearing the bells of her own and the neighbouring villages, particularly that of Chesterton, which was about two miles distant from the spot, and rung in winter time at eight in the evening and four in the morning, Sundays excepted; she was sensible to the sound of carriages upon the road, the bleating of sheep and lambs, and the barking of dogs. One day she overheard a conversation between two gipsies, relative to an ass they had lost. She recollected having pulled out her snuff-box, and taken two pinches of snuff, but felt so little gratification from it, that she never repeated it. Possibly, the cold might have so far blunted her powers of sensation, that the snuff no longer retained its stimulus. Finding her left hand beginning to swell, in consequence of her reclining on that arm, she took two rings, the tokens of her nuptial vows twice pledged, from her finger, and put them, together with a little money from her pocket, into a small box, judging that, should she not be found alive, the rings and money, being thus deposited, were less likely to be overlooked by the discoverers of her breathless corpse. She frequently shouted, in hopes that her vociferations might reach any that chanced to pass, but the snow prevented the transmission of her voice. The gipsies, who approached her nearer than any other persons, were not sensible of any sound, though she particularly endeavoured to attract their attention. A thaw took place on the Friday after the commencement of her misfortunes; she felt uncommonly faint and languid; her clothes were wetted quite through by the melted snow; the aperture before mentioned became considerably enlarged, and she attempted to make an effort to release herself; but her strength was too much impaired; her feet and legs were no longer obedient to her will, and her clothes were become much heavier by the water which they had imbibed. She now, for the first time, began to despair of being discovered alive; and declared, that, all things considered, she could not have survived twenty-four hours longer. This was the morning of her emancipation. The apartment or cave of snow formed around her was sufficiently large to afford her space to move herself about three or four inches in any direction, but not to stand upright, it being only about three feet and a half in height, and about two in the broadest part. Her sufferings had now increased; she sat with one of her hands spread over her face, and fetched very deep sighs; her breath was short and difficult, and symptoms of approaching dissolution became hourly more apparent. On that day, Sunday, the 10th of February, Joseph Muncey, a young farmer, in his way home from Cambridge, about half-past twelve o’clock, passed very near the spot where the woman was. Her handkerchief, hanging upon the twigs, where she had suspended it, caught his eye; he walked up to the place, and saw the opening in the snow, and heard a sound issue from it similar to that of a person breathing hard and with difficulty. He looked in, and saw the woman who had been so long missing. He did not speak to her, but, seeing another young farmer and a shepherd at a little distance, communicated to them the discovery he had made; upon which, though they scarcely credited his report, they went to the spot. The shepherd called out, “Are you there, Elizabeth Woodcock?” She replied, in a faint and feeble accent, “Dear John Stittle, I know your voice; for God’s sake, help me out of this place!” Stittle immediately made his way through the snow till he was able to reach her; she eagerly grasped his hand, and implored him not to leave her. “I have been here a long time,” she observed. “Yes,” answered the man, “ever since Saturday.”--“Ay, Saturday week,” she replied; “I have heard the bells go two Sundays for church.” Her husband was immediately acquainted with the discovery, and proper means were taken for conveying her home. Her husband and some neighbours brought a horse and chaise-cart, with blankets to wrap her in. The snow being somewhat cleared away, she asked for a piece of biscuit and a small quantity of brandy, from taking which she found herself greatly recruited. As a person took her up to put her into the chaise, the stocking of the left leg, adhering to the ground, came off, and she fainted. Nature was greatly exhausted, and the motion, added to the sight of her husband and neighbours, was too much for her strength and spirits. When she recovered, she was laid gently in the carriage, covered well over with the blankets, and conveyed without delay to her own house.
It appears that when the horse came home, her husband and another person set out on the road with a lantern, and went quite to Cambridge, where they only learnt that she left the inn at six that evening. They explored the road afresh that night, and for four succeeding days, and searched the huts of the gipsies, whom they suspected might have robbed and murdered her, till she was unexpectedly discovered in the manner already mentioned.
Mr. Okes, a surgeon, first saw her in the cart, as she was removing home. She spoke to him with a voice tolerably strong, but rather hoarse; her hands and arms were sodden, but not very cold though her legs and feet were. She was put to bed, and weak broth given her occasionally. From the time of her being lost she had eaten only snow, and believed she had not slept till Friday the 8th. The hurry of spirits, occasioned by too many visitors, rendered her feverish; and her feet were found to be completely mortified. The cold had extended its violent effects from the end of the toes to the middle of the instep, including more than an inch above the heels, and all the bottom of the feet, insomuch, that she lost all her toes with the integuments from the bottom of one foot. Her life was saved, but the mutilated state in which she was left, without even a chance of ever being able to attend to the duties of her family, was almost worse than death itself. She lingered until the 13th of July, 1799, when she expired, after a lapse of five months from the period of her discovery.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·37.
[51] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~February 3.~
_St. Blaise._ _St. Agatha._
These two Romish festivals are still retained in the church of England calendar.
Of St. Blaise’s festival there is an account in vol. i. p. 207.
WITCHCRAFT.
The necessity for instruction is powerfully exemplified by the following narrative. Some who reflect upon it, and discover that there are other and worse consequences to be apprehended from ignorance than those related below, will consult their own safety, by providing education for the children of labouring people, and influencing their attendance where they may gain the means of distinguishing right from wrong.
In February, 1808, at Great Paxton, in Huntingdonshire, Alice Brown, crossing the ice on the river Ouse, fell into the water, and narrowly escaped drowning, in the sight of her friend, Fanny Amey, a poor epileptic girl, who, in great terror, witnessed the accident. Alice arrived at her father’s house shivering with cold, and, probably from sympathetic affection, was herself seized with epilepsy. The fits returning frequently, she became emaciated, and incapable of labour. In April following, the rev. Isaac Nicholson, curate of the parish, inquiring after her health, was astonished by her brother informing him that her fits and debility were the effect of witchcraft. “She is under an evil tongue,” said the youth. “As sure as you are alive, sir,” continued a stander-by, “she is bewitched, and so are two other young girls that live near her.” The boor related, that at the town he came from in Bedfordshire, a man had been exactly in the same way; but, by a _charm_, he discovered the witch to be an old woman in the same parish, and that her reign would soon be over; which happened accordingly, for she died in a few days, and the man recovered. “Thomas Brown tried this charm last night for his daughter, but it did not succeed according to our wishes; so they have not at present found out who it is that does all the mischief.”
Mr. Nicholson was greatly shocked at the general opinion of the people that Alice Brown, Fanny Amey, and Mary Fox were certainly bewitched by some person who had bought a familiar or an evil spirit of the devil at the expense of the buyer’s soul, and that various charms had been tried to discover who the buyer was. It was utterly out of his power to remove or diminish the impressions of his parishioners as to the enchantment; and on the following Sunday, a few minutes before he went to church, Ann Izzard, a poor woman about sixty years old, little, but not ill-looking, the mother of eight children, five of whom were living, requested leave to speak to him. In tears and greatly agitated, she told him her neighbours pretended, that, by means of certain charms, they had discovered that _she_ was the witch. She said they abused her children, and by their violent threats frightened her so much that she frequently dropped down to the ground in fainting-fits. She concluded by asserting her innocence in these words: “I am not a witch, and am willing to prove it by being weighed against the church bible.” After the sermon, he addressed his flock on the folly of their opinions, and fatal consequences of brooding over them. It appears, however, that his arguments, explanations, and remonstrances were in vain. On Thursday, the 5th of May, Ann Izzard was at St. Neot’s market, and her son, about sixteen years old, was sent there by his master for a load of corn: his mother and another woman, a shopkeeper in the parish, accompanied him home; but, contrary to the mother’s advice, the woman put a basket of grocery on the sacks of corn One of the horses, in going down hill, became restive, and overturned the cart; and by this accident the grocery was much damaged. Because Ann Izzard had advised her neighbour against putting it in the cart, she charged her with upsetting it by the black art, on purpose to spoil the goods. In an hour, the whole village was in an uproar. “She has just overturned a loaded cart with as much ease as if it had been a spinning-wheel: this is positive proof; it speaks for itself; she is the person that does all the mischief; and if something is not done to put a stop to her baseness, there will be no living in the place.” As it grew dark, on the following Sunday, these brutal creatures assembled together, and at ten o’clock, taking with them the young women supposed to be bewitched, they proceeded to Wright Izzard’s cottage, which stood in a solitary spot at some distance from the body of the village; they broke into the poor man’s house, dragged his wife naked from her bed into the yard, dashed her head against the large stones of the causeway, tore her arms with pins, and beat her on the face, breast, and stomach with the wooden bar of the door. When the mob had dispersed, the abused and helpless woman crawled into her dwelling, put her clothes on, and went to the constable, who said he could not protect her for he had not been sworn in. One Alice Russell, a compassionate widow, unlocked her door to her at the first call, comforted her, bound up her wounds, and put her to bed.
In the evening of the next day she was again dragged forth and her arms torn till they streamed afresh with blood. Alive the following morning, and apparently likely to survive this attack also, her enemies resolved to duck her as soon as the labour of the day was over. On hearing this she fled to Little Paxton, and hastily took refuge in the house of Mr. Nicholson, who effectually secured her from the cruelty of his ignorant flock, and had the mortification to learn that his own neighbours condemned him for “harbouring such a wretch.”
The kindness and affection of the widow Russel were the means of shortening her days. The infatuated populace cried, “The protectors of a witch are just as bad as the witch, and deserve the same treatment.” She neither ate nor slept again from anxiety and fear; but died a martyr to her humanity in twelve days after her home became the asylum, for a few hours, of the unhappy Alice Izzard.
At the Huntingdon assizes in the August following, true bills of indictment were found by the grand jury against nine of these ignorant, infuriated wretches, for assaults on Wright Izzard and Ann Izzard, which were traversed to the following assizes.[52] It does not appear how they were disposed of.
* * * * *
Captain Burt, an officer of engineers, who, about the year 1730, was sent into the north of Scotland on government service, relates the following particulars of an interview between himself and a minister, whom he met at the house of a nobleman.
_Witchcraft._
After the minister had said a good deal concerning the wickedness of such a diabolical practice as sorcery; and that I, in my turn, had declared my opinion of it, which you knew many years ago; he undertook to convince me of the reality of it by an example, which is as follows:--
A certain Highland laird had found himself at several times deprived of some part of his wine, and having as often examined his servants about it, and none of them confessing, but all denying it with asseverations, he was induced to conclude they were innocent.
The next thing to consider was, how this could happen. Rats there were none to father the theft. Those, you know, according to your philosophical next-door neighbour, might have drawn out the corks with their teeth, and then put in their tails, which, being long and spongeous, would imbibe a good quantity of liquor. This they might suck out again, and so on, till they had emptied as many bottles as were sufficient for their numbers and the strength of their heads. But to be more serious:--I say there was no suspicion of rats, and it was concluded it could be done by none but witches.
Here the new inquisition was set on foot, and who they were was the question; but how should that be discovered? To go the shortest way to work, the laird made choice of one night, and an hour when he thought it might be watering-time with the hags; and went to his cellar without a light, the better to surprise them. Then, with his naked broadsword in his hand, he suddenly opened the door, and shut it after him, and fell to cutting and slashing all round about him, till, at last, by an opposition to the edge of his sword, he concluded he had at least wounded one of them. But I should have told you, that although the place was very dark, yet he made no doubt, by the glare and flashes of their eyes, that they were cats; but, upon the appearance of a candle, they were all vanished, and only some blood left upon the floor. I cannot forbear to hint in this place at Don Quixote’s battle with the _borachios_ of wine.
There was an old woman, that lived about two miles from the laird’s habitation, reputed to be a witch: her he greatly suspected to be one of the confederacy, and immediately he hasted away to her hut; and, entering, he found her lying upon her bed, and bleeding excessively.
This alone was some confirmation of the justness of his suspicion; but casting his eye under the bed, there lay her leg in its natural form.
I must confess I was amazed at the conclusion of this narration; but ten times more, when, with the most serious air, he assured me that he had seen a certificate of the truth of it, signed by four ministers of that part of the country, and could procure me a sight of it in a few days, if I had the curiosity to see it.
When he had finished his story, I used all the arguments I was master of, to show him the absurdity of supposing that a woman could be transformed into the shape and diminutive substance of a cat; to vanish like a flash of fire; carry her leg home with her, &c.: and I told him, that if a certificate of the truth of it had been signed by every member of the general assembly, it would be impossible for me (however strong my inclinations were to believe) to bring my mind to assent to it.
* * * * *
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
As a small matter of use and curiosity, I beg to acquaint the readers of the _Every-Day Book_ with the means of determining the gradual increase of a plant.
Take a straight piece of wood, of a convenient height; the upright piece, marked A B in the figure, may be divided into as many parts as you think fit; in the manner of a carpenter’s rule: lay across the top of this another piece of wood, marked G with a small wheel, or pulley, at each end thereof, marked C D; they should be so fixed that a fine thread of silk may easily run through each of them: at the end of this thread, E, tie a small weight, or poise, and tie the other end of the thread, F, to the tip-top of the plant, as represented in the figure.
[Illustration]
To find the daily increase of this plant, observe to what degree the knot F rises every day, at a particular hour, or to what degree the ball E descends every day.
This little machine may serve several good purposes. By this you will be able to judge how much nourishment a plant receives in the course of each day, and a tolerably just notion may be formed of its quality; for moist plants grow quicker than dry ones, and the hot and moist quicker than the cold and dry.
I am, sir,
Your constant reader,
S. THOMAS.
_January_ 24th, 1826.
* * * * *
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
Perhaps the following parody of Moore’s beautiful melody, “Those Evening Bells,” on p. 143, may be acceptable to your readers, at a time like the present, when a laugh helps out the spirits against matter-of-fact evils.
I do not think it necessary to avow myself as an “authority” for my little communication; many of your readers will, no doubt, be able to furnish _feeling_ evidence of the truth of the lines. Hoping you, sir, may read them without participating in the _lively sensibility_ that the author felt, I remain,
Your admiring reader,
and regular customer,
A SMALL BOOKSELLER!
_City_, Jan. 1826.
“_These Christmas Bills!_”
A COMMERCIAL MELODY, 1826.
These Christmas bills, these Christmas bills, How many a thought their number kills Of notes and cash, and that sweet time When oft’ I heard my sovereigns chime.
Those golden days are past away, And many a bill I used to pay Sticks on the file, and empty tills Contain no cash for Christmas bills.
And so ’twill be--though these are paid, More Christmas bills will still be made, And other men will fear these ills, And curse the name of Christmas bills!
COPY OF A LETTER
_Written to a Domestic at Parting._
The cheerfulness and readiness with which you have always served me, has made me interested in your welfare, and determined me to give you a few words of advice before we part. Read this attentively, and keep it; it may, perhaps, be useful.
Your honesty and principles are, I firmly trust, unshaken. Consider them as the greatest treasure a human being can possess. While this treasure is in your possession you can never be hurt, let what will happen. You will indeed often feel pain and grief, for no human being ever was without his share of them; but you can never be long and completely miserable but by your own fault.
If, therefore, you are ever tempted to do evil, check the _first_ wicked _thought_ that rises in your mind, or else you are ruined. For you may look upon this as a most certain and infallible truth, that if evil thoughts are for a moment encouraged, evil deeds follow: and you need not be told, that whoever has lost his good conscience is miserable, however he may hide it from the world, and whatever wealth and pleasures he may enjoy.
And you may also rely upon this, that the most miserable among the virtuous is infinitely happier than the happiest of the wicked.
The consequence I wish you to draw from all this is, never to do any thing except what you certainly know to be right; for if you doubt about the lawfulness of any thing, it is a sign that it ought not to be done.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·32.
[52] Sermon against Witchcraft, preached at Great Paxton, July 17, 1808, by the Rev. I. Nicholson, 8vo.
~February 4.~
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 4th of February, 1800, the rev. William Tasker, remarkable for his learning and eccentricity, died, aged 60, at Iddesleigh, in Devonshire, of which church he was rector near thirty years, though he had not enjoyed the income of the living till within five years before his death, in consequence of merciless and severe persecutions and litigations. “An Ode to the Warlike Genius of Britain, 1778,” 4to., was the first effusion of his poetical talent. His translations of “Select Odes of Pindar and Horace” add to his reputation with the muses, whose smiles he courted by many miscellaneous efforts. He wrote “Arviragus,” a tragedy, and employed the last years of his checkered life on a “History of Physiognomy from Aristotle to Lavater,” wherein he illustrated the Greek philosopher’s knowledge of the subject in a manner similar to that which he pursued in “An Attempt to examine the several Wounds and Deaths of the Heroes in the Iliad and Æneid, trying them by the Test of Anatomy and Physiology.” These erudite dissertations contributed to his credit with the learned, but added nothing to his means of existence. He usually wore a ragged coat, the shirt peeping at the elbows, and shoes of a brownish black, sometimes tied with packthread. Having heard that his spirited “Ode to the Warlike Genius of Britain” had been read by the late king, George III., he presented himself, in his customary habit, on the esplanade at Weymouth, where it excited curiosity; and his majesty asking an attendant who that person was? Mr. Tasker approached, avowed his name, and obtained a gratifying reception. His productions evince critical skill, and a large portion of poetic furor. But he was afflicted and unsuccessful; frequently struggling with penury, and sometimes with oppression. His irritability subjected him to numerous mortifications, and inflicted on him many pangs unknown to minds of less feeling or less delicacy.
Mr. Nichols, in his “Literary Anecdotes,” gives a letter he received from Mr. Tasker, dated from Iddesleigh, in December, 1798, wherein he says, “I continue in very ill health, and confined in my dreary situation at _Starvation Hall_, forty miles below Exeter, out of the verge of literature, and where even your extensive magazine [‘The Gentleman’s’] has never yet reached.” The works he put forth from his solitude procured him no advancement in the church, and, in the agony of an excruciating complaint, he departed from a world insensible to his merits:--his widow essayed the publication of his works by subscription without effect. Such was the fate of an erudite and deserving parish priest, whose right estimation of honourable independence barred him from stooping to the meanness of flattery; he preserved his self-respect, and died without preferment, and in poverty.
A CHARACTER.
_The Old Lady._
If the Old Lady is a widow and lives alone, the manners of her condition and time of life are so much the more apparent. She generally dresses in plain silks that make a gentle rustling as she moves about the silence of her room; and she wears a nice cap with a lace border that comes under the chin. In a placket at her side is an old enamelled watch, unless it is locked up in a drawer of her toilet for fear of accidents. Her waist is rather tight and trim than otherwise, as she had a fine one when young; and she is not sorry if you see a pair of her stockings on a table, that you may be aware of the neatness of her leg and foot. Contented with these and other evident indications of a good shape, and letting her young friends understand that she can afford to obscure it a little, she wears pockets, and uses them well too. In the one is her handkerchief, and any heavier matter that is not likely to come out with it, such as the change of a sixpence;--in the other is a miscellaneous assortment, consisting of a pocket-book, a bunch of keys, a needle-case, a spectacle-case, crumbs of biscuit, a nutmeg and grater, a smelling-bottle, and according to the season, an orange or apple, which, after many days, she draws out, warm and glossy, to give to some little child that has well behaved itself. She generally occupies two rooms, in the neatest condition possible. In the chamber is a bed with a white coverlet, built up high and round to look well, and with curtains of a pastoral pattern, consisting alternately of large plants, and shepherds and shepherdesses. On the mantle-piece also are more shepherds and shepherdesses, with dot-eyed sheep at their feet, all in coloured ware, the man perhaps in a pink jacket and knots of ribbons at his knees and shoes, holding his crook lightly in one hand, and with the other at his breast turning his toes out and looking tenderly at the shepherdess:--the woman, holding a crook also, and modestly returning his look, with a gipsy-hat jerked up behind, a very slender waist, with petticoat and hips to counteract, and the petticoat pulled up through the pocket-holes in order to show the trimness of her ancles. But these patterns, of course, are various. The toilet is ancient, carved at the edges, and tied about with a snow-white drapery of muslin. Beside it are various boxes, mostly japan: and the set of drawers are exquisite things for a little girl to rummage, if ever little girl be so bold,--containing ribbons and laces of various kinds,--linen smelling of lavender, of the flowers of which there is always dust in the corners,--a heap of pocket-books for a series of years,--and pieces of dress long gone by, such as head-fronts, stomachers, and flowered satin shoes with enormous heels. The stock of letters are always under especial lock and key. So much for the bed-room. In the sitting-room, is rather a spare assortment of shining old mahogany furniture, or carved arm-chairs equally old, with chintz draperies down to the ground,--a folding or other screen with Chinese figures, their round, little-eyed, meek faces perking side-wise;--a stuffed bird perhaps in a glass case (a living one is too much for her;)--a portrait of her husband over the mantle-piece, in a coat with frog-buttons, and a delicate frilled hand lightly inserted in the waistcoat:--and opposite him, on the wall, is a piece of embroidered literature, framed and glazed, containing some moral distich or maxim worked in angular capital letters, with two trees or parrots below in their proper colours, the whole concluding with an A B C and numerals, and the name of the fair industrious, expressing it to be “her work, Jan. 14, 1762.” The rest of the furniture consists of a looking-glass with carved edges, perhaps a settee, a hassock for the feet, a mat for the little dog, and a small set of shelves, in which are the Spectator and Guardian, the Turkish Spy, a Bible and Prayer-book, Young’s Night-Thoughts, with a piece of lace in it to flatten, Mrs. Rowe’s Devout Exercises of the Heart, Mrs. Glasse’s Cookery, and perhaps Sir Charles Grandison, and Clarissa. John Buncle is in the closet among the pickles and preserves. The clock is on the landing-place between the two room-doors, where it ticks audibly but quietly; and the landing-place, as well as the stairs, is carpeted to a nicety. The house is most in character, and properly coeval, if it is in a retired suburb, and strongly built, with wainscot rather than paper inside, and lockers in the windows. Before the windows also should be some quivering poplars. Here the Old Lady receives a few quiet visitors to tea and perhaps an early game at cards; or you may sometimes see her going out on the same kind of visit herself, with a light umbrella turning up into a stick and crooked ivory handle, and her little dog equally famous for his love to her and captious antipathy to strangers. Her grandchildren dislike him on holidays; and the boldest sometimes ventures to give him a sly kick under the table. When she returns at night, she appears, if the weather happens to be doubtful, in a calash; and her servant, in pattens, follows half behind and half at her side, with a lantern.
Her opinions are not many, nor new. She thinks the clergyman a nice man. The duke of Wellington, in her opinion, is a very great man; but she has a secret preference for the marquis of Granby. She thinks the young women of the present day too forward, and the men not respectful enough: but hopes her grand-children will be better; though she differs with her daughter in several points respecting their management. She sets little value on the new accomplishments: is a great though delicate connoisseur in butcher’s meat and all sorts of house-wifery: and if you mention waltzes, expatiates on the grace and fine breeding of the minuet. She longs to have seen one danced by sir Charles Grandison, whom she almost considers as a real person. She likes a walk of a summer’s evening, but avoids the new streets, canals, &c. and sometimes goes through the church-yard where her other children and her husband lie buried, serious, but not melancholy. She has had three great æras in her life,--her marriage,--her having been at court to see the king, queen, and royal family,--and a compliment on her figure she once received in passing from Mr. Wilkes, whom she describes as a sad loose man, but engaging. His plainness she thinks much exaggerated. If any thing takes her at a distance from home, it is still the court; but she seldom stirs even for that. The last time but one that she went was to see the duke of Wirtemberg: and she has lately been, most probably for the last time of all, to see the princess Charlotte and prince Leopold. From this beatific vision, she returned with the same admiration as ever for the fine comely appearance of the duke of York and the rest of the family, and great delight at having had a near view of the princess, whom she speaks of with smiling pomp and lifted mittens, clasping them as passionately as she can together, and calling her, in a sort of transport of mixed loyalty and self-love, a fine royal young creature, and daughter of England.--_Indicator._
_The Season._
Sudden storms of short duration, the last blusters of expiring winter, frequently occur during the early part of the present month. These gales and gusts are mostly noticed by mariners, who expect them, and therefore keep a good “look out for squalls.” The observations of seamen upon the clouds, and of husbandmen on the natural appearances of the weather generally, would form an exceedingly curious and useful compendium of meteorological facts.
_Stilling the Sea with Oil._
Dr. Franklin suggests the pouring of oil on the sea to still the waves in a storm, but, before he lived, Martin wrote an “Account of the Western Islands of Scotland,” wherein he says, “The steward of _Kilda_, who lives in _Pabbay_, is accustomed in time of a storm to tie a bundle of puddings, made of the fat of sea-fowl, to the end of his cable, and lets it fall into the sea behind the rudder; this, he says, hinders the waves from breaking, and calms the sea; but the scent of the grease attracts the whales, which put the vessel in danger.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 38·34.
~February 5.~
[Illustration: ~Browne Willis, Esq. LL.D.~]
A Doctor in _Antiquity_ was he, And Tyson lined his head, as now you see. Kind, good “collector!” why “collect” that storm? No rude attempt is made to mar his form; No _alteration_ ’s aim’d at here--for, though The artist’s touch has help’d to make it show, The meagre contour only is supplied-- Is it improved?--compare, and then decide. Had Tyson, “from the life,” Browne Willis sketch’d, And left him, like old Jacob Butler,[53] etch’d, This essay had not been, to better trace The only likeness of an honour’d face.
*
The present engraving, however unwinning its aspect as to drawing, is, in other respects, an improvement of the late Mr. Michael Tyson’s etching from a picture painted by Dahl. There is no other portrait of “the great original” published.
On the 5th of February, 1760, Dr. Browne Willis died at Whaddon hall, in the county of Bucks, aged 78; he was born at St. Mary Blandford, in the county of Dorset, on the 14th of September, 1682. He was unexcelled in eagerness of inquiry concerning our national antiquities, and his life was devoted to their study and arrangement. Some interesting particulars concerning the published labours and domestic habits of this distinguished individual, will be given in a subsequent sheet, with one of his letters, not before printed, accompanied by a fac-simile of his handwriting.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·20.
[53] See “Every-Day Book,” vol. i. p. 1303.
~February 6.~
COLLOP MONDAY. See vol. i. p. 241.
_The Season and Smoking._
At this time, Dr. Forster says that people should guard against colds, and, above all, against the contagion of typhus and other fevers, which are apt to prevail in the early spring. “Smoking tobacco,” he observes, “is a very salutary practice in general, as well as being a preventive against infection in particular. The German pipes are the best, and get better as they are used, particularly those made of merschaum, called _Ecume de Mer_. Next to these, the Turkey pipes, with long tubes, are to be recommended; but these are fitter for summer smoking, under the shade of trees, than for the fireside. The best tobacco is the Turkey, the Persian, and what is called Dutch canaster. Smoking is a custom which should be recommended in the close cottages of the poor, and in great populous towns liable to contagion.”
_The Rule of Health._
Rise early, and, take exercise in plenty, But always take it with your stomach empty. After your meals sit still and rest awhile, And with your pipe a careless hour beguile. To rise at light or five, breakfast at nine, Lounge till eleven, and at five to dine, To drink and smoke till seven, the time of tea, And then to dance or walk two hours away Till ten o’clock,--good hour to go to nest, Till the next cock shall wake you from your rest.
On the virtues of tobacco its users enhance with mighty eloquence, and puff it bravely.
_In praise of Tobacco._
Much food doth gluttony procure to feed men fat like swine, But he’s a frugal man indeed who on a leaf can dine.
He needs no napkin for his hands, his finger ends to wipe, Who has his kitchen in a box, his roast-meat in a pipe.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·47.
~February 7.~
1826.--SHROVE TUESDAY.
Several of the customs and sports of this day are related in vol i. p. 242-261. It is the last _meat_ day permitted by the papacy before Lent, which commences to-morrow, and therefore in former times, full advantage was taken of the expiring opportunity to feast and make merry. Selden observes, “that what the church debars us one day, she gives us leave to eat another--first, there is a carnival, and then a Lent.” This period is also recorded in the homely rhymes of Barnaby Googe.
_Shrove-tide._
Now when at length the pleasant time of Shrove-tide comes in place, And cruell fasting dayes at hand approach with solemne grace. Then olde and yong are both as mad, as ghestes of Bacchus’ feast, And foure dayes long they tipple square, and feede and never reast. Downe goes the hogges in every place, and puddings every wheare Do swarme: the dice are shakte and tost, and cardes apace they teare: In every house are showtes and cryes, and mirth, and revell route, And daintie tables spred, and all be set with ghestes aboute: With sundrie playes and Christmasse games, and feare and shame away, The tongue is set at libertie, and hath no kinde of stay.
_Naogeorgus._
_The Great Seal in Danger._
_February 7, 1677_, about one in the morning, the lord chancellor Finch’s mace was stolen out of his house in Queen-street; the seal laid under his pillow, so the thief missed it. The famous thief that did it was Thomas Sadler, he was soon after taken, and hanged for it at Tyburn on the 16th of March.[54]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 37·37.
[54] Life of Ant. a Wood.
~February 8.~
1826.--ASH WEDNESDAY,
_The First Day of Lent_.
To the particulars concerning this day, and the _ashes_, (in vol. i. p. 261,) is to be added, that the _ashes_, made of the branches of brushwood, properly cleansed, sifted, and consecrated, were worn four times a year, as at the beginning of Lent; and that on this day the people were excluded from church, husbands and wives parted bed, and the penitents wore sackcloth and _ashes_.[55]
According to the Benedictine rule, on _Ash Wednesday_, after sext, the monks were to return to the cloister to converse; but, at the ringing of a bell, be instantly silent. They were to unshoe themselves, wash their hands, and go to church, and make one common prayer. Then was to follow a religious service; after which the priest, having consecrated the ashes, and sprinkled holy water on them, was to throw them on the heads of the monks, saying, “Remember that you are but dust, and to dust must return.” Then “the procession” was to follow.[56]
In former times, on the evening of Ash Wednesday, boys used to run about with firebrands and torches.[57]
_Lent Assizes and Sessions._
These follow, in due course, after Hilary Term, which is within a week of its expiration. The importance of assize and sessions business is frequently interrupted by cases not more serious than
~The Trial~
_Of Farmer Carter’s Dog_
PORTER
~For Murder~.
Edward Long, esq., late judge of the admiralty court of Jamaica, wrote and published this “Trial,”[58] which is now scarce, and here somewhat abridged from the original without other alteration.
He commences his report thus:--
County of SEX- } GOTHAM, ss.}
At a High Court of Oyer and Terminer and Gaol-Delivery, holden this -- day of ---- 1771, at _Gotham-Hall_.
Present:
The Worshipful } PRESIDENT. _J. Bottle_, Esq.}
_A. Noodle_, } _Mat o’ the Mill_,} Esqs., _Just-asses_ and _Osmyn Ponser_, } Associates.
GAME-ACT _Plaintiff_ versus PORTER _Defendant_.
The Court being met, the indictment was read, which we omit, for sake of brevity.
_Court._ Prisoner, hold up your paw at the bar.
_First Counsel._ He is sullen, and refuses.
_Court._ Is he so? Why then let the constable hold it up, _nolens volens_.
[Which was done, according to order.]
_Court._ What is the prisoner’s name?
_Constable._ _P-P-Po-rt-er_, an’t please your worship.
_Court._ What does the fellow say?
_Constable._ _Porter!_ an’t please you; _Porter!_
_Mat._ He says Porter. It’s the name of a liquor the London _kennel_[59] much delight in.
_Ponser._ Ay, ’tis so; and I remember another namesake of his. I was hand in glove with him, I’ll tell you a droll story about him--
_Court._ Hush, brother. _Culprit_, how will you be tried?
_Counsel for the Prosecution._ Please your worship, he won’t say a word. _Stat mutus_--as mute as a fish.
[Illustration]
_Court._ How?--what?--won’t the dog speak? Won’t he do what the court bids him? What’s to be done? Is the dignity of this court to be trifled with in such a manner?
_Counsel for Pros._ Please your worships--it is provided by the statute in these cases, that when a culprit is stubborn, and refuses to plead, he is to be made to plead whether he will or no.
_Court._ Ay? How’s that, pray?
_Counsel for Pros._ Why, the statute says--that he must first of all be _thumb-screwed_--
_Court._ Very good.
_Counsel for Pros._ If _that_ will not do, he must be laid flat on his back, and squeezed, like a cheese in a press, with heavy weights.
_Court._ Very well. And what then?
_Counsel for Pros._ What then? Why, when all the breath is squeezed out of his body, if he should still continue dumb, which sometimes has been the case, he generally dies for want of breath.
_Court._ Very likely.
_Counsel for Pros._ And thereby saves the court a great deal of trouble; and the nation, the expense of a halter.
_Court._ Well, then, since the land stands thus--constable, twist a cord about the _culprit’s_--
_Counsel for Pros._ Fore-paws.
_Constable._ _Four_ paws? Why he has but two.
_Court._ Fore-paws, or fore-feet, blockhead! and strain it as tight as you can, ’till you make him open his mouth.
[The constable attempted to enforce the order, but in drawing a little too hard, received a severe bite.]
_Constable._ _’Sblood and suet!_ He has snapped off a piece of my nose.
_Court._ Mr. Constable, you are within the statute of swearing, and owe the court one shilling.
_Constable._ _Zounds and death!_ your worships! I could not help it for the blood o’ me.
_Court._ Now you owe us two shillings.
_Constable._ That’s a d----d bad plaster, your worships, for a sore nose!
_Court._ That being but _half_ an oath, the whole fine amounts to two shillings and sixpence, or a half-crown bowl. So, without going further, if you are afraid of his teeth, apply this pair of _nut-crackers_ to his tail.
_Constable._ I shall, your worships.
[He had better success with the tail, as will now appear.]
_Prisoner._ _Bow, wow, wow, ow, wow!_
_Court._ Hold! Enough. That will do.
It was now held that though the prisoner expressed himself in a strange language, yet, as he could speak no other, and as the law can not only make _dogs_ to speak, but explain their meaning too, so the law understood and inferred that the prisoner pleaded _not guilty_, and put himself upon his trial. _Issue_ therefore being joined, the _Counsel for the Prosecution_ proceeded to address the Court; but was stopped by the other side.
_Prisoner’s Counsel._ I take leave to _demur_ to the jurisdiction of the court. If he is to have a trial _per pares_, you must either suppose their worships to be his _equals_, that is to say, _not_ his _betters_, which would be a great indignity, or else you must have a _venire_ for a jury of _twelve dogs_. I think you are fairly caught in this dilemma.
_Counsel for Pros._ By no means. It is easily cured. We’ll send the constable with a _Mandamus_ to his _Grace’s kennel_.
_Pris. Counsel._ They are _fox hounds_. Not the same species; therefore not his equals. I do not object to the _harriers_, nor to a _tales de circumstantibus_.
_Counsel for Pros._ That’s artful, brother, but it won’t take. I smoke your intention of _garbling_ a jury. You know the _harriers_ will be
## partial, and acquit your client at any rate. Neither will we have any
thing to do with your _tales_.
_Mat._ No--no--you say right. I hate your _tales_ and _tale-bearers_. They are a rascally _pack_ altogether.
_Counsel for Pros._ Besides, the statute gives your worships _ample_ jurisdiction in this case; and if it did not _give_ it, your worships know how to _take_ it, because the law says, _boni est judicis ampliare jurisdictionem_.
_Pris. Counsel._ Then--I _demur_ for irregularity. The prisoner is a _dog_, and cannot be triable as a _man_--_ergo_, not within the intent of the statute.
_Counsel for Pros._ That’s a poor subterfuge. If the statute respects a _man_, (_a fortiori_) it will affect a _dog_.
_Ponser._ You are certainly right. For when I was in the _Turkish_ dominions, I saw an _Hebrew Jew_ put to death for killing a _dog_, although _dog_ was the aggressor.
_Counsel for Pros._ A case in point, please your worship. And a very curious and learned one it is. And the plain induction from it is this, that the _Jew_ (who I take for granted was a _man_) being put to death for killing _dog_, it follows that said _dog_ was as respectable a person, and of equal rank in society with the said _Jew_; and therefore--_ergo_--and moreover--That, said _dog_, so slain, was, to all and every purpose of legal inference and intendment, neither more nor less than--a _man_.
_Court._ We are all clearly of that opinion.
_Counsel for Pros._ Please your worships of the honourable bench. On _Saturday_ the day of _February inst._ on or about the hour of _five_ in the afternoon, the deceased Mr. _Hare_ was travelling quietly about his business, in a certain highway or road leading towards _Muckingham_; and then, and there, the prisoner at the bar being in the same road, in and upon the body of the deceased, with force and arms, a violent assault did make; and further, not having the fear of your worships before his eyes, but being moved and seduced by the instigation of a devilish fit of hunger, he the said prisoner did him the said deceased, in the peace of our lord of the manor then and there being, feloniously, wickedly, wantonly, and of malice aforethought, tear, wound, pull, haul, touzle, masticate, macerate, lacerate, and dislocate, and otherwise evilly intreat; of all and singular which tearings, woundings, pullings, haulings, touzleings, mastications, and so forth, maliciously inflicted in manner and form aforesaid, the said _Hare_ did languish, and languishing did die, in Mr. _Just-ass Ponser’s_ horsepond, to wit, and that is to say, contrary to the statute in that case made and provided, and against the peace of our said lord, his manor and dignity.
This, please your worships, is the purport of the indictment; to this indictment the prisoner has pleaded _not guilty_, and now stands upon his trial before this honourable bench.
Your worships will therefore allow me, before I come to call our evidence, to expatiate a little upon the heinous sin, wherewith the prisoner at the bar is charged. Hem!--To _murder_,--Ehem--To _murder_, may it please your worships, in Latin, is--is--_Murderare_;--or in the true and original sense of the word, _Murder-ha-re_. _H--_, as your worships well know, being not as yet raised to the dignity of a letter by any act of parliament, it follows that it plainly is no other than _Murder-a-re_, according to modern refined pronunciation. The very root and etymology of the word does therefore comprehend in itself a thousand volumes in folio, to show the nefarious and abominable guilt of the prisoner, in the commission and perpetration of this horrid fact. And it must appear as clear as sunshine to your worships, that the word _Murderare_, which denotes the prisoner’s crime, was expressly and originally applied to that crime, and to _that_ only, as being the most superlative of all possible crimes in the world. I do not deny that, since it first came out of the mint, it has, through corruption, been affixed to offences of a less criminal nature, such as _killing_ a _man_, a _woman_, or a _child_. But the sense of the earliest ages having stamped _hare-murder_, or _murder-ha-re_, (as the old books have it,) with such extraordinary atrociousness, I am sure that _Just-asses_ of your worships’ acknowledged and well-known wisdom, piety, erudition, and humanity, will not, at this time of the day, be persuaded to hold it less detestable and sinful. Having said thus much on the nature of the prisoner’s _guilt_, I mean not to aggravate the charge, because I shall always feel due compassion for my _fellow-creatures_, however wickedly they may demean themselves.--I shall next proceed, with your worships’ leave, to call our witnesses.--Call _Lawrence Lurcher_ and _Toby Tunnel_.
_Pris. Counsel._ I must object to swearing these witnesses.--I can prove, they were both of them _drunk_, and _non compos_, during the whole evening, when this fact is supposed to have been committed.
_Bottle._ That will do you no service. I am very often _drunk_ myself, and never _more_ in my senses than at such times.
_Court._ We all agree in this point with brother _Bottle_.
[Objection overruled and witnesses sworn.]
_Lurcher._ As I, and _Toby Tunnel_ here, was a going hoam to squire _Ponser’s_, along the road, one evening after dark, we sees the prisoner at the bar, or somebody like him, lay hold of the deceased, or somebody like him, by the back, an’t please your worships. So, says I, _Toby_, says I, that looks for all the world like one of ’squire _Ponser’s_ hares. So the deceased cried out pitifully for help, and jumped over a hedge, and the prisoner after him, growling and swearing bitterly all the way. So, says I, _Toby_, let’s run after ’um. So I scrambled up the hedge; but _Toby_ laid hold of my leg, to help himself up; so both of us tumbled through a thick furze bush into the ditch. So, next morning, as we was a going by the squire’s, we sees the deceased in his worship’s horse-pond.
_Pris. Counsel._ Are you sure he was dead?
_Lurcher._ Ay, as dead as my great grandmother.
_Pris. Counsel._ What did you do with the body?
_Ponser._ That’s not a fair question. It ought not to be answered.
_Lurcher._ I bean’t ashamed nor afeard to tell, not I. We carried it to his worship, squire _Ponser_; and his worship had him roasted, with a pudding in his belly, for dinner, that seame day.
_Council for Pros._ That is nothing to the purpose. Have you any more questions for the witness?
_Pris. Counsel._ Yes, I have. Pray friend, how do you know the body you found was the very same you saw on the evening before?
_Lurcher._ I can’t tell; but I’m ready to take my _bible oath_ on’t.
_Pris. Counsel._ That is a _princely_ argument, and I shall ask you nothing farther.
Mrs. _Margery Dripping_, cook to his worship squire _Ponser_, deposed to the condition of the deceased.
DEFENCE
_Prisoner’s Counsel._ Please your worships, I am counsel for the prisoner, who, in obedience to your worships’ commands, has pleaded _not guilty_; and I hope to prove that his plea is a good plea; and that he must be acquitted by the justice of his cause. In the first place, the witnesses have failed in proving the prisoner’s identity. Next, they have not proved the identity of the deceased. Thirdly, they do not prove who gave the wounds. Fourthly, nor to whom they were given. Fifthly, nor whether the party died of the wounds, if they were given, as supposed, to this identical _hare_. For, I insist upon it, that, because _a hare_ was found in the squire’s horse-pond, _non sequitur_, that he was killed, and thrown in by the defendant. Or, if they had proved that defendant had maliciously, and _animo furioso_, pursued the deceased into the horse-pond, it does not prove the _defendant_ guilty of his death, because he might owe his death to the _water_; and therefore, in that case, the _pond_ would be _guilty_; and if _guilty_, triable; and if triable, _punishable_ for the same, and _not_ my client. And I must say, (under favour,) that his _worship_ would likewise be _particeps criminis_, for not having filled it up, to prevent such accidents. One evidence, who never saw the prisoner till now, nor the deceased till after the fact supposed to have happened, declares, he is sure the prisoner killed the deceased. And why? Because he is ready to take his _bible oath_ on’t. This is, to be sure, a very _logical_ conviction.
_Court._ It is a very _legal_ one, and that’s better.
_Pris. Counsel._ I submit to your wisdoms. But I must conclude with observing, that admitting a part of the evidence to be true, viz. that the prisoner did meet the deceased on the highway, and held some conference with him; I say, that supposing this, for argument sake; I do insist, that Mr. _Hare_, the deceased, was not following a lawful, honest business, at that late hour; but was wickedly and mischievously bent upon a felonious design, of trespassing on farmer _Carter’s_ ground, and stealing, consuming, and carrying off, his corn and his turnips. I further insist that the defendant, knowing this his felonious and evil machination, and being resolved to defend the property of his good friend and patron from such depredations, did endeavour to divert him from it. Which not being able to effect by fair means, he then was obliged to try his utmost, as a good subject and trusty friend, to seize and apprehend his person, and bring him, _per habeas corpus_, before your worships, to be dealt with according to law. But the deceased being too nimble for him, escaped out of his clutches, and tumbling, accidentally, in the dark, into his worship’s horse-pond, was there _drowned_. This is, I do not doubt, a true history of the whole affair; and proves that, in the strictest construction of law, it can only be a case of _per infortunium_--unless your worships should rather incline to deem it _felo de se_.
_Noodle._ _A fall in the sea!_ No such thing: it was only a _horse-pond_, that’s clear from the evidence.
_Pris. Counsel._ Howsoever your worships may think fit to judge of it, I do humbly conceive, upon the whole matter, that the defendant is _not guilty_; and I hope your worships, in your wisdoms, will concur with me in opinion, and _acquit_ him.
The _Counsel for the Prosecution_ replied in a long speech. He contended that Mr. _Hare_, the deceased, was a peaceable, quiet, sober, and inoffensive sort of a person, beloved by _king_, _lords_, and _commons_, and never was known to entertain any idea of robbery, felony, or depredation, but was innocently taking the air, one afternoon, for the benefit of his health, when he was suddenly accosted, upon his majesty’s highway, by the prisoner, who immediately, and bloody-mindedly, without saying a syllable, made at him, with so much fury in his countenance, that the deceased was put in bodily fear; and being a lover of peace, crossed the other side of the way: the prisoner followed him close, and pressed him so hard, that he was obliged to fly over hedge and ditch with the prisoner at his heels. It was at this very juncture they were observed by the two witnesses first examined. The learned counsel further affirmed from circumstances, which he contended amounted to _presumptive_ evidence, that, after various turnings and windings, in his endeavour to escape, his foot slipped, and the prisoner seized him and inflicted divers wounds; but that the deceased finding means to get away, took to the pond, in order to swim across; when the prisoner, running round the pond incessantly, prevented his escape: so that, faint and languishing under his wounds and loss of blood, the hapless victim there breathed his last, in manner and form as the indictment sets forth. He also alleged that, as Mr. _Hare_ lived within his worship’s territory, where there are several more of the same family, he could not, therefore, be going to farmer _Carter’s_; for that would have been absurd, when he might have got corn and turnips enough on his worship’s own ground. Can there, said the learned gentleman, be a stronger, a weightier, a surer, a--a--a--?
_Court._ We understand you. It is as clear as _crystal_.
[Their worships in consultation.]
_Court._ Has the prisoner’s counsel any thing further to offer in his behalf?
_Pris. Counsel._ Call farmer Carter.
Pray, _farmer Carter_, inform the court what you know of the prisoner’s life, character, and behaviour.
_Carter._ I have known the prisoner these several years. He has lived in my house great part of the time. He was always sober--
_Court._ Never the _honester_ for that. Well, go on.
_Carter._ Sober, honest, sincere, trusty, and careful. He was one of the best and most faithful friends I ever knew. He has many a time deterred thieves from breaking into my house at night, and murdering me and my family. He never hated nor hurt any body but rogues and night-walkers. He performed a million of good offices for me, for no other recompense than his victuals and lodging; and seemed always happy and contented with what I could afford him, however scanty the provision. He has driven away many a _fox_ that came to steal my geese and turkies; and, for taking care of a flock of sheep, there is not his equal in the county. In short, whenever he dies I shall lose my best friend, my best servant, and most vigilant protector. I am positive that he is as innocent as a babe of the crime charged upon him; for he was with me that whole evening, and supped and slept at home. He was indeed my constant companion, and we were seldom or never asunder. If your worships please, I’ll be _bail_ for him from _five pounds to five hundred_.
_Court._ That cannot be: it is not a _bailable offence_. Have you any thing else to say, Mr. _Positive_?
_Carter._ Say? I think I’ve said enough, if it signified any thing.
_Bottle._ Drag him away out of hearing.
_Carter._ I will have justice! You, all of ye, deserve hanging more than your prisoner, and you all know it too.
_Court._ Away with him, constable.--_Scum of the earth! Base-born peasant!_
[_Carter_ is hauled out of the court, after a stout resistance.]
_Court._ _A sturdy beggar!_ We must find out some means of _wiring_ that fellow!
_The Counsel for the Prosecution_ prayed sentence of death upon the _culprit_ at the bar.
_Court._ How says the _statute_? Are we competent for this?
_Counsel for Pros._ The _statute_ is, I confess, silent. But silence gives consent. Besides, this is a case of the first impression, and unprovided for by law. It is your duty, therefore, as good and wise magistrates of the _Hundreds_ of _Gotham_, to supply this defect of the law, and to suppose that the law, where it says nothing, may be meant to say, whatever your worships shall be pleased to make it.
_Bottle._ It is now incumbent upon me to declare the opinion of this high and right worshipful court here assembled.
Shall the reptile of a dunghill, a paltry muckworm, a pitch-fork fellow, presume for to go for to keep a _dog_?--and not only a dog, but a dog that murders _hares_? Are these divine creatures, that are religiously consecrated to the mouths alone of squires and nobles, to become the food of garlic-eating rogues? It is a food, that nature and policy forbid to be contaminated by their profane teeth. It is by far too dainty for their _robustious_ constitutions. How are our clayey lands to be turned up and harrowed, and our harvests to be got in, if our labourers, who should strengthen themselves with _beef_ and _ale_, should come to be fed with _hare_, _partridge_, and _pheasant_? Shall we suffer our giants to be nourished with mince-meat and pap? Shall we give our horses chocolate and muffins? No, gentlemen. The brains of labourers, tradesmen, and mechanics, (if they have any,) should ever be sodden and stupified with the grosser aliments of _bacon_ and _dumpling_. What is it, but the spirit of _poaching_, that has set all the lower class, the _canaille_, a hunting after _hare’s-flesh_? You see the effects of it gentlemen; they are all run mad with _politics_, resist their rulers, despise their magistrates, and abuse _us_ in every corner of the kingdom. If you had begun hanging of _poachers_ ten years ago, d’ye think you would have had _one_ left in the whole kingdom by this time? No, I’ll answer for it; and your _hares_ would have multiplied, till they had been as plenty as _blackberries_, and not left a stalk of corn upon the ground. This, gentlemen, is the very thing we ought to struggle for; that these insolent clowns may come to find, that the only _use_ they are good for, is to furnish provision for these animals. In short, gentlemen, although it is not totally clear from the evidence, that the prisoner is _guilty_; nevertheless, _hanged_ he must and ought to be, _in terrorem_ to all other offenders.
Therefore let the _culprit_ stand up, and hearken to the judgment of the court.
_Constable._ Please your worship, he’s up.
_Bottle._ _Porter!_ Thou hast been found _guilty_ of a most daring, horrible, and atrocious crime. Thou hast, without being qualified as the law directs, and without licence or deputation from the _lord_ of the _manor_, been _guilty_ of shedding innocent blood. In so doing, thou hast broken the peace of the realm, set at naught the laws and statutes of thy country, and (what is more than all these) offended against these respectable personages, who have been sitting in judgment upon thee. For all this enormity of guilt, thy life doth justly become forfeit, to atone for such manifold injuries done to our most excellent constitution. We did intend, in _Christian_ charity, to have given some moments for thy due repentance, but, as the hour is late, and _dinner ready_, now hear thy _doom_.
Thou must be led from the bar to the end of the room, where thou art to be _hanged_ by the neck to yonder beam, _coram nobis_, till you are _dead, dead, dead_! _Hangman_, do your duty.
_Constable._ Please your worships, all is ready.
_Ponser._ Hoist away, then, hoist away.
[_Porter_ is tucked up.]
_Mat._ Come, it seems to be pretty well over with him now. The constable has given him a jerk, and done his business.
_Bottle._ He’s an excellent fellow.
_Ponser._ The best _informer_ in the whole county.
_Bottle._ And must be well encouraged.
_Ponser._ He shall never want a _licence_, whilst _I_ live.
_Noodle._ Come, shall we go to _dinner_?
_Bottle._ Ay--he’ll never course _hares_ again in this world. Gentlemen, the court is _adjourned_.
[_Exeunt omnes._
EPITAPH,
_Composed by Sam. Snivel, the parish clerk, proposed to be put, at Farmer Carter’s expense, on the unfortunate malefactor’s tombstone:_
Here lie the remains of honest PORTER; who, after an innocent and well-spent life, was dragged hither, and _tried_, for a _crime_ he never committed, upon _laws_ to which he was unamenable, before _men_ who were no judges, found _guilty_ without _evidence_, and _hanged_ without _mercy_: to give to future ages an example, that the spirit of _Turkish_ despotism, tyranny, and oppression, after glutting itself with the conquest of _liberty_ in _British men_, has stooped at length to wreak its bloody vengeance on _British dogs_! _Anno Dom. 1771._ _Requiescat in pace!_
S. S.
* * * * *
This humorous “Trial” was written in consequence of “a real event which actually took place, in 1771, near Chichester.” The persons who composed the court are designated by fictitious names; but to a copy of the pamphlet, in the possession of the editor of the _Every-day Book_, there is a manuscript-key to their identity. The affair is long past, and they are therefore added in italics.
’SQUIRES.
J. Bottle--_Butler_. A. Noodle--_Aldridge_. Mat o’ the Mill--_Challen_. O. Ponser--_Bridger_.
It appears that “the actors in the tragedy were well known by their nicknames, given in Mr. Long’s pamphlet.”
* * * * *
Edward Long, esq. was called to the bar in 1757, and sailed immediately for Jamaica, where he, at first, filled the post of private secretary to his brother-in-law, sir Henry Moore, bart., then lieutenant-governor of the island. He was afterwards appointed judge of the vice-admiralty court, and left the island in 1769. The remainder of his long life was spent in England, and devoted to literature. Mr. Long’s first production was the facetious report of the case of “Farmer Carter’s Dog Porter.” He wrote ably on negro slavery, the sugar trade, and the state of the colonies; but his most distinguished work is “The History of Jamaica,” in three quarto volumes, which contains a large mass of valuable information, much just reasoning, and many spirited delineations of colonial scenery and manners, and is almost as rare as the curious and amusing tract that has contributed to the preceding pages. He was born on the 23d of August, 1734, at Rosilian, in the parish of St. Blaize, Cornwall, and died, on the 13th of March, 1813, at the house of his son-in-law, Henry Howard Molyneux, esq. M.P. of Arundel Park, Sussex, aged 79. Further particulars of his life, writings, and family, are in Mr. Nichols’s “Literary Anecdotes,” and the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” vol. lxxiii., from whence this brief notice is extracted.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 37·27.
[55] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.
[56] Ibid.
[57] Ibid.
[58] Printed for T. Lowndes, 1771. 8vo.
[59] His worship meant _canaille_.
~February 9.~
_St. Apollonia._
She is called, by Butler, “the admirable Apollonia, whom old age and the state of virginity rendered equally venerable.” He relates, that in a persecution of the Christians, stirred up by “a certain poet of Alexandria,” she was seized, and all her _teeth_ were beaten out, with threats that she should be cast into the fire, “if she did not utter certain impious words;” whereupon, of her own accord, she leaped into the flames. From this legend, St. Apollonia is become the patron saint of persons afflicted by _tooth-ach_.
* * * * *
In the “Horæ B. Virginis” is the following prayer:--
“O Saint Apollonia, by thy passion, obtain for us the remission of all the sins, which, with teeth and mouth, we have committed through gluttony and speech; that we may be delivered from pain and gnashing of teeth here and hereafter; and loving cleanness of heart, by the grace of our lips we may have the king of angels our friend. Amen.”
* * * * *
If her teeth and jaws in Romish churches be good evidence, St. Apollonia superabounded in these faculties; the number of the former is surprising to all who disbelieve that relics of the saints multiply of themselves. A church at Bononia possesses her _lower_ jaw, “which is solemnly worshipped by the legate;” St. Alban’s church at Cologne also has her _lower_ jaw--each equally genuine and of equal virtue.
CHRONOLOGY.
1555. On the 9th of February in this year, Dr. Rowland Taylor, vicar of Hadleigh in Suffolk, one of the first towns in England that entertained the Reformation, suffered death there for resisting the establishment of papal worship in his church. The engraving beneath is a correct representation of an old stone commemorative of the event, as it appeared in 1825, when the drawing was made from it, by a gentleman who obligingly transmits it for the present purpose.
[Illustration: ~The Martyr’s Stone at Hadleigh in Suffolk.~]
Besides the rude inscription on this old stone, as it is represented in the engraving, there is another on a neat monument erected by the side of the original in 1818. The lines are as follows: they were supplied by the Rev. Dr. Hay Drummond, rector of Hadleigh.
Mark this rude Stone, where Taylor dauntless stood, Where Zeal infuriate drank the Martyr’s blood: Hadleigh! that day, how many a tearful eye Saw the lov’d Pastor dragg’d a Victim by; Still scattering gifts and blessings as he past “To the blind pair” his farewell alms were cast; His clinging flock e’en here around him pray’d “As thou hast aided us, be God thine aid;” Nor taunts, nor bribes of mitred rank, nor stake, Nor blows, nor flames, his heart of firmness shake; Serene--his folded hands, his upward eyes, Like Holy Stephen’s, seek the opening skies; There, fix’d in rapture, his prophetic sight Views Truth dawn clear, on England’s bigot night; Triumphant Saint! he bow’d, and kiss’d the rod, And soar’d on Seraph-wing to meet his God.
Rowland Taylor was “a doctor in both the civil and canon lawes, and a right perfect divine.” On induction to his benefice, he resided with his flock, “as a good shepherd abiding and dwelling among his sheep,” and “not only was his word a preaching unto them, but all his life and conversation was an example of unfained christian life, and true holinesse: he was void of all pride, humble and meeke as any child, so that none were so poore, but they might boldly, as unto their father, resort unto him; neither was his lowlinesse childish or fearfull; but, as occasion, time, and place required, he would be stout in rebuking the sinfull and evil doers, so that none was so rich, but he would tell him plainly his fault, with such earnest and grave rebukes as became a good curate and pastor.” He continued in well-doing at Hadleigh during the reign of king Edward VI. till the days of queen Mary, when one Foster, a lawyer, and one John Clerk, of Hadley, “hired one Averth, parson of Aldam, a right popish priest, to come to Hadley, and there to give the onset to begin again the popish masse: to this purpose they builded up, with all haste possible, the altar, intending to bring in their masse again about the Palme Munday.” The altar was thrown down in the night, but on the following day it was replaced, and the Aldam priest entered the church, attended by Foster and Clerk, and guarded by men with swords and bucklers. Dr. Taylor, who was in his study, and ignorant of this irruption, hearing the church bells ring, repaired thither, and found the priest, surrounded by his armed force, ready to begin mass, against whom he was unable to prevail, and was himself thrust, “with strong hand, out of the church.” Two days afterwards, he was summoned by Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, to come before him at London, and answer complaints. His friends counselled him to fly, but Taylor determined to meet his enemies, “and, to their beards, resist their false doings.” He took his departure amidst their weeping, “leaving his cure with a godly old priest named sir Richard Yeoman, who afterwards, for God’s truth, was burnt at Norwich.” On his appearance, bishop Gardiner, who was also lord chancellor, reviled him, “calling him knave, traitor, heretike, with many other villainous reproaches.” Taylor listened patiently: at last he said, “My lord, I am neither traitor nor heretike, but a true subject, and a faithfull christian man; and am come, according to your commandment, to know what is the cause that your lordship hath sent for me?” The bishop charged upon him that he was married. “Yea,” quoth Taylor, “that I thank God I am, and have had nine children, and all in lawful matrimony; and blessed be God that ordained matrimony.” Then the bishop charged him with having resisted the priest of Aldam in saying mass at Hadleigh. Taylor also admitted this, and, after stout dispute, was committed to the king’s bench, where he spent his time in praying, reading the scriptures, writing, preaching, and exhorting the prisoners to repentance and amendment of life. There he found “master Bradford,” whom he comforted by his courage. While imprisoned, he was cited to appear “in the Arches at Bow church,” and was carried thither, and “deprived of his benefice because he was married.” On the 20th of January, 1555, Taylor was again taken before Gardiner and other bishops. He gives a long account of his disputations with them on that and like occasions. They urged him, and others with him, to recant: the prisoners refused, and “then the bishops read sentence of death upon them.”
After condemnation, Dr. Taylor was “bestowed in the Clinke till it was toward night, and then he was removed to the counter by the Poultry.” On the 4th of February, Bonner, bishop of London, came to the counter to degrade him; first wishing him to return to the church of Rome, and promising him to sue for his pardon. Whereunto Taylor answered, “I woulde you and your fellowes would turne to Christ; as for me I will not turn to Antichrist.” “Well,” quoth the bishop, “I am come to degrade you, wherefore put on these vestures.” “No,” quoth doctor Taylor, “I will not.” “Wilt thou not?” said the bishop. “I shall make thee, ere I goe.” Quoth doctor Taylor, “You shall not, by the grace of God.” Then Bonner caused another to put them on his back; and when thus arrayed, Taylor, walking up and down, said, “How say you, my lord, am I not a goodly fool? How say you, my masters; if I were in Cheap, should I not have boys enough to laugh at these apish toys, and toying trumpery?” The bishop proceeded, with certain ceremonies, to his purpose, till at the last, when, according to the form, he should have struck Taylor on the breast with his crosier, the bishop’s chaplain said, “My lord, strike him not, for he will sore strike again.” Taylor favoured the chaplain’s suspicion. “The cause,” said he, “is Christ’s; and I were no good christian if I would not fight in my master’s quarrel.” It appears that “the bishop laid his curse upon him, but struck him not;” and after all was over, when he got up stairs, “he told master Bradford (for both lay in one chamber) that he had made the bishop of London afraid; for, saith he, laughingly, his chaplain gave him counsell not to strike with his crosier-staff, for that I would strike again; and by my troth, said he, rubbing his hands, I made him believe I would doe so indeed.”
Thus was Taylor still cheerful from rectitude. In the afternoon his wife, his son, and John Hull his servant, were permitted to sup with him. After supper, walking up and down, he impressively exhorted them, with grave advice, to good conduct and reliance on Providence. “Then they, with weeping tears, prayed together, and kissed one the other; and he gave to his wife a book of the church service, set out by king Edward, which in the time of his imprisonment he daily used; and unto his sonne Thomas he gave a latine booke, containing the notable sayings of the old martyrs, gathered out of _Ecclesiastica Historia_; and in the end of that booke he wrote his testament and last _vale_.” In this “vale,” dated the 5th of February, he says to his family, “I goe before, and you shall follow after, to our long home. I goe to the rest of my children. I have bequeathed you to the onely Omnipotent.” In the same paper he tells his “dear friends of Hadley, to remain in the light opened so plainely and simply, truly, throughly, and generally in all England,” for standing in which he was to die in flames.
In the morning at two o’clock, the sheriff of London with his officers brought him, without light, from the counter to Aldgate. His wife, suspecting that he would be carried away thus privately, had watched, from the time they had parted, within the porch of St. Botolph’s church, having her daughter Mary with her, and a little orphan girl named Elizabeth, whom the honest martyr had reared from three years old to her then age of thirteen: and when the sheriff and his company came nigh to where they stood, the child Elizabeth cried, “O my dear father! Mother, mother, here is my father led away.” The darkness being so great that the one could not see the other, his wife cried, “Rowland, Rowland, where art thou?” Taylor answered, “Dear wife! I am here,” and he stayed; and the sheriff’s men would have forced him, but the sheriff said, “Stay a little, my masters, I pray you, and let him speak to his wife.” Then he took his daughter Mary in his arms, and he, and his wife, and the orphan girl kneeled and prayed; and the sheriff, and many who were present, wept; and he arose and kissed his wife, and shook her by the hand, and said, “Farewell, my dear wife, be of good comfort, for I am quiet in my conscience; God shall stir up a father for my children.” He had three others, besides his daughter Mary and the young Elizabeth. He then kissed Mary, and then Elizabeth, and he bade them, also, farewell and enjoined them to stand steadfast in their faith. His weeping wife said, “God be with thee, dear Rowland, I will, with God’s grace, meet thee at Hadleigh.” Then he was led on to the Woolsack inn, at Aldgate, where he was put in a chamber, under the custody of four yeomen of the guard and the sheriff’s men. Here his wife again desired to see him, but was restrained by the sheriff, who otherwise treated her with kindness, and offered her his own house to abide in; but she preferred to go to her mother’s, whither two officers conducted her, charging her mother to keep her within till their return.
Meantime so soon as Taylor entered the chamber he prayed; and he remained at the inn until the sheriff of Essex was ready to receive him. At eleven o’clock the inn gates were shut, and then he was put on horseback within the gates. When they arrived outside, Taylor saw his son Thomas standing against the rails, in the care of his man John Hull; and he said, “Come hither, my son Thomas.” John Hull lifted the child up, and set him on the horse before his father; and Taylor put off his hat, and spoke a sentence or two to the people in behalf of matrimony, and then he lifted up his eyes and prayed for his son, and laid his hat on the child’s head, and blessed him. This done he delivered the child to John Hull, whom he took by the hand, and he said to him, “Farewell, John Hull, the faithfullest servant that ever man had.” Having so said, he rode forth with the sheriff of Essex and the yeomen of the guard to go to his martyrdom in Suffolk.
When they came near to Brentwood, one Arthur Taysie, who had been servant to Taylor, supposing him free, took him by the hand and said, “Master Doctor, I am glad to see you again at liberty;” but the sheriff drove him back. At Brentwood, a close hood was put over Taylor’s face, with holes for his eyes to look out at, and a slit for his mouth to breathe through. These hoods were used at that place to be put on the martyrs that they should not be known, and that they should not speak to any one, on the road to the burning-places.
Yet as they went, Taylor was so cheerful, and talked to the sheriff and his guards in such wise, that they were amazed at his constancy. At Chelmsford they met the sheriff of Suffolk, who was there to carry him into his county. At that time he supped with the two sheriffs. The sheriff of Essex laboured during supper to persuade him to return to queen Mary’s religion, telling him that all present would use their suit to the queen for his pardon, nor doubted they could obtain it. The sheriff reminded him, that he had been beloved for his virtues, and honoured for his learning; that, in the course of nature, he was likely to live many years; and that he might even be higher esteemed than ever; wherefore he prayed him to be advised: “This counsel I give you,” said the sheriff, “of a good heart and good will towards you;” and, thereupon he drank to him; and the yeomen of the guard said, “In like manner, upon that condition, master Doctor, we all drink to you.” When they had so done, and the cup came to Taylor, he staid awhile, as studying what he might say, and then answered thus: “Master sheriff, and my masters all, I heartily thank you for your good will. I have hearkened to your words and marked well your counsels; and to be plain with you, I do perceive that I have been deceived myself, and am likely to deceive a great many of their expectation.” At these words they were exceedingly glad. “Would ye know my meaning plainly?” he said. “Yea, good master Doctor,” answered the sheriff, “tell it us plainly.” “Then,” said Taylor, “I will tell you:” and he said, that, as his body was of considerable bulk, and as he thought, if he had died in his bed, it would have been buried in Hadleigh church-yard, so he had deceived himself; and, as there were a great many worms there abiding, which would have mealed handsomely upon him, so they, as well as himself, were deceived; “for” said he, “it must be burnt to ashes, and they will thereby lose their feeding.” The sheriff and his company were thereupon astonished at him, as being a man without fear of death, and making a jest of the flames. During their progress, many gentlemen and magistrates were admitted to see him, and entreated him, in like manner, but he remained immovable.
Thus they drew near to Hadleigh: and when they rode over Hadleigh bridge, a poor man with his five small children awaited their coming. When they saw Taylor, they all fell down on their knees and held up their hands, and cried aloud, “God help and succour thee, as thou hast many a time succoured me and my poor children.” The streets of Hadleigh were crowded on each side by men and women, of the town and country, sorely weeping, and with piteous voices loudly bewailing the loss of their pastor, praying that he might be strengthened and comforted in his extremity, and exclaiming, “What shall become of this wicked world!” Taylor said, “I have preached to you God’s word and truth, and am come to seal it with my blood.” When he came to the almshouses, he put some money, that had been bestowed on him during his imprisonment, into a glove, and this he is said to have given to the poor almsmen as they stood at their doors, to see their wonted benefactor pass. At the last of the almshouses he inquired, “Is the blind man, and blind woman, that dwelt here, alive?” He was answered, “Yes; they are there, within.” Then he threw glove and all in at the window, and so rode forth towards the field of his death.
Coming where a great multitude were assembled, he asked, “What place is this, and what meaneth it that so much people are gathered hither?” It was answered, “This is Aldham common, the place where you must suffer.” He said, “Thanked be God, I am even at home.” Then he alighted from his horse, and with both his hands rent the hood from his head. His hair was unseemly, for Bonner, when he degraded him, had caused it to be clipped in manner of a fool’s. At the sight of his ancient and reverend face, and his long white beard, the people burst into tears, and prayed for him aloud. He would have spoken to them, but whenever he attempted, one or other of the yeomen of the guard thrust a tipstaff into his mouth.
Then he desired licence to speak, of the sheriff; but the sheriff refused him, and bade him remember his promise to the council: “Well,” quoth Taylor, “promise must be kept.” What the promise was is unknown. Seating himself on the ground he called to one in the crowd, “Soyce, I pray thee come and pull off my boots, and take them for thy labour; thou hast long looked for them, now take them.” Then he arose, and putting off his underclothes, them also he bestowed. This done, he cried with a loud voice, “Good people! I have taught you nothing but God’s holy word, and those lessons that I have taken out of God’s blessed book, the Holy Bible; and I am come hither this day to seal it with my blood.” One Holmes, a yeoman of the guard, who had used him cruelly all the way, then struck him a violent blow on the head “with a waster,” and said, “Is that the keeping of thy promise, thou heretick?” Whereupon Taylor knelt on the earth and prayed, and a poor, but faithful woman, stepped from among the people to pray with him: the guards would fain have thrust her away, they threatened to tread her down with their horses, but she was undismayed, and would not remove, but remained and prayed with him. Having finished his devotions he went to the stake, and kissed it, and placed himself in a pitch-barrel which had been set for him to stand in; and he stood with his back upright against the stake, and he folded his hands together, and he lifted his eyes towards heaven, and he prayed continually. Then they bound him with chains, and the sheriff called one Richard Donningham, a butcher, and commanded him to set up the faggots, but he said, “I am lame, sir, and not able to lift a faggot.” The sheriff threatened to send him to prison, but the man refused to obey his command notwithstanding. Then the sheriff appointed to this labour one Mullcine of Carsey, “a man for his virtues fit to be a hangman.” Soyce, a very drunkard, a man named Warwick, and one Robert King, “a deviser of interludes.” These four set up the faggots, and prepared for making ready the fire, and Warwick cast a faggot at the martyr, which lit upon his head and wounded his face, so that the blood ran down. Taylor said, “O, friend! I have harm enough, what needed that?” Then, while he repeated the psalm _Miserere_, in English, sir John Shelton struck him on the mouth: “You knave,” said he, “speak Latin; or I will make thee.” At last they set the faggots on fire, and Taylor, holding up both his hands, called on God, crying, “Merciful Father of Heaven! for Jesus Christ our saviour’s sake, receive my soul into thy hands!” He stood, during his burning, without crying or moving, till Soyce struck him on the head with a halberd, and the brains falling out, the corpse fell down into the fire.[60]
* * * * *
While some may deem this narrative of Rowland Taylor’s conduct too circumstantial, others perhaps may not so deem. It is to be considered as exemplifying the manners of the period wherein the event occurred, and may at least be acceptable to many. It will assuredly be approved by a few who regard inflexible adherence to principle, at the hazard of death itself, as preferable to a conscience-consuming subserviency, which, while it truckles to what the mind judges to be false, depraves the heart, and saps the foundations of public virtue.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·05.
[60] Acts and Monuments.
~February 10.~
_Biographical Notice._
1818. On this day died in London, captain Thomas Morris, aged 74, a man of highly cultivated mind, who was born in its environs, and for whom when young a maternal uncle, of high military rank, procured an ensigncy. He beat for recruits at Bridgewater, and enlisted the affections of a Miss Chubb of that town, whom he married. He was ordered with his regiment to America, where he fought by the side of general Montgomery.
Captain Morris at one time was taken by the Indians, and condemned to the stake; at the instant the women and children were preparing to inflict its tortures, he was recognised by an old sachem, whose life he had formerly saved, and who in grateful return pleaded so powerfully in his behalf, that he was unbound and permitted to return to his friends, who had given him up for lost. He published an affecting narrative of his captivity and sufferings; yet he was so attached to the Indian mode of life, that he used to declare they were the only human beings worthy of the name of MEN. On his return from America to England, he quitted the army and gave himself to literary studies, and the conversation of a few enlightened friends. In the midst of “the feast of reason, and the flow of soul,” he often sighed for the grand imagery of nature, the dashing cataracts of Columbia, the wild murmurs of rivers rolling through mountains, woods, and deserts. Having met with some disappointments which baffled his philosophy, he sought a spot for retirement, and found it in a nursery garden, at Paddington. Here in a small cottage, he compared Pope’s translation of Homer with the original, in which he was assisted by Mr. George Dyer, a gentleman well qualified for so pleasing a task. In this pursuit he passed some years, which he declared were the happiest of his life.
With partiality for the dead languages, he was sensible to the vigour and copiousness of his own: he translated Juvenal into English, and enriched it with many notes, but it was never printed. He published a little poem, entitled “_Quashy_, or the Coal-black Maid,” a pathetic West India story. He lived in the style of a gentleman, and left a handsome sum to his children.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·92.
~February 11.~
CHRONOLOGY.
1763. William Shenstone, the poet, died at his celebrated residence the Leasowes, near Hagley, in Worcestershire. He was born at Hales Owen, Shropshire, in 1714.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·00.
~February 12.~
1826.--_First Sunday in Lent._
The communion service of the church of England for the Sundays in Lent, was extracted from the offices appointed for these Sundays by the missal of Sarum, excepting the collect for the first Sunday, which was composed by the compilers of the liturgy, and also excepting the gospel for the second Sunday.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 38·37.
~February 13.~
_Valentine’s Eve._
1826. Hilary term ends. Cambridge term begins.
VALENTINE’S EVE AT SWAFFHAM.
_For the Every-Day Book._
At Swaffham in Norfolk it is customary to send valentines on this evening. Watching for a convenient opportunity, the door is slyly opened, and the valentine, attached to an apple or an orange, is thrown in; a loud rap at the door immediately follows, and the offender, taking to his heels, is off instantly. Those in the house, generally knowing for what purpose the announcing rap was made, commence a search for the juvenile billet doux: in this manner, numbers are disposed of by each youth. By way of teasing the person who attends the door, a white oblong square, the size of a letter, is usually chalked on the step of the door, and, should an attempt be made to pick it up, great amusement is thus afforded to some of the urchins, who are generally watching.
K.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 38·10.
~February 14.~
OLD CANDLEMAS DAY.
_Valentine._
Referring to vol. i. from p. 215 to 230, for information concerning the origin of this festival of lovers, and the manner wherein it is celebrated, a communication is subjoined concerning a custom now observed in Norfolk.
VALENTINE’S DAY AT LYNN.
_For the Every-Day Book._
Independent of the homage paid to St. Valentine on this day at Lynn, (Norfolk,) it is in other respects a red-letter day amongst all classes of its inhabitants, being the commencement of its great annual mart. This mart was granted by a charter of Henry VIII., in the twenty-seventh year of his reign, “to begin on the day next after the feast of the purification of the blessed virgin Mary, and to continue six days next following,” (though now it is generally prolonged to a fortnight.) Since the alteration of the style, in 1752, it has been proclaimed on Valentine’s day. About noon, the mayor and corporation, preceded by a band of music, and attended by twelve decrepit old men, called from their dress “Red coats,” walk in procession to proclaim the mart, concluding by opening the antiquated, and almost obsolete court of “Piepowder.” Like most establishments of this nature, it is no longer attended for the purpose it was first granted, business having yielded to pleasure and amusement. Formerly Lynn mart and Stourbridge (Stirbitch) fair,[61] were the only places where small traders in this and the adjoining counties, supplied themselves with their respective goods. No transactions of this nature now take place, and the only remains to be perceived, are the “mart prices,” still issued by the grocers. Here the thrifty housewives, for twenty miles round, laid in their annual store of soap, starch, &c., and the booth of “Green” from Limehouse, was for three generations the emporium of such articles; but these no longer attend. A great deal of money is however spent, as immense numbers of persons assemble from all parts. Neither is their any lack of incitements to unburthen the pockets: animals of every description, tame and wild, giants and dwarfs, tumblers, jugglers, peep-shows, &c., all unite their attractive powers, in sounds more discordant than those which annoyed the ears of Hogarth’s “enraged musician.”
The year 1796 proved particularly unfortunate to some of the inhabitants of Marshland who visited the mart. On the evening of February 23, eleven persons, returning from the day’s visit, were drowned by the upsetting of a ferryboat; and on the preceding day a man from Tilney, going to see the wild beasts, and putting his hand to the lion’s mouth, had his arm greatly lacerated, and narrowly escaped being torn to pieces.
In the early part of the last century, an old building, which, before the reformation, had been a hall belonging to the guild of St. George, after being applied to various uses, was fitted up as a theatre, (and by a curious coincidence, where formerly had doubtless been exhibited, as was customary at the guild feasts, religious mysteries and pageants of the catholic age, again was exhibited the mysteries and pageants of the protestant age,) during the mart and a few weeks afterwards; but with no great success, as appears by an anecdote related of the celebrated George Alexander Stevens. Having in his youthful days performed here with a strolling company, who shared amongst them the receipts of the house, after several nights’ performance to nearly empty benches, while performing the part of Lorenzo, in Shakspeare’s “Merchant of Venice,” he thus facetiously parodied the speech of Lorenzo to Jessica, in the fifth act, as applicable to his distressed circumstances:
“Oh Jessica! in such a night as this we came to town, And since that night we’ve shar’d but half a crown; Let you and I then bid these folks good night, For if we longer stay, they’ll starve us quite.”
This neglect of the drama is not, however, to be attributed to the visitors or the inhabitants at the present day, a very elegant and commodious theatre having been erected in 1814, at a considerable expense, in another part of the town. But even here, a fatality attends our catholic ancestors, indicative of the instability of all sublunary affairs. The theatre has been erected on the site of the cloisters and cemetery of the grey friars’ monastery, the tall, slender tower of which is still standing near, and is the only one remaining out of ten monasteries found in Lynn at the dissolution; where, but for the lustful rapacity of that tyrannical “defender of the faith,” Henry VIII., this sacred asylum of our departed ancestors would not have been profaned, nor their mouldering particles disturbed, by a building as opposite to the one originally erected, as darkness is to light. Thus time, instead of consecrating, so entirely obliterates our veneration for the things of yesterday, that the reflecting mind cannot forbear to exclaim with the moralist of old,--“_Sic transit gloria mundi._”
K.
[Illustration: ~David Love, of Nottingham,~
Aged 74, A. D. 1824.]
“Here’s David’s likeness for his book, All those who buy may at it look, As he is in his present state, Now printed from a copper-plate.”
These lines are beneath the portrait from whence the above engraving is taken. It is a very faithful likeness of David Love, only a little too erect:--not quite enough of the stoop of the old man of 76 in it,--but it is a face and a figure which will be recognised by thousands in Nottingham and Nottinghamshire. The race of the old minstrels has been long extinct;--that of the ballad-singers is fast following it--yet David is both one and the other. He is a bard and a caroller,--a wight who has wandered over as many hills and dales as any of the minstrels and troubadours of old;--a man who has sung, when he had cause enough for crying--who has seen many ups and downs, and has seldom failed to put his trials and hardships into rhyme. He is the poet of poverty and patience--teaching experience. He has seen the
“huts where poor men lie”
all his life; yet he has never ceased to chant as he proceeded on his painful pilgrimage, like the “nightingale with a thorn in her breast.” It is true, he does not carry his harp to accompany his strains, but he carries his life, “The Life, Adventures, and Experience of David Love, written by Himself. Fifth edition:” and well doth it deserve both its title and sale. A curious, eventful story of a poor man’s it is. First he is a poor parent-deserted lad; then he has wormed himself into good service, and afterwards into a coal-pit, where he breaks his bones and almost crushes out life; then he is a traveller, a shopkeeper, a soldier fighting against the Highland rebels; he falls in love, gets into wedlock and a workhouse, is never in despair, and never out of trouble; with a heart so buoyant, that, like a cork on a boisterous flood, however he might be plunged into the depths, he is sure to rise again to the surface, and in all places and cases still pours out his rhymes--pictures of scenes around him, strange cabins and strange groups, love verses, acrostics, hymns, &c.
“I have composed many rhymes, On various subjects, and the times, And call’d the trials of prisoners’ crimes The cash to bring; When old I grew, composed hymns, And them did sing.”
So David sped, and so he speeds now in his 77th year, only that his travels have left him finally fixed at Nottingham. His wars and his loves have vanished; his circle of action has annually become more and more contracted; till, at length, the town includes the whole field of his perambulations, and even that is almost more than his tottering frame can traverse. Yet there he is! and the stranger who visits Nottingham will be almost sure to see him, as represented in the print, crossing the market-place, with a parcel of loose papers in his hand;--a rhyming account of the last Goose Fair, a flood, an execution, or _one_ of David’s own marriages,--for be it known to thee, gentle reader, that David _Love_ has been a true son of the family of the _Loves_. He has not sung his amatory lays for naught; he has captivated the hearts of no less than three damsels, and he has various and memorable experience in wives.
David, like many of our modern geniuses, is a Scotchman. He tells us that he was born near Edinburgh, but the precise place he affects not to know. The fact is, he is not very strong in his faith that, as he has tasted the sweets of a parish, he cannot be removed, and thinks it best to keep his birth-place secret: but the spot is Torriburn, on the Forth, the Scotch Highgate. David “has been to mair toons na Torriburn,” as the Scotch say, when they intimate that they are not to be gulled.
After sustaining many characters in the drama of life whilst yet very young, a schoolmaster among the rest, he fairly flung himself and his genius upon the world, and rambled from place to place in Scotland, calling around him all the young ears and love-darting eyes by his original ballads. It was a dangerous life, and David did not escape scatheless.
“At length so very bold I grew, My songs exposed to public view, And crowds of people round me drew, _I was so funny_; From side to side I nimbly flew To catch the money.”
And he caught not only money, but matrimony,--and such a wife! alas! for poor David!
“As she always will rule the roast, I’d better be tied to a post, And whipped to death, Than with her tongue to be so tossed, And bear her wrath. She called me both rogue and fool, And over me she strove to rule; I sat on the repenting stool-- There tears I shed; Sad my complaint, I said, O dool! That e’er I wed.”
The next step evidently enough was enlisting, which he did into the duke of Buccleugh’s regiment; where, he says, he distinguished himself by writing a song in compliment of the regiment and its noble commander, concluding with,
“Now, at the last, what do you think Of the author, David Love?”
And whenever the duke and the officers saw him, they were sure to point, and say, “What do you think of the author, David Love?” These seem to have been David’s golden days. Not only--
“One hand the pen, and one the sword did wield,”
but he was also an actor of plays for the amusement of the officers. However, his discharge came, and adventures crowded thickly upon him. He traversed England in all directions, married a second and a third time, figured away in London and Edinburgh, and finally in Nottingham, with ballads and rhymes of his own composing; saw the inside of a prison, was all but hanged for his suspicious and nomadic poverty, and after all, by his own showing, is now to be classed with the most favoured of mortals:--
“I am now 76 years of age, and I both see and hear as well as I did thirty years ago. My wife is aged about fifty, and has been the space of a year in tolerable health. She works hard at her silk-wheel, to assist me; is an excellent housewife; gossips none: cleanly in cooking, famous at washing, good at sewing, marking, and mending her own and children’s clothes. For making markets none can equal her. Consults me in every thing, to find if I think it right, before she proceeds to buy provisions, or clothes; strives to please me in every thing; and always studies my welfare, rejoicing when I am in health, grieved when I am pained or uneasy. She is my tender nurse to nourish me, my skilful doctress to administer relief when I am in sickness or in pain; in short, a better wife a poor man never had.”
Truly, David, I think so too! A happy man art thou to be possessed of such an incomparable helpmate; and still happier that, unlike many a prouder bard, thou art sensible of thy blessings.
To show that although our minstrel often invokes the muse to paltry subjects for paltry gains, yet he can sometimes soar into a higher region, I give the following:--
THE CHILD’S DREAM.
_The substance thereof being founded on fact_
I’ll tell you who I saw last night, As I lay sleeping on my bed; A shining creature all in light, To me she seemed a heavenly maid.
I meet her tripping o’er the dew, Fine as a queen of May, mamma; She saw, she smiled, she to me flew, And bade me come away, mamma.
I looked, I loved, I blushed awhile, Oh! how could I say no, mamma? She spoke so sweet, so sweet did smile, I was obliged to go, mamma.
For love my tender heart beguiled, I felt unusual flames, mamma; My inward fancy turned so wild, So very strange my dream, mamma.
Indeed I was, I know not how, Oh had you only been with me; Such wonders opened to my view, As few but holy angels see.
Methought we wandered in a grove, All green with pleasant fields, mamma; In joyful measures on we move, As music rapture yields, mamma.
She took me in her snow-white hand, Then led me through the air, mamma. Far higher above sea and land, Than ever eagles were, mamma.
The sea and land, with all their store, Of rivers, woods, and lofty hills, Indeed they did appear no more Than little streams or purling rills.
I sought my dear papa’s estate, But found it not at all, mamma; The world in whole seemed not so great As half a cannon-ball, mamma.
We saw the sun but like a star, The moon was like a mustard seed; Like Elias in his fiery car, All glorious winged with light’ning speed.
Swift as our thoughts, oh joyful day. We glanced through all the boundless spheres; Their music sounding all the way, Heaven sweetly rushing in our ears,
Now opens, and all we saw before Were lost entirely to our view; The former things are now no more, To us all things appeared new.
No death is there, nor sorrow there, E’er to disturb the heavenly bliss, For death, sin, hell, and sorrow are, Entirely lost in the abyss.
With wintry storms the ground ne’er pines Clothed in eternal bloom, mamma; For there the sun of glory shines, And all the just with him, mamma.
I saw my sister Anna there, A virgin in her youthful prime; More than on earth her features fair, And like the holy angels’ fine.
_Her robe was all a flowing stream Of silver dipt in light_, mamma, But ah! it ’woke me from my dream, It shone so strong and bright, mamma.
With this specimen of David’s poetical faculties, I leave him to the kind consideration of the well disposed.
_January, 1826._
M. T.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 37·42.
[61] In 1510, a suit at law took place between Lynn and Cambridge respecting the toll of Stirbitch fair; the precise ground of the dispute and the termination are not stated.
~February 15.~
1826. _Ember Week._
Ember weeks are those in which the Ember days fall. A variety of explanations have been given of the word _Ember_, but Nelson prefers Dr. Marechal’s, “who derives it from the Saxon word importing, _a circuit_ or _course_; so that these fasts being not occasional, but returning every year in certain courses, may properly be said to be Ember days, because fasts in course.” The Ember days are the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday after the first Sunday in Lent, and after the 13th of December. It is enjoined by the xxxi. canon of the church, “that deacons and ministers be ordained, or made, but only on the Sundays immediately following these Ember feasts.”[62]
* * * * *
1731. Their majesties king George II. and the queen, being desirous of seeing “the noble art of printing,” a printing press and cases were put up at St. James’s palace on the 15th of February, and the duke (of York) wrought at one of the cases, to compose for the press a little book of his own writing, called “The Laws of Dodge-Hare.” The two youngest princes, likewise, composed their names, &c., under the direction of Mr. S. Palmer, a printer, and author of the “History of Printing,” which preceded Mr. Ames’s more able work.[63]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·22.
[62] Audley’s Companion to the Almanac.
[63] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~February 16.~
CHRONOLOGY.
A question was carried in the house of commons for building a bridge over the Thames, from Palace-yard to the Surrey side. During the debate, that river overflowed its banks by reason of a strong spring tide; the water was higher than ever known before, and rose above two feet in Westminster-hall, where the courts being sitting, the judges, &c. were obliged to be carried out. The water came into all the cellars and ground rooms near the river on both sides, and flowed through the streets of Wapping and Southwark, as its proper channel; a general inundation covered all the marshes and lowlands in Kent, Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, and Lincolnshire, and some thousands of cattle were destroyed, with several of their owners in endeavouring to save them. The tide being brought in by a strong wind at N. W. was the highest in Lincolnshire of any for 135 years past. Seventeen breaches were made, about sunrise, in the banks of the river between Spalding and Wisbech, with several between Wisbech and Lynn, and irreparable damage done; some graziers having lost all their cattle. At Clay, in Norfolk, waters came over the great beach, almost demolished the town, and left nine feet of water in the marshes. At Gold Ongar, Essex, Mr. Cooper, and four of his servants, were drowned in endeavouring to save some sheep, the sea wall giving way of a sudden. The little isles of Candy and Foulness, on the coast of Essex, were quite under water; not a hoof was saved thereon, and the inhabitants were taken from the upper part of their houses into boats. The particular damages may be better conceived than related.[64]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 38·90.
[64] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~February 17.~
_Sittings after Term._
On the day after the expiration of every term, the courts of law continue to sit at Westminster, and try causes; and some judges come into London at the same time, for the same purpose. These sittings are called the “sittings after term,” and during these periods, suits, arising out of clashing claims of important interests, are usually decided by the verdicts of special juries, and other litigations are disposed of.
* * * * *
The origin and progress of every possible action, in a court of law, are succinctly portrayed by “the Tree of Common Law”--an engraving in vol. i. p. 234. It stands there for “ornament and use;”--there are plenty of books to explain technical terms, and show the practice of the courts; any uninformed person, therefore, may easily obtain further information as to the modes; and any respectable attorney will advise an inquirer, who states all the particulars of his case, concerning the costs of attempting to sue or defend, and the chances of success. After proceeding so far, it will be requisite to pause, and then, as paramount to the legal advice, common sense should weigh consequences well, before giving “instructions to sue,” or “defend,” in
---------- that wide and pathless maze Where law and custom, truth and fiction, Craft, justice, strife, and contradiction, With every blessing of confusion, Quirk, error, quibble, and delusion, Are all, if rightly understood, Like jarring ministers of state, ’Mid anger, jealousy, and hate, In friendly coalition joined, To harmonize and bless mankind.
To some “whimsical miscellanies,” subjoined at the place aforesaid, can be added or annexed, more or many others, of the same or the like kind. The realities of law may be relieved by the pleasures of imagination, and the heaviness of the “present sittings” be enlivened by a _reported_ case, in the words of the reporter, (_Stevens’s Lect._) premising, however, that he first publicly stated, with his head in his wig, and with a nosegay in his hand,
“Law is--law,--law is law, and as, in such and so forth, and hereby, and aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, notwithstanding. Law is like a country dance, people are led up and down in it till they are tired. Law is like a book of surgery, there are a great many terrible cases in it. It is also like physic, they that take least of it are best off. Law is like a homely gentlewoman, very well to follow. Law is also like a scolding wife, very bad when it follows us. Law is like a new fashion, people are bewitched to get into it; it is also like bad weather, most people are glad when they get out of it.” The same learned authority observes, that the case before referred to, and hereafter immediately stated, came before him, that is to say,
_Bullum_ v. _Boatum._ _Boatum_ v. _Bullum._
There were two farmers, farmer A and farmer B. Farmer A was seized or possessed of a bull; farmer B was seized or possessed of a ferry-boat. Now the owner of the ferry-boat, having made his boat fast to a post on shore, with a piece of hay, twisted rope fashion, or as we say, _vulgo vocato_, a hay-band. After he had made his boat fast to a post on shore, as it was very natural for a hungry man to do, he went _up town_ to dinner; farmer A’s bull, as it was very natural for a hungry bull to do, came _down town_ to look for a dinner; and the bull observing, discovering, seeing, and spying out, some turnips in the bottom of the ferry-boat the bull scrambled into the ferry-boat--he eat up the turnips, and to make an end of his meal, he fell to work upon the hay-band. The boat being eaten from its moorings, floated down the river, with the bull in it: it struck against a rock--beat a hole in the bottom of the boat, and tossed the bull overboard. Thereupon the owner of the bull brought his action against the boat, for running away with the bull, and the owner of the boat brought his action against the bull for running away with the boat.
At trial of these causes, Bullum _v._ Boatum, Boatum _v._ Bullum, the counsel for the bull began with saying,
“_My lord_, and you, _gentlemen of the jury_,
“We are counsel in this cause for the bull. We are indicted for running away with the boat. Now, my lord, we have heard of running horses, but never of running bulls before. Now, my lord, the bull could no more run away with the boat than a man in a coach may be said to run away with the horses; therefore, my lord, how can we punish what is not punishable? How can we eat what is not eatable? Or how can we drink what is not drinkable? Or, as the law says, how can we think on what is not thinkable? Therefore, my lord, as we are counsel in this cause for the bull, if the jury should bring the bull in guilty, the jury would be guilty of a bull.”
The counsel for the boat affirmed, that the bull should be nonsuited, because the declaration did not specify of what colour he was; for thus wisely, and thus learnedly spoke the counsel: “My lord, if the bull was of no colour, he must be of some colour; and if he was not of any colour, of what colour could the bull be?” I overruled this objection myself (says the reporter) by observing the bull was a white bull, and that white is no colour: besides, as I told my brethren, they should not trouble their heads to talk of colour in the law, for the law can colour any thing. The causes went to reference, and by the award, both bull and boat were acquitted, it being proved that the tide of the river carried them both away. According to the legal maxim, there cannot be a wrong without a remedy; I therefore advised a fresh case to be laid before me, and was of opinion, that as the tide of the river carried both bull and boat away, both bull and boat had a right of action against the water-bailiff.
Upon this opinion an action was commenced, and this point of law arose, how, whether, when, and whereby, or by whom, the facts could be proved on oath, as the boat was not _compos mentis_. The evidence point was settled by Boatum’s attorney, who declared that for his client he would swear any thing.
At the trial, the water-bailiff’s charter was read, from the original record in true law Latin, to support an averment in the declaration that the plaintiffs were carried away either by the tide of flood, or the tide of ebb. The water-bailiffs charter stated of him and of the river, whereof or wherein he thereby claimed jurisdiction, as follows:--_Aquæ bailiffi est magistratus in choisi, sapor omnibus, fishibus, qui habuerunt finnos et scalos, claws, shells, et talos, qui swimmare in freshibus, vel saltibus, riveris, lakos, pondis, canalibus et well boats, sive oysteri, prawni, whitini, shrimpi, turbutus solus_; that is, _not turbots alone, but turbots and soals_ both together. Hereupon arose a nicety of law; for the law is as nice as a new-laid egg, and not to be understood by addle-headed people. Bullum and Boatum mentioned both ebb and flood, to avoid quibbling; but it being proved, that they were carried away neither by the tide of flood, nor by the tide of ebb, but exactly upon the top of high water, they were nonsuited; and thereupon, upon their paying all costs, they were allowed, by the court, to begin again, _de novo_.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 37·82.
~February 18.~
_Revivification of Trees._
Mr. Arthur Aikin, in his “Natural History of the Year,” narrates the first vital function in trees on the conclusion of winter. This is the _ascent of the sap_ after the frost is moderated, and the earth sufficiently thawed. The absorbent vessels composing the _inner bark_ reach to the extremity of the fibres of the roots, and thus, through the roots, imbibe water, which, mixing there with a quantity of saccharine matter, forms _sap_, and is from thence abundantly distributed through the trunk and branches to every individual bud. The birch tree in spring, on being tapped, yields its sap, which is fermented into wine. The palm tree in the tropics of the same season yields its sap by the same method, which is made into palm wine, and the sap of the sugar maple in North America being boiled, yields the maple sugar.
“This great accession of nourishment (the _sap_) causes the bud to swell, to break through its covering, and to spread into blossoms, or lengthen into a shoot bearing leaves. This is the _first_ process, and, properly speaking, is all that belongs to the _springing_ or _elongation_ of trees; and in many plants, that is, all those which are annual or deciduous, there is no other process; the plant absorbs juices from the earth, and in proportion to the quantity of these juices increases in size: it expands its blossoms, perfects its fruit, and when the ground is incapable by drought or frost of yielding any more moisture, or when the vessels of the plant are not able to draw it up, the plant perishes. But in _trees_, though the beginning and end of the first process is exactly similar to what takes places in vegetables, yet there is a second process, which at the same time that it adds to their bulk, enables them to endure and go on increasing through a long series of years.
“The _second_ process begins soon after the first, in this way. At the base of the footstalk of each leaf a small bud is gradually formed; but the absorbent vessels of the leaf having exhausted themselves in the formation of the bud, are unable to bring it nearer to maturity: in this state it exactly resembles a seed, containing within it the rudiments of vegetation, but destitute of absorbent vessels to nourish and evolve the embryo. Being surrounded, however, by sap, like a seed in moist earth, it is in a proper situation for growing; the influence of the sun sets in motion the juices of the bud and of the seed, and the first operation in both of them is to send down roots a certain depth into the ground for the purpose of obtaining the necessary moisture. The bud accordingly shoots down its roots upon the inner bark of the tree, till they reach the part covered by the earth. Winter now arriving, the cold and defect of moisture, owing to the clogged condition of the absorbent vessels, cause the fruit and leaves to fall, so that, except the provision of buds with roots, the remainder of the tree, like an annual plant, is entirely dead: the leaves, the flowers, and fruit are gone, and what was the inner bark, is no longer organized, while the roots of the buds form a new inner bark; and thus the buds with their roots contain all that remains alive of the whole tree. It is owing to this annual renovation of the _inner bark_, that the tree increases in bulk; and a new coating being added every year, we are hence furnished with an easy and exact method of ascertaining the age of a tree by counting the number of concentric circles of which the trunk is composed. A tree, therefore, properly speaking, is rather a congeries of a multitude of annual plants, than a perennial individual.
“The sap in trees always rises as soon as the frost is abated, that when the stimulus of the warm weather in the early spring acts upon the bud, there should be at hand a supply of food for its nourishment; and if by any means the sap is prevented from ascending at the proper time, the tree infallibly perishes. Of this a remarkable instance occurred in London, during the spring succeeding the hard winter of the year 1794. The snow and ice collecting in the streets so as to become very inconvenient, they were cleared, and many cartloads were placed in the vacant quarters of _Moorfields_; several of these heaps of snow and frozen rubbish were piled round some of the elm-trees that grow there. At the return of spring, those of the trees that were not surrounded with the snow expanded their leaves as usual, while the others, being still girt with a large frozen mass, continued quite bare; for the fact was, the absorbents in the lower part of the stem, and the earth in which the trees stood, were still exposed to a freezing cold. In some weeks, however, the snow was thawed, but the greater number of the trees were dead, and those few that did produce any leaves were very sickly, and continued in a languishing state all summer, and then died.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 37·92.
~February 19.~
1826.--_Second Sunday in Lent._
_The First Bird’s Nest in Spring._
Of all our native birds, none begins to build so soon as the raven: by the latter end of this month it has generally laid its eggs and begun to sit. The following anecdote, illustrative of its attachment to its nest, is related by Mr. White in his “Natural History of Selborne.” “In the centre of this grove there stood an oak, which, though shapely and tall on the whole, bulged out into a large excrescence about the middle of the stem. On this a pair of ravens had fixed their residence for such a series of years, that the oak was distinguished by the name of the _raven-tree_. Many were the attempts of the neighbouring youths to get at this eyry; the difficulty whetted their inclinations, and each was ambitious of surmounting the arduous task. But when they arrived at the swelling, it jutted out so much in their way, and was so far beyond their grasp, that the most daring lads were awed, and acknowledged the undertaking to be too hazardous. So the ravens built on, nest upon nest, in perfect security, till the fatal day arrived in which the wood was to be levelled. It was in the month of _February_, when those birds usually sit. The saw was applied to the butt, the wedges were inserted into the opening, the woods echoed to the heavy blows of the beetle and mallet, the tree nodded to its fall, but still the dam sat on. At last, when it gave way, the bird was flung from her nest; and though her parental affection deserved a better fate, was whipped down by the twigs, which brought her dead to the ground.”[65]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 38·37.
[65] Aikin’s Nat. Hist. of the Year.
~February 20.~
_The ways of the Season._
The roads now are usually _heavy_, that is, the thaws have so entirely liberated the water in the earth, that the subsoil, which had been expanded by the action of the frost, becomes loosened, and, yielding mud to the surface, increases the draught of carriages. Now, therefore, the commissioners and agents who execute their duty have full employment, and the highways afford employment to a large number of persons who are destitute of their customary labour, or unfit for other work.
[Illustration: ~Travelling in Ireland.~]
And is it you’d be riding, by Blackwater to Fermoy? You’ll be accommodated, to your heart’s content and joy, There’s not a beast, nor car, but what’s beautiful and easy; And then the pleasant road--bad’s the luck but it’ll please ye!
_MS. Ballad._
Mr. Crofton Croker’s “Researches in the South of Ireland,” besides accounts of scenery and architectural remains, and illustrations of popular manners and superstition, conveys a very good idea of the roads and the methods of travelling in that part of the sister kingdom. The usual conveyance is called a car; its wheels are either a solid block rounded to the desired size, or they are formed of three pieces of wood clamped together. The wheels are fixed to a massive wooden axletree; this supports the shafts, which are as commonly constructed on the outside as on the inside of the wheels. In one of these machines Mr. Croker, with a lady and gentleman who accompanied him on his tour, took their seats. The car and horse were precisely of that description and condition in the engraving. Mr. W. H. Brooke painted a picture of this gentleman’s party, from whence he has obligingly made the drawing for the present purpose; the only alteration is in the travellers, for whom he has substituted a family on their removal from one cabin to another.
This, which is the common Irish car, is used throughout the province of Leinster, the midland counties, and some parts of the north. The country, or farmer’s car always has the wheels on the outside of the shafts, with a balustrade or upright railing fixed from the shaft to the side bars, which rise diagonally from them; this sort of enclosure is also at the back. This car is open at top for the convenience of carrying hay, corn, vegetables, tubs, packages, and turf, which is generally placed in wicker baskets, called a “kish;” two or four of these placed side by side occupy the entire body. The car, with the wheels between the shafts, is used for like purposes, but has the additional honour of being rendered a family conveyance, by cart ropes intertwisted or crossing each other from the top bars, whereon a ticking, stuffed with straw, and a quilt or coverlid, form a cushion for the comfort of the travellers. The car is the common, and indeed the only, mode of carrying coals in the city of Dublin to the houses of the consumers: from six to nine sacks, making about half a ton, lie very snugly across the bars. Of course, as a family conveyance, it is only in use among the poorest class in the country.
The common car somewhat varies in shape, as will appear from the following figure, also drawn by Mr. Brooke.
[Illustration]
It must be added, that though these cars maintain their ground in uncultivated districts, they are quickly disappearing, in the improved parts of Ireland, before the Scotch carts introduced by the agricultural societies.
The Irish “jaunting-car,” the “jingle,” the “noddy,” and a variety of other carriages, which ply for hire in Dublin, are wholly distinct and superior vehicles.
* * * * *
The following interesting narrative, in the words of its author, illustrates the nature of the car, the state of the roads, and the “manners” of the people.
A JAUNT IN A COUNTRY CAR
_From Lismore to Fermoy_
BY T. CROFTON CROKER, ESQ.
Having hired a car at Lismore to take us to Fermoy, and wishing to walk part of the way along the banks of the Blackwater, we desired the driver to meet us at a given point. On arriving there, the man pretended not to have understood we were three in party, and demanded, in consequence, an exorbitant addition to the sum agreed on. Although we were without any other means of conveyance for eight Irish miles, it was resolved not to submit to this imposition, and we accordingly withdrew our luggage and dismissed the car, intending to seek another amongst a few cabins that appeared at a little distance from the road side. A high dispute ensued with the driver, who, of course, was incensed at this proceeding, and endeavoured to enlist in his cause the few straggling peasants that had collected around us; but having taken refuge and placed our trunks in the nearest cabin, ourselves and property became sacred, and the disposition to hostility, which had been at first partially expressed, gradually died away. When we began to make inquiries for a horse and car of any kind to take us into Fermoy, our endeavours were for some time fruitless. One person had a car, but no horse. Another had a car _building_, which, if Dermot Leary were as good as his word, would be finished next week some time, “God willing.” At length we gained intelligence of a horse that was “only two miles off, drawing turf: sure he could be fetched in less than no time.” But then again, “that big car of Thaddy Connor’s was too great a load for him entirely. Sure the _baste_ would never draw the _car_ into Fermoy, let alone their honours and the trunks.” After some further consultation, a car was discovered more adapted to the capabilities of the miserable animal thus called upon to “leave work and carry wood,” and though of the commonest kind we were glad to secure it. By means of our trunks and some straw we formed a kind of lodgment on the car, which, being without springs and on the worst possible of roads, was not exactly a bed of down. The severe contusions we received on precipitating into the numerous cavities, though no joke, caused some laughter; on which the driver turned round with a most facetious expression of countenance, suggesting that “May be the motion did not just agree with the lady, but never fear, she would soon get used to it, and be asleep before we got half way to Fermoy.” This prediction, it will readily be supposed, was not fulfilled; and I believe it was three days before we recovered from the bruises of that journey. It is difficulty to say whether our situation will excite mirth or sympathy in the minds of our readers, but a sketch may do no injury to the description. [In Mr. Croker’s volume an engraving on wood is inserted.]
Many Irish villages boast a post-chaise, the horses for which are not unfrequently taken from the plough, and the chaise itself submitted to a temporary repair before starting, to render it, if the parody of a nautical phrase may be allowed, “road-worthy;” but the defects are never thought of one moment before the chaise is required; and the miseries of posting in Ireland have, with justice, afforded subject for the caricaturist. Tired horses or a break-down are treated by a driver, whose appearance is the very reverse of the smart jockey-like costume of an English postilion, with the utmost resignation, as matters of unavoidable necessity. With a slouched hat--slovenly shoes and stockings--and a long, loose great coat wrapped round him, he sits upon a bar in front of the carriage and urges on his horses by repeated applications of the whip, accompanied with the most singular speeches, and varied by an involuntary burst of his musical talent, whistling a tune adapted to the melancholy pace of the fatigued animals, as he walks slowly beside them up the ascent of every hill.
“Did you give the horses a feed of oats at the village where we stopped to sketch?” inquired one of my fellow-travellers of the driver, who for the last three or four miles had with much exertion urged on the jaded hacks.
“I did not, your honour,” was the reply, “but sure, and they know I promised them a good one at Limerick.”
Nor is this instance of pretended understanding between man and horse singular. Riding once in company with a poor farmer from Cork to Mallow, I advised him to quicken the pace of his steed as the evening was closing in, and the lurid appearance of the sky foreboded a storm.
“Sure then that I would with the greatest pleasure in life for the honour I have out of your company, sir; but I promised the _baste_ to let him walk, and I never belie myself to any one, much less to a poor creature that carries me--for, says the _baste_ to me, I’m tired, as good right I have, and I’ll not go a step faster--and you won’t make me--I scorn it says I, so take your own way.”
A verbatim dialogue on an Irish break-down happily characterises that accident: the scene, a bleak mountain, and the time, the return of the driver with another chaise from the nearest station which afforded one--seven miles distant.
“Is the carriage you have brought us safe?”
(One of the travellers attempts to get in.)
“Oh never fear, sir; wait till I just bail out the water and put a little sop of hay in the bottom--and sure now and ’tis a queer thing that the _ould_ black chaise should play such a trick, and it has gone this road eleven years and never broke down _afore_. But no wonder poor _cratur_, the turnpike people get money enough for mending the roads, and bad luck to the bit of it they mend, but put it all in their pockets.”
“What, the road?”
“_Noe_, your honour, the money.”
To such as can bear with composure and indifference lesser and temporary misfortunes, those attendant on an Irish tour become objects of merriment; the very essence of the innate ingenuity and wit of the people is called out by such evils; and the customary benediction muttered by the peasant on the meeting a traveller, is changed into the whimsical remark or shrewd reply that mock anticipation.
Of late, jingles, as they are termed, have been established between the principal towns. These are carriages on easy springs, calculated to contain six or eight persons. The roof is supported by a slight iron frame capable of being unfixed in fine weather, and the curtains, which may be opened and closed at will, afford complete protection from sun and rain; their rate of travelling is nearly the same as that of the stage-coach, and they are both a cheaper and more agreeable conveyance.
On our way from Cork to Youghall in one of these machines, we were followed by a poor wretch ejaculating the most dreadful oaths and imprecations in Irish. His head was of an uncommonly large and stupid shape, and his idiotic countenance was rendered fierce and wild by a long and bushy red beard. On our driver giving him a piece of bread, for which he had run beside the jingle at least half a mile, he uttered three or four terrific screams, accompanied by some antic and spiteful gestures. I should not remark this circumstance here were it one of less frequent occurrence; but on most of the public roads in the south of Ireland, fools and idiots (melancholy spectacles of humanity!) are permitted to wander at large, and in consequence of this freedom have acquired vicious habits, to the annoyance of every passenger: throwing stones, which they do with great dexterity, is amongst the most dangerous of their practices, and a case is known to me where the wife of a respectable farmer, having been struck on the temple by a stone thrown at her by an idiot, died a few days after. Within my recollection, Cove-lane, one of the most frequented parts of Cork, as leading to the Cove-passage, Carrigaline and Monkstown roads, was the station of one of these idiots, who seldom allowed an unprotected woman to pass without following her, and inflicting the most severe pinches on her back and arms; yet this unfortunate and mischievous being for many years was suffered by the civil power to remain the terror of every female, and that too within view of a public asylum for the reception of such. But to return from this digression.
The charges at inferior towns and villages are extravagant in an inverse proportion to the indifference of their accommodation, and generally exceed those of the first hotels in the metropolis. Our bill at Kilmallock was any thing but moderate, and yet the house, though the best the town afforded, appeared to be one where carmen were oftener lodged than gentry. The landlady stood at the door, and with a low curtsey and a good-humoured smile welcomed us to “the ancient city of Kilmallock;” in the same breath informed us, that she was a gentlewoman born and bred, and that she had a son, “as fine an officer as ever you could set eyes on in a day’s walk, who was a _patriarch_ (a patriot) in South America;” then leading us up a dark and narrow staircase to the apartment we were to occupy, wished to know our names and business, whence we came and where we were going; but left the room on our inquiring, in the first place, what we could have to eat. After waiting a reasonable time our demands were attended to by a barefooted female, who to our anxiety respecting what we could have for supper, replied with perfect confidence, “Just any thing you like, sure!”
“Have you any thing in the house?”
“Indeed and we have not; but it’s likely I might be able to get an egg for ye.”
An examination of the bedrooms will not prove more satisfactory; a glass or soap are luxuries seldom found. Sometimes one coarse and very small towel is provided; at Kilmallock, the measurement of mine was half a yard in length and a quarter in breadth; its complexion, too, evinced that it had assisted in the partial ablutions of many unfastidious persons. Mr. Arthur Young’s constant ejaculation, when he lighted on such quarters in Ireland, usually occurred to my mind, “Preserve me, Fate, from such another!” and I have no doubt he would agree with me, that two very essential requisites in an Irish tour are a stock of linen, and a tolerable partiality for bacon. But travellers, any more than beggars, cannot always be choosers, and those who will not submit with patience to the accidents and inconveniences of a journey, must sit at home and read the road that others travel.
“Who alwaies walkes, on carpet soft and gay, Knowes not hard hills, nor likes the mountaine way.”[66]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·17.
[66] Mr. Croker’s Researches in the South of Ireland, 1824, 4to. This gentleman’s excursions were made between the years 1812 and 1822.
~February 21.~
_Seasonable Rules._
On p. 187 there is a “Letter,” delivered to a favourite servant at
## parting, which deserves to be printed in letters of gold, or, what is
better, because it is easier and more useful, it should be imprinted on the memory of every person who reads it. There are sentiments in it as useful to masters and mistresses as their domestics. The following “Rules” may likewise be perused with advantage by both; they are deemed “seasonable,” because, as good-livers say, good things are never out of season.
_Rules for Servants._
I. A good character is valuable to every one, but especially to servants; for it is their bread, and without it they cannot be admitted into any creditable family; and happy it is that the best of characters is in every one’s power to deserve.
II. Engage yourself cautiously, but stay long in your place, for long service shows worth--as quitting a good place through passion, is a folly which is always lamented of too late.
III. Never undertake any place you are not qualified for; for pretending to what you do not understand, exposes yourself, and, what is still worse, deceives them whom you serve.
IV. Preserve your fidelity; for a faithful servant is a jewel, for whom no encouragement can be too great.
V. Adhere to truth; for falsehood is detestable, and he that tells one lie, must tell twenty more to conceal it.
VI. Be strictly honest; for it is shameful to be thought unworthy of trust.
VII. Be modest in your behaviour; it becomes your station, and is pleasing to your superiors.
VIII. Avoid pert answers; for civil language is cheap, and impertinence provoking.
IX. Be clean in your business; for those who are slovens and sluts, are disrespectful servants.
X. Never tell the affairs of the family you belong to; for that is a sort of treachery, and often makes mischief; but keep their secrets, and have none of your own.
XI. Live friendly with your fellow-servants; for the contrary destroys the peace of the house.
XII. Above all things avoid drunkenness; for that is an inlet to vice, the ruin of your character, and the destruction of your constitution.
XIII. Prefer a peaceable life, with moderate gains, to great advantage and irregularity.
XIV. Save your money; for that will be a friend to you in old age. Be not expensive in dress, nor marry too soon.
XV. Be careful of your master’s property; for wastefulness is a sin.
XVI. Never swear; for that is a crime without excuse, as there is no pleasure in it.
XVII. Be always ready to assist a fellow-servant; for good nature gains the love of every one.
XVIII. Never stay when sent on a message; for waiting long is painful to your master, and a quick return shows diligence.
XIX. Rise early; for it is difficult to recover lost time.
XX. The servant that often changes his place, works only to be poor; for “the rolling-stone gathers no moss.”
XXI. Be not fond of increasing your acquaintances; for visiting leads you out of your business, robs your master of your time, and often puts you to an expense you cannot afford. And above all things, take care with whom you are acquainted; for persons are generally the better or the worse for the company they keep.
XXII. When out of place, be careful where you lodge; for living in a disreputable house, puts you upon a footing with those that keep it, however innocent you are yourself.
XXIII. Never go out on your own business, without the knowledge of the family, lest in your absence you should be wanted; for “Leave is light,” and returning punctually at the time you promise, shows obedience, and is a proof of sobriety.
XXIV. If you are dissatisfied with your place, mention your objections modestly to your master or mistress, and give a fair warning, and do not neglect your business nor behave ill, in order to provoke them to turn you away; for this will be a blemish in your character, which you must always have from the last place you served in.
⁂ _All who pay a due regard to the above precepts, will be happy in themselves, will never want friends, and will always meet with the assistance, protection, and encouragement of the wealthy, the worthy, and the wise._
* * * * *
The preceding sentences are contained in a paper which a young person committed to heart on first getting a place, and, having steadily observed, obtained a character for integrity and worth incapable of being shaken. By constantly keeping in view that “Honesty is the best policy,” it led to prosperity, and the faithful servant became an opulent employer of servants.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 41·70.
~February 22.~
GENERAL ELECTION.
1826. This year may be deemed remarkable in the history of modern times, for its being the period wherein, for the first time within the memory of man, a parliament expired by efflux of time. Most of the preceding parliaments were dissolved, but this attained to its full duration of seven years.
THE FREEMAN’S WELL AT ALNWICK.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
_Kensington, Feb. 1826_.
I hope the following description of an extraordinary custom which has obtained at Alnwick, in Northumberland, may be considered worthy preservation in _The Every-Day Book_.
About four miles from the above town there is a pond, known by the name of the Freeman’s well; through which it has been customary for the freemen to pass from time immemorial before they can obtain their freedom. This is considered so indispensable, that no exemption is permitted, and without passing this ordeal the freedom would not be conferred. The pond is prepared by proper officers in such a manner, as to give the greatest possible annoyance to the persons who are to pass through it. Great dikes, or mounds, are erected in different parts, so that the candidate for his freedom is at one moment seen at the top of one of them only up to his knees, and the next instant is precipitated into a gulf below, in which he frequently plunges completely over head. The water is purposely rendered so muddy, that it is impossible to see where these dikes are situated, or by any precaution to avoid them. Those aspiring to the honour of the freedom of Alnwick, are dressed in white stockings, white pantaloons, and white caps. After they have “reached the point proposed,” they are suffered to put on their usual clothes, and obliged to join in a procession, and ride for several miles round the boundaries of the freemen’s property--a measure which is not a mere formality for parade, but absolutely indispensable; since, if they omit visiting any part of their property, it is claimed by his grace the duke of Northumberland, whose steward follows the procession, to note if any such omission occurs. The origin of the practice of travelling through the pond is not known. A tradition is current, that king John was once nearly drowned upon the spot where this pond is situated, and saved his life by clinging to a holly tree; and that he determined, in consequence, thenceforth, that before any candidate could obtain the freedom of Alnwick, he should not only wade through this pond, but plant a holly tree at the door of his house on the same day; and this custom is still scrupulously observed. In the month of February, 1824, no less than thirteen individuals went through the above formalities.
I am, &c.
T. A.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 42·61.
~February 23.~
CHRONOLOGY.
1821. John Keats, the poet, died. Virulent and unmerited attacks upon his literary ability, by an unprincipled and malignant reviewer, injured his rising reputation, overwhelmed his spirits, and he sunk into consumption. In that state he fled for refuge to the climate of Italy, caught cold on the voyage, and perished in Rome, at the early age of 25. Specimens of his talents are in the former volume of this work. One of his last poems was in prospect of departure from his native shores. It is an
_Ode to a Nightingale._
1.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: ’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,-- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
2.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
3.
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
4.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
5.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White-hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves; And mid-May’s eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
6.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- To thy high requiem become a sod.
7.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
8.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?
This ode was included with “Lamia, Isabella, the Eve of St. Agnes, and other Poems,” by John Keats, published by Messrs. Taylor and Hessey, who, in an advertisement at the beginning of the book, allude to the critical ferocity which hastened the poet’s death.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 41·57.
~February 24.~
_St. Matthias._--Holiday at the Public Offices.
After the crucifixion, and the death of the traitor Judas, Peter, in the midst of the disciples, they being in number about a hundred and twenty, proposed the election of an apostle in his stead, “and they appointed two, Joseph, called Barsabas, who was surnamed Justus, and Matthias: and they prayed” to be directed in their choice, “and they gave forth their lots; and the lot fell upon Matthias, and he was numbered with the eleven apostles.” (_Acts_ i. 23-26.) Writers disagree as to the
## particular places of his mission, and the year and manner of his death,
though all concur in saying he was martyred. Dr. Cave affirms, that he suffered by the cross. He is presumed to have died A. D. 61 or 64.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 42·22.
~February 25.~
1826.--_Third Sunday in Lent._
STORM SUPERSTITIONS.
The stilling of the waves by oil is briefly noticed at p. 192, and another instance is subjoined.
_Oil for a fair Wind._
C. W., in Dr. Aikin’s Athenæum, says: “About twelve years ago, during my stay at Malta, I was introduced to the bey of Bengazi, in Africa, who was going with his family and a large retinue of servants to Mecca. He very politely offered me and my companion a passage to Egypt. We embarked on board a French brig which the bey had freighted, and very unfortunately were captured by an English letter of marque within a few leagues of Alexandria. The captain, however, was kind enough to allow us to proceed, and as we lay becalmed for two days, the bey ordered three or four Turkish flags to be hoisted, and a flask of oil to be thrown overboard. On inquiring into the purport of the ceremony, we were informed that the flask _would float to Mecca_ (a pretty long circumnavigation) _and bring us a fair wind!_ As we cast anchor in the port soon after, of course the ceremony had been propitious; nor did we seek to disturb the credulity of a man who had treated us so kindly.”
We know, however, that there is “credulity “on board English as well as Turkish vessels; and that if our sailors do not send an oil flask to Mecca, they _whistle for a wind_ in a perfect calm, and many seem as certainly to expect its appearance, as a boatswain calculates on the appearance of his crew when he pipes all hands.
_Navigation in the Clouds._
Agobard, archbishop of Lyons, in the reign of Charlemagne, and his son, has the following passage in his book, “De Grandine.” “In these districts, almost all persons, noble and plebeian, townsmen and rustics, old and young, believe that hail and thunder may be produced at the will of man, that is, by the incantations of certain men who are called _Tempestarii_.” He proceeds: “We have seen and heard many who are sunk in such folly and stupidity, as to believe and assert, that there is a certain country, which they call _Magonia_, whence ships come in the clouds, for the purpose of carrying back the corn which is beaten off by the hail and storms, and which those aërial sailors purchase of the said Tempestarii.” Agobard afterwards affirms, that he himself saw in a certain assembly four persons, three men and a woman, exhibited bound, as if they had fallen from these ships, who had been kept for some days in confinement, and were now brought out to be stoned in his presence; but that he rescued them from the popular fury. He further says, that there were persons who pretended to be able to protect the inhabitants of a district from tempests, and that for this service they received a payment in corn from the credulous countrymen, which payment was called _canonicum_.[67]
_A Shrovetide Custom._
It will appear on reading, that the annexed letter came too late for insertion under _Shrove Tuesday_.
LUDLOW ROPE PULLING.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book_
_Ludlow, Shrove Tuesday,_
_Feb. 7, 1826._
Sir,
Among the customs peculiar to this town, that of pulling a rope is not the least extraordinary. On Shrove Tuesday the corporation provide a rope three inches in thickness, and in length thirty-six yards, which is given out by a few of the members at one of the windows of the Market-hall at four o’clock; when a large body of the inhabitants, divided into two parties, (the one contending for Castle-street and Broad-street Wards, and the other for Old-street and Corve-street Wards,) commence an arduous struggle; and as soon as either party gains the victory by pulling the rope beyond the prescribed limits, the pulling ceases; which is, however, always renewed by a second, and sometimes by a third contest; the rope being purchased by subscription from the victorious party, and given out again. In the end the rope is sold by the victors, and the money, which generally amounts to two pounds, or guineas, is expended in liquor. I have this day been an eye-witness to this scene of confusion; the rope was first gained by Old-street and Corve-street Wards, and secondly by Castle-street and Broad-street Wards. It is supposed, that nearly 2000 persons were
## actively employed on this occasion.
Without doubt this singular custom is symbolical of some remarkable event, and a remnant of that ancient language of visible signs, which, says a celebrated writer, “imperfectly supplies the want of letters, to perpetuate the remembrance of public or private transactions.” The sign, in this instance, has survived the remembrance of the occurrence it was designed to represent, and remains a profound mystery. It has been insinuated, that the real occasion of this custom is known to the corporation, but that for some reason or other, they are tenacious of the secret. An obscure tradition attributes this custom to circumstances arising out of the siege of Ludlow by Henry VI, when two parties arose within the town, one supporting the pretensions of the duke of York, and the other wishing to give admittance to the king; one of the bailiffs is said to have headed the latter party. History relates, that in this contest many lives were lost, and that the bailiff, heading his party in an attempt to open Dinham gate, fell a victim there.
R. J.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 41·16.
[67] Athenæum.
~February 26.~
1826.--_Third Sunday in Lent._
_Penderill Family._
1732, February 26. The title to an estate of 100_l._ per annum, which had been settled on the Penderill family “for preserving king Charles II. in the oak,” was sued for on behalf of an infant claiming to be heir-at-law, and the issue was this day tried in the court of king’s bench. It was proved that Mr. Penderill, after marrying the mother of the claimant, retired into Staffordshire two years before he died; that during that time he had no intercourse with his wife, and that the infant was born about the time of her husband’s death. In consequence of this evidence a verdict was found for the defendant, and thereby the child was declared to be illegitimate.[68]
[Illustration: ~Mayoralty Seal of the City of London.~]
A respected correspondent, S. G., not remembering to have met with a representation of this remarkable seal in any work, and conceiving its appearance in the _Every-Day Book_ may gratify many readers, obligingly transmits a fine impression, taken in February, 1826, from whence the present engraving has been made with at least as much fidelity as the antiquity of the original permitted. “This seal,” he says, “is quite distinct from the city seal. It is kept at the Mansion-house, in the custody of the gate-porter, and is now used for the purpose of authenticating documents forwarded to foreign countries upon affidavit sworn before the lord mayor: it is also used for sealing the precepts which are issued preparatory to St. Thomas’s-day for the election of common councilmen and ward officers.” The following is the inscription round the seal, “_Sigillum Officii Majoratus Civitatis Londini_:” this legend is indistinct from wear.
The history of this seal is especially remarkable, because it is connected with the origin of the “dagger” in the city arms. On this subject Maitland and other historians have taken so much only from Stow as seemed to them to suit their purpose; what that author relates, therefore, is here extracted verbatim. He introduces it by saying, “In the year 1381, William Walworth, then maior, a most provident, valiant, and learned citizen, did by his arrest of Wat Tyler, (a presumptuous rebell upon whom no man durst lay hands,) deliver the king and kingdome from the danger of most wicked traitors, and was for his service knighted in the field as before hath been related.” In opposition to a notion which prevailed in his time, and prevails at present, that the “dagger” in the civic shield was an augmentation of the city arms upon occasion of Walworth’s prowess in Smithfield, Stow says, “It hath also been, and is now growne to a common opinion, that in reward of this service done by the said William Walworth against the rebell, that king Richard added to the armes of this city (which was argent, a plaine crosse gules) a sword, or dagger, (for so they terme it,) whereof I have read no such record, but to the contrary. I finde that in the fourth yeere of king Richard the second, in a full assembly made in the upper chamber of the Guildhall, summoned by this William Walworth, then maior, as well of aldermen as of the common councell in every ward, for certain affaires concerning the king, it was there by common consent agreed and ordained, that the old seale of the office of the maioralty of the city being very small, old, unapt, and uncomely for the honour of the city, should be broken, and one other new seale bee had; which the said maior commanded to be made artificially, and honourably, for the exercise of the said office therafter, in place of the other. In which new seale, besides the images of Peter and Paul, which of old were rudely engraven, there should be under the feet of the said images a shield of the arms of the said city, perfectly graven, with two lyons supporting the same, and two sergeants of arms: in the other part, one, and two tabernacles, in which, above, should stand two angels, between whom (above the said images of Peter and Paul) should be set the glorious Virgin. This being done, the old seale of the office was delivered to Richard Odiham, chamberlain, who brake it, and in place thereof was delivered the new seale to the said maior, to use in his office of maioralty as occasion should require. This new seale seemeth to be made before William Walworth was knighted, for he is not there intituled Sir, as afterwards he was: and certain it is, that the same new seale then made, is now in use, and none other in that office of the maioralty; which may suffice to answer the former fable, without showing of any evidence sealed with the _old_ seale, which was the crosse, and sword of Saint Paul, and not the dagger of William Walworth.”
On a partial citation of the preceding extract, in Maitland, it is observed by S. G., that “the seal at present in use was made in pursuance of the order above cited, may be deduced from the seal itself. In the centre, within a large and square compartment, are the effigies of Peter and Paul. The former has a mitre or tiara on his head, and is attired in the pall as bishop of the catholic church, and holds a crosier in his left hand. The latter saint is known by his usual attribute, the sword, which he sustains in his right hand: above each of these saints is a rich canopy. Beneath the compartment just described is a shield, bearing the present arms of the city, a cross, with a dagger in the dexter quarter, supported by two lions. It appears to have been surmounted with a low pointed arch. The centre compartment is flanked by two niches, with rich canopies and plinths; in each is a demi-figure bearing a mace, and having on its head a triangular cap; these figures, according to the above description, are intended to represent two sergeants at arms. The canopies to these niches terminate in angular pedestals, sustaining kneeling statues in the act of paying adoration to the Virgin Mary, whose effigy, though much effaced, appears in the centre niche at the top of the seal. From these representations on the seal before us, little doubt can remain that it is the same which has been in use from the time of sir William Walworth to the present day. The canopies and stall work are of the period in which it is supposed to have been made, and are of similar design with those fine specimens which ornamented the late front of Westminster-hall, and the screen to the chapel of Saint Edward the Confessor in the abbey, and which are still to be seen in the restored portion of Westminster-hall, as well as the _plaster_ altar-screen lately set up in the abbey church.”
As Wat Tyler’s insurrection was in 1381, the fourth year of Richard II., and as that was the year wherein the old mayoralty seal was destroyed, and the present seal made, our obliging correspondent, S. G., deems it “a very reasonable opinion, which many authors have entertained on the subject, that the dagger in the city arms was really granted at that period, in commemoration of Walworth having given Tyler the blow with that instrument, which was the prelude to his death.” He says it is also further confirmed by the act of the assembly [the common council], which Maitland quotes [after Stow], inasmuch as one reason which appears to have been urged by them for destroying the old seal was on account of the same, at that time, being unbecoming the honour of the city, which, no doubt, referred to the addition of the dagger, which had then lately been made to the arms: and it likewise goes on further to state, in reference thereto, “that beside the images of Saint Peter and Paul, was placed the shield of the arms of the said city well engraved.”
Our correspondent, S. G., will not conceive offence at a notion which varies from his own opinion; and probably, on reperusing the quotation from Stow and the following remarks, he may see some reason to abate his present persuasion.
As a reason for the old seal, in the fourth year of Richard II., having been ordered by the common council to be broken, Stow says it was “very small, old, unapt, and uncomely for the honour of the city.” His description seems to set forth its diminutive size and age, its “being very small, old,” and “unapt,” as the ground whereon they deemed it “uncomely for the honour of the city,” and therefore caused the old seal to be destroyed, and a new one to be made. So far this appears to have been Stow’s view of the matter; and should his authority be regarded, our friend S. G. may appear to have too hastily assumed that the common council order for the destruction of the old seal, as “unbecoming the honour of the city, no doubt referred to the addition of the dagger which had then lately been made to their arms.” Unless Stow’s testimony be disputed, it may not only be doubted, but positively denied, that the dagger “had then lately been added to the city arms.” Stow speaks of it as a “common opinion,” when he wrote, that upon Walworth’s striking Wat Tyler with his dagger Richard II. therefore “added a sword, or dagger, for so they terme it,” he says, to the city arms; “whereof,” he adds, “I have read no such record, but to the contrary.” Then he takes pains to relate _why_ the ancient seal was destroyed, and having stated the reasons already cited, he says, “this _new_ seale,” the seal now before us, “seemeth to be made _before_ William Walworth was knighted, for he is not there intituled Sir, as he afterwards was.” Afterwards comes Stow’s conclusion upon the whole matter: “Certaine it is,” he says, “that the same new seale then made, is now in use, and none other in that office of the maioralty: which,” mark his words, “which may suffice to answer the former fable, without shewing of any evidence sealed with the _old_ seale, which was the crosse, and sword of St. Paul, and not the dagger of William Walworth.” What Stow here calls the “former fable,” was the “common opinion” stated by himself, “that king Richard added to the arms of this city (which [in the notion of those who entertained the opinion] was argent, a plain cross gules) a sword, or dagger.” That the city arms before the time of Richard II. was merely “argent a plain cross gules,” Stow clearly treats as a vulgar assumption, “whereof,” he says, “I have read no such record, _but_” and these following words are most notable, “BUT _to the contrary_.” This, his declaration “_to the contrary_” being followed by his particulars, just laid before the reader, concerning the present seal, Stow says, “may suffice to answer the former fable, without showing of any evidence sealed with the _old_ seale:” that is, without showing or producing any document or writing “sealed with the old seale, which,” to clench the matter, he positively affirms, “was the crosse, and sword of St. Paul, and not the dagger of William Walworth.”
The cathedral church of the city of London is dedicated to St. Paul, who suffered martyrdom by the sword, and “the old seale,” related by Stow to have been destroyed, he says, “was the crosse, and _sword_ of St. Paul.” It therefore represented the present shield of the city arms, which, on Stow’s showing, existed before the time of Wat Tyler’s insurrection, and are therefore “the crosse, and sword of St. Paul, and not the dagger of William Walworth.”
* * * * *
To the communication with which the liberty of differing has been taken, in furtherance of its object to elucidate the arms of the metropolis, our respected correspondent S. G. adds, “The origin of the seal may no doubt be traced to the source from whence sir Henry Englefield, in his walk through Southampton, derives the seal of the city of Winchester; in speaking of which his opinion appears to be, that it was first used in consequence of an act passed for the benefit of merchants, in the reign of Edward I., which was afterwards greatly extended by the statute of Staples, passed in the 27th year of the reign of Edward III., whereby it was enacted that the commerce of wool, leather, and lead should be carried on at certain towns, called Staple towns, of which several are not seaports--but to each of these inland Staples a port is assigned for entries. It was also further enacted, that in each Staple there should be a _seal_ kept by the mayor of the Staple.”
* * * * *
In relation to this seal, Maitland sadly blunders. He says, “The ancient seal of this city having been laid aside in the fourth of Richard II., the present, whereof the annexed is a representation, was made in the same year, 1381.” Then he annexes his “representation,” purporting to be of this seal, which Stow so accurately describes, but, strange to say, he substitutes the “representation” of a seal wholly different. (See his History of London, edit 1772, vol. ii. p. 1193.) It is astonishing that Maitland should have so erred, for (in vol. i. p. 138.) he describes the seal almost in Stow’s words, and sufficiently at length to have saved him from the palpable mistake.
_Sealing-Wax._
Our present common sealing-wax for letters was not invented till the sixteenth century. The earliest letter in Europe known to have been sealed with it, was written from London, August 3, 1554, to the rheingrave Philip Francis von Daun, by his agent in England, Gerrard Herman. The wax is of a dark red, very shining, and the impression bears the initials of the writer’s name, G. H. The next seal known in the order of time is on a letter written in 1561 to the council of Gorlitz at Breslau: it is sealed in three places with beautiful red wax. There are two letters in 1563 from count Louis of Nassau to the landgrave William IV.; one dated March 3, is sealed with red wax, the other, dated November 7, is sealed with black wax. In 1566 are two letters to the rheingrave Frederick von Daun, from his steward Charles de Pousol, in Picardy, dated respectively September the 2d, and September the 7th; another from Pousol to the rheingrave, dated Paris, January 22, 1567, is sealed with red wax of a higher colour and apparently of a coarser quality. On the 15th of May, 1571, Vulcob, a French nobleman, who the year before had been ambassador from the king of France to the court of Weymar, wrote a letter to that court sealed with red wax; he sealed nine letters of a prior date with common wax. From an old expense book of 1616, in the records of Plessingburg, “Spanish wax,” and other writing materials, were ordered from a manufacturer of sealing-wax at Nuremburg, for the personal use of Christian, margrave of Brandenburg.
It has been conjectured that, as the oldest seals came from England and France, and as the invention is called “Spanish wax,” it originated with the Spaniards; but this is doubted. The first notice of sealing-wax occurs in a work by Garcia ab Orto, or Horto, entitled “Aromatum et simplicium aliquot historia, &c.” first printed in 1563, and afterwards at Antwerp in 1574, 8vo., in which latter edition it is mentioned at p. 33. The oldest printed receipt for sealing-wax is in a work entitled “Neu Titularbuch, &c., Durch Samuelen Zimmerman, burger zu Augspurg 1579,” 4to. p. 112. The following is a
_Translation._
“To make hard sealing-wax, called Spanish wax, with which if letters be sealed they cannot be opened without breaking the seal.--Take beautiful clear resin, the whitest you can procure, and melt it over a slow charcoal fire. When it is properly melted, take it from the fire, and for every pound of resin add two ounces of cinnabar pounded very fine, stirring it about. Then let the whole cool, or pour it into cold water. Thus you will have beautiful _red_ wax.
“If you are desirous of having _black_ wax, add lamp black to it. With smalt, or azure, you may make it _blue_; with white lead, _white_; and with orpiment, _yellow_.
“If instead of resin you melt purified turpentine, in a glass vessel, and give it any colour you choose, you will have a harder kind of sealing-wax, and not so brittle as the former.”
In these receipts there is no mention of gum lac, which is at present the principal ingredient in sealing-wax of the best quality. The name “Spanish wax,” probably imports no more than “Spanish flies,” “Spanish gum,” and several other “Spanish” commodities; for it was formerly the custom to give all new things, particularly those which excited wonder, or excelled in quality, the appellation of “Spanish.”[69]
Dutch sealing-wax, or wax with “brand well en vast houd,” burn well and hold fast, impressed on each stick, was formerly in great repute; but the legend having been constantly forged was no security against imposition. The “best Dutch sealing-wax” usually sold in the shops of London, is often worse than that which inferior manufacturers stamp with the names of many stationers, who prefer a large profit to a good reputation. It is not an easy matter, in 1826, to get a stick of sealing-wax that will “burn well and hold fast.”
_Wafers._
The oldest letter yet found with a red wafer was written in 1624, from D. Krapf, at Spires, to the government at Bayreuth. Wafers are ascribed, by Labat, to Genoese economy. In the whole of the seventeenth century they were only used by private persons; on public seals they commence only in the eighteenth century.[70]
_Writing Ink._
The ancient writing ink was a viscid mass like painter’s colours, and therefore letters in ancient manuscript frequently appear in relief.[71] Pliny’s writing ink is mentioned by Dr. Bancroft, according to whom it consisted of the simple ingredients in the following receipt. “Any person who will take the trouble of mixing pure lamp black with water, thickened a little by gum, may obtain an ink of no despicable quality in other respects, and with the advantage of being much less liable to decay by age, than the ink now in common use.” It should be observed, however, that every black pigment mixed with gum or size can be soon and easily washed out again with water.
* * * * *
It is not purposed to make this a “Receipt Book,” yet, as connected with this subject, two or three really good receipts may be of essential service, at some time or other, to many readers. For instance, artists, and other individuals who require it, may easily manufacture a black pigment in the following manner, with a certainty of its being genuine, which can scarcely be placed in the article sold at most shops.
_A pure Lamp Black._
Suspend over a lamp a funnel of tin plate, having above it a pipe to convey from the apartment the smoke which escapes from the lamp. Large mushrooms of a very black carbonaceous matter, and exceedingly light, will be formed at the summit of the cone. This carbonaceous part is carried to such a state of division as cannot be given to any other matter by grinding it on a piece of porphyry. This black goes a great way in every kind of painting. It may be rendered drier by calcination in close vessels; and it should be observed that the funnel ought to be united to the pipe, which conveys off the smoke, by means of wire, because solder would be melted by the flame of the lamp.[72]
_Receipts for Ink._
Chaptal the eminent chemist, after numerous experiments regarding writing ink, concludes, that the best ingredients and proportions are the following, viz: two parts of galls, in sorts, bruised, and one part of logwood chipped; these are to be boiled in twenty-five times their weight of water for the space of two hours, adding a little water from time to time, according to the evaporation. The decoction so made, he says, will commonly mark from 3 to 3½ degrees upon the hydrometer of Beaumé, equal to about 1022 of the common standard. At the same time a solution of gum arabic is to be made with warm water, until the latter will dissolve no more of the former. This solution will mark 14 or 15 degrees, equal to about 110. A solution of calcined sulphate of iron is also to be made, and concentrated so that it will mark 10 degrees, equal to about 1071. And to this as much sulphate of copper is to be added as will be equal to one-twelfth part of the galls employed to make the decoction. The several matters being so prepared, six measures of the decoction are to be mixed with four measures of the solution of gum; and to this mixture from three to four measures of the metallic solution are to be added, by a little at a time, mixing the several matters each time by shaking. Ink so made, will, he says, form no sediment: and he estimates the proportions of solid matters contained in it to be five hundred parts of gums, four hundred and sixty-two parts of the extract of galls and logwood, and four hundred and eighty-one parts of metallic oxides.
Dr. Bancroft, who gives these particulars from Chaptal, proposes the following, as being generally the most suitable proportions for composing the best and most lasting writing ink, viz:
Take of good Aleppo galls, in sorts, coarsely powdered, twelve ounces, and of chipped logwood six ounces; boil these in five quarts of soft water two hours, and strain off the decoction whilst hot; then put to the residuum as much boiling water as, when properly stirred, strained, and added to the former, will suffice to make the whole of the decoction equal to one gallon; add to this five ounces of sulphate of iron, with the same quantity of gum arabic, and two ounces of good dry muscovado sugar; let these be all dissolved, and well mixed by stirring.
A calcination of the sulphate of iron, which Chaptal, Proust, and some others have recommended, Dr. Bancroft does not regard as of much importance; for, he says, though the ink may be thereby made to attain its _utmost_ degree of darkness, almost immediately, yet the strong disposition which ink has to absorb oxygen from the atmosphere until saturated therewith, will enable it, without such calcination, to attain an equal degree of blackness, in a day or two, according to the temperature of the air, if the latter be allowed free access to it. For reasons which he also states, he omits the sulphate of copper; though he observes that, if any portion of that metal were deemed beneficial, he should prefer verdigrise to the sulphate, the latter containing a much larger proportion of acid than even the sulphate of iron, and being, therefore, more likely to render the ink corrosive. He regards gum as highly useful to retard the separation and subsidence of its black part, or compound of colouring matter and iron, previous to its application to paper, as well as to hinder it, when used, from spreading and penetrating too far.
_Indelible Writing Ink._
M. Chaptal remarks, that, since the oxygenated muriatic acid had been found capable of discharging the colour of common writing ink, both from parchment and paper, without injuring their texture, it had been fraudulently employed to efface particular parts or words of deeds, contracts, or other writings, for which others had been substituted, leaving the signatures untouched. In consequence of these frauds, the commercial parts of society, as well as governments, were solicitous for the discovery of some composition, which might be employed instead of common writing ink, without its defects; therefore Chaptal, (being then minister of the interior of France, and possessed of great chemical science,) as might be expected, occupied himself particularly with that subject; and he states, that up to the then present time, the composition which had been found most useful for this purpose, consisted of a solution of glue in water, with which a sufficient portion of lamp black and a little sea salt were intimately mixed, by rubbing them together on marble. This composition was made sufficiently thin by water, to flow readily from the pen; and he describes it as being capable of resisting the action, not merely of cold, but of boiling water, and also of acids, alkalies, and spirit of wine; and attended with no inconvenience but that of abrasion by being rubbed.
* * * * *
It is observed by Dr. Bancroft, that when lamp black has been incorporated with common ink, by first rubbing the former in a mortar with a mucilage of gum arabic, the writing done with it could not be rendered invisible by the application of muriatic acid; and, doubtless, such an addition of lamp black would hinder the letters from ever becoming illegible by age, at least within any length of time which the paper and parchment could be expected to last. But ink made with this addition would require to be frequently shaken or stirred, as the lamp black would otherwise be apt to separate and subside.
In the making of indelible ink, the receipt for lamp black before given may be of considerable importance.
_Calico Printing._
Perhaps no object has more engaged “the ingenious chemist’s art” than this, and leave is craved to conclude this diversion from the mayoralty seal of London, by what may be serviceable to some who are actively engaged in an extensive branch, from whence our private chambers, and the dresses of our wives and daughters, derive continual improvement.
_Prosubstantive, or Chemical Black, for Calico Printers._
“Some years ago,” says Dr. Bancroft, “I purchased of a calico printer, possessing great knowledge of the principles and practice of his art, the secret of a composition which he had employed with success, as a prosubstantive black, and which, as far as I can judge from experiments upon a small scale, deserved the high commendations which he bestowed upon it: and though I have never obtained the smallest pecuniary advantage from this purchase, in any way, I will here give the full benefit of it to the public. The following was his recipe, with some abbreviations of language: viz. Take two pounds of the best mixed galls, in powder, and boil them in one gallon of vinegar, until their soluble
## part is extracted, or dissolved; then strain off the clear decoction,
and add to the residuum of the galls as much water as will be equal to the vinegar evaporated in boiling; stir them a little, and after allowing the powdered galls time to subside, strain off the clear liquor, and mix it with the former decoction, adding to the mixture six ounces of sulphate of iron; and this being dissolved, put to it six ounces more of sulphate of iron, after it has been previously mixed with, and dissolved by, half of its weight of single aquafortis; let this be stirred, and equally dispersed through the mixture, which is to be thickened by dissolving therein a sufficient quantity of gum tragacanth, (of which a very small proportion will suffice.) Calico, after being printed or pencilled with this mixture, should, when the latter is sufficiently dried, be washed in lime water, to remove the gum and superfluous colour, and then either streamed or well rinsed in clear water. This composition has not been found to weaken, or injure, the texture of calico printed or pencilled with it, and the colour is thought unobjectionable in regard to its blackness and durability.”
* * * * *
It is added by Dr. Bancroft, that “when sulphate of iron is mixed with aquafortis, the latter undergoes a decomposition; the oxygen of the nitric acid combining with the iron, and raising it to a much higher degree of oxidation; the result of these operations is the production of a fluid which has the consistence and smooth appearance of oil, and which (though the name may not be quite unexceptionable) I will call a nitro-sulphate of iron. I have been induced to believe, from several trials, that a better prosubstantive black than any other within my knowledge may be formed, by taking a decoction, containing in each gallon the soluble matter of two pounds of the best galls, in sorts, and when cold, adding to it for each gallon twelve ounces of sulphate of iron, which had been previously mixed with half its weight of single aquafortis, (of which one wine pint should weigh about twenty ounces,) and, by the decomposition just described, converted to the nitro-sulphate of iron just mentioned. By thus employing twelve ounces of sulphate of iron, oxygenated by nitric acid, instead of six ounces of the latter, with six ounces of the green sulphate in its ordinary state, an improvement in the colour seems, by my experiments, to have been invariably produced, and without any corroding or hurtful action upon the fibres of the cotton.”
With these scientific receipts and suggestions it may be agreeable to close. Matters of this kind have not been before introduced, nor is it purposed to repeat them; and those who think they are out of place at present, may be asked to recollect whether any of themselves ever obtained knowledge of any kind that, at some period or other, did not come into use?
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·72.
[68] Gentleman’s Magazine.
[69] Beckmann.
[70] Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities. Beckmann.
[71] Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities.
[72] Tingry.
~February 27.~
CHRONOLOGY.
A Scotch newspaper of the 27th of February, 1753, relates, that on the preceding Wednesday se’nnight, the river Tweed was dried up from six o’clock in the morning to six in the evening, the current having been entirely suspended. On the 20th of February, 1748, the river Sark, near Philipston, in the parish of Kirk Andrews upon Eske, and the Liddel, near Penton, in the same parish, were both dry. At the same time other rivers also lost their waters. These remarkable phenomena are naturally accounted for in the “Gentleman’s Magazine for 1753,” vol. xxiii. p. 156.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 41·39.
~February 28.~
_Dr. Johnson._
It was recorded in the daily journals, on the 28th of February, 1755, that “the university of Oxford, in full convocation, unanimously conferred the degree of master of arts on the learned Mr. Samuel Johnson, author of the New English Dictionary.” Such a testimony to distinguished merit, from a learned university, was, perhaps, such a reward as Dr. Johnson appreciated more highly than others of more seeming worth; the publicity given to it at the time is evidence of the notoriety he had attained by his literary labours, and of the interest taken in his fame by every class of society. He taught and admonished all ranks, in a style that charmed by its luxuriant amplification of simple truths, when the majority of people refused the wholesome labour of reflection. Johnson’s ethical writings verify the remark of a shrewd writer, that “a maxim is like an ingot of gold, which you may draw out to any length you please.”
_Gin Lane._
The “Historical Chronicle” of the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” notices that on this day, in the year 1736, a proposal was submitted to the house of commons “for laying such a duty on distilled spirituous liquors as might prevent the ill consequences of the poorer sort drinking them to excess,” whereon it takes occasion to adduce the following fact: “We have observed some signs, where such liquors are retailed, with the following inscriptions, _Drunk for a penny, dead drunk for twopence, clean straw for nothing_.” This record establishes the reality of the inscription in Hogarth’s fearful print of “Gin-lane,” and marks a trait in the manners of that period, which, to the credit of the industrious classes of society, has greatly abated.
Drunkenness exists nowhere but in the vicious or the irresolute. “Give a poor man work and you will make him rich.” Give a drunkard work and he will only keep sober till he has earned enough to drink again and get poor. While he is drinking he robs himself of his time; drinking robs him of his understanding and health; when he is unfit or disinclined to work he will lie to avoid it; and if he succeeds in deceiving, he will probably turn thief. Thus a drunkard is not to be relied on either for true speaking, or honest principle; and therefore those who see that drinking leads to falsehood and dishonesty, never attach credit to what a drunkard says, nor trust him within reach of their property.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·44.
[Illustration: MARCH.]
Now husbandman and hinds in March prepare, And order take, against the teeming year, Survey their lands, and keep a good look out To get their fields and farms well fenc’d about. Now careful gard’ners, during sunny days, Admit to greenhouses the genial rays: Vines, espaliers, and standard trees demand The pruner’s skilful eye, and ready hand; And num’rous shoots and roots court the kind toil Of transplantation, or another soil.
*
In the “Mirror of the Months” it is observed, that at this season a strange commotion may be seen and heard among the winged creatures, portending momentous matters. The lark is high up in the cold air before daylight, and his chosen mistress is listening to him down among the dank grass, with the dew still upon her unshaken wing. The robin, too, has left off, for a brief season, his low plaintive piping, which it must be confessed was poured forth for his own exclusive satisfaction, and, reckoning on his spruce looks and sparkling eyes, issues his quick peremptory love-call, in a somewhat ungallant and husband-like manner.
The sparrows, who have lately been sulking silently about from tree to tree, with ruffled plumes and drooping wings, now spruce themselves up till they do not look half their former size; and if it were not pairing-time, one might fancy that there was more of war than of love in their noisy squabblings.
Now, also, the ants first begin to show themselves from their subterranean sleeping-rooms; those winged abortions, the bats, perplex the eyes of evening wanderers by their seeming ubiquity; and the owls hold scientific converse with each other at half a mile distance.
Now, quitting the country till next month, we find London all alive, Lent and Lady-day notwithstanding; for the latter is but a day after all; and he must have a very countrified conscience who cannot satisfy it as to the former, by doing penance once or twice at an oratorio, and hearing comic songs sung in a foreign tongue; or, if this does not do, he may fast if he please, every Friday, by eating salt fish in addition to the rest of his fare.
* * * * *
During this month some birds that took refuge in our temperate climate, from the rigour of the arctic winters, now begin to leave us, and return to the countries where they were bred; the redwing-thrush, fieldfare, and woodcock, are of this kind, and they retire to spend their summer in Norway, Sweden, and other northern regions. The reason why these birds quit the north of Europe in winter is evidently to escape the severity of the frost; but why at the approach of spring they should return to their former haunts is not so easily accounted for. It cannot be want of food, for if during the _winter_ in this country they are able to subsist, they may fare plentifully through the rest of the year; neither can their migration be caused by an impatience of warmth, for the season when they quit this country is by no means so hot as the Lapland summers; and in fact, from a few stragglers or wounded birds annually breeding here, it is evident that there is nothing in our climate or soil which should hinder them from making this country their permanent residence, as the thrush, blackbird, and other of their congeners, actually do. The crane, the stork, and other birds, which used formerly to be natives of our island, have quitted it as cultivation and population have extended; it is probable, also, that the same reason forbids the fieldfare and redwing-thrush, which are of a timorous, retired disposition, to make choice of England as a place of sufficient security to breed in.[73]
* * * * *
In this month commences the yeaning season of those gentle animals whose clothing yields us our own, and engages in its manufacture a large portion of human industry and ingenuity. The poet of “The Fleece” beautifully describes and admonishes the shepherd of the accidents to which these emblems of peace and innocence are exposed, when “abroad in the meadows beside of their dams.”
Spread around thy tend’rest diligence In flow’ry spring-time, when the new-dropt lamb, Tott’ring with weakness by his mother’s side, Feels the fresh world about him; and each thorn, Hillock, or furrow, trips his feeble feet: O, guard his meek sweet innocence from all Th’ innumerous ills, that rush around his life: Mark the quick kite, with beak and talons prone, Circling the skies to snatch him from the plain; Observe the lurking crows; beware the brake, There the sly fox the careless minute waits; Nor trust thy neighbour’s dog, nor earth, nor sky; Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide. Eurus oft slings his hail; the tardy fields Pay not their promis’d food; and oft the dam O’er her weak twins with empty udder mourns, Or fails to guard, when the bold bird of prey Alights, and hops in many turns around, And tires her also turning: to her aid Be nimble, and the weakest, in thine arms, Gently convey to the warm cote, and oft, Between the lark’s note and the nightingale’s, His hungry bleating still with tepid milk; In this soft office may thy children join, And charitable habits learn in sport: Nor yield him to himself, ere vernal airs Sprinkle thy little croft with daisy flowers.
_Dyer._
[73] Aikin’s Year.
~March 1.~
_St. David’s Day._
To the particulars connected with this anniversary, related in vol. i. p. 317-322, may be added that Coles, in his “Adam in Eden,” says, concerning leeks, “The gentlemen in Wales have them in great regard, both for their feeding, and to wear in their hats upon St. David’s day.”
It is affirmed in the “Royal Apophthegms” of James I., that “the Welchmen in commemoration of the Great Fight by the Black Prince of Wales, do wear _Leeks_ as their chosen ensign.”
Mr. Brand received through the late Mr. Jones, Welsh bard to the king, as prince of Wales, a transcript of the following lines from a MS. in the British Museum.
I like the leeke above all herbes and flowers. When first we wore the same the feild was ours. The leeke is white and greene, wherby is ment That Britaines are both stout and eminent; Next to the lion and the unicorn, The leeke’s the fairest emblyn that is worne.
_Harl. MS._ 1977.
The bishop’s “Last Good Night,” a single sheet satire, dated 1642, has a stanza which runs thus:--
“Landaff, provide for St. David’s day, Lest the leeke, and red-herring run away: Are you resolved to go or stay? You are called for, Landaff: Come in, Landaff.”
There is the following proverb on this day:--
“Upon St. David’s day, put oats and barley in the clay.”
_Ray._
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 42·27.
~March 2.~
_Strange Narrative._
A rare quarto tract alleges some extraordinary appearances in Ireland on this day in the year 1679. It is here reprinted verbatim, beginning with the title-page: viz.
* * * * *
A TRUE ACCOUNT _of divers most strange and prodigious_ APPARITIONS _seen in the Air_ at Poins-town, in the county of Tipperary, in Ireland: March the second, 1678-9. Attested by Sixteen Persons that were Eye-witnesses. Published at Dublin, and thence communicated hither. Licensed, 1679. London: printed for L. C., 1679.
Upon the second day of this present month, being Sunday in the evening, near sun-set, several gentlemen and others, hereinafter named, walked forth into the fields, and the sun going down behind a hill, and appearing somewhat bigger than ordinary, they discourst about it, directing their eyes towards the place where the sun set.
When one of the company observed in the air, near the place where the sun went down, an arm of a blackish blew colour, with a ruddy complexioned hand at one end and at the other end a cross piece, with a ring fastned to the middle of it, like one end of an anchor, which stood still a while, and then made northwards, and so disappeared; while they were startled at the sight which they all saw, and wondred what it should be and mean, there appeared at a great distance in the air, from the same part of the sky, something like a ship coming towards them; and so near to them it came, that they could distinctly perceive the masts, sails, tacklings, and men; she then seemed to tack about, and sailed with the stern foremost, northwards, upon a dark, smooth sea, (not seen before,) which stretched itself from south-west to the north-west; having seemed thus to sail for some few minutes, she sunk by degrees into the sea, her stern first, and as she sunk, they perceived her men plainly running up the tackling, in the fore-part of the ship, as it were, to save themselves from drowning.
The ship disappearing, they all sate down on a green bank, talking of, and wondring at what they had seen, for a small space, and then appeared (as that ship had done) a fort, or high place strongly fortifyed, with somewhat like a castle on the top of it: out of the sides of which, by reason of some clouds of smoake, and a flash of fire suddenly issuing out, they concluded some shot to be made. The fort then immediately was divided into two parts, which were in an instant transformed into two exact ships, like the other they had seen, with their heads towards each other. That towards the south, seemed to chase the other with its stern foremost, northwards, till it sunk with its stern first, as the first ship had done. The other ship sayled sometime after, and then sunk with its head first. It was observed, that men were running upon the decks in these two ships, but they did not see them climb up, as in the last ship, excepting one man, whom they saw distinctly to get up with much haste upon the very top of the bowsprit of the second ship, as they were sinking. They supposed the two last ships were engaged and fighting, for they saw like bullets rouling upon the sea, while they were both visible.
The ships being gone, the company rose, and were about to go away, when one of them perswaded the rest to stay, and said, he saw some little black thing coming towards them, which he believed would be worth their observation, then some of the rest observed the same; whereupon, they sate down again, and presently there appeared a chariot, somewhat like that which Neptune is represented riding in, drawn with two horses, which turned as the ships had done, northward. And immediately after it, came a strange frightful creature, which they concluded to be some kind of serpent, having an head like a snake, and a knotted bunch or bulk at the other end, something resembling a snail’s house.
This monster came suddenly behind the chariot, and gave it a sudden violent blow, then out of the chariot straight leaped a bull and a dog, which following him seemed to bait him: these also went northward, as the former phenomena had done, the bull first holding his head downward, then the dog, and then the chariot, till they all sunk down one after another, about the same place, and just in the same manner as the former.
These last meteors being vanished, there were several appearances like ships, and other things, in the same place, and after that like order with the former; but the relators were so surprised and pleased with what they had seen, especially with the bull and dog, that they did not much observe them; and besides, they were not so visible as the rest, the night drawing on so fast, that they could not well discern them.
The whole time of the vision or representation lasted near an hour, and it was observable, that it was a very clear and a very calm evening, no cloud seen, no mist, nor any wind stirring. All the phenomena came out of the west, or south-west. They seemed very small, and afar off, and at first seemed like birds at a good distance, and then being come to the place, where there was the appearance of a sea, they were discerned plainly in their just proportion. They all moved northwards, the ships, as appeared by their sails, went against the wind; they all sunk out of sight, much about the same place. When they disappeared, they did not dilate themselves, and become invisible as clouds do, but every the least part of them, was as distinctly seen at the last, as they had been all along. The height of the scene on which these meteors moved, was about as much above the horizon, as the sun is being half an hour high. Of the whole company, there was not any one but saw all those things, as above written; all agreed in their notions and opinions about them, and were all the while busie talking concerning what they saw, either much troubled, or much pleased, according to the nature of the appearance.
The names of the persons who saw the foregoing passage:
Mr. Allye, a minister, living near the place. Lieutenant Dunstervile and his son. Mr. Grace, his son-in-law. Lieutenant Dwine, } Scholars and Mr. Dwine, his brother, } Travellers. Mr. Christopher Hewelson. Mr. Richard Foster. Mr. Adam Hewelson. Mr. Bates, a schoolmaster. Mr. Larkin. Mrs. Dunstervile, her daughter-in-law, her maiden-daughter. Mr. Dwine’s daughter. Mrs. Grace, her daughter.
This account was given by Mr. C. Hewelson and Mr. R. Foster, two of the beforenamed spectators: and when it was related, a servant of Mr. C. H., being present, did confirm the truth of it; affirming, that he and others of the servants being then together at Poins-town, in another place, saw the very same sights, and did very much wonder at them. _Finis._
* * * * *
This wonderful wonder is worthy of preservation, for the very reason that renders it scarcely worthy of remark. It was a practice, before the period when the preceding tract was printed, for partisans to fabricate and publish strange narratives in behalf of the side they pretended to aid, with the further view of blackening or injuring those whom they opposed. Such stories were winked at as “pious frauds,” and found ready sale among the vulgar. As parties declined, the business of the writers and venders of such productions declined, and some among them of desperate fortune resorted to similar manufactures on any subject likely to astonish the uninformed. The present “True Account” may be regarded as a curious specimen of this kind of forgery. The pamphlet was printed in London; the scene being laid in Ireland, it probably never reached Poins-town, and if it even travelled thither, the chance is that there were only a few who could read it, and certainly none of those few were interested in its contradiction. At the present time it is common in Somersetshire to hear a street-hawker crying, “A wonderful account of an apparition that appeared in Hertfordshire,” and selling his papers to an admiring crowd; the same fellow travelling into Hertfordshire, there cries the very same “Apparition that appeared in Somersetshire;” and his printed account equally well authenticates it to a similarly constituted audience.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 42·80.
~March 3.~
_St. Winwaloe._
This saint is called Winwaloc, by father Cressy, and Winwaloke by father Porter.
St. Winwaloe’s father, named Fragan, or Fracan, was nearly related to Cathoun, one of the kings or princes of Wales. In consequence of Saxon invasions, Fragan emigrated from Wales to Armorica, where the spot he inhabited is “called from him to this day Plou-fragan.” Whether Winwaloe was born there or in Wales is uncertain; but he was put under St. Budoc, a British abbot of a monastery in Isleverte, near the isle of Brebat, from whence with other monks he travelled, till they built themselves a monastery at Landevenech, three leagues from Brest.
He died in 529, at an advanced age.[74]
* * * * *
Father Cressy says, that St. Winwaloe worked many miracles; “among which the most stupendous was his raising a young man to life.” He further tells, that “St. Patrick presented himself to him in a vision, with an angelicall brightnes, and having a golden diadem on his head,” and told him he paid him a visit, to prevent Winwaloe, who desired to see him, “so tedious a journey by sea and land.” St. Patrick in this interview foretold St. Winwaloe so much, that the father of his monastery released him with the other monks before-mentioned, that they might become hermits; for which purpose they travelled, till, wanting a ship, St. Winwaloe struck the sea with his staff, which opened a passage for them, and they walked through singing, and dryshod, “himself marching in the front, the waters on both sides standing like walls.” Father Cressy says, that St. Winwaloe never sat in the church; that “every day he repeated the hundred and fifty psalms;” that to his bed he had neither feathers nor clothes, “but instead of feathers he strewed under him nutshells, and instead of blankets, sand mingled with pebbles, and two great stones under his head;” that he wore the same clothes night and day; that his bread was made with half of barley and half of ashes; that his other diet was a mixture of meal and cabbage without fat; and that “he took this refection once, only in two, and sometimes three dayes.”
Besides other particulars, Cressy adds, that “a town in Shropshire, called even in the Saxons’ time Wenlock, (which seems a contraction from Winwaloc,) from him took its denomination.”
_He vanquisheth the Devil, &c._
So father Porter entitles one of his particulars concerning St. Winwaloe, which he relates in his “Flowers of the Saincts” in these words: “The devill envying soe great sanctitie, endeavoured with his hellish plotts to trouble and molest his pious labours, appeared unto him as he prayed in his oratorie, in the most uglie and horrid shapes that the master of wickednes could invent, vomitting out of his infernall throate manie reprochfull wordes against him; when he nothing dismayed thereat, courageously proceeded in his devotions, and brandishing the chief armes of life, the holy crosse, against that black messenger of death, he compelled him to vanish away in confusion.”
_St. Winwaloe and the cruel Goose._
Bishop Patrick, in his “Reflexions upon the Devotions of the Roman Church,” cites from the latin “Acts of the Saints,” a miracle which is quite as miraculous as either of the preceding. “A sister of St. Winwaloc had her eye plucked out by a goose, as she was playing. St. Winwaloc was taught by an angel a sign whereby to know that goose from the rest, and having cut it open, found the eye in its entrails, preserved by the power of God unhurt, and shining like a gem; which he took and put it again in its proper place, and recovered his sister; and was so kind also to the goose as to send it away alive, after it had been cut up, to the rest of the flock.”
WINNOLD FAIR, NORFOLK.
A correspondent, whose signature has before appeared, transmits the annexed communication concerning the hamlet of Winnold, and the fair held there annually on this day.
_For the Every-Day Book._
A priory, dedicated to St. Winwaloe, was founded by the family of the earls of Clare, before the seventh year of king John, (1206,) in a hamlet, (thence called, by corruption, the hamlet of Whinwall, _Winnold_, or _Wynhold_,) belonging to the parish of Wereham, in Norfolk, as a cell to the abbey of Mounstroll, of the order of St. Bennet, in the diocese of Amiens, in France. In 1321, the abbot and convent sold it to Hugh Scarlet, of London, who conveyed it to the lady Elizabeth de Burso, the sister and coheir of Gilbert, earl of Clare, and she afterwards gave it to West Dereham abbey, situate a few miles from Wereham. At the general dissolution it was valued, with West Dereham, at 252_l._ 12_s._ 11_d._ (Speed,) and 228_l._ (Dugdale.) Little of the priory is now remaining, except a part which is thought to have been the chapel.
A fair for horses and cattle on this day, which was originally kept in this hamlet of _Winnold_, has existed probably from the foundation of the priory, as it is mentioned in the tenth of Edward III. (1337,) when the priory and the fair were given to West Dereham abbey. Though the abbey and priory, as establishments, are annihilated, the fair (probably from its utility) has continued with reputation to the present day. Soon after the dissolution, it was removed to the adjoining parish of Wimbotsham, and continued to be held there till within the last thirty years, when it was again removed a few miles further, to the market town of Downham, as a more convenient spot, and is now kept in a field there, called, for reasons unknown, “the Howdell,” and is at this time a very large horse and cattle fair; but, though it has undergone these removals, it still retains its ancient, original appellation of “_Winnold Fair_.”[75] This fair, which is perhaps of greater antiquity than any now kept in the kingdom, will probably preserve the memory of _St. Winnold_, in the west of Norfolk and the adjoining counties, for centuries to come, above the whole host of his canonized brethren. He is also commemorated, by the following traditional West Norfolk proverbial distich:--
“First comes David, next comes Chad, And then comes _Winnold_ as though he was mad.”
noticing the two previous days in March, (the first and second,) and in allusion to the prevalence of windy weather at this period. Whether _St. Winnold_, in the zenith of his fame, was remarkable for an irascibility of temper, I am not enabled to say; yet it rarely happens when the first few days in March are not attended with such boisterous and tempestuous weather, generally from the north, that he might not improperly be termed the Norfolk “Boreas.”
K.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 42·10.
[74] Butler.
[75] Blomfield’s Norfolk. Taylor’s Index Monasticus.
~March 4.~
_A Flower of the Season._
The fair author of the “Flora Domestica” inquires, “Who can see, or hear the name of the daisy, the common field daisy, without a thousand pleasurable associations? It is connected with the sports of childhood and with the pleasures of youth. We walk abroad to seek it; yet it is the very emblem of home. It is a favourite with man, woman, and child: it is the _robin_ of flowers. Turn it all ways, and on every side you will find new beauty. You are attracted by the snowy white leaves, contrasted by the golden tuft in the centre, as it rears its head above the green grass: pluck it, and you will find it backed by a delicate star of green, and tipped with a blush-colour, or a bright crimson.
‘Daisies with their pinky lashes’
are among the first darlings of spring. They are in flower almost all the year; closing in the evening, and in wet weather, and opening on the return of the sun.”
In the poem of a living poet are these elegant stanzas:
_To the Daisy._
A nun demure, of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden of Love’s court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies drest; A starveling in a scanty vest; Are all, as seem to suit thee best, Thy appellations.
A little Cyclops, with one eye Staring to threaten or defy, That thought comes next, and instantly The freak is over; The freak will vanish, and behold! A silver shield with boss of gold, That spreads itself, some fairy bold In fight to cover.
I see thee glittering from afar; And then thou art a pretty star, Not quite so fair as many are In heaven above thee! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air, thou seem’st to rest;-- May peace come never to his nest, Who shall reprove thee.
Sweet flower! for by that name at last, When all my reveries are past, I call thee, and to that cleave fast; Sweet silent creature! That breath’st with me in sun and air, Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature.
_Wordsworth._
* * * * *
This evergreen of flowers is honoured by the same delightful bard in other poems; our young readers will not find fault if they are again invited to indulge; and the graver moralist will be equally gratified.
_To the Daisy._
In youth from rock to rock I went, From hill to hill, in discontent Of pleasure high and turbulent, Most pleased when most uneasy; But now my own delights I make,-- My thirst at every rill can slake, And gladly Nature’s love partake Of thee, sweet daisy!
When soothed awhile by milder airs, Thee Winter in the garland wears That thinly shades his few grey hairs; Spring cannot shun thee; Whole summer fields are thine by right; And Autumn, melancholy wight, Doth in thy crimson head delight When rains are on thee.
In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Thou greet’st the traveller in the lane; If welcomed once, thou count’st it gain; Thou art not daunted, Nor carest if thou be set at naught: And oft alone in nooks remote We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
Be violets in their secret mews The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose; Proud be the rose, with rains and dews Her head impearling; Thou liv’st with less ambitious aim, Yet hast not gone without thy fame Thou art indeed by many a claim The poet’s darling.
If to a rock from rains he fly, Or some bright day of April sky, Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie Near the green holly, And wearily at length should fare; He need but look about, and there Thou art!--a friend at hand, to scare His melancholy.
A hundred times, by rock or bower, Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, Have I derived from thy sweet power Some apprehension; Some steady love; some brief delight; Some memory that had taken flight; Some chime of fancy, wrong or right; Or stray invention.
If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure; The homely sympathy that heeds The common life, our nature breeds; A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure.
When, smitten by the morning ray, I see thee rise alert and gay, Then, cheerful flower! my spirits play With kindred gladness: And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Thou sink’st, the image of thy rest Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness.
And all day long I number yet, All seasons through, another debt, Which I, wherever thou art met, To thee am owing; An instinct call it, a blind sense; A happy genial influence, Coming one knows not how nor whence, Nor whither going.
Child of the year! that round dost run Thy course, bold lover of the sun, And cheerful when the day’s begun As morning leveret, Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain; Dear shalt thou be to future men As in old time;--thou, not in vain, Art Nature’s favourite.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 42·10.
~March 5.~
1826.--_Mid Lent Sunday._
For particulars of this day, see vol. i. p. 358.
FLOWERS.
Yes--Flowers again! It is the season of their approach; therefore make ready for their coming, and listen to the fair herald who is eloquent in praise of their eloquence. She tells us, in her “Flora Domestica,” and who dare deny? that “flowers do speak a language, a clear and intelligible language: ask Mr. Wordsworth, for to him they have spoken, until they excited ‘thoughts that lie too deep for tears;’ ask Chaucer, for he held companionship with them in the meadows; ask any of the poets, ancient or modern. Observe them, reader, love them, linger over them; and ask your own heart, if they do not speak affection, benevolence, and piety. None have better understood the language of flowers than the simple-minded peasant-poet, Clare, whose volumes are like a beautiful country, diversified with woods, meadows, heaths, and flower-gardens:
Bowing adorers of the gale, Ye cowslips delicately pale, Upraise your loaded stems; Unfold your cups in splendour, speak! Who decked you with that ruddy streak, And gilt your golden gems?
Violets, sweet tenants of the shade, In purple’s richest pride arrayed, Your errand here fulfil; Go bid the artist’s simple stain Your lustre imitate, in vain, And match your Maker’s skill.
Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth, Embroiderers of the carpet earth, That stud the velvet sod; Open to spring’s refreshing air, In sweetest smiling bloom declare Your Maker, and my God.”
_Clare._
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·69.
~March 6.~
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·22.
[Illustration: ~Merriment in March.~]
The wooden bird on horseback showing, By beat of drum with pipers blowing, They troop along huzzaing, tooting, To hold their annual game of shooting.
*
This is a French sport, which, according to a print from whence the present representation was taken, is peculiar to the month of March. The inscription on the engraving just mentioned, is--
MARS.
REJOUISSANCES DU PAPEGUAY.
_Les Triomphes d’un Conquérant Font voir plus de magnificence: Mais au défaut de l’opulence, Ceux cy ne coutent point de Sang._
* * * * *
The “Papeguay,” _Papegai_, or _Papegaut_, is “a wooden bird to shoot at, a shaw fowl.”[76] This wooden bird in the print is carried on a pole by the man on horseback, attended by those who are about to partake of the sport, and preceded by music. It seems to be a rustic amusement, and, perhaps, some light may be thrown on it by the following account from Miss Plumtre’s “Residence in France.” She says, that in connection with the church of St. John, at Aix, which formerly belonged to the knights of St. John of Jerusalem, there is a ceremony which used to be called _Le Bravade de St. Jean d’Aix_, instituted in the year 1272, on the return of the army which had followed Louis IX. or St. Louis, in his last expedition to Egypt and the Holy-land. According to Miss Plumptre, it was held on the eve of St. John the Baptist. A large bird of any kind was tethered in a field without the town, so that it could fly only to a certain height, and the youth of the place, those only of the second order of nobles, took aim at him with their bows and arrows in presence of all the nobility, gentry, and magistracy. He who killed the bird was king of the archers for the year ensuing, and the two who had gone the nearest after him were appointed his lieutenant and standard-bearer; he also nominated several other officers from among the competitors. The company then returned into the town, the judges of the contest marching first, followed by the victors: bonfires were made in several parts, round which the people danced, while the king and his officers went from one to the other till they had danced by turns at them all. The same diversions were repeated the following day; and both evenings the king, at the conclusion of them, was attended home by his officers and a concourse of people, among whom he distributed largesses to a considerable amount.
At the first institution of this ceremony, the intention of which was to incite the young men to render themselves expert marksmen, the king enjoyed very extensive privileges during the year; but in latter times they had been reduced to those of wearing a large silver medal which was presented to him at his accession, of enjoying the right of shooting wherever he chose, of partaking in the grand mass celebrated by the order of Malta at their church on the festival of St. John, and of being exempted from lodging soldiers, and paying what was called _Le droit de piquet_, a tax upon all the flour brought into the town. After the invention of the arquebuse, instead of shooting at a live bird with arrows, they fired at a wooden bird upon a pole, and he who could bring it down was appointed king: any one who brought it down two years together was declared emperor, and in that quality exempted for life from all municipal taxes. This ceremony continued till the revolution.
It appears from hence that this custom of shooting at a wooden bird on St. John’s eve is very similar to that which the engraving represents, as the merriment of the _Papeguay_, or wooden bird, belonging to the month of March.
_Anecdotes of_
BROWNE WILLIS,
_The Antiquarian_.
To the portrait of this eminent antiquary at p. 194, is annexed the day of his birth, in 1682, and the day whereon he died, in 1760. That engraving of him is after an etching made “in 1781, at the particular request of the Rev. William Cole, from a drawing made by the Rev. Michael Tyson, from an original painting by Dahl.” Mr. Cole, in a letter to Mr. Steevens, speaks of the etching thus: “The copy pleases me infinitely; nothing can be more exact and like the copy I sent, and which, as well as I can recollect, is equally so to the original. Notwithstanding the distance of time when Dahl drew his portrait and that in which I knew him, and the strange metamorphose that age and caprice had made in his figure, yet I could easily trace some lines and traits of what Mr. Dahl had given of him.” Agreeably to the promise already given, some particulars remain to be added concerning the distinguished individual it represents.
* * * * *
Browne Willis was grandson of Dr. Thomas Willis, the most celebrated physician of his time, and the eldest son of Thomas Willis, esq., of Bletchley, in the county of Bucks. When at Westminster school, “the neighbouring abbey drew his admiration: here he loved to walk and contemplate. The solemnity of the building, the antique appearance, the monuments, filled his whole mind. He delighted himself in reading old inscriptions. Here he first imbibed the love of antiquities, and the impression grew indelible.” At seventeen he was admitted a gentleman commoner of Christ Church college; in 1705 he represented the town of Buckingham in parliament, where he constantly attended, and often sat on committees; in 1707 he married; in 1718 he became an active member of the society of antiquaries; in 1720 the university of Oxford conferred on him the degree of M. A. by diploma; and in 1740 he received from it the degree of LL.D. On the 11th of February, 1760, he was buried in Fenny Stratford chapel, an edifice which, though he founded it himself, he was accustomed to attribute to the munificence of others, “who were in reality only contributors.” Of his numerous antiquarian works the principal are “Notitia Parliamentaria, or an History of the Counties, Cities, and Boroughs in England and Wales,” 3 vols. 8vo. “Mitred Abbies, &c.” 2 vols. 8vo. “Cathedrals of England,” 3 vols. 4to. and 4 vols. 8vo.--He attained a most extensive erudition in the topographical, architectural, and numismatic remains of England by devoting his life to their study, which he pursued with unabated ardour, uncheered by the common hope of deriving even a sufficiency from his various publications to defray their expenses. In a letter to his friend Dr. Ducarel, when he was seventy-four years of age, he says, “I am 100_l._ out of pocket by what I have printed; except my octavo of Parliaments, which brought me 15_l._ profit, though I gave it all away, and above 20_l._ more to build Buckingham tower steeple; and now, as I hoped for subscription to this book, (his last work, the History of the Town and Hundred of Buckingham) am like to have half the impression on my hands. Sold only 69 copies, of which to gentlemen of Buckinghamshire, only 28.” In the same year, 1756, he writes to one of his daughters, “I have worked for nothing; nay, except in one book, have been out of pocket, and at great expense in what I printed.” He considerably impaired his fortune by the scrupulosity and magnitude of his researches and collections, which he persevered in till he grew so weak and infirm that he had not strength to reach down and turn over his books, or draw up particulars with his own hands. Yet even then, in his seventy-eighth year, he amused himself by inquiries concerning “Bells,” and obtained returns of the contents of belfries in nearly six hundred parishes of the county of Lincoln, which he entered in the “Parochiale Anglicanum.”
* * * * *
An account of Dr. Willis was read to the society of antiquaries, by his friend Dr. Ducarel, who sums up his character in these words:--“This learned society, of which he was one of the first revivers, and one of the most industrious members, can bear me witness that he was indefatigable in his researches; for his works were of the most laborious kind. But what enabled him, besides his unwearied diligence, to bring them to perfection, was, his being blessed with a most excellent memory. He had laid so good a foundation of learning, that, though he had chiefly conversed with records, and other matters of antiquity which are not apt to form a polite style, yet he expressed himself, in all his compositions, in an easy and genteel manner. He was, indeed, one of the first who placed our ecclesiastical history and antiquities upon a firm basis, by grounding them upon records and registers; which, in the main, are unexceptionable authorities. During the course of his long life, he had visited every cathedral in England and Wales, except Carlisle; which journeys he used to call his _pilgrimages_. In his friendships none more sincere and hearty; always communicative, and ever ready to assist every studious and inquisitive person: this occasioned an acquaintance and connection between him and all his learned contemporaries. For his mother, the university of Oxford, he always expressed the most awful respect and the warmest esteem. As to his piety and moral qualifications, he was strictly religious, without any mixture of superstition or enthusiasm, and quite exemplary in this respect: and of this, his many public works, in building, repairing, and beautifying of churches, are so many standing evidences. He was charitable to the poor and needy; just and upright towards all men. In a word, no one ever deserved better of the society of antiquaries; if industry and an incessant application, throughout a long life, to the investigating the antiquities of this national church and state, is deserving of their countenance.”
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The editor of the _Every-Day Book_ possesses an unprinted letter written by Dr. Willis to the learned bishop Tanner, when chancellor of Norwich. A copy of this letter is subjoined, together with a fac-simile of its date and the place from whence it was addressed, in Dr. Willis’s hand-writing, and a further fac-simile of his autograph at the conclusion. The epistle is written on a proof impression of “The Ichnography or Platform of the Cathedral Church of Christ Church in Oxford,” one of the plates in Dr. Willis’s “Cathedrals,” relative to which, as well as other works, he sought information from his distinguished brother antiquary. This letter is a good specimen of Dr. Willis’s epistolary style of communication, and of that minuteness of investigation which is indispensable to antiquarian labours: it likewise testifies his solicitude for the education of his eldest son “Tom,” who died four years before himself, and expresses a natural desire that Dr. Tanner would visit his ecclesiastical foundation at Fenny Stratford.
_Copy._
To
The Rev. Dr. Tanner Chancellor of Norwich att Norwich
[Illustration: Whaddon Hall
March 23 1728/9]
Dear Mr. Chancellor,
I am honoured with yours just now received, and though weary with a journey being come home to night after 3 days absence, and lying out of my Bed which I have not done since Sir Thomas Lee’s Election in January, yet I cannot omitt paying my duty to you and thanking you for the favour and satisfaction yours gave mee--I have printed above 20 Prebendal Stalls of Lincoln but it does not goe on so fast as I would have it, else I should soon come to Ely, but I doubt I shall stay a long time for the draughts, wherefore I pray when you write to Dr. Knight press his getting them done out of hand--I have here one of Christ-church which I write upon that you may give your opinion--I shall be very glad you approve it, wee cannot well put in more references. As to the Prebendarys of Lincoln, since I have wrote 5 or 6 letters to the Bishop without an answer, I am obliged to be contented. I should be glad of Thomas Davies’s Epitaph from Bexwell. He was vicar of Siston co: Leicester and A.M. as my Account says. I have only 4 or 5 to enquire after that I shall be so eager to find, viz. Joshua Clark (Prebendary) of Cester, who died 1712. I have wrote to his 2 successors and cannot hear one word: The others I want are John Davenport, Mr. Davies’s predecessor in Sutton Prebend, and Henry Morland or Merland who died about 1704; but I would more particularly enquire after Thomas Stanhope, who, about 1668, was installed into the Prebend of Sutton cum Buckingham--I shall be thankfull for any Information of him, as I am of all opportunitys of hearing from you, and design to lay by your papers of Ely to send you again: but I am teized sadly about Bishop Lloyd of Norwich’s great Seal, and the circumscription round it, and have had 2 letters this week on that account: what my importunate correspondent wants is, the circle of writing round the Episcopal Seal in which he wrote his name Gulielimus: I am ashamed to repeat this Impertinence to which I pray a quick answer, especialy as to another subject of the greatest consequence of all, which is about placing my Eldest Son at Christ-church, where I design to make him a commoner, for he must study hard--I am to consult about a Tutor, and would gladly have one you have a confidence in; there are recommended Mr. Allen, Mr. Bateman, and Mr. Ward; now if you can answer for ever an one of these, and that he will, on your friendshipp or the Dean’s, have a more particular eye to Tom, whom I dont design to continue above 2 or 3 years at most, I shall be very thankfull for your recommendation. And so pray dear Mr. Chancellor write soon and advise mee, but I hope your affairs will call you to Oxford, and that you will take mee in your way and see Stratford chapell, which is very near, and your ever obliged and devoted Servant in all things,
[Illustration: B Willis]
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Browne Willis’s letter is franked by Dr. Richard Willis, bishop of Winchester, who was translated to that see from the bishopric of Salisbury, in 1723. A fac-simile of his autograph, on this occasion, is annexed.
[Illustration: Frank R Winchester]
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The character of Dr. Willis, by Dr. Ducarel, records his “pilgrimages” to “every cathedral in England and Wales, except Carlisle.” The antiquity, and the purposes of religious buildings, were objects of his utmost veneration; and he had the remarkable propensity of visiting churches on the festival-day of the saint to whom they were dedicated. In Fenny Stratford chapel he placed the following lines, “to the memory of Thomas Willis, M.D.,” his grandfather, through whom he derived his patrimonial estates:--
In honour to thy mem’ry, blessed Shade! Was the foundation of this chapel laid. Purchas’d by thee, thy son, and present heir, Owes these three manors to thy sacred care. For this, may all thy race thanks ever pay, And _yearly celebrate St. Martin’s day_!
B. W.
A letter he wrote within three months before his death particularizes his regard of festival-days.
Mr. Nichols transcribes a letter which he wrote very late in life, dated Nov. 13, 1759: “Good Mr. Owen, This comes to thank you for your favour at Oxford at St. Frideswide’s festival; and as your Bodleian visitation is over, I hope you are a little at liberty to come and see your friends; and as you was pleased to mention you would once more make me happy with your good company, I wish it might be next week, at our St. Martin’s anniversary at Fenny Stratford, which is Thursday se’nnight, the 22d instant, when a sermon will be preached by the minister of Buckingham: the last I am ever like to attend, so very infirm as I am now got; so that I stir very little out of the house, and it will therefore be charity to have friends come and visit me.”
Mr. Gough’s manuscripts relate of Dr. Willis, that “he told Mr. S. Bush he was going to Bristol on _St. Austin’s-day_ to see the cathedral, it _being the dedication day_.” It is added, that “he would lodge in no house at Bath but the Abbey-house: he said, when he was told that Wells cathedral was 800 years old, there was not a stone of it left 500 years ago.”
Miss Talbot, “in an unprinted letter to a lady of first-rate quality,” dated from the rectory house of St. James’s parish, (Westminster,) January 2, 1739, humorously describes him and says, “As by his little knowledge of the world, he has ruined a fine estate, that was, when he first had it, worth 2000_l._ per annum, his present circumstances oblige him to an odd-headed kind of frugality, that shows itself in the slovenliness of his dress, and makes him think London much too extravagant an abode for his daughters; at the same time that his zeal for antiquities makes him think an old copper farthing very cheaply bought for a guinea, and any journey properly undertaken that will bring him to some old cathedral _on the saint’s day_ to which it was dedicated.” Further on, Miss Talbot adds, relative to Dr. Willis on St. George’s day, “To honour last Sunday _as it deserved_, after having run about all the morning to _all the St. George’s churches_, whose difference of hours permitted him, he came to dine with us in a tie-wig, that exceeds indeed all description. ’Tis a tie-wig (the very colour of it is inexpressible) that he has had, he says, these nine years; and of late it has lain by at his barber’s, never to be put on but once a year, in honour of the Bishop of Gloucester’s (Benson) birth-day.”
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These peculiarities of Dr. Willis are in Mr. Nichols’s “Literary Anecdotes,” from which abundant depository of facts, the particulars hereafter related are likewise extracted, with a view to the information of general readers. On the same ground, that gentleman’s collection is mentioned; for--it is not to be presumed that any real inquirer into the “Literary History” of the last or the preceding century can be ignorant, that Mr. Nichols’s invaluable work is an indispensable assistant to every diligent investigator. It is certainly the fullest, and is probably the most accurate, source that can be consulted for biographical facts during that period, and is therefore quoted by name, as all authors ought to be by every writer or editor who is influenced by grateful feelings towards his authorities, and honest motives towards the public.
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Dr. Willis was whimsically satirized in the following verses by Dr. Darrell of Lillington Darrell.
AN EXCELLENT BALLAD.
To the Tune of _Chevy-Chace_.
Whilome there dwelt near Buckingham, That famous county town, At a known place, hight Whaddon Chace, A ’squire of odd renown.--
A Druid’s sacred form he bore, His robes a girdle bound: Deep vers’d he was in ancient lore, In customs old, profound.
A stick torn from that hallow’d tree Where Chaucer us’d to sit, And tell his tales with leering glee, Supports his tott’ring feet.
High on a hill his mansion stood But gloomy dark within; Here mangled books, as bones and blood Lie in a giant’s den.
Crude, undigested, half-devour’d, On groaning shelves they’re thrown; Such manuscripts no eye could read, Nor hand write--but his own.
No prophet he, like Sydrophel, Could future times explore; But what had happen’d, he could tell, Five hundred years and more.
A walking Alm’nack he appears, Stept from some mouldy wall, Worn out of use thro’ dust and years, Like scutcheons in his hall.
His boots were made of that cow’s hide, By Guy of Warwick slain; Time’s choicest gifts, aye to abide Among the chosen train.
Who first receiv’d the precious boon, We’re at a loss to learn, By Spelman, Camden, Dugdale, worn, And then they came to Hearne.
Hearne strutted in them for a while; And then, as lawful heir, Browne claim’d and seiz’d the precious spoil, The spoil of many a year.
His car himself he did provide, To stand in double stead; That it should carry him alive, And bury him when dead.
By rusty coins old kings he’d trace, And know their air and mien: King Alfred he knew well by face, Tho’ George he ne’er had seen.
This wight th’ outside of churches lov’d, Almost unto a sin; Spires Gothic of more use he prov’d Than pulpits are within.
Of use, no doubt, when high in air, A wand’ring bird they’ll rest, Or with a Bramin’s holy care, Make lodgments for its nest.
Ye Jackdaws, that are us’d to talk, Like us of human race, When nigh you see Browne Willis walk Loud chatter forth his praise.
Whene’er the fatal day shall come, For come, alas! it must, When this good ’squire must stay at home, And turn to antique dust;
The solemn dirge, ye Owls, prepare, Ye Bats, more hoarsly screek; Croak, all ye Ravens, round the bier, And all ye Church-mice squeak.
* * * * *
The Rev. W. Cole says, “Browne Willis had a most passionate regard for the town of Buckingham, which he represented in Parliament one session, or part of a session. This he showed on every occasion, and particularly in endeavouring to get a new charter for them, and to get the bailiff changed into a mayor; by unwearied application in getting the assizes held once a year there, and procuring the archdeacon to hold his visitations, and also the bishop there, as often as possible; by promoting the building of a jail in the town; and, above all, by procuring subscriptions, and himself liberally contributing, to the raising the tower of the church 24 feet higher. As he cultivated an interest opposite to the Temple family, they were never upon good terms; and made verses upon each other on their several foibles.”
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The same Mr. Cole, by way of notes on the preceding poem, relates the following anecdotes of Dr. Willis, which are subjoined to it by Mr. Nichols. “Mr. Willis never mentioned the adored town of Buckingham without the addition of _county-town_. His person and dress were so singular, that, though a gentleman of 1000_l._ per annum, he has often been taken for a beggar. An old leathern girdle or belt, always surrounded the two or three coats he wore, and over them an old blue cloak. He wrote the worst hand of any man in England,--such as he could with difficulty read himself, and what no one, except his old correspondents, could decipher. His boots, which he almost always appeared in, were not the least singular part of his dress. I suppose it will not be a falsity to say they were forty years old, patched and vamped up at various times. They are all in wrinkles, and don’t come up above half way of his legs. He was often called in the neighbourhood, _Old Wrinkle Boots_. They are humorously historized in the above poem. The chariot of Mr. Willis was so singular, that from it he was called himself, _The old Chariot_. It was his wedding chariot, and had his arms on brass plates about it, not unlike a coffin, and painted black. He was as remarkable probably for his love to the walls and structures of churches, as for his variance with the clergy in his neighbourhood. He built, by subscription, the chapel at Fenny Stratford; repaired Bletchley church very elegantly, at a great expense; repaired Bow-Brickill church, desecrated and not used for a century, and added greatly to the height of Buckingham church tower. He was not well pleased with any one, who in talking of, or with him, did not call him _Squire_. I wrote these notes when I was out of humour with him for some of his tricks. God rest his soul, and forgive us all. Amen!” Cole and Willis were friends. Our antiquary presented a living to Mr. Cole, who appears to have been very useful to him as a transcriber, seeker after dates, and collector of odds and ends. In erudition, discrimination, arrangement, and literary powers, Cole was at an immense distance from him. Dr. Willis’s writing he calls “the worst hand of any man in England.” This was not the fact. Cole’s “hand” was formal, and as plain as print; it was the only qualification he possessed over Dr. Willis, whose writing is certainly peculiar, and yet, where it seems difficult, is readily decipherable by persons accustomed to varieties of method, and is to be read with ease by any one at all acquainted with its uniform character.
* * * * *
On Dr. Willis’s personal appearance, Mr. Cole says, in a letter to Mr. Steevens, “When I knew him first, about 35 years ago, he had more the appearance of a mumping beggar than of a gentleman; and the most like resemblance of his figure that I can recollect among old prints, is that of Old Hobson the Cambridge carrier. He then, as always, was dressed in an old slouched hat, more brown than black, a weather-beaten large wig, three or four old-fashioned coats, all tied round by a leathern belt, and over all an old blue cloak, lined with black fustian, which he told me he had new made when he was elected member for the town of Buckingham about 1707.” Cole retained affection for his memory: he adds “I have still by me as relics, this cloak and belt, which I purchased of his servant.” Cole’s letter with this account he consented that Mr. Steevens should allow Mr. Nichols to use, adding that he gave the permission “on a presumption, that there was nothing disrespectful to the memory of Mr. Willis, for what I said I don’t recollect.” On this, Mr. Nichols remarks, “The _disrespect_ was certainly levelled at the mere external foibles of the respectable antiquary, whose goodness of heart, and general spirit of philanthropy were amply sufficient to bear him out in those whimsical peculiarities of dress, which were irresistible sources of ridicule.”
* * * * *
Cole, however, may be suspected to have somewhat exaggerated, when he so generalized his description of Dr. Willis, as to affirm that “he had more the appearance of a mumping beggar than of a gentleman.” Miss Talbot, of whom it was said by the duchess of Somerset to lady Luxborough, “she censures nobody, she despises nobody, and whilst her own life is a pattern of goodness, she does not exclaim with bitterness against vice,” seems, in her letter to the lady of quality before cited, to have painted Dr. Willis to the life. She says, “With one of the honestest hearts in the world, he has one of the oddest heads that ever dropped out of the moon. Extremely well versed in coins, he knows hardly any thing of mankind, and you may judge what kind of education such an one is likely to give to four girls, who have had no female directress to polish their behaviour, or any other habitation than a great rambling mansion-house in a country village.”
It must be allowed, notwithstanding, to the credit of Mr. Cole, that she adds, “He is the dirtiest creature in the world;” but then, with such a character from the mouth of a fine lady, the sex and breeding of the affirmant must be taken into the account, especially as she assigns her reasons. “It is quite disagreeable,” she says, “to sit by him at table: yet he makes one suit of clothes serve him at least two years, and then his great coat has been transmitted down, I believe, from generation to generation, ever since Noah.” Thus there may be something on the score of want of fashion in her estimate.
* * * * *
Miss Talbot’s account of Dr. Willis’s daughters is admirable. “Browne distinguishes his four daughters into the _lions_ and the _lambs_. The _lambs_ are very good and very insipid; they were in town about ten days, that ended the beginning of last week; and now the _lions_ have succeeded them, who have a little spirit of rebellion, that makes them infinitely more agreeable than their sober sisters. The _lambs_ went to every church Browne pleased every day; the _lions_ came to St. _James’s_ church on St. _George’s_ day, (which to Browne was downright heresy, for reasons just related.) The _lambs_ thought of no higher entertainment than going to see some collections of shells; the _lions_ would see every thing, and go every where. The _lambs_ dined here one day, were thought good awkward girls, and then were laid out of our thoughts for ever. The _lions_ dined with us on Sunday, and were so extremely diverting, that we spent all yesterday morning, and are engaged to spend all this, in entertaining them, and going to a comedy, that, I think, has no ill-nature in it; for the simplicity of these girls has nothing blameable in it, and the contemplation of such unassisted nature is infinitely amusing. They follow Miss Jenny’s rule, of never being strange in a strange place; yet in them this is not boldness.” Miss Talbot says, she could give “a thousand traits of the _lions_,” but she merely adds, “I wondered to have heard no remarks on the prince and princess; their remarks on every thing else are admirable. As they sat in the drawing-room before dinner, one of them called to Mr. Secker, ‘I wish you would give me a glass of sack!’ The bishop of Oxford (Secker) came in, and one of them broke out very abruptly, ‘But we heard every word of the sermon where we sat; and a very good sermon it was,’ added she, with a decisive nod. The bishop of Gloucester gave them tickets to go to a play; and one of them took great pains to repeat to him, till he heard it, ‘I would not rob you, but I know you are very rich, and can afford it; for I ben’t covetous, indeed I an’t covetous.’ Poor girls! their father will make them go out of town to-morrow, and they begged very hard that we would all join in entreating him to let them stay a fortnight, as their younger sisters have done; but all our entreaties were in vain, and to-morrow the poor _lions_ return to their den in the stage-coach. Indeed, in his birth-day tie-wig he looked so like ‘the father’ in the farce Mrs. Secker was so diverted with, that I wished a thousand times for the invention of Scapin and I would have made no scruple of assuming the character, and inspiring my friends with the laudable spirit of rebellion. I have picked out some of the dullest of their traits to tell you. They pressed us extremely to come and breakfast with them at their lodgings, four inches square, in Chapel-street, at eight o’clock in the morning, and bring a stay-maker and the bishop of Gloucester with us. We put off the engagement till eleven, sent the stay-maker to measure them at nine, and Mrs. Secker and I went and found the ladies quite undressed; so that, instead of taking them to Kensington Gardens, as we promised, we were forced, for want of time, to content ourselves with carrying them round Grosvenor-square into the Ring, where, for want of better amusement, they were fain to fall upon the basket of dirty sweetmeats and cakes that an old woman is always teizing you with there, which they had nearly despatched in a couple of rounds. It were endless to tell you all that has inexpressibly diverted me in their behaviour and conversation.”
* * * * *
Mr. Nichols contents himself with calling Miss Talbot’s letter “a very pleasant one”--it is delightfully pleasant: that its description may not be received in an ill sense, he carefully remarks, that “it would be thought highly satirical in any body else,” but he roguishly affirms that “Dr. Taylor could tell a thousand such stories of Browne Willis and his family;” and then he selects another. “In the summer of 1740, after Mr. Baker’s death, his executor came to take possession of the effects, and lived for some time in his chambers at college. Here Browne Willis waited upon him to see some of the MSS. or books; and after a long visit, to find and examine what he wanted, the old bed-maker of the rooms came in; when the gentleman said, ‘What noise was that I heard just as you opened the door?’ (he had heard the _rustling of silk_)--‘Oh!’ says Browne Willis, ‘it is only one of my daughters that I left on the staircase. This, we may suppose, was a _lamb_, by her patient waiting; else a _lion_ would have been better able to resist any petty rudenesses.’” Afterwards we have another “trait” of the same kind: “Once after long teasing, the young ladies prevailed on him to give them a London jaunt; unluckily the lodgings were (unknown to them) at an undertaker’s, the irregular and late hours of whose business was not very agreeable to the young ladies: but they comforted themselves with the thoughts of the pleasure they should have during their stay in town; when to their great surprise and grief, as soon as they had got their breakfast, the old family coach rumbled to the door, and the father bid them get in, as he had done the business about which he came to town.” Poor girls!
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The late Rev. John Kynaston, M.A., fellow of Brazen-nose college, who had seen the preceding paragraphs, writes to Mr. Nichols, “Your anecdotes of the _lions_ and the _lambs_ have entertained me prodigiously, as I well knew the grizzly sire of both. Browne Willis was indeed an original. I met with him at Mr. Cartwright’s, at Aynhoe, in Northamptonshire, in 1753, where I was at that time chaplain to the family, and curate of the parish. Browne came here on a visit of a week that summer. He looked for all the world like an old portrait of the era of queen Elizabeth, that had walked down out of its frame. He was, too truly, the very dirty figure Miss Talbot describes him to be; which, with the antiquity of his dress, rendered him infinitely formidable to all the children in the parish. He often called upon me at the parsonage house, when I happened not to dine in the family; having a great, and as it seemed, a very favourite point to carry, which was no less than to persuade me to follow his example, and to turn all my thoughts and studies to _venerable antiquity;_ he deemed _that_ the _summum bonum_, the height of all human felicity. I used to entertain Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright highly, by detailing to them Browne’s arguments to debauch me from the pursuit of polite literature, and such studies as were most agreeable to my turn and taste; and by parcelling out every morning after prayers (we had daily prayers at eleven in the church) the progress Browne had made the day before in the arts of seduction. I amused him with such answers as I thought best suited to his hobby-horse, till I found he was going to leave us; and then, by a stroke or two of spirited raillery, lost his warm heart and his advice for ever. My egging him on served us, however, for a week’s excellent entertainment, amid the dulness and sameness of a country situation. He represented me at parting, to Mr. Cartwright, as one incorrigible, and lost beyond all hopes of recovery to every thing truly valuable in learning, by having unfortunately let slip that I preferred, and feared I ever should prefer, one page of Livy or Tacitus, Sallust or Cæsar, to all the monkish writers, with Bede at the head of them.
-------“quot sunt quotve fuerunt Aut quotquot aliis erunt in annis. _Sic explicit Historiola de_ Brownio Willisio!”
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An Itinerary of Browne Willis “in search of the _antique_,” must have been excessively amusing. “Among the innumerable stories that are told of him, and the difficulties and rebuffs he met with in his favourite pursuits, the following may suffice as a specimen:--One day he desired his neighbour, Mr. Lowndes, to go with him to one of his tenants, whose old habitation he wanted to view. A coach driving into the farm-yard sufficiently alarmed the family, who betook themselves to close quarters; when Browne Willis, spying a woman at a window, thrust his head out of the coach, and cried out, ‘Woman, I ask if you have got no _arms_ in your house.’ As the transaction happened to be in the rebellion of 1745, when searches for arms were talked of, the woman was still less pleased with her visitor, and began to talk accordingly. When Mr. Lowndes had enjoyed enough of this absurdity, he said, ‘Neighbour, it is rather cold sitting here; if you will let me put my head out, I dare say we shall do our business much better.’ So the late Dr. Newcome, going in his coach through one of the villages near Cambridge, and seeing an old mansion, called out to an old woman, ‘Woman, is this a _religious house_?’ ‘I don’t know what you mean by a religious house,’ retorted the woman; ‘but I believe the house is as honest an house as any of yours at Cambridge.’”
On another occasion, “Riding over Mendip or Chedder, he came to a church under the hill, the steeple just rising above them, and near twenty acres of water belonging to Mr. Cox. He asked a countryman the church’s name--‘Emburrough.’ ‘When was it dedicated?’ ‘Talk English, or don’t talk at all.’ ‘When is the revel or wake?’ The fellow thought, as there was a match at quarter-staff for a hat in the neighbourhood, he intended to make one; and, struck with his mean appearance besides, challenged him in a rude way, and so they parted. This anomalous proposition must have been as embarrassing as the situation presumed in the play, ‘Dr. Pangloss in a tandem, with a terrier between his legs!’”
* * * * *
There is a very characteristic anecdote of Browne Willis, and Humfrey Wanley, a man of singular celebrity, and library keeper to the literary earl of Oxford: it is of Wanley’s own relation in his Diary. “Feb. 9, 1725-6. Mr. Browne Willis came, wanting to peruse one of Holmes’s MSS. marked L, and did so; and also L 2, L 3, and L 4, without finding what he expected. He would have explained to me his design in his intended book about our cathedrals; but I said I was about my lord’s necessary business, and had not leisure to spend upon any matter foreign to that. He wanted the liberty to look over Holmes’s MSS. and indeed over all this library, that he might collect materials for amending his former books, and putting forth new ones. I signified to him that it would be too great a work; and that I, having business appointed me by my lord, which required much despatch, could not in such a case attend upon him. He would have teazed me here this whole afternoon, but I would not suffer him. At length he departed in great anger, and I hope to be rid of him.” It is reported of the lion, that he is scared by the braying of the least noble of the beasts.
* * * * *
The Rev. Mr. Gibberd performed the “last offices” at the funeral of his friend Dr. Willis, who parted from life “without the usual agonies of death.” This gentleman says, “He breathed almost his last with the most earnest and ardent wishes for my prosperity: ‘Ah! Mr. Gibberd, God bless you for ever, Mr. Gibberd!’ were almost the last words of my dying friend.” Mr. Gibberd’s character of him may close these notices. “He was strictly religious, without any mixture of superstition or enthusiasm. The honour of God was his prime view in almost every action of his life. He was a constant frequenter of the church, and never absented himself from the holy communion; and as to the reverence he had for places more immediately set apart for religious duties, it is needless to mention what his many public works, in building, repairing, and beautifying churches, are standing evidences of. In the time of health he called his family together every evening, and, besides his private devotions in the morning, he always retired into his closet in the afternoon at about four or five o’clock. In his intercourse with men, he was in every respect, as far as I could judge, very upright. He was a good landlord, and scarce ever raised his rents; and that his servants, likewise, have no reason to complain of their master, is evident from the long time they generally lived with him. He had many valuable and good friends, whose kindness he always acknowledged. And though, perhaps, he might have some dispute, with a few people, the reason of which it would be disagreeable to enter into, yet it is with great satisfaction that I can affirm that he was perfectly reconciled with every one. He was, with regard to himself, peculiarly sober and temperate; and he has often told me, that he denied himself many things, that he might bestow them better. Indeed, he appeared to me to have no greater regard to money than as it furnished him with an opportunity of doing good. He supplied yearly three charity schools at Whaddon, Bletchley, and Fenny-Stratford: and besides what he constantly gave at Christmas, he was never backward in relieving his poor neighbours with both wine and money when they were sick, or in any kind of distress.” Thus, then, may end the few memorials that have been thrown together regarding an estimable though eccentric gentleman “of the old school.” If he did not adorn society by his “manners,” he enriched our stores of knowledge, and posterity have justly conferred on his memory a reputation for antiquarian attainments which few can hope to acquire, because few have the industry to cultivate so thorough an intimacy with the venerable objects of their acquaintance.
* * * * *
An “antiquary” is usually alarming. Those who are not acquainted with him personally, imagine that he is necessarily dull, tasteless, and passionless. Yet this conception might be dissipated by reference to the memoirs of the eminent departed, or by courting the society of the distinguished living. A citation in the notice of Grose[77] tells us that
“society droops for the loss of his jest:”
that antiquary’s facetiousness enlivened the dullest company, and with the convivial he was the most jovial. Pennant’s numerous works bear internal evidence of his pleasant mindedness. Jacob Bryant, “famous for his extensive learning, erudition,” and profound investigations concerning “Heathen Mythology,” and the situation and siege of “Troy,” was one of the mildest and most amiable beings: his society was coveted by youth and age, until the termination of his life, in his eighty-ninth year. Among the illustrious lovers of classic or black letter lore, were the witty and humorous George Steevens, the editor of Shakspeare; Dr. Richard Farmer, the learned author of the masterly “Essay on the Genius and Learning of Shakspeare,” is renowned by the few who remember him for the ease and variety of his conversation; Samuel Paterson, the celebrated bibliopolist, was full of anecdote and drollery; and the placid and intelligent Isaac Reed, the discriminating editor of “the immortal bard of Avon,” graced every circle wherein he moved. It might seem to assume an intimacy which the editor of this work does not pretend to, were he to mention instances of social excellence among the prying investigators of antiquity yet alive: one, however, he cannot forbear to name--the venerable octogenarian John Nichols, esq. F.S.A. of whom he only knows, in common with all who have read or heard of him, as an example of cheerfulness and amenity during a life of unwearied perseverance in antiquarian researches, and the formation of multiform collections, which have added more to general information, and created a greater number of inquirers on such subjects, than the united labours of his early contemporaries.
Still it is not to be denied, that seclusion, wholly employed on the foundations of the dead, and the manners of other times, has a tendency to unfit _such_ devotees for easy converse, when they seek to recreate by adventuring into the world. Early-acquired and long-continued severity of study, whether of the learned languages, or antiquities, or science, or nature, if it exclude other intimacies, is unfavourable to personal appearance and estimation. The _mere_ scholar, the _mere_ mathematician, and the _mere_ antiquary, easily obtain reputations for eccentricity; but there are numerous individuals of profound abstraction, and erudite inquiry, who cultivate the understanding, or the imagination, or the heart, who are, in manner, so little different from others, that they are scarcely suspected by the unknown and the self-sufficient of being better or wiser than themselves. Hence, “in company,” the individual whom all the world agrees to look on as “The Great Unknown,” may be scarcely thought of, as “The Antiquary”--the “President of the Royal Society” pass for “quite a lady’s man”--and ELIA be only regarded as “a gentleman that loves a joke!”
NATURE AND ART.
“_Buy my images!_”
“Art improves nature,” is an old proverb which our forefathers adopted without reflection, and obstinately adhered to as lovers of consistency. The capacity and meshes of their brain were too small to hold many great truths, but they caught a great number of little errors, and this was one. They bequeathed it to “their children and their children’s children,” who inherited it till they threw away the wisdom of their ancestors with their wigs; left off hair powder; and are now leaving off the sitting in hot club rooms, for the sake of sleep, and exercise in the fresh air. There seems to be a general insurrection against the unnatural improvement of nature. We let ourselves and our trees grow out of artificial forms, and no longer sit in artificial arbours, with entrances like that of the cavern at Blackheath hill, or, as we may even still see them, if we pay a last visit to the dying beds of a few old tea-gardens. We know more than those who lived before us, and if we are not happier, we are on the way to be so. Wisdom is happiness: but “he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.” Knowledge is not wisdom; it is only the rough material of wisdom. It must be shaped by reflection and judgment, before it can be constructed into an edifice fitting for the mind to dwell in, and take up its rest. This, as our old discoursers used to say, “brings us to our subject.”
“_Buy my images!_” or, “Pye m’imaitches,” was, and is, a “London cry,” by Italian lads carrying boards on their heads, with plaster figures for sale. “In _my_ time,” one of these “images” (it usually occupied a corner of the board) was a “Polly”--
[Illustration: ~A Parrot.~]
This representative of the most “popular” of “all the winged inhabitants of air,” might have been taken for the likeness of some species between an owl and the booby-bird; but then the wings and back were coloured with a lively green, and the under part had yellow streaks, and the beak was of a red colour, and any colour did for the eyes, if they were larger than they ought to have been. “In _my_ time” too, there was an “image” of a “fine bow pot,” consisting of half a dozen green shapes like halbert tops for “make believe” leaves, spreading like a half opened fan, from a knot “that was not,” inasmuch as it was delicately concealed by a tawny coloured ball called an orange, which pretended to rest on a clumsy clump of yellowed plaster as on the mouth of a jar--the whole looking as unlike a nosegay in water as possible. Then, too, there was a sort of obelisk with irregular projections and curves; the top, being smaller than the bottom, was marked out with paint into a sort of face, and, by the device of divers colours, it was bonnetted, armed, waisted, and petticoated--this was called a “fine lady.” A lengthened mass became by colourable show, “a dog”--like ingenuity might have tortured it into a devil. The feline race were of two shapes and in three sizes; the middle one--like physic in a bottle, “when taken, to be well shaken,” moved its chalk head, to the wonder and delight of all urchins, until they informed themselves of its “springs of action,” at the price of “only a penny,” and, by breaking it, discovered that the nodding knob achieved its un-cat-like motion, by being hung with a piece of wire to the interior of its hollow body. The lesser cat was not so _very_ small, considering its price--“a farthing:”--I speak of when battered button tops represented that plentiful “coin of the realm.” Then there was the largest
[Illustration: ~Cat.~]
The present representation favours the image too much. Neither this engraving, nor that of the “parrot,” is sufficiently like--the artist says he “could not draw it bad enough:” what an abominable deficiency is the want of “an eye”--heigho! Then there were so many things, that were not likenesses of any thing of which they were “images,” and so many years and cares have rolled over my head and heart, that I have not recollection or time enough for their description. They are all gone, or going--“going out” or “gone out” for ever! Personal remembrance is the frail and only memorial of the existence of some of these “ornaments” of the humble abodes of former times.
The masterpieces on the board of the “image-man,” were “a pair,”--at that time “matchless.” They linger yet, at the extreme corners of a few mantle-pieces, with probably a “sampler” between, and, over that, a couple of feathers from Juno’s bird, gracefully adjusted into a St. Andrew’s cross--their two gorgeous eyes giving out “beautiful colours,” to the beautiful eyes of innocent children. The “images,” spoken of as still in being, are of the colossal height of eighteen inches, more or less: they personate the “human form divine,” and were designed, perhaps, by Hayman, but their moulds are so worn that the casts are unfeatured, and they barely retain their bodily semblance. They are always painted black, save that a scroll on each, which depends from a kind of altar, is left white. One of the inscriptions says,
“Into the heaven of heavens I have presumed, &c.”
and all, except the owners, admire the presumption. The “effigy” looks as if the man had been up the chimney, and, instead of having “drawn empyrean air,” had taken a glass too much of Hodges’s “Imperial,” and wrapped himself in the soot-bag to conceal his indulgence and his person--this is “Milton.” The other, in like sables, points to his inscription, beginning,
“The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, &c.”
is an “insubstantial pageant” of “the immortal Shakspeare,”
“cheated of feature by dissembling nature,”
through the operation of time.
“Such were the forms that o’er th’ _incrusted souls_ Of our forefathers scatter’d _fond delight_.”
Price, and Alison, and Knight, have generalized “taste” for high-life; while those of the larger circle have acquired “taste” from manifold representations and vehicles of instruction, and comprehend the outlines, if they do not take in the details of natural objects. This is manifested by the almost universal disuse of the “images” described. With the inhabitants of every district in the metropolis, agreeable forms are now absolute requisites, and the demand has induced their supply. There are, perhaps, as many casts from the Medicean Venus, Apollo Belvidere, Antinous, the Gladiator, and other beauties of ancient sculpture, within the parish of St. George, in the East, as in the parish of St. George, Hanover-square. They are reposited over the fire-places, or on the tables, of neighbourhoods, wherein the uncouth cat, and the barbarous parrot were, even “in _my_ time,” desirable “images.” The moulds of the greater number of these deformities, are probably destroyed. It was with difficulty that the “cat” could be obtained for the preceding column, and an “image” of the “parrot” was not procurable from an “image-man.” Invention has been resorted to for the gratification of popular desire: two plaster casts of children, published in the autumn of 1825, have met with unparalleled sale. To record the period of their origin they are represented in the annexed engraving, and, perhaps, they may be so perpetuated when the casts themselves shall have disappeared, in favour of others more elegant.
The “common people” have become uncommon; A few remain, just here and there, the rest Are polish’d and refined: child, man, and woman, All, imitate the manners of the best; Picking up, sometimes, good things from their betters, As they have done from them. Then they have books; As ’twas design’d they should, when taught their letters; And nature’s self befriends their very looks: And all this must, and all this ought to be-- The only use of eyes, I know of, is--to _see_.
*
[Illustration: ~Street Images in 1826.~
Height of each 16 inches and a half.]
When these agreeable figures first appeared, the price obtained for them was four shillings. As the sale slackened they were sold for three shillings; now, in March, 1826, the pair may be bought for two shillings, or eighteen pence. The consequence of this cheapness is, that there is scarcely a house without them.
There can be no doubt that society is improving in every direction. As I hinted before, we have a great deal to learn, and something to unlearn. It is in many respects untrue, that “art improves nature;” while in many important respects it is certain, that “nature improves art.”
_The Brothers._
There are things in nature which the human voice can scarcely trust itself to relate; which art never can represent, and the pen can only feebly describe. Such a scene occurred at Lyons, in the year 1794.
The place of confinement to which those were hurried, who had been condemned to suffer by the revolutionary tribunal, was called “the Cave of Death.” A boy not fifteen years of age was sent thither. He had been one of the foremost in a _sortie_ made during the siege, and for this was doomed to perish. His little brother, scarcely six years old, who had been accustomed to visit him at his former prison, no longer finding him there, came and called at the iron grate of the vault. His brother heard him, and came to the grate: the poor infant passed his little hands between the vast bars to embrace him, while the elder raising himself on the points of his feet could just reach to kiss them. “My dear brother,” said the child, “art thou going to die, and shall I see thee no more? why didn’t you tell them that you are not yet fifteen?”--“I did, brother, I said all that I could say, but they would hear nothing. Carry a kiss to my mother, and try to comfort her; nothing grieves me but that I leave her ill; but don’t tell her yet, that I am going to die.” The child was drowned in tears, his little heart seemed ready to burst:--“Good-by, brother,” he repeated again and again; “but I’m afraid you didn’t say that you are not yet fifteen.”--He was at length so suffocated with sobs that he could speak no more, and went away. Every one who passed by, seeing his distress, asked him what was the matter. “’Tis the wicked men that make me cry,” said he; “they are going to kill my brother who is so good, and who is not yet fifteen.”
With any being of a human form, Who, reading such a narrative as this Could be unshaken to the inmost soul, I would not share a roof, nor sit, nor stand, Nor converse hold, by word, or look, or pen. Well, Reader! thou hast read--hast thou no tears? If thou wert stranger to the tale till now, And weep’st not--go! I dare not, will not, know thee Thy manner may be gentle, but thy heart Is ripe for cruelty--Go hence, I say!
[76] Chambaud.
[77] Vol. i. p. 658.
~March 7.~
_The Season._
The earth has now several productions for our gratification, if we stoop to gather and examine them. Young botanists should commence their inquiries before the season pours in its abundance. They who are admirers of natural beauties, may daily discover objects of delightful regard in the little peeping plants which escape the eye, unless their first appearance is narrowly looked for.
_The Primrose._
Welcome, pale Primrose! starting up between Dead matted leaves of ash and oak, that strew The every lawn, the wood, and spinney through, ’Mid creeping moss and ivy’s darker green; How much thy presence beautifies the ground: How sweet thy modest, unaffected pride Glows on the sunny bank, and wood’s warm side. And when thy fairy flowers, in groups, are found, The schoolboy roams enchantedly along, Plucking the fairest with a rude delight: While the meek shepherd stops his simple song, To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight; O’erjoy’d to see the flowers that truly bring The welcome news of sweet returning spring!
_Clare._
It is remarked by the lady of the “Flora Domestica,” that “this little flower, in itself so fair, shows yet fairer from the early season of its appearance; peeping forth even from the retreating snows of winter: it forms a happy shade of union between the delicate snowdrop and the flaming crocus, which also venture forth in the very dawn of spring.” The elegant authoress observes further: “There are many varieties of the primrose, so called, (the polyanthus and auricular, though bearing other names, are likewise varieties,) but the most common are the sulphur-coloured and the lilac. The lilac primrose does not equal the other in beauty: we do not often find it wild; it is chiefly known to us as a garden-flower. It is indeed the sulphur-coloured primrose which we
## particularly understand by that name: it is _the_ primrose: it is this
which we associate with the cowslips and the meadows: it is this which shines like an earth-star from the grass by the brook side, lighting the hand to pluck it. We do indeed give the name of primrose to the lilac flower, but we do this in courtesy: we feel that it is not the primrose of our youth; not the primrose with which we have played at bo-peep in the woods; not the irresistible primrose which has so often lured our young feet into the wet grass, and procured us coughs and chidings. There is a sentiment in flowers: there are flowers we cannot look upon, or even hear named, without recurring to something that has an interest in our hearts; such are the primrose, the cowslip, the May-flower, the daisy, &c. &c.” The poets have not neglected to pay due honours to this sweet spring-flower, which unites in itself such delicacy of form, colour, and fragrance; they give it a forlorn and pensive character. The poems of Clare are as thickly strewn with primroses as the woods themselves; the two following passages are from “The Village Minstrel.”
“O, who can speak his joys when spring’s young morn From wood and pasture opened on his view, When tender green buds blush upon the thorn, And the first primrose dips its leaves in dew.
* * * * *
“And while he pluck’d the primrose in its pride, He ponder’d o’er its bloom ’twixt joy and pain; And a rude sonnet in its praise he tried, Where nature’s simple way the aid of art supplied.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 39·54.
~March 8.~
At this season there is a sweetness in the fresh and open air, which never “comes to town.” Residents in cities, therefore, must seek it at some distance from their abodes; and those who cannot, may derive some pleasure from a sonnet, by the rural bard quoted just now.
_Approach of Spring._
Sweet are the omens of approaching Spring When gay the elder sprouts her winged leaves When tootling robins carol-welcomes sing, And sparrows chelp glad tidings from the eaves. What lovely prospects wait each wakening hour, When each new day some novelty displays, How sweet the sun-beam melts the crocus flower, Whose borrow’d pride shines dizen’d in his rays: Sweet, new-laid hedges flush their tender greens: Sweet peep the arum-leaves their shelter screens: Ah! sweet is all that I’m denied to share: Want’s painful hindrance sticks me to her stall;-- But still Hope’s smiles unpoint the thorns of Care Since Heaven’s eternal spring is free from all!
_Clare._
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·05.
~March 9.~
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·15.
[Illustration: THE ELEPHANT,
~As he laid dead at Exeter Change.~]
In the position he liked best He seem’d to drop, to sudden rest; Nor bow’d his neck, but still a sense Retain’d of his magnificence; For, as he fell, he raised his head And held it, as in life, when dead.
VISIT TO MR. CROSS, PROPRIETOR OF THE ELEPHANT.
The most remarkable incident in the metropolis, since “the panic” in the neighbourhood of the Royal Exchange, in January, 1826, was the death of the celebrated elephant at Exeter Change, in March of the same year; not that it is attempted to insinuate comparison between these events, as to their nature or consequences, but it may fairly be observed, that each produced what is commonly called “a sensation” in town and country, and that each originated in peculiar excitement.
Wishing to record the death of the elephant in this work, and to relate only what is true, I resorted to Mr. Cross, whose menagerie has sustained a bereavement that can only be supplied, if it ever can be supplied, at a vast expense, and after a long lapse of time. On explaining my wish and purpose, Mr. Cross readily assented to furnish me with the information I desired, and communicated the following
## particulars. I committed them to paper during my interviews, and after
digesting them into order, submitted the whole to his revision. Except as to mere language and occasional illustrations, the narrative is, in fact, the narrative of Mr. Cross. It differs in many essential respects from other accounts, but it only so differs, because every statement is accurately related from Mr. Cross’s lips. Circumstances which occurred during his temporary absence at the critical moment, were supplied to me in his presence by Mr. Tyler, the gentleman who arranged and cooperated with Mr. Herring, during the exigency that rendered the destruction of the elephant imperative.
The first owner of the lordly animal, now no more, was Mr. Harris, proprietor of Covent-garden theatre. He purchased it in July, 1810, for nine hundred guineas on its arrival in England, aboard the Astel, Captain Hay, and the elephant “came out” as a public performer the same year, in the procession of a grand pantomime, called “Harlequin Padmanaba.” Mrs. Henry Johnstone was his graceful rider, and he was “played up to” by the celebrated columbine, Mrs. Parker, whose husband had a joint interest with Mr. Harris in the new performer. During his “engagement” at this theatre, Mr. Polito “signed articles” with Messrs. Harris and Parker for his further “appearance in public” at the Royal Menagerie, Exeter Change. On the death of Mr. Polito, in 1814, Mr. Cross, who for twenty years had been superintendent of the concern, became its purchaser, and the elephant, thus transferred, remained with Mr. Cross till the termination of his life. From his “last farewell” to the public at Covent-garden theatre, he was stationary at the menagerie, from whence he was never removed, and, consequently, he was never exhibited at any other place.
On the elephant’s first arrival from India he had two keepers; these accompanied him to Exeter Change, and to their controul he implicitly submitted, until the death of one of them, within the first year after Mr. Cross’s proprietorship, when the animal’s increasing bulk and strength rendered it necessary to enlarge his den, or rather to construct a new one. The bars of the old one were not thicker than a man’s arm. With Mr. Harrison, the carpenter, who built his new den, and with whom he had formed a previous intimacy, he was remarkably docile, and accommodated himself to his wishes in every respect. He was occasionally troublesome to his builder from love of play, but the prick of a gimblet was an intimation he obeyed, till a desire for fresh frolic prompted him to further interference, and then a renewal of the hint, or some trifling eatable from the carpenter’s pocket, abated the interruption. In this way they went on together till the work was completed, and while the elephant retained his senses, he was happy in every opportunity that afforded him the society of his friend Harrison. The den thus erected will be particularized presently: it was that wherein he remained till his death.
About six years ago this elephant indicated an excitement which is natural to the species, and which prevails every year for a short season. At the period now spoken of, his keeper having gone into his den to exhibit him, the animal refused obedience; on striking him with a slight cane, as usual, the elephant violently threw him down: another keeper seeing the danger, tossed a pitchfork to his comrade, which the animal threw aside like a straw. A person then ran to alarm Mr. Cross, who hurried down stairs, and catching up a shovel, struck the animal violently on the head, and suddenly seizing the prostrated man, dragged him from the den, and saved his life.
This was the first appearance of those annual paroxysms, wherein the elephant, whether wild or confined, becomes infuriated. At such a period it is customary in India to liberate the elephants and let them run to the forests, whence, on the conclusion of the fit, they usually return to their wonted subjection. Such an experiment being impossible with Mr. Cross, he resorted to pharmacy, and, in the course of fifty-two hours, succeeded in deceiving his patient into the taking of twenty-four pounds of salts, twenty-four pounds of treacle, six ounces of calomel, an ounce and a half of tartar emetic, and six drams of powder of gamboge. To this he added a bottle of croton oil, the most potent cathartic perhaps in existence; of this, a full dram was administered, which alone is sufficient for at least sixty full doses to the human being; yet, though united with the preceding enormous quantity of other medicine, it operated no apparent effect. At this juncture Mr. Nyleve, a native East Indian, and a man of talent, suggested to Mr. Cross the administration of animal oil, as a medicine of efficacy. Six pounds of marrow from beef bones were accordingly placed within his reach, as if it had been left by accident; the liquorish beast, who would probably have refused it had it been tendered him in his food, swallowed the bait. The result justified Mr. Nyleve’s prediction. To my inquiry whether the marrow had not accelerated an operation which would have succeeded the previous administration, Mr. Cross answered, that he believed the beef marrow was the really active medicine, because, after an interval of three weeks, he gave the same quantity wholly unaccompanied, and the same aperient effect followed. He never, however, could repeat the experiment; for the elephant in successive years wholly refused the marrow, however attempted to be disguised, or with whatever it was mixed.
In subsequent years, during these periods of excitement, the paroxysms successively increased in duration; but there was no increase of violence until the present year, when the symptoms became more alarming, and medicine produced no diminution of the animal’s heightened rage. On Sunday, (the 26th of February,) a quarter of a pound of calomel was given to him in gruel. Three grains of this is a dose for a man; and though the entire quantity given to the elephant was more than equal to six hundred of those doses, it failed of producing in him any other effect than extreme suspicion of any food that was tendered to him, if it at all varied in appearance from what he was accustomed to at other times. On Monday morning some warm ale was offered him in a bucket, for the purpose of assisting the operation of the calomel, but he would not touch it till Cartmell, his keeper, drank a portion of the liquor himself, when he readily took it. The fluid did not appear to accelerate the wished-for object; and, in fact, the calomel wholly failed to operate. Though in a state of constant irritation, he remained tolerably quiet throughout Monday and Tuesday, until Wednesday, the 1st of March, when additional medicine became necessary, and Mrs. Cross conceived the thought of giving it to him through some person whom the elephant had not seen, and whom therefore he might regard as a casual visiter, and not suspect. To a certain extent the feint succeeded. She sent some buns to him by a strange lad, in one of which a quantity of calomel had been introduced. He ate each bun from the boy’s hand till that with the calomel was presented; instead of conveying it to his mouth, he instantly dropped the bun, and crushed it with his foot. In this way he was accustomed to treat every thing of food that he disliked.
It was always considered that the elephant’s den was of sufficient strength and magnitude to accommodate, and be proof against any attack he was able to direct against it, even in his most violent displeasure. In the course of the four preceding years the front had sustained many hundred of his powerful lounges, without any part having been substantially injured, or the smallest portion displaced, or rendered rickety in the slightest degree; but on this morning, (Wednesday,) about ten o’clock, he made a tremendous rush at the front, wholly unexcited by provocation, and broke the tenon, or square end at the top of the hinge story-post, to which the gates are hung, from its socket or mortise in the massive cross beam above; and, consequently, the strong iron clamped gates which had hitherto resisted his many furious attacks upon them, lost their security. Mr. Cross was then absent from the menagerie, and, in the urgency of the moment, his friend Mr. Tyler, a gentleman of great coolness and faculty of arrangement, gave orders for a strong massy piece of timber to be placed in front of his den, as a temporary fixture against the broken story-post; and offered every thing he could think of to pamper, and, if possible, to allay the animal’s fury. On Mr. Cross’s arrival he rightly judged, that another such lounge would prostrate the gates; and, as it was known that Mr. Harrison, the carpenter of the den, who formerly possessed great influence over him, had now lost all power of controuling him, it was morally certain, that if any other persons attempted to repair the mischief in an effectual way, their lives would be forfeited. Mr. Cross, under these circumstances of imminent danger, instantly determined to destroy the elephant with all possible despatch, as the only measure he could possibly adopt for his own safety and the safety of the public. Having formed his resolution, he went without a moment’s delay to Mr. Gifford, chemist in the Strand, and requested to be supplied with a potent poison, destitute if possible of taste or smell. Mr. Gifford, sensible of the serious consequences to Mr. Cross in a pecuniary point of view, entreated him to reflect still further, and not to commit an act of which he might hereafter repent. Mr. Cross assured him that whatever irritation he might manifest, proceeded from his own feelings of regard towards the elephant, heightened by a sense of the loss that would ensue upon his purpose being effected; adding, that he had a firm conviction that unless the animal’s death was immediately accomplished, loss of human life must ensue. Mr. Gifford replied, that he had never seen or complied more reluctantly with his wish on any occasion, and he gave him four ounces of arsenic. Mr. Cross declares that on his way back, the conflict of his feelings was so great at that moment, that he imagines no person contemplating murder could endure greater agony. The arsenic was mixed with oats, and a quantity of sugar being added by way of inducement, it was offered to the elephant as his ordinary meal by his keeper. The sagacious animal wholly refused to touch it.
His eyes now glared like lenses of glass reflecting a red and burning light. In order to soothe him, some oranges, to which fruit he had great liking, were repeatedly proffered; but though these were in a pure state, he took them, one after the other, as they were presented to him, and dropping each on the floor of his den instantly squelched it with his foot, and having thus disposed of a few he refused to take another. This utter rejection of food, with amazing increase of fury, heightened Mr. Cross’s alarm. He again went out, and in great agitation procured half an ounce of corrosive sublimate to be mixed in a quantity of conserve of roses, securely tied in a bladder, to prevent, if possible, any scent from the poison, and with some hope that if the animal detected any effluvia through the air-tight skin it would be the odour of roses and sugar, which were substances peculiarly grateful to him. The elephant was accustomed to swallow several things lying about within reach of his proboscis, which, if tendered to him, he would have refused; and this habit suggesting the possibility that he might so dispose of this, which, it was quite certain, if presented would have been rejected, the ball was placed so that he might find it; but the instant he perceived it he seemed to detect the purpose; he hastily seized it, and as hastily letting it fall, violently smashed it with his foot.
The peril was becoming greater every minute. The elephant’s weight was upwards of five tons, and from such an animal’s excessive rage, in a place of insecure confinement, the most terrible consequences were to be feared. Mr. Cross therefore intrusted his friend, Mr. Tyler, to direct and assist the endeavours of the keepers for the controul of the infuriated beast. He then despatched a messenger to his brother-in-law, Mr. Herring, in the New Road, Paddington, a man of determined resolution, and an excellent shot, stating the danger, and requesting him to come to the menagerie. As he arrived without arms, they went together to Mr. Stevens, gunsmith, in High Holborn, for rifles. On their way to him they called at Surgeons-hall, Lincoln’s-Inn Fields, where they hoped to see the skeleton of an elephant, in order to form a judgment of the places through which the shots would be likeliest to reach the vital parts. In this they were disappointed, the college of surgeons not having the skeleton of the animal in its collection; but Mr. Clift, who politely received them, communicated what information he possessed on the subject. Mr. Stevens lent him three rifles, and at his house Mr. Cross left Mr. Herring to get the pieces ready, after instructing him to cooperate with Mr. Tyler, in attempting the destruction of the animal, if it should be absolutely necessary before he returned himself. From thence Mr. Cross hastened to Great Marlborough-street, for the advice of Mr. Joshua Brookes, the eminent anatomist. He found that gentleman in his theatre, delivering a public lecture. Sense of danger deprived Mr. Cross of the attentions due to time and place under ordinary circumstances, and he immediately addressed Mr. Brookes; “Sir, a word with you, if you please, immediately: I have not an instant to lose.” Mr. Brookes concluded his lecture directly and knowing Mr. Cross would not have intruded upon him except from extreme urgency, withdrew with him, and gave him such instructions as the case seemed to require. Mr. Cross, accompanied by one of Mr. Brookes’s pupils, hastened homeward. They were met near the menagerie by Mr. Tyler, who entreated Mr. Cross to run to Somerset-house and obtain military assistance from that place, for that they had been compelled to use the rifles in their own defence, and had put a number of shot in him without being able to get him down. Mr. Brookes’s pupil accompanied Mr. Tyler, to assist him, if possible, while Mr. Cross rapidly proceeded to Somerset-house, where he found a sentry on duty, who did not dare to quit his post, and referred him to the guard-room, where there were only two other privates and a corporal, who, at first, declared his utter inability to lend him either men or arms; but on the earnest entreaties of Mr. Cross for aid, and his repeated representations, that he would be responsible in purse and person, and compensate any consequences that could be incurred by a direliction from the formalities of military duty on so pressing an occasion, the corporal relented, and, with one of the privates, hastened to the menagerie.
Mr. Cross now met Herring, of the public office, Bow-street, to whom he communicated the situation of affairs at Exeter Change, and requested his assistance in obtaining arms. Herring suggested an application to Bow-street for that purpose. It appears that from accident they were not procurable there, and deeming it possible that they might be got at sir W. Congreve’s office, Mr. Cross ran thither, where he was also disappointed. Mr. Brooks, glassman of the Strand, informed Mr. Cross there were small arms in the neighbourhood of Somerset-house; these, on returning to that place, were discovered to be old howitzers, and, therefore, useless. From thence he went on board the police-ship stationed on the Thames, near Waterloo-bridge, expecting to find swivels, and was again disappointed; being informed, however, that swivels were fired during civic processions from Hawes’s soap manufactory, on the Surrey side of the river, near Blackfriars-bridge, he rowed over and obtained a swivel, with a few balls, and the head of a poker, and the assistance of one of Mr. Hawes’s men. The use for either, however, ceased to exist; for they arrived at the menagerie within a few minutes after the conclusion of such a scene as had never been exhibited in that place nor, probably, in any other in this country. The elephant was dead.
To describe the proceedings of Exeter Change, from the time of Mr. Cross’s leaving it, it is necessary to recur to the period of Mr. Herring’s appearance thither, on his return from Mr. Stevens’s, in Holborn, with the three rifles, and one of Mr. Stevens’s assistants. He found that the violence of the elephant had increased every minute from the period of his departure with Mr. Cross, and that at great personal hazard Mr. Tyler, with Cartmell and Newsam, and the other keepers, had prevented him from breaking down the front of the den.
The keepers faced him with long pikes or spears, to deter him as much as possible from efforts to liberate himself from the confinement, which at ordinary periods he had submitted to without restraint. When he lounged furiously at the bars, they assailed him with great bravery, and their threats and menaces prevented the frequency of his attacks. In this state of affairs Mr. Herring concurred with Mr. Tyler, that to wait longer for Mr. Cross would endanger the existence of every person present; and having communicated the fact to Mrs. Cross, who had the highest regard for the animal from his ordinary docility, she was convinced, by their representations, that his death must be accomplished immediately, and therefore assented to it.
For the information of persons not acquainted with the menagerie, it is necessary to state that it occupies the entire range of the floor above Exeter Change, the lower part of which edifice withinside is occupied by shops belonging to Mr. Clarke. This part of the building, on the business of the day being concluded, is closed every night by the strong folding gates at each end, which, when open, allow a free passage to the public through the Change. It will be perceived, therefore, that the flooring above is Mr. Cross’s menagerie, or, at least, that very important part of it which is allotted to his matchless collection of quadrupeds. A large arrangement of other animals is in other apartments, on a higher story. Nero, not Wombwell’s Nero, which was baited by that showman at Warwick, but a lion not only in every respect finer than his namesake, and, in short, the noblest of his noble species in England, occupies a den in the menagerie over the western door of the Change. Other lions and animals are properly secured in their places of exhibition, on each side of the room, and the east end is wholly occupied by the den of the elephant; its floor being supported by a foundation of brick and timber more than adequate to the amazing weight of the animal. The requisite strength and construction of this flooring necessarily raise it nearly two feet from the flooring of the other part of the menagerie, which, though amazingly stable, and capable of bearing any other beast in perfect safety, would have immediately given way beneath the tread of the elephant; and had he forced his den he must have fallen through.
As soon, therefore, as his sudden death was resolved on, Mr. Tyler went down to Mr. Clarke, and acquainting him with the danger arising out of the immediate necessity, suggested the instant removal of every person from the Change below, and the closing of the Change gates. Mr. Clarke, and all belonging to his establishment, saw the propriety of their speedy departure, and in a few minutes the gates were barred and locked. By the adoption of these precautions, if the elephant had broken down the floor no lives would have been lost, although much valuable property would have been destroyed; and, in the event contemplated, the animal himself would have been confined within the basement. Still, however, a slight exertion of his enormous strength could have forced the gates. If he had made his entry into the Strand, it is impossible to conjecture the mischief that might have ensued in that crowded thoroughfare, from his infuriated passion.
On Mr. Tyler’s return up stairs from Mr. Clarke, it was evident from the elephant’s extreme rage, that not a moment was to be lost. Three rifles therefore were immediately loaded, and Mr. Herring, accompanied by Mr. Stevens’s assistant entered the menagerie, each with a rifle, and took their stations for the purpose of firing. Mr. Tyler pointed out to the keepers the window places, and such recesses as they might fly to if the elephant broke through, and enjoining each man to select a particular spot as his own exclusive retreat, concluded by showing the danger of any two of them running to the same place for shelter. The keepers with their pikes, placed themselves in the rear of Mr. Herring and his assistant, who stood immediately opposite the den, at about the distance of twelve feet in the front. Mr. Herring requested Cartmell to call in his usual tone to the elephant when he exhibited him to visiters, on which occasions the animal was accustomed to face his friends with the hope of receiving something from their hands. Cartmell’s cry of “Chunee! Chunee! Chuneelah!” in his exhibiting tone, produced a somewhat favourable posture for his enemies, and he instantly received two bullets aimed from the rifles towards the heart; they entered immediately behind the shoulder blade, at the distance of about three inches from each other. The moment the balls had perforated his body he made a fierce and heavy rush at the front, which further weakened the gates, shivered the side bar next to the dislodged story-post, and drove it out into the menagerie. The fury of the animal’s assault was terrific, the crash of the timbers, the hallooing of the keepers in their retreat, the calls for “rifles! rifles!” and the confusion and noise incident to the scene, rendered it indescribably terrific. The assailants rallied in a few seconds, and came pointing their spears with threats. Mr. Tyler having handed two other rifles, they were discharged as before; and, as before, produced a similar desperate lounge from the enraged beast at the front of his den. Had it been effective, and he had descended on the floor, his weight must have inevitably carried it, together with himself, his assailants, and the greater part of the lions, and other animals, into the Change below, and by possibility have buried the entire menagerie in ruins. “Rifles! rifles!” were again called for, and from this awful crisis it was only in the power of Mr. Tyler and some persons outside, to load quick enough for the discharge of one rifle at a time. The maddened animal turned round in his den incessantly, apparently with the design of keeping his head from the riflemen, who after the first two discharges could only obtain single shots at him. The shutter inside of a small grated window, which stood in a projection into the den, at one of the back corners, was now unshipped, and from this position Mr. Herring fired several shots through the grating. The elephant thus attacked in the rear as well as the front, flew round the den with the speed of a race-horse, uttering frightful yells and screams, and stopping at intervals to bound from the back against the front. The force of these rushes shook the entire building, and excited the most terrifying expectation that he would bring down the entire mass of wood and iron-work, and project himself among his assailants.
After the discharge of about thirty balls, he stooped and sunk deliberately on his haunches. Mr. Herring, conceiving that a shot had struck him in a vital part, cried out--“He’s down, boys! he’s down!” and so he was, but it was only for a moment: he leapt up with renewed vigour, and at least eighty balls were successively discharged at him from different positions before he fell a second time. Previous to that fall, Mr. Joshua Brookes had arrived with his son, and suggested to Mr. Herring to aim especially at the ear, at the eye, and at the gullet.
The two soldiers despatched from Somerset-house by Mr. Cross came in a short time before Mr. Brookes, and discharged about three or four rounds of ball cartridge, which was all the amunition they had. It is a remarkable instance of the animal’s subjection to his keeper, that though in this deranged state, he sometimes recognised Cartmell’s usual cry of “Chunee! Chunee! Chuneelah!” by sounds with which he was accustomed to answer the call, and that more than once, when Cartmell called out “Bite Chunee! bite!” which was his ordinary command to the elephant to kneel, he actually knelt, and in that position received the balls in the parts particularly desired to be aimed at. Cartmell, therefore, kept himself as much as possible out of view as one of the assailants, in order that his voice might retain its wonted ascendency. He and Newsam, and their comrades took every opportunity of thrusting at him. Cartmell, armed with a sword at the end of a pole, which he afterwards affixed to a rifle, pierced him several times.
On the elephant’s second fall he lay with his face towards the back of the den, and with one of his feet thrust out between the bars, so that the toes touched the menagerie floor. At this time he had from a hundred and ten to a hundred and twenty balls in him; as he lay in a posture, Cartmell thrust the sword into his body to the hilt. The sanguinary conflict had now lasted nearly an hour; yet, with astonishing alacrity, he again rose, without evincing any sign that he had sustained vital injury, though it was apparent he was much exhausted. He endeavoured to conceal his head by keeping his rear to the front; and lest he should either make a successful effort at the gate, or, on receiving his death-wound, fall backwards against it, which would inevitably have carried the whole away, the keepers availed themselves of the juncture to rapidly lash the gates of his den with a chain and ropes so securely, that he could not force them without bringing down the entire front.
Mr. Herring now directed his rifle constantly to the ear: one of these balls took so much effect, that the elephant suddenly rushed round from the blow, and made his last furious effort at the gates. Mr. Tyler describes this rush as the most awful of the whole. If the gates had not been firmly lashed, the animal must have come through; for, by this last effort, he again dislodged them, and they were kept upright by the chain and ropes alone. Mr. Herring from this time chiefly directed his fire at the gullet; at last he fell, but with so much deliberation, and in a position so natural to his usual habits, that he seemed to have lain down to rest himself. Mr. Herring continued to fire at him, and spears were ran into his sides, but he remained unmoved, nor did he stir from the first moment of his fall. Four or five discharges from a rifle into his ear produced no effect: it was evident that he was without sense, and that he had dropped dead, into the posture wherein he always lay when alive.
The fact that such an animal, of such prodigious size and strength, was destroyed in such a place, without an accident, from the commencement to the close of the assault, is a subject of real astonishment.
The situation of Mr. Cross’s menagerie, after the removal of the elephant, was equally and almost as agreeably surprising. A partial dissection took place on the Sunday, and in the course of the same day the body of the animal, with the skeleton, hide, and every particle of the remains, were removed. A stranger entering the place on Tuesday, ignorant of the recent event, could not have suspected such an occurrence. The menagerie was destitute of offensive smell, and, in every respect, preserved its usual appearance of order and cleanliness. Thus much is testified by the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ from personal observation; and, if he were not too unwell to write more, he would add some interesting particulars respecting “Chuneelah,” which are necessarily deferred till the next sheet.
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A representation of the outside front of the den seeming essential to the right understanding of the narrative, an engraving of it is added from a drawing made by Mr. John Cleghorn, the architectural draftsman, for that purpose. It is minutely correct in form and proportion, and shows the bar which the elephant broke and displaced in his last lounge. Though of solid oak, six inches square, it broke beneath his rush like a slight stick.
This engraving will be particularly referred to hereafter.
[Illustration: ~The Den of the Elephant at Exeter Change.~]
The posture of the animal as he lay dead, is shown by the engraving at the head of this article.
Several interesting anecdotes concerning elephants are extracted and subjoined from the Philosophical Transactions, Grose’s Voyage to the East Indies, Shaw’s Zoology, Goldsmith’s Animated Nature, the Gentleman’s Magazine, and other works and collections, some of which are named in the extracts themselves.
In the “London Magazine,” for 1761, there is an imperfect description of a large elephant, which is there called a “monstrous creature,” presented by the court of Persia to the king of Naples at that period. There is a detailed account of the animal by M. Nollet, in the “Philosophical Transactions” of the French Royal Academy. The “London” editor was so struck by this elephant’s enormous consumption of food, that he observes, “as the keeping of an elephant is so expensive, we may conclude that no old or full-grown one will ever be brought here for a show.” It is true that Mr. Cross’s elephant, on his arrival in this country, was neither old nor full-grown; but his exhibition falsifies the English editor’s presumption, that the great outlay for such an animal’s keep would be an effectual bar to such enterprise as we have seen manifested by Mr. Cross, whose elephant was in size, and other respects, greatly superior to the “enormous” elephant of his majesty of the Two Sicilies.
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Bosinian observes, that the bullets to be made use of in hunting and killing the elephants, must be of _iron_, lead being too soft in its texture to do any execution. He says, “elephants are very difficult to be killed, unless the ball happens to light betwixt the eyes and the ears; to which end the bullet ought to be iron also. Their skin is as good proof against the common musket lead balls, as a wall; and if they hit the mentioned place become entirely flat.” Afterwards he says, “Those who pretended thoroughly to understand the elephant-shooting, told us, that we ought to have shot iron bullets, since those of lead are flatted, either by their bones, or the toughness of their skin.”
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About the year 1767, a cutler at Sheffield in Yorkshire, in sawing an elephant’s tooth into proper laminæ or scantlings of ivory, met with a resistance which he had great difficulty to overcome. After he had got through the obstruction, it proved to be an _iron_ bullet, lodged in the very body of the tooth, without any visible mark externally of the place where it entered.
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In 1801, Mr. Charles Combe described to the Royal Society, an elephant’s tusk with the iron head of a spear thoroughly imbedded in it. From its position, he presumed it to have been forced by manual strength, through that part of the skull contiguous to the tusk; and that pursuing the natural course of the cavity, it pointed downwards towards the apex of the tusk.
Other substances foreign to the natural growth of the tusks of elephants, are frequently, found within them.
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It is not until after the discharge of a hundred or perhaps double the number of rifles, that the elephant is slain in India, when he is chased by persons inured to the danger, and determined on his destruction. It will not excite astonishment, therefore, that Mr. Cross’s noble animal should have retained life under the firing of one hundred and fifty-two shots. There is an account of a splendid hunting party of a late Nawab Asuf-ud-Dowlah, who, with an immense retinue, took the field for the purpose of destroying every animal they met with. On a large plain overgrown with grass they discovered a wild elephant. The Nawab immediately formed a semicircle, with four hundred tame elephants, who were directed to advance and surround him. When the semicircle of elephants got within three hundred yards of the wild one, he looked amazed, but not frightened. Two large and fierce elephants were ordered to advance against him, but they were repulsed by a dreadful shock, and drove by the Nawab, who, as the wild one passed, ordered some of the strongest female elephants to go alongside and endeavour to entangle him with nooses and running knots; the attempt, however, was vain, as he snapped every rope, and none of the tame elephants could stop his progress. The Nawab, perceiving it impossible to catch him, ordered his death, and immediately a volley of above a hundred shots were fired. Many of the balls hit him, but he seemed unconcerned, and moved on towards the mountains. An incessant fire was kept up for nearly half an hour; the Nawab and most of his omras, or lords, used rifles, which carried two or three ounce balls but they made very little impression, and scarcely penetrated beyond the skin. Our author, who was mounted on a female elephant, went up repeatedly within ten yards of the wild one, and fired his rifle at his head; the blood gushed out, but the skull was invulnerable. Some of the Kandahar horses then galloped up and wounded the beast in several places. At length, being much exhausted with the loss of blood, from the number of wounds which he had received, he slackened his pace, and became quite calm and serene, as if determined to meet his approaching end. The horsemen, seeing him weak and slow, dismounted, and with their swords commenced a furious attack on the tendons of his hind legs, which were soon divided, and the operation completely disabled the poor animal from proceeding any further: he staggered, and then fell without a groan. The hatchet-men now advanced, and began to cut away his large ivory tusks, while the horsemen and soldiers in the most unfeeling manner attacked the dying creature with their swords. We can readily believe the writer, when he says the sight was very affecting. The noble animal still breathed, and breathed without a groan. He rolled his eyes in anguish on the surrounding crowd, and, making a last effort to rise, expired with a sigh.
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Before gunpowder was invented, elephants were used by the nations of Asia and Africa for the purposes of war, and the kings of Ceylon, Pegu, and Arracan, have from time immemorial employed them for this use. Sharp sword-blades were fastened to their trunks, and upon their backs were fixed small wooden castles, containing five or six men, armed with javelins, and other missile weapons. The Greeks and Romans, however, soon learnt the best method of defence against these enormous warriors. They opened their ranks to let them pass through, and directed their whole attack against their riders. But since fire-arms have become the principal instruments of war, elephants, who are terrified both by the fire, and the noise of their discharge, would be of more detriment than advantage to the party that should employ them. Some of the Indian kings, however, still use armed elephants in their wars. In Cochin, and other parts of Malabar, all the soldiers that do not fight on foot are mounted upon elephants. This is also the case in Tonquin, Siam, and Pegu, where the use of fire-arms is but little known. The leader of the elephant sits astride upon his neck, and the combatants sit or stand upon other parts of his body. The elephants also prove very serviceable in passing rivers, and carry the baggage over on their backs. When their leaders have loaded them with a burden of several hundred weight, they tie cords to it, by which the soldiers hold fast and swim, or are drawn across the river. In battle, a heavy iron chain is sometimes fastened to the end of their trunk, which they swing about with such rapidity, as renders it impossible for an enemy to approach them. Another service which these animals perform in war, consists in forcing open the gates of besieged towns or fortresses. This they do, by stemming themselves with their haunches against the gates, and moving from side to side till they have broken the hinges, and forced open the gate. In order to prevent this, the besieged have generally large nails fixed in the gates, and projecting to a considerable length.
Elephants are also employed for transporting heavy ordnance over mountains, in doing which they show a singular degree of ingenuity. When oxen or horses are harnessed to a piece of ordnance, it requires the exertion of all their strength to draw it up an ascent. The elephant, in such cases, pushes the carriage forward with his forehead, and after every push, stems his knees against the wheels, whereby he prevents it from rolling back.
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Wild elephants were caught and trained at an early period; since we find Arrian, who flourished about the 104th year of Christ, giving us the following account of the manner of taking elephants in India. The Indians enclose a large spot of ground, with a trench about twenty feet wide, and fifteen high, to which there is access but in one part, and this is a bridge, and is covered with turf; in order that these animals, who are very subtle, may not suspect what is intended. Of the earth that is dug out of the trench, a kind of wall is raised, on the other side of which a little kind of chamber is made, where people conceal themselves in order to watch these animals, and its entrance is very small. In this enclosure two or three tame female elephants are set. The instant the wild elephants see or smell them, they run and whirl about so much, that at last they enter the enclosure; upon which the bridge is immediately broken down, and the people upon the watch fly to the neighbouring villages for help. After they have been broken for few days by hunger and thirst, people enter the enclosure upon the tame elephants, and with these they attack them. As the wild ones are by this time very much weakened, it is impossible for them to make a long resistance. After throwing them on the ground, men get upon their backs, having first made a deep wound round their necks, about which they throw a rope, in order to put them to great pain in case they attempt to stir. Being tamed in this manner, they suffer themselves to be led quietly to the houses with the rest, where they are fed with grass and green corn, and tamed insensibly by blows and hunger, till such time as they obey readily their master’s voice, and perfectly understand his language.
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In a description of the process of catching wild elephants, related by John Corse, Esq. in the “Asiatic Researches,” he interests the reader by an account of the escape of one which had been tamed, and of his submission to his keeper when he was recaptured. He says, in June, 1787, Jâttra-mungul, a male elephant taken the year before, was travelling in company with some other elephants towards Chittigong, laden with a tent, and some baggage for the accommodation of Mr. Buller and myself on the journey. Having come upon a tiger’s track, which elephants discover readily by the smell, he took fright and ran off to the woods in spite of the efforts of his driver. On entering the wood, the driver saved himself by springing from the elephant, and clinging to the branch of a tree, under which he was passing: when the elephant had got rid of his driver, he soon contrived to shake off his load. As soon as he ran away, a trained female was despatched after him, but could not get up in time to prevent his escape; she, however, brought back his driver, and the load he had thrown off, and we proceeded, without any hope of ever seeing him again.
Eighteen months after this, when a herd of elephants had been taken, and had remained several days in the enclosure, till they were enticed into the outlet, and there tied, and led out in the usual manner, one of the drivers, viewing a male elephant very attentively, declared that he resembled the one which had run away. This excited the curiosity of every one to go and look at him; but when any person came near, the animal struck at him with his trunk, and, in every respect, appeared as wild and outrageous as any of the other elephants. At length, an old hunter, coming up and examining him narrowly, declared he was the very elephant that had made his escape.
Confident of this, he boldly rode up to him, on a tame elephant, and ordered him to lie down, pulling him by the ear at the same time. The animal seemed quite taken by surprise, and instantly obeyed the word of command, with as much quickness as the ropes with which he was tied permitted; uttering at the same time a peculiar shrill squeak through his trunk, as he had formerly been known to do; by which he was immediately recognised by every person who had ever been acquainted with this peculiarity.
Thus we see that this elephant, for the space of eight or ten days, during which he was in the haddah, and even while he was tying in the outlet, appeared equally wild and fierce as the boldest elephant then taken; so that he was not even suspected of having been formerly taken, till he was conducted from the outlet. The moment, however, he was addressed in a commanding tone, the recollection of his former obedience seemed to rush upon him at once; and, without any difficulty, he permitted a driver to be seated on his neck, who in a few days made him as tractable as ever.
* * * * *
Bruce relates the Abyssinian mode of destroying the elephant from his own observation, during his return from Gondah, and while sojourning with Ayto Confu. His narrative is in these words.
Though we were all happy to our wish in this enchanted mountain, the
## active spirit of Ayto Confu could not rest. He was come to hunt the
elephant, and hunt him he would. All those that understood any thing of this exercise had assembled from a great distance, to meet Ayto Confu at Tcherkin. He and Engedan, from the moment they arrived, had been overlooking from the precipice their servants training and managing their horses in the market-place below. Great bunches of the finest canes had been brought from Kawra for javelins; and the whole house was employed in fitting heads to them in the most advantageous manner. For my part, though I should have been very well contented to have remained where I was, yet the preparations for sport of so noble a kind roused my spirits, and made me desirous to join in it.
On the 6th, an hour before day, after a hearty breakfast, we mounted on horseback, to the number of about thirty, belonging to Ayto Confu. But there was another body, both of horse and foot, which made hunting the elephant their particular business. These men dwell constantly in the woods, and know very little of the use of bread, living entirely upon the flesh of the beasts they kill, chiefly that of the elephant or rhinoceros. They are exceedingly thin, light, and agile, both on horseback and foot; are very swarthy, though few of them black; none of them woolly-headed, and all of them have European features. They are called _Agageer_, a name of their profession, not of their nation, which comes from the word _agar_, and signifies to hough or hamstring with a sharp weapon. More properly it means the cutting of the tendon of the heel, and is a characteristic of the manner in which they kill the elephant, which is shortly as follows:
Two men, absolutely naked, without any rag or covering at all about them, get on horseback; this precaution is for fear of being laid hold of by the trees or bushes in making their escape from a very watchful enemy. One of these riders sits upon the back of the horse, sometimes with a saddle, and sometimes without one, with only a switch, or short stick in one hand, carefully managing the bridle with the other; behind him sits his companion, who has no other arms but a broad-sword, such as is used by Sclavonians, and which is brought from Trieste. His left hand is employed grasping the sword by the handle; about fourteen inches of the blade is covered with whipcord. This part he takes in his right hand, without any danger of being hurt by it; and, though the edges of the lower part of the sword are as sharp as a razor, he carries it without a scabbard.
As soon as the elephant is found feeding, the horseman rides before him as near his face as possible; or, if he flies, crosses him in all directions, crying out, “I am such a man and such a man; this is my horse, that has such a name; I killed your father in such a place, and your grandfather in such another place; and I am now come to kill you; you are but an ass in comparison of them.” This nonsense he verily believes the elephant understands, who, chased and angry at hearing the noise immediately before him, seeks to seize him with his trunk, or proboscis; and, intent upon this, follows the horse everywhere, turning and turning round with him, neglectful of making his escape by running straight forward, in which consists his only safety. After having made him turn once or twice in pursuit of the horse, the horseman rides close up alongside of him, and drops his companion just behind on the off side; and while he engages the elephant’s attention upon the horse, the footman behind gives him a drawn stroke just above the heel, or what in man is called the tendon of Achilles. This is the critical moment; the horseman immediately wheels round, takes his companion up behind him, and rides off full speed after the rest of the herd, if they have started more than one; and sometimes an expert agageer will kill three out of one herd. If the sword is good, and the man not afraid, the tendon is commonly entirely separated; and if it is not cut through, it is generally so far divided, that the animal, with the stress he puts upon it, breaks the remaining part asunder. In either case, he remains incapable of advancing a step, till the horseman’s return, or his companions coming up pierce him through with javelins and lances: he then falls to the ground, and expires with loss of blood.
The agageer nearest me presently lamed his elephant, and left him standing. Ayto Engedan, Ayto Confu, Guebra Mariam, and several others, fixed their spears in the other before the agageer had cut his tendons. My agageer however, having wounded the first elephant, failed in the pursuit of the second; and being close upon him at the entrance of the wood, he received a violent blow from the branch of a tree which the elephant had bent by his weight, and, after passing, allowed it to replace itself; when it knocked down both the riders, and very much hurt the horse. This, indeed, is the great danger in elephant-hunting; for some of the trees, that are dry and short, break by the violent pressure of so immense a body moving so rapidly, and fall upon the pursuers, or across the roads. But the greatest number of these trees being of a succulent quality, they bend without breaking, and return quickly to the former position, when they strike both horse and man so violently, that they often beat them to pieces. Dexterous too as the riders are, the elephant sometimes reaches them with his trunk, with which he dashes the horse against the ground, and then sets his feet upon him, till he tears him limb from limb with his proboscis; a great many hunters die this way. Besides this, the soil at this time of the year is split into deep chasms, or cavities, by the heat of the sun, so that nothing can be more dangerous than the riding.
The elephant once slain, they cut the whole of the flesh off his bones into thongs, like the reins of a bridle, and hang these like festoons upon the branches of trees, till they become perfectly dry, without salt; and then they lay them up for their provisions in the season of the rains.
* * * * *
A very interesting account of the affection of a young elephant for its mother, concludes Bruce’s description of this cruel amusement.
There now remained but two elephants of those that had been discovered, which were a she one with a calf. The agageer would willingly have let these alone, as the teeth of the female are very small, and the young one is of no sort of value, even for food, its flesh shrinking much upon dying; but the hunters would not be limited in their sport. The people having observed the place of her retreat, thither we eagerly followed. She was very soon found, and as soon lamed by the agageers; but when they came to wound her with their darts, as every one did in turn, to our very great surprise, the young one, which had been suffered to escape unheeded and unpursued, came out from the thicket, apparently in great anger, running upon the horses and men with all the violence it was master of. I was amazed, and as much as ever I was, upon such an occasion, afflicted at seeing the great affection of the little animal defending its wounded mother, heedless of its own life or safety. I therefore cried to them for God’s sake to spare the mother, though it was then too late; and the calf had made several rude attacks upon me, which I avoided without difficulty; but I am happy to this day in the reflection that I did not strike it. At last, making one of his attacks upon Ayto Engedan, it hurt him a little upon the leg; upon which he thrust it through with his lance, as others did after, and then it fell dead before its wounded mother, whom it had so affectionately defended.
* * * * *
The bodies of elephants are frequently oiled, to prevent the effects of the sun on them. They are fond of the water in hot weather, and seem delighted when they are rubbed with a brick, or any hard substance, on the upper part of the head. They are very sure-footed, have an active, shuffling gait, and generally travel about three or four miles an hour, but may be urged on to six when goaded by a man who runs behind the animal for that purpose. They are very fond of sugar-canes, and the leaves of the banyan; they can free a cocoa-nut from its tough coat, crack it, and take out the nut free from the shell. A small race of elephants, from five to six feet in height, are much used about the court in the northern part of India. When the elephant passes through a crowd, he is very careful to open a way with his trunk, that he may not injure any one. This observation is strengthened by M. d’Obsonville, who informs us that the baron de Lauriston was induced to go to Laknaor, the capital of the Soubah, or viceroyalty of that name, at a time when an epidemic distemper was making the greatest ravages amongst the inhabitants. The principal road to the palace gate was covered with the sick and dying, extended on the ground, at the very moment when the nabob must necessarily pass. It appeared impossible for the elephant to do otherwise than tread upon and crush many of these poor wretches in his passage, unless the prince would stop till the way could be cleared; but he was in haste, and such tenderness would be unbecoming in a personage of his importance. The elephant, however, without appearing to slacken his pace, and without having received any command for that purpose, assisted them with his trunk, removed some, and stepped over the rest with so much address and assiduity, that not one person was wounded.
* * * * *
The proboscis of the elephant is the most distinguishing character in his formation. It is hollow all along, but with a partition running from one end of it to the other; so, though outwardly it appears like a single pipe, it is inwardly divided into two. This fleshy tube is composed of nerves and muscles, covered with a proper skin of a blackish colour, like that of the rest of the body. It is capable of being moved in every direction, of being lengthened and shortened, of being bent or straightened, so pliant as to embrace any body it is applied to, and yet so strong, that nothing can be torn from the gripe. To aid the force of this grasp, there are little eminences, like a caterpillar’s feet, on the underside of this instrument, which, without doubt, contribute to the sensibility of the touch as well as to firmness of the hold. Through this trunk the animal breathes, drinks, and smells, as through a tube; and at the very point of it, just above the nostrils, there is an extension of the skin, about five inches long, in the form of a finger, and which, in fact, answers all the purposes of one; for, with the rest of the extremity of the trunk, it is capable of assuming different forms at will, and, consequently, of being adapted to the minutest objects. By means of this the elephant can take a pin from the ground, untie the knots of a rope, unlock a door, and even write with a pen. “I have myself seen,” says Ælian, “an elephant writing Latin characters on a board, in a very orderly manner, his keeper only showing him the figure of each letter. While thus employed, the eyes might be observed studiously cast down upon the writing, and exhibiting an appearance of great skill and erudition.” It sometimes happens that the object is too large for the trunk to grasp; in such a case the elephant makes use of another expedient, as admirable as any of the former. It applies the extremity of the trunk to the surface of the object, and, sucking up its breath, lifts and sustains such a weight as the air in that case is capable of suspending. In this manner this instrument is useful in most of the purposes of life; it is an organ of smelling, of touching, and of suction; it not only provides for the animal’s necessities and comforts, but it also serves for its ornament and defence.
* * * * *
Mr. Corse affirms, that the usual height of the male Asiatic elephant is from eight to ten feet, and, in one instance only, he saw one of ten feet six inches. The young one at its birth is thirty-five inches; one grew eleven inches in the first year; eight, six, and five, in the three succeeding years. The full growth is at nineteen years. He says, elephants that have escaped from confinement have not sagacity to avoid being retaken, and they will breed in confinement. The young, he observes, begin to nibble and suck the breast soon after birth, pressing it with the trunk, which, by mutual instinct, they know will make the milk flow more readily into their mouths while sucking. Elephants never lie down to give their young ones suck; and it often happens, when the dam is tall, that she is obliged, for some time, to bend her body towards her young, to enable him to reach the nipple with his mouth; consequently, if ever the trunk were used to lay hold of the nipple, it would be at this period, when he is making laborious efforts to reach it with his mouth, but which he could always easily do with his trunk if it answered the purpose. In sucking, the young elephant always grasps the nipple, which projects horizontally from the breast, with his mouth. Mr. Corse often observed this; and so sensible were the attendants of it, that, with them, it is a common practice to raise a small mound of earth, about six or eight inches high, for the young one to stand on, and to save the mother the trouble of bending her body every time she gives suck, which she cannot readily do when tied to her picket. Tame elephants are never suffered to remain loose in India, as instances occur of the mother leaving even her young and escaping into the woods. Another circumstance deserves notice: if a wild elephant happens to be separated from her young for only two days, though giving suck, she never afterwards recognises it. This separation happened, sometimes, unavoidably, when they were enticed, separately, into the kiddah.
* * * * *
Elephants in India are taught to reverence the various sovereigns to whom they belong, when they appear in his presence. They are then trained to warfare, and rushing upon the enemy, as if conscious of their superior strength, beat down all before them. They have even been known to brave the hottest fire of the enemy’s artillery. Beauleu, in his “Voyage to the East Indies,” mentions that the king of Achen places his whole strength in nine hundred elephants, which are bred to tread fire under their feet, and to be unmoved at the shot of cannon, and likewise to salute the king when they pass by his apartments, by bending their knees, and raising their trunks three times. This traveller adds, that they are influenced by exemplary punishment; and gives an instance of the fact. The king of Achen, he says, having ordered the embarkation of a hundred elephants for the siege of Dehly, when they were brought to the coast not one of them would enter the ship. The king being acquainted with their behaviour, went in person to the shore, and after expressing passion and rage at their disobedience, ordered one of them to be cut asunder in the presence of the rest; on which they all peaceably embarked, and were more than ordinary tractable during the whole voyage.
* * * * *
_White_ elephants are reverenced throughout the east, and the Chinese pay them a certain kind of worship. The Burmese monarch is called the “king of the white elephants,” and is regarded under that title with more than the ordinary veneration which oriental despotism exacts from its abject dependants.
* * * * *
The little island of Elephanta, opposite to the fort of Bombay, derives its name from a sculptured figure in stone, of the natural colour, and ordinary size, of the animal. It is elevated on a platform of stone of the same colour, and on the back of this granite elephant was a smaller one, apparently of the same stone, which had been broken off. There is no history, nor any well grounded tradition, relative to this statue. The island itself is distinguished for extraordinary antiquities,
## particularly a magnificent temple hewn out of the solid rock, adorned by
the arts of sculpture and painting with statues and pictures, probably of more remote age than the earliest efforts of Greek or Roman genius. Many of these venerable representations suffered irreparable injury, and vast numbers were wholly destroyed, by the barbarian ravages of the Portuguese, who formerly obtained possession of the place, and dragged field-pieces to the demolition of these the most curious, and, possibly, the most ancient monuments of oriental grandeur. Queen Catharine of Portugal, who held the island in dower, was so sensible of the importance of this spot, that she imagined it impossible that any traveller on that side of India would return without exploring the wonders of the “Cave of Elephanta.” The island is destitute of all other interest.
* * * * *
That elephants are susceptible of the most tender attachment to each other, is evinced by the following occurrence, which is recorded in a French journal:--Two very young elephants, a male and a female, were brought from the island of Ceylon to Holland. They had been separated from each other in order to be conveyed from the Hague to the Museum of Natural History, in Paris, where a spacious stable had been constructed for them. This was divided into two partitions, which communicated to each other by means of a trap-door. Both of the divisions were surrounded with strong wooden paling. The morning after their arrival they were brought into this habitation: the male elephant was introduced first. With an air of suspicion he examined the place, tried each of the beams by shaking it with his trunk to see if it was fast. He endeavoured to turn round the large screws which held them on the outside, but this he found impracticable. When he came to the trap-door between the two
## partitions, he discovered that it was secured only by a perpendicular
iron bolt, which he lifted up, pushed open the door, and went into the other partition, where he ate his breakfast.
It was with great difficulty that these animals had been separated in order to be conveyed singly to Paris, and having now not seen each other for several months, the joy they expressed at meeting again is not to be described. They immediately ran to each other, uttered a cry of joy that shook the whole building, and blew the air out of their trunks with such violence, that it seemed like the blast of a smith’s bellows. The pleasure which the female experienced seemed to be the most lively; she expressed it by moving her ears with astonishing rapidity, and tenderly twining her trunk round the body of the male. She laid it particularly to his ear, where she held it for a considerable time motionless, and after having folded it again round his whole body, she applied it to her own mouth. The male in like manner folded his trunk round the body of the female; and the pleasure which he felt at their meeting seemed to be of a more sentimental cast, for he expressed it by shedding an abundance of tears. Afterwards they had constantly one stable in common, and the mutual attachment between them excited the admiration of every beholder.
* * * * *
The following example shows that elephants are capable also of forming attachments to animals of a different species.
An elephant which the Turkish emperor sent as a present to the king of Naples, in the year 1740, displayed a particular attachment towards a ram, that was confined, together with some other animals, in his stable. He even permitted him to butt at him with his horns, as these animals are wont to do. But if the ram abused the liberty he gave him, the only punishment he inflicted upon him for it was, that he took him up with his trunk, and threw him upon a dung-heap, though if any of the other animals attempted to take liberties with him, he dashed them with such violence against the wall, that he killed them on the spot.
* * * * *
An elephant, rendered furious by the wounds he had received in an engagement at Hambour, rushed into the plain uttering the most hideous cries. A soldier, whose comrades made him sensible of his danger by calling to him, was unable on account of his wounds, to retreat with sufficient expedition out of the way of the enraged animal. But the elephant, when he came to him, seemed to be apprehensive lest he should trample him with his feet, raised him with his trunk, and having laid him gently on one side, continued his progress.
* * * * *
At Mahie, on the coast of Malabar, the owner of an elephant lent him out for hire. His occupation consisted in drawing timber for building out of a river, which he performed very dexterously with his trunk, under the guidance of a boy. He then piled the beams upon each other with such regularity, that no human being could have done it better.
* * * * *
Elephants do not merely obey the commands of their keeper while he is present, but they perform also in his absence the most singular operations when they have previously been made acquainted with the nature of them. I once saw, says M. d’Obsonville, two elephants employed in demolishing a wall, in obedience to the orders previously received from their cornacks, who had encouraged them to undertake the task by a promise of fruit and brandy. They united their powers, placed their trunks together, which were defended by a covering of leather, and pushed with them against the strongest part of the wall; repeated their efforts, carefully watching at the same time the effect of the equilibrium, which they followed till the whole was sufficiently loose, when they exerted their whole strength in one more push, after which they speedily retreated out of the reach of danger, and the whole wall fell to the ground.
* * * * *
Bosmann relates, that in December, 1700, an elephant came at six o’clock in the morning towards Fort Mina, on the Gold Coast, and took his road along the river at the foot of Mount St. Jago. Some of the negroes ran unarmed about him, which he permitted without appearing to be in the least degree suspicious of them. But a Dutch officer shot at him, and wounded him over his eye. The animal did not alter his course, but pricking his ears, proceeded to the Dutch garden, where he saw the director-general and other officers belonging to the fort, sitting under the shade of some palm-trees. He had torn down about a dozen of these trees with the greatest facility, when upwards of an hundred bullets were discharged at him. He bled over his whole body, but still kept his legs, and did not halt in the least. A negro now, to plague the elephant, pulled him by the tail, at which the animal, being provoked, seized him with his trunk, threw him to the ground, and thrust his tusks twice through his body. As soon as the negro was killed, he turned from him, and suffered the other negroes to take away his body unmolested. He now remained upwards of an hour longer in the garden, and seemed to have directed his attention to the Dutchmen who were sitting at a distance of fifteen or sixteen paces from him. As these had expended their ammunition, and feared that the elephant might attack them, they made their retreat. In the mean time the elephant was come to another gate, and although the garden-wall consisted of a double row of stones, he easily threw it down, and went out by the breach. He then walked slowly to a rivulet, and washed off the blood with which he was covered: after that he returned to the palm-trees, and broke some boards that were placed there for the purpose of building a vessel. The Dutchmen had in the mean time procured a fresh supply of powder and ball, and their repeated shots at length put the elephant out of condition to make further resistance. They then with great difficulty cut off his trunk, upon which the elephant, who till then had not uttered a sound, set up a hideous roar, threw himself down under a tree, and expired.
~Further particulars concerning Elephants generally.~
The elephant is not an enemy to any other animal. It is said that the mouse is the only quadruped that is an enemy to him, and that this little quadruped holds him in perpetual fear. He sleeps with the end of his proboscis so close to the earth, that nothing but the air he breathes can get between; for the mouse is affirmed to enter its orifice, when he finds it possible, and, making his way to the elephant’s vital parts in search of food or shelter, by that means destroys the mighty tenement wherein his own littleness is ensconced.
The great dean of St. Paul’s, if he may be so called without disparagement to Colet, has two noble stanzas on this subject on “The Progress of the Soul.” They were read to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, by one of the kindest of human beings, himself a poet, from his own copy of the book wherein the hand of a friend, the greatest living poet, and perhaps the greatest mind of our country hath penned, that “Donne’s rhythm was as inexplicable to the many as blank verse, spite of his rhymes.--Not one in a thousand of his readers have any notion how his lines are to be read. To read Dryden, Pope, &c. you need only count syllables; but to read Donne you must measure _time_, and discover the _time_ of each word by the sense and passion.” Having presumed on the wonted indulgence of friendship, by this transcription from the manuscript notes of a borrowed volume, for counsel and caution in the present reader’s behalf, the verses are submitted to his regard.
Natures great master-piece, an Elephant, The onely harmelesse great thing; the giant Of beasts; who thought none had, to make him wise, But to be just, and thankful, loth t’ offend (Yet nature hath given him no knees to bend) Himself he up-props, on himself relies, And foe to none; suspects no enemies, Still sleeping stood; vext not his fantasie Black dreams, like an unbent bow carelessly His sinewy Proboscis did remisly lie.
In which as in a gallery this mouse Walk’d and survey’d the rooms of this vast house, And to the brain, the soul’s bed chamber, went, And gnaw’d the life cords there; Like a whole town Clean undermin’d the slain beast tumbled down; With him the murth’rer dies, whom envy sent To kill, not scape; for onely he that meant To die, did ever kill a man of better roome; And thus he made his foe, his prey and tombe: Who cares not to turn back, may any whither come.
_Donne._
* * * * *
The “elephant,” according to Randle Holme, is regarded, in heraldry, as “the emblem of vigilance, _nec jacet in somno_; but, like a faithful watchman, sleeps in a sentinel’s posture; it denoteth strength, ingenuity, and ambition of people’s praise; it signifieth also meekness and devotion.” He mentions an elephant _argent_ on a shield _gules_, that “this coat is born by the name of Elphinston.” Describing that “they (the elephant) are a great and vast creature,” he says, that “an elephant’s head erased _gules_,” on a shield _argent_, “is borne, by the name of Brodric.” In explanation of this bearing, Holme’s knowledge seems to have been more correct in heraldry than in natural history, for he declares that “this should be termed a she-elephant, or the head of a female elephant; by reason his tusks or teeth stand upwards, and the male stands downwards; but this,” says our lamenting herald, “is a thing in heraldry not observed.” He positively affirms, that “it were sufficient distinction for a coat of arms between families” (!) as much a distinction “as the bearing of a ram and a ewe, or a lion with red claws, and another with yellow; and much more (distinctive) than ermyne and ermynites, (they) being both one, save (that) the last hath one hair of red on each side of every one of the poulderings: a thing little regarded, makes a great alteration in arms.” His discrepant distinctions between the male and female are exceedingly amusing, and he is quite as diverting with their trunks. He figures their “snowts inwards, or snowts _respected_,” which, he says, is “a term used when things (either quick or dead) are, as it were, regarding or looking one at another.” Then he gives a bearing “_Argent_ out of a coronet _or_; two proboscides (or trunks) of two elephants reflected endorsed, _gules_, each adorned with three trefoils, _vert_. This” says Holme, “is a very great bearing amongst the Dutch, as their books of herauldry inform me; for there is scores of those families, bear the elephant’s trunk thus: some adorned with roses, leaves, pendants, crosses, or with other varieties of things, each set at a certain distance from the trunk by a footstalk. Now,” he goes on to say, with a hand most carefully pointing to the important fact, thus--“☞Now, in the blazon of such coates, you must first observe the _reflection_ of the proboscides, whether the snowts stand respected, or endorsed; and then to tell the exact number of things, each one is endorsed withall: for in some, they will have one thing apeece, others 2, 3, 4, 5, &c. Some, again, will have (with the sides, and others without the sides, adorning,) such and such things set in the concave or hole of the snowt.” He refers to precedents for these essential particulars, and in a page, wherein he assigns “the left _arm_ of a devil, or fiend with a devil-like _foot_,” for “the coat of _Spittachar_,” he gives to “the name of Oberstagh,” on a field _argent_, “the proboscide of an elephant erected and couped, bowed or imbowed, _or_; maned, or haired, to the middle, _azure_; and collared at the bottom with an hawk’s bill fixed thereunto, _gules_; out of the snowte, a Dutch fane pendant _sable_.” So likewise by taking, for your guide, his descriptions under a “demy talbot, his feet converted, turned, or metamorphosed into elephants’ snowts, with two flowers de lis _issuant_, you shall have demy men, women, lions, and other creatures born with several sorts of things in the places of hands and feet.” We will not, however, travel on his “elephants’ snouts in coat armour,” beyond a field _or_, with “the proboscide of an elephant, erected, flexed and recurved _gules_, issuing out of a pierced place; towards the basis thereof, a rose-sprig vertant et revertant, about the trunk to the middle thereof _proper_.” According to Holme, this elegant bearing may be claimed by any reader who has the happiness to bear “the name of Van Snotflough.” Concerning, however, “snowts bowed, and imbowed, erected and couped,” Holme guardedly adds that “these things, though I from my author, and from their similitude to an elephant’s trunk, have all along termed them so, yet, in my judgment they would pass better for horns, and I take them to be absolute horns.” Thus, “at one fell swoop,” when destitute readers may be large with speculation raised by our friend Holme, he disturbs their fond regards, and they who contemplate glorious “atchievements” with the “proboscides of elephants,” must either content themselves with “absolute horns,” or gaze on empty “fields.”
* * * * *
In several parts of India, elephants are employed to perform upon criminals the office of an executioner. With their trunks they break the limbs of the culprit, trample him to death, or impale him upon their tusks, according as they are ordered by their master.
This use of elephants in the east, and their sagacity, is alluded to by one of our poets:--
Borri records their strength of parts, Extent of thought, and skill in arts; How they perform the law’s decrees, And save the state the hangman’s fees: And how by travel understand The language of another land. Let those who question this report To Pliny’s ancient page resort; How learn’d was that sagacious breed, Who now, like them, the Greek can read.
_Gay._
* * * * *
The author of “The Chase” elegantly describes one of the devices by which the elephant is caught in his own domains:--
On distant Ethiopia’s sunburnt coasts, The black inhabitants a pitfall frame, With slender poles the wide capacious mouth, And hurdles slight, they close; o’er these is spread A floor of verdant turf, with all its flowers Smiling delusive, and from strictest search Concealing the deep grave that yawns below. Then boughs of trees they cut, with tempting fruit Of various kinds surcharg’d, the downy peach, The clustering vine, and of bright golden rind The fragrant orange. Soon as evening grey Advances slow, besprinkling all around With kind refreshing dews the thirsty globe, The stately elephant from the close shade With step majestic strides, eager to taste The cooler breeze, that from the sea-beat shore Delightful breathes, or in the limpid stream To lave his panting sides; joyous he scents The rich repast, unweeting of the death That lurks within. And soon he sporting breaks The brittle boughs, and greedily devours The fruit delicious. Ah! too dearly bought; The price is life. For now the treacherous turf Trembling gives way; and the unwieldy beast Self sinking, drops into the dark profound. So when dilated vapours, struggling, heave Th’ incumbent earth; if chance the cavern’d ground Shrinking subside, and the thin surface yield, Down sinks at once the ponderous dome, ingulph’d With all its towers.
_Somervile._
According to Bayle, the Romans called elephants _Boves Lucas_, because, as it is reported, they saw them for the first time in Lucania, during a great battle with Pyrrhus. The issue of the conflict was extremely doubtful, for the ground on both sides was lost and won seven times; but, at last, the Epirotes got the victory by means of their elephants, whose smell frighted the Roman horses. In a subsequent engagement they were fatal to Pyrrhus; they threw his troops into disorder, and the Romans were victorious.
* * * * *
_Elephantiasis_ is a disease in man, deriving its name from the elephant, who is also afflicted with a similar disorder. It is also called the Arabian leprosy. Medical treatises describe its appearances, mode of cure in the human being. As few readers possess elephants, it will not be necessary to say more of it, than that it is cutaneous; and that to prevent it in the elephant, the Indians apply oil to the animal’s skin, which, to preserve its pliancy, they frequently bathe with the unctuous fluid.
Some parts of the elephant’s skin, which are not callous, are seized upon by flies, and they torture the animal exceedingly. His tail is too short to reach any portion of his body, and his trunk alone is insufficient to defend him from myriads of his petty enemies. In his native forests he snaps branches from the trees, and with his trunk brushes off his tormentors, and fans the air to prevent their settling on him. In a confined state, he converts a truss of hay into a wisp for the same purpose; and he often gathers up the dust with his trunk and covers the sensible places.
* * * * *
It is related by M. Navarette, that at Macassar, an elephant driver had a cocoa nut given him, which, out of wantonness, he struck twice against his elephant’s forehead to break, and that, the day following, the animal saw some cocoa nuts exposed in the street for sale, one of which he took up with his trunk, and beat it about the driver’s head, till the man was completely dead. “This comes,” says our author, “of jesting with elephants.”
A sentinel at the Menagerie in Paris, used often to desire the visitors not to give the elephants any thing to eat. This admonition was
## particularly disagreeable to the female elephant, and she took a great
dislike to the sentinel. She had several times endeavoured to make him desist from interfering, by squirting water over his head, but without effect. One day, when several persons came to see these animals, one of them offered a piece of bread to the female, which being perceived by the sentinel, just as he was opening his mouth to repeat his usual admonition, the elephant stepped opposite to him, and threw a large quantity of water into his face. This excited the laughter of all the by-standers; but the sentinel coolly wiped his face, placed himself a little on one side, and was as usual very vigilant. Not long after he again found occasion to repeat his former admonition to the spectators; but scarcely had he done it when the elephant tore his musket out of his hand, wound her trunk round it, trod upon it, and did not deliver it again to him till after she had twisted it completely into the form of a screw.
* * * * *
A person resident in Ceylon, near a place where elephants were daily led to water, often used to sit at the door of his house, and occasionally to give to one of these animals some fig-leaves, a food to which elephants are very partial. Once he took it into his head to play the elephant a trick. He wrapped a stone round with fig-leaves, and said to the cornack (the keeper of the elephants) “This time I will give him a stone to eat, and see how it will agree with him.” The cornack answered, “that the elephant would not be such a fool as to swallow the stone.” The man, however, reached the stone to the elephant, who taking it with his trunk applied it to his mouth, and immediately let it fall to the ground. “You see,” said the cornack, “that I was right.” Saying these words, he drove away his elephants, and after having watered them, was conducting them again to their stable. The man who had played the elephant the trick with the stone was still sitting at his door, when, before he was aware, the animal made at him, threw his trunk round him, and dashing him to the ground trampled him immediately to death.
* * * * *
All Naples, says Sonnini, in one of his notes to Buffon’s “Natural History,” has witnessed the docility and sagacity of an elephant that belonged to the king. He afforded great assistance to the masons that were at work upon the palace, by reaching them the water they required, which he fetched in large copper vessels from a neighbouring well. He had observed that these vessels were carried to the brazier’s when they wanted any repair. Observing, therefore, one day that the water ran out at the bottom of one of them, he carried it of his own accord to the brazier, and having waited while it was repairing, received it again from him, and returned to his work. This elephant used to go about the streets of Naples without ever injuring any one: he was fond of playing with children, whom he took up with his trunk, placed them on his back, and set them down again on the ground without their ever receiving the smallest hurt.
* * * * *
There is a remarkable instance of an elephant’s attachment to a very young child. The animal was never happy but when it was near him: the nurse used, therefore, very frequently to take the child in its cradle, and place it between his feet, and this he became at length so accustomed to, that he would never eat his food except when it was present. When the child slept he used to drive off the flies with his proboscis, and when it cried he would move the cradle backward and forward, and thus again rock it to sleep.
* * * * *
Ælian relates that a man of rank in India, having very carefully trained up a female elephant, used daily to ride upon her, and gave her many proofs of his attachment to her. The king of the country, who had heard of the extraordinary gentleness and capacity of this animal, demanded her of her owner; but he, unwilling to part with his favourite, fled with her to the mountains. By order of the king he was pursued, and the soldiers that were sent after him having overtaken him when he was at the top of a steep hill, he defended himself by throwing stones at them, in which he was faithfully assisted by the elephant, who had learnt to throw stones with great dexterity. At length, however, the soldiers gained the summit of the hill, and were about to seize the fugitive, when the elephant rushed amongst them with the utmost fury, trampled some of them to death, dashed others to the ground with her trunk, and put the rest to flight. She then placed her master, who was wounded in the contest, upon her back, and conveyed him to a place of security. There are numerous well-attested anecdotes of similar instances of the affection of elephants towards their owners.
* * * * *
If elephants meet with a sick or wounded animal of their own species, they afford him all the assistance in their power. Should he die, they bury him, and carefully cover his body with branches of trees.
* * * * *
During a war in the East Indies, an elephant, that had received a flesh-wound from a cannon-ball, was conducted twice or thrice to the hospital, where he stretched himself upon the ground to have his wounds dressed. He afterwards always went thither by himself. The surgeon employed such means as he thought would conduce to his cure; he several times even cauterized the wound, and although the animal expressed the pain which this operation occasioned him, by the most piteous groaning, yet he never showed any other sentiments towards the operator than those of gratitude and affection. The surgeon was fortunate enough to completely cure him.
* * * * *
There is a further anecdote of this animal’s gratitude. A soldier at Pondicherry, who was accustomed, whenever he received a portion that came to his share, to carry a certain quantity of it to an elephant, having one day drank rather too freely, and finding himself pursued by the guards, who were going to take him to prison, took refuge under the elephant’s body and fell asleep. In vain did the guard try to force him from this asylum: the elephant protected him with his trunk. The next morning the soldier recovering from his drunken fit, shuddered to find himself stretched under the belly of this huge animal. The elephant, which, without doubt, perceived the embarrassment of the poor fellow, caressed him with his trunk, in order to dissipate his fears, and make him understand that he might now depart in safety.
* * * * *
It should not be forgotten that the poet of “The Seasons” refers to the sagacity of the elephant, his seclusion in his natural state, the arts by which he is ensnared, the magnificence of his appearance in oriental solemnities, and his use in warfare:--
Peaceful, beneath primeval trees, that cast Their ample shade o’er Niger’s yellow stream, And where the Ganges rolls his sacred wave; Or mid the central depth of blackening woods, High rais’d in solemn theatre around, Leans the huge elephant: wisest of brutes! O truly wise! with gentle might endow’d, Though powerful, not destructive! Here he sees Revolving ages sweep the changeful earth, And empires rise and fall; regardless he Of what the never-resting race of men Project: thrice happy! could he ’scape their guile, Who mine, from cruel avarice, his steps; Or with his towery grandeur swell their state, The pride of kings! or else his strength pervert, And bid him rage among the mortal fray, Astonish’d at the madness of mankind.
_Thomson._
On the 27th of September, 1763, captain Sampson presented an elephant, brought by him from Bengal, to his majesty, at the queen’s house. It was conducted from Rotherhithe that morning at two o’clock, and two blacks and a seaman rode on his back. The animal was about eight feet high.
The zebra, now well known from its being frequently brought into this country, was at that time almost a “stranger in England.” One of them having been given to her late majesty queen Charlotte, obtained the name of the “queen’s ass,” and was honoured by a residence in the tower, whither the elephant was also conveyed. Their companionship occasioned some witticisms, of which there remains this specimen.
EPIGRAM
_On the Elephant’s being placed in the same table with the Zebra._
Ye critics so learn’d, whence comes it to pass That the elephant wise should be plac’d by an ass? This matter so strange I’ll unfold in a trice, Some asses of state stand in need of advice To screen them from justice, lest in an ill hour, In the elephant’s stead they be sent to the tower.
On the occasion of captain Sampson’s present to the king, several accounts of the elephant were written. One of them says, that “the largest and finest elephants in the world are those in the island of Ceylon; next to them, those of the continent of India; and lastly, the elephant of Africa.” The Moors, who deal in these animals throughout the Indies, have a fixed price for the ordinary sort, according to their size. They measure from the nail of the fore foot to the top of the shoulder, and for every cubit high they give after the rate of 100_l._ of our money. An African elephant of the largest size measures about nine cubits, or thirteen feet and a half in height, and is worth about 900_l._, but of the breed of Ceylon, four times that sum.”
* * * * *
Tavernier, in proof of the superiority of the elephant of Ceylon, says, “One, I will tell you, hardly to be believed, but that which is a certain truth, which is, that when any other king, or rajah, has one of these elephants of Ceylon, if they bring them any other breed in any other place whatever, so soon as the other elephants behold the Ceylon elephants, by an instinct of nature, they do them reverence, by laying their trunks upon the ground, and raising them up again.”
* * * * *
Though Cæsar does not mention the fact in his commentaries, yet it is certain that he brought elephants with him to England, and that they contributed to his conquest of our predecessors. Polyænus in his “Stratagems,” says, “Cæsar in Britain attempted to pass a great river, (supposed the Thames:) Casolaunus, (in Cæsar, Cassivellaunus) king of the Britons, opposed his passage with a large body of horse and chariots. Cæsar had in his company a vastly large elephant, (μεγιστος ἑλεφας) a creature before that time unknown to the Britons. This elephant he fenced with an iron coat of mail, built a large turret on it, and putting up bowmen and slingers, ordered them to pass first into the stream. The Britons were dismayed at the sight of such an unknown and monstrous beast, (ἁοραλον κ’ ὑπεροφες θηριον) they fled, therefore, with their horses and chariots, and the Romans passed the river without opposition, terrifying their enemies by this single creature.”
* * * * *
In 1730, or 1731, some workmen digging the great sewer in Pall Mall, “over against the King’s Arms tavern,” discovered at the depth of twenty-eight feet, several bones of an elephant. The strata below the surface were ten or twelve feet of artificial soil; below that four or five feet of yellow sand, varying in colour till they came to the bed wherein the bones were found, which consisted of exceedingly fine sand similar to that dug on Hampstead heath.
About eighteen years previously, elephants’ bones were discovered in digging in St. James’s-square; and about fourteen years before that some were found in the same place. These various animal remains in that neighbourhood lay at about the same depth.
* * * * *
In 1740, the remains of an elephant were discovered by some labourers while digging a trench in the park of Frances Biddulph, esq. at Benton, in Sussex. The bones did not lie close together as those of a skeleton usually do. It was evident that the various parallel strata of the earth had never been disturbed; it was concluded that these animal deposits had remained there from the period of the deluge, when it was presumed that they had been conveyed and there, left, on the subsidence of the waters.
* * * * *
In 1756, the workmen of a gentleman, digging upon a high hill near Mendip for ochre and ore, discovered, at the depth of 315 feet from the surface, four teeth, not tusks, and two thighbones with part of the head of an elephant. Remains of the same animal have been at periods discovered at Mersey Island in Essex, at Harwich, at Chartham near Canterbury, at Bowden Parva, in Norfolk, Suffolk, Northamptonshire, and in various other parts of Great Britain and Ireland. Elephant’s teeth were discovered at Islington, in digging a gravel pit.
* * * * *
Shakspeare, in “Troilus and Cressida,” compares the slowness of Ajax to that of the elephant; and in the same play he again compares him to the same animal, and afterwards continues the comparison.
There is reason to believe, that the elephant was adopted at that period as the sign of a public inn. Antonio in “Twelfth Night” tells Sebastian,--
“In the south suburbs at the Elephant Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet, While you beguile your time.”
NATURALISTS’ CALENDER.
Mean Temperature 39·65.
~March 10.~
_Benjamin West._
A few anecdotes of this eminent painter, who died on the 10th of March, 1820, are related in vol. i. p. 346. By the favour of a gentleman who possesses letters from him, the reader is presented with
[Illustration: _Mr. West’s Autograph._]
Another gentleman, an artist, has obligingly made a drawing from the bust by Mr. Behnes, in sir John Leicester’s gallery, and thrown in some touches from intimate acquaintance with Mr. West, in his last illness, to convey an idea of his friend’s last looks.
[Illustration: ~Benjamin West, Esq.~]
The elegant volume descriptive of sir John Leicester’s gallery, contains an outline of Mr. Behnes’ bust; the outline of that delineation is preserved in the preceding sketch, because it is familiar. Mr. Behnes conveys to us the apostolic simplicity of West’s character, and the present engraving may be regarded as inviting the admirers of the genius of the late president of the royal academy, who have not seen the marble, to view it, in sir John Leicester’s noble collection of works of British artists, which during a stated season every year is liberally opened to public inspection.
* * * * *
In “The Examiner” of the 10th of March, 1816, there are some lines, too beautiful in sentiment to be passed over on any day.
PROVIDENCE.
_From the Italian of Filicaia._
Just as a mother with sweet pious face Yearns tow’rds her little children from her seat, Gives one a kiss, another an embrace, Takes this upon her knees, that on her feet: And while from actions, looks, complaints, pretences, She learns their feelings and their various will, To this a look, to that a word dispenses, And whether stern or smiling, loves them still:--
So Providence for us, high, infinite, Makes our necessities its watchful task, Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants; And ev’n if it denies what seems our right, Either denies because ’twould have us ask, Or seems but to deny, or in denying grants.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 38·90.
~March 11.~
_Newark Custom_,
FOUNDED ON A DREAM.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
_Newark, Feb. 1826._
A curious traditional story of a very extraordinary deliverance of alderman Hercules Clay, and his family, by a dream, is at your service.
I am, &c.
BENJAMIN JOHNSON.
On March 11, every year, at Newark-upon-Trent, penny loaves are given away to every one who chooses to appear at the town-hall, and apply for them, in commemoration of the deliverance of Hercules Clay, during the siege of Newark by the parliamentary forces. This Hercules Clay, by will dated 11th of December, 1694, gave to the mayor and aldermen one hundred pounds, to be placed at interest by the vicar’s consent for his benefit, to preach a sermon on the 11th day of March, annually, and another hundred pounds to be secured and applied in like manner for the poor of the town of Newark, which is distributed as above-mentioned. The occasion of this bequest was singular. During the bombardment of the town of Newark, by the parliament army under Oliver Cromwell, Clay (then a tradesman residing in Newark market-place) dreamed three nights successively, that his house was set fire to by the besiegers. Impressed by the repetition of this warning, as he considered it, he quitted his house, and in the course of a few hours after the prediction was fulfilled.
CHRONOLOGY.
1727. March 11. The equestrian statue of king George I., in Grosvenor-square, was much defaced; the left leg torn off, the sword and truncheon broken off, the neck hacked as if designed to cut off the head, and a libel left at the place.[78]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·60.
[78] British Chronologist.
~March 12.~
1826. _Fifth Sunday in Lent._
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 12th of March, 1808, died, at West Ham, in Essex, George Gregory, D. D. vicar of that parish. He was descended from a respectable family, originally from Scotland, a branch of which was settled in Ireland. His father, who had been educated in Trinity-college, Dublin, held, at the time of his son’s birth, the living of Edernin, and a prebend in the cathedral of Ferns. Dr. Gregory was born on April 14, 1754, but whether in Dublin or in Lancashire, of which county his mother was a native, is uncertain. When twelve years of age, at the death of his father, he was removed to Liverpool, where his mother fixed her residence, desiring to place him in commerce; but a taste for literature being his ruling propensity, he studied in the university of Edinburgh, in 1776 entered into holy orders, and his first station in the church was in the capacity of a curate at Liverpool. His attachments were chiefly among the liberal and literary. In conjunction with Mr. Roscoe, and other congenial spirits, Dr. Gregory had the merit of publicly exposing the cruelty and injustice of the slave trade in the principal seat of that traffic. In 1782, he removed to London, and obtained the curacy of St. Giles’s, Cripplegate, which, on account of the weight of its parochial duty, he left in three years, though by a general invitation he was recalled as morning preacher in 1788; and on the death of the vicar in 1802, a request was presented to the dean and chapter of St. Paul’s, signed by every inhabitant, that he might succeed to the vacancy. In the mean time he pursued with indefatigable industry those literary occupations, which, in various ways, have benefited the public. Dr. Gregory was a useful writer who, without aiming, except rarely, at the reputation of original composition, performed real services to letters, by employing a practised style, an exercised judgment, and extensive information, in works of compilation or abridgement, adapted to the use of that numerous class who desire to obtain knowledge in a compendious manner. His publications were successfully planned and ably executed. He served at different times the curacy and lectureship of St. Botolph, the lectureship of St. Luke’s, and a weekly lectureship of St. Antholin’s, and was elected evening preacher at the Foundling hospital, which the state of his health obliged him to resign. The bishop of London presented him with a small prebend in the cathedral of St. Paul’s, which he relinquished on receiving the rectory of Stapleford, Herts. In 1804, he was presented by Lord Sidmouth (then Mr. Addington) with the valuable living of West Ham, in Essex, when he resigned every other clerical charge except that of Cripplegate, to which parish he was attached by warm feelings of gratitude.
At West Ham he passed four years, discharging with fidelity his duties as a clergyman and a magistrate, and occupying his leisure with literature. Life was endeared to him by domestic enjoyments in the bosom of an amiable and affectionate family, and by the society of many friends, whom he was much valued for his perpetual readiness to serve and oblige, and the unaffected cheerfulness of his conversation. Without any decided cause of illness, the powers of his constitution suddenly and all together gave way; every vital function was debilitated, and after a short confinement, he expired with the calm resignation and animating hopes of a christian. Among his numerous works are, “Essays, historical and moral,” a “Translation of Lowth’s Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews,” a “Church History,” from which he acquired celebrity with the inquiring, “The Economy of Nature,” and a well-known “Dictionary of Arts and Sciences.”[79]
CURIOUS NARRATIVE.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
The interment of the late duchess of Rutland, at Bottesford, the family burialplace, has had a more than usual number of persons to visit its many sepulchral monuments. One of them to the memory of Francis Manners, earl of Rutland, who lies buried here, is very splendid. It represents him with his countess in a kneeling posture, and two children who are supposed to have been _bewitch’d to death_. The inscription to that effect I read, and procured a copy of the particulars from an old book which is always read to visiters by the sexton; and which, as to the execution of the alleged criminals at Lincoln, on the 12th of March, 1618, I find to be correct, and send it for your use.
I am, Sir, &c.
B. JOHNSON.
_Newark, Feb. 22, 1826._
The only alteration in the transcript is a variation from inaccurate spelling.
EXTRACT
_From the Church Book of Bottesford._
When the Right Hon. Sir Francis Manners succeeded his Brother Roger in the Earldom of Rutland, and took possession of Belvoir Castle, and of the Estates belonging to the Earldom, He took such Honourable measures in the Courses of his Life, that He neither displaced Tenants, discharged Servants, nor denied the access of the poor; but, making Strangers welcome, did all the good offices of a Noble Lord, by which he got the Love and good-will of the Country, his Noble Countess being of the same disposition: So that Belvoir Castle was a continual Place of Entertainment, Especially to Neighbours, where Joan Flower and her Daughter were not only relieved at the first, but Joan was also admitted Chairwoman and her daughter Margarett as a Continual Dweller in the Castle, looking to the Poultry abroad, and the washhouse at Home; and thus they Continued till found guilty of some misdemeanor which was discovered to the Lady. The first complaint against Joan Flower the Mother was that she was a Monstrous malicious Woman, full of Oaths, Curses, and irreligious Imprecations, and, as far as appeared, a plain Atheist. As for Margarett, her Daughter, she was frequently accused of going from the Castle, and carrying Provisions away in unreasonable Quantities, and returning in such unseasonable Hours that they could not but Conjecture at some mischief amongst them; and that their extraordinary Expences tended both to rob the Lady and served also to maintain some debauched and Idle Company which frequented Joan Flower’s House. In some time the Countess misliking her (Joan’s) Daughter Margarett, and discovering some Indecencies in her Life, and the Neglect of her Business, discharged her from lying any more in the Castle, yet gave her forty Shillings, a Bolster, and a Mattress of wool, commanding her to go Home. But at last these Wicked Women became so malicious and revengeful, that the Earl’s Family were sensible of their wicked Dispositions; for, first, his Eldest Son Henry Lord Ross was taken sick after a strange Manner, and in a little time Died; and, after, Francis Lord Ross was Severely tortured and tormented by them, with a Strange sickness, which caused his Death. Also, and presently after, the Lady Catherine was set upon by their Devilish Practices, and very frequently in Danger of her Life, in strange and unusual Fits; and, as they confessed, both the Earl and his Countess were so Bewitched that they should have no more Children. In a little time after they were Apprehended and carried to Lincoln Jail, after due Examination before sufficient Justices and discreet Magistrates.
Joan Flower before her Conviction called for bread and butter, and wished it might never go through her if she were guilty of the Matter she was Accused of; and upon mumbling of it in her Mouth she never spoke more, but fell down and Died, as she was carried to Lincoln Jail, being extremely tormented both in Soul and Body, and was Buried at Ancaster.
_The Examination of Margarett Flower the 22nd of January, 1618._
She confessed that, about four years since, her Mother sent her for the right Hand glove of Henry Lord Ross, and afterwards her Mother bid her go again to the Castle of Belvoir, and bring down the glove, or some other thing, of Henry Lord Ross’s; and when she asked for what, her Mother answered to hurt My Lord Ross; upon which she brought down a glove, and gave it to her Mother, who stroked _Rutterkin_ her cat (the Imp) with it, after it was dipped in hot water, and, so, pricked it often after; which Henry Lord Ross fell sick, and soon after Died. She further said that finding a glove, about two or three years since of Francis Lord Ross’s, she gave it to her mother, who put it into hot water, and afterwards took it out, and rubbed it on Rutterkin (the Imp,) and bid him go upwards, and afterwards buried it in the yard, and said “a mischief light on him but he will mend again.” She further confessed that her Mother and her and her sister agreed together to bewitch the Earl and his Lady, that they might have no more children; and being asked the cause of this their malice and ill-will, she said that, about four years since, the Countess, taking a dislike to her, gave her forty shillings, a Bolster, and a mattress, and bid her be at Home, and come no more to dwell at the Castle; which she not only took ill, but grudged it in her heart very much, swearing to be revenged upon her, on which her Mother took wool out of the Mattress, and a pair of gloves which were given her by Mr. Vovason, and put them into warm water, mingling them with some blood, and stirring it together; then she took them out of the water, and rubbed them on the belly of Rutterkin, saying, “the Lord and the Lady would have Children but it would be long first.” She further confessed that, by her Mother’s command, she brought to her a piece of a handkerchief of the Lady Catherine, the Earl’s Daughter, and her Mother put it into hot water, and then, taking it out, rubbed it upon Rutterkin, bidding him “fly and go,” whereupon Rutterkin whined and cryed “Mew,” upon which the said Rutterkin had no more power of the Lady Catherine to hurt her.
Margarett Flower and Phillis Flower, the Daughters of Joan Flower, were executed at Lincoln for Witchcraft, March 12, 1618.
Whoever reads this history should consider the ignorance and dark superstition of those times; but certainly these women were vile abandoned wretches to pretend to do such wicked things.
“_Seek not unto them that have familiar spirits, nor wizards, nor unto witches that peep and that mutter: should not a people seek unto their God._” Isaiah xix.
* * * * *
This entry in the church book of Bottesford is certainly very curious. Its being read at this time, to the visitors of the monuments, must spread the “wonderful story” far and near among the country people, and tend to the increase of the sexton’s perquisites; but surely if that officer be allowed to disseminate the tale, he ought to be furnished with a few sensible strictures which he might be required to read at the same time. In all probability, the greater number of visitants are attracted thither by the surprising narrative, and there is at least one hand from whom might be solicited such remarks as would tend to obviate undue impressions. Instances are already recorded in this work of the dreadful influence which superstitious notions produce on the illiterate.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·72.
[79] Dr. Aikin’s Athenæum.
~March 13.~
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 13th of March, 1614, in the reign of king James I., Bartholomew Legat, an Arian, was burnt in Smithfield for that heresy.
1722, March 13, there were bonfires, illuminations, ringing of bells, and other demonstrations of joy, in the cities of London and Westminster, upon the dissolution of the septennial parliament.[80]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·47.
[80] British Chronologist.
~March 14.~
FOOTBALL.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,--Perhaps you are not aware that, during fine weather, football is played every Sunday afternoon, in the fields, between Oldfield’s dairy and Copenhagen-house, near Islington, by Irishmen. It generally commences at three o’clock, and is continued till dusk. The boundaries are fixed and the parties chosen. I believe, as is usual in the sister kingdom, county-men play against other county-men. Some fine specimens of wrestling are occasionally exhibited, in order to delay the two men who are rivals in the pursuit of the ball; meantime the parties’ friends have time to pursue the combat, and the quick arrival of the ball to the goal is generally the consequence, and a lusty shout is given by the victors.
When a boy, football was commonly played on a Sunday morning, before church time, in a village in the west of England, and the church-piece was the ground chosen for it.
I am, &c.
J. R. P.
_Islington._
_Royal Bridal._
On the 14th of March, 1734, his serene highness the prince of Orange was married at St. James’s, to the princess-royal.
At eleven o’clock at night, the royal family supped in public in the great state ball-room.
About one, the bride and bridegroom retired, and afterwards sat up in their bed-chamber, in rich undresses, to be seen by the nobility, and other company at court.
On the following day there was a more splendid appearance of persons of quality to pay their compliments to the royal pair than was ever seen at this court; and in the evening there was a ball equally magnificent, and the prince of Orange danced several minuets.
A few days before the nuptials, the Irish peers resident in London, not having received summonses to attend the royal procession, met to consider their claims to be present, and unanimously resolved that neither themselves nor the peeresses would attend the wedding as spectators, and that they would not send to the lord chamberlain’s office for their tickets.[81]
THE “PAPEGUAY.”
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
_Kennington, March 7, 1826._
Sir,--The following brief observations on the sport mentioned at p. 289, may not be considered unacceptable; strange to say, it is not mentioned by either Strutt or Fosbroke in their valuable works.
This sport obtained over the principal parts of Europe. The celebrated composer, C. M. Von Weber, opens his opera of horrors, “Der Freischütz,” with a scene of shooting for the popingay. This is a proof that it is common in Germany, where the successful candidate is elected a petty sovereign for the day. The necessity and use of such a custom in a country formed for the chase, is obvious.
The author of the “Waverley” novels, in his excellent tale of “Old Mortality,” introduces a scene of shooting for the popingay, as he terms it. It was usual for the sheriff to call out the feudal array of the county, annually, to what was called the _wappen-schaws_. The author says, “The sheriff of the county of Lanark was holding the wappen-schaw of a wild district, called the Upper Ward of Clydesdale, on a traugh or level plain, near to a royal borough, the name of which is in no way essential to my story, upon the morning of the 5th of May, 1679, when our narrative commences. When the musters had been made, and duly reported, the young men, as was usual, were to mix in various parts, of which the chief was to shoot at the _popingay_, an ancient game formerly practised with archery, and then with firearms. This was the figure of a bird, decked with party-coloured feathers, so as to resemble a popingay or parrot. It was suspended to a pole, and served for a mark, at which the competitors discharged their fusees and carbines in rotation, at the distance of sixty or seventy paces. He whose ball brought down the mark, held the proud title of captain of the popingay for the remainder of the day, and was usually escorted in triumph to the most reputable charge-house in the neighbourhood, where the evening was closed with conviviality, conducted under his auspices.” From the accuracy and research of the author, I am inclined to take it for granted, that this sport was common in Scotland.
A friend informs me it is common in Switzerland, and I have no doubt obtained pretty generally over Europe. In conclusion, allow me to remark that in my opinion the man on horseback, with the popingay on the pole, is returning as victor from the sport; the pole in the distance evidently had the honour of supporting the popingay, until it was carried away by the aim of the marksman.
I am, sir, &c.
T. A.
* * * * *
The editor is obliged by the conjecture at the close of the preceding letter, and concurs in thinking that he was himself mistaken, in presuming that the French print from whence the engraving was taken, represented the going out to the shooting. He will be happy to be informed of any other misconception or inaccuracy, because it will assist him in his endeavours to render the work a faithful record of manners and customs. To that end he will always cheerfully correct any error of opinion or statement.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·90.
[81] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~March 15.~
_The Highgate Custom._
With much pleasure insertion is given to the following letter and its accompanying song.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
_Seymour-street, Feb. 18, 1826._
Sir,--In illustration of the custom of “Swearing on the horns at Highgate,” described at p. 79, in the _Every-Day Book_ of the present year, I enclose you a song, which was introduced in the pantomime of _Harlequin Teague_, performed at the Haymarket theatre, in August, 1742. If you think it worthy the columns of your valuable work, it is at your service.
I am, &c.
PASCHE.
_Song by the Landlord of the Horns_
Silence! take notice, you are my son, Full on your father look, sir; This is an oath you may take as you run, So lay your hand on the Hornbook, sir. Hornaby, hornaby, Highgate and horns, And money by hook or by crook, sir. Hornaby, &c.
Spend not with cheaters, nor cozeners, your life, Nor waste it on profligate beauty; And when you are married, be kind to your wife, And true to all petticoat duty. Dutiful, beautiful, kind to your wife, And true from the cap to the shoetie. Dutiful, &c.
To drink to a man when a woman is near, You never should hold to be right, sir; Nor unless ’tis your taste, to drink small for strong beer, Or eat brown bread when you can get white, sir. Manniken, canniken, good meat and drink Are pleasant at morn, noon, and night, sir Manniken, &c.
To kiss with the maid when the mistress is kind, A gentleman ought to be loth, sir: But if the maid’s fairest, your oath does not bind, Or you may, if you like it, kiss both, sir. Kiss away, both you may, sweetly smack night and day, If you like it--you’re bound by your oath, sir. Kiss away, &c.
When you travel to Highgate, take this oath again, And again, like a sound man, and true, sir, And if you have with you some more merry men, Be sure you make them take it too, sir. Bless you, son, get you gone, frolic and fun, Old England, and honest true blue, sir. Bless you, &c.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40· 8.
~March 16.~
_Cornish Sports_,
AND THE
_Origin of Piccadilly_.
From several valuable communications, a letter is selected for insertion this day, because it happens to be an open one, and therefore free for pleasant intelligence on any subject connected with the purpose of this publication. It is an advantage resulting from the volume already before the public, that it acquaints its readers with the kind of information desired to be conveyed, more readily than the prospectus proposed to their consideration. If each reader will only contribute something to the instruction and amusement of the rest, the editor has no doubt that he will be able to present a larger series of interesting notices and agreeable illustrations, than any work he is at present acquainted with.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
_February 6, 1826._
Sir,--I send you the account of two more games, or in-doors sports, in vogue among the country people in Cornwall. Of the latter, Mr. D. Gilbert has made slight mention in the introduction to his carols, second edition; but he states that these games, together with carol-singing, may be considered as obsolete, which is by no means the case: even yet in most of the western parishes, (and of these I can speak from personal observation,) the carol-singers, not only sing their “auntient chaunts” in the churches, but go about from house to house in
## parties. I am told the practice is the same in many other parts of the
county, as it is also in various places throughout the kingdom. I have added a slight notice respecting Piccadilly, which (if worth inserting) may be new to some of your readers; but, now for our Cornish sports: I state them as I found them, and they are considered provincial.
First, then, the _Tinkeler’s_ (tinker’s) shop.--In the middle of the room is placed a large iron pot, filled with a mixture of soot and water. One of the most humourous of the set is chosen for the master of the shop, who takes a small mop in his left hand, and a short stick in his right; his comrades each have a small stick in his right hand; the master gives each a separate name, as _Old Vulcan_, _Save-all_, _Tear’em_, _All-my-men_, _Mend-all_, &c. After these preliminaries, all kneel down, encircling the iron vessel. The master cries out, “Every one (that is, all together, or ‘one and all,’ as the Cornish say,) and I;” all then hammer away with their sticks as fast as they can, some of them with absurd grimaces. Suddenly the master will, perhaps, cry out, “_All-my-men_ and I;” upon this, all are to cease working, except the individual called _All-my-men;_ and if any unfortunate delinquent fails, he is treated with a salute from the mop well dipped in the black liquid: this never fails to afford great entertainment to the spectators, and if the master is “well up to the sport,” he contrives that none of his comrades shall escape unmarked; for he changes rapidly from _All-my-men_ and I, to _Old Vulcan_ and I, and so on, and sometimes names two or three together, that little chance of escaping with a clean face is left.
_The Corn-market._--Here, as before, an experienced reveller is chosen to be the master, who has an assistant, called _Spy-the-market_. Another character is _Old Penglaze_, who is dressed up in some ridiculous way, with a blackened face, and a staff in his hand; he, together with part of a horse’s hide girt round him, for the hobby-horse, are placed towards the back of the market. The rest of the players sit round the room, and have each some even price affixed to them as names; for instance, _Two-pence_, _Four-pence_, _Six-pence_, _Twelve-pence_, &c. The master then says “Spy-the-market,” to which the man responds, “Spy-the-market;” the master repeats, “Spy-the-market;” the man says, “Aye, sirrah.” The master then asks the price of corn, to which Spy-the-market, may reply any price he chooses, of those given to his comrades, for instance, “Twelve-pence.” The master then says, “Twelve-pence,” when the man hearing that price answers “Twelve-pence,” and a similar conversation ensues, as with Spy-the-market before, and Twelve-pence names his price, and so the game proceeds; but if, as frequently happens, any of the prices forget their names, or any other mistakes occur in the game, the offender is to be sealed, a ceremony in which the principal amusement of the game consists; it is done as follows,--the master goes to the person who has forfeited, and takes up his foot, saying, “Here is my seal, where is old Penglaze’s seal?” and then gives him a blow on the sole of the foot. Old Penglaze then comes in on his horse, with his feet tripping on the floor, saying, “Here I comes, neither riding nor a foot;” the horse winces and capers, so that the old gentleman can scarcely keep his seat. When he arrives at the market, he cries out, “What work is there for me to do?” The master holds up the foot of the culprit and says, “Here, Penglaze, is a fine shoeing match for you.” Penglaze dismounts; “I think it’s a fine colt indeed.” He then begins to work by pulling the shoe off the unfortunate _colt_, saying “My reward is a full gallon of moonlight, besides all other customs for shoeing in this market;” he then gives one or two hard blows on the shoe-less foot, which make its proprietor tingle, and remounts his horse, whose duty it is now to get very restive, and poor Penglaze is so tossed up and down, that he has much difficulty to get to his old place without a tumble. The play is resumed until Penglaze’s seal is again required, and at the conclusion of the whole there is a set dance.
PICCADILLY.--The pickadil was the round hem, or the piece set about the edge or skirt of a garment, whether at top or bottom; also a kind of stiff collar, made in fashion of a band, that went about the neck and round about the shoulders; hence the term “wooden peccadilloes,” (meaning the pillory) in “Hudibras,” and see Nares’s “Glossary,” and Blount’s “Glossographia.” At the time that ruffs, and consequently _pickadils_, were much in fashion, there was a celebrated ordinary near St. James’s, called _Pickadilly_, because, as some say, it was the outmost, or skirt-house, situate at the _hem_ of the town; but it more probably took its name from one Higgins, a tailor, who made a fortune by pickadils, and built this with a few adjoining houses. The name has by a few been derived from a much frequented shop for sale of these articles; this probably took its rise from the circumstance of Higgins having built houses there, which, however, were not for selling ruffs; and indeed, with the exception of his buildings, the site of the present Piccadilly was at that time open country, and quite out of the way of trade. At a later period, when Burlington-house was built, its noble owner chose the situation, then at some distance from the extremity of the town, that _none might build beyond him_. The ruffs formerly worn by gentlemen were frequently double-wired, and stiffened with yellow starch; and the practice was at one time carried to such an excess that they were limited by queen Elizabeth “to a nayle of a yeard in depth.” In the time of James I. they still continued of a preposterous size, so that previous to the visit made by that monarch to Cambridge in 1615, the vice-chancellor of the university thought fit to issue an order, prohibiting “the fearful enormity and excess of apparel seen in all degrees, as, namely, strange peccadilloes, vast bands, huge cuffs, shoe-roses, tufts, locks, and tops of hair, unbeseeming that modesty and carriage of students in so renowned an university.” It is scarcely to be supposed that the ladies were deficient in the size of their ruffs; on the contrary, according to Andrews, (Continuation of Henry’s History of England, vol. ii. 307,) they wore them immoderately large, made of lawn and cambric, and stiffened with yellow starch, for the art of using which, in the proper method, they paid as much as four or five pounds, as also twenty shillings for learning “to seethe starche,” to a Mrs. Dingen Van Plesse, who introduced it, as well as the use of lawn, which was so fine that it was a byword, “that shortly they would wear ruffes of a spider’s web.” The poking of these ruffs gracefully was an important attainment. Some satirical Puritans enjoyed the effects of a shower of rain on the ruff-wearers; for “then theyre great ruffes stryke sayle, and downe they falle, as dish-clouts fluttering in the winde.” Mrs. Turner, who was one of the persons implicated in the death of sir Thomas Overbury, is said to have gone to the place of execution in a fashionable ruff, after which their credit was very much diminished.
I am, sir,
Your obedient servant,
W. S.
P. S.--It is perhaps scarcely worth observing, that the Monday preceding Ash-Wednesday is, in the west, called _Shrove-Monday_; and that _peas and pork_ is as standard a dish on that day as pancakes on Shrove-Tuesday, or salt fish on Ash-Wednesday.
* * * * *
Having thus performed a duty to a valued correspondent without waiting till Christmas, the editor takes the liberty of referring to the observations by which the preceding letter was introduced, and respectfully expresses an earnest hope to be favoured with such communications as, from the past conduct of the _Every-Day Book_, may appear suitable to its columns. For the first time, he believes, he ventures to allude to any inconvenience he has felt while conducting it; nor does he hint at difficulty now from lack of materials, for he has abundance; but it is a truth, which he is persuaded many of his readers will be happy to mitigate, that at the present moment he is himself so very unwell, and has so much indisposition in his family to distract his mind, that he cannot arrange his collections; services, therefore, under such circumstances, will be peculiarly acceptable. If one or two of his correspondents should refer him to communications which their kindness have already placed in his hands, he answers, that he is really too ill to seek them amongst his papers. From this it will be seen how very much he really needs, and how much he covets, assistance. He ventures to think that he shall not have made this public appeal in vain, and he again calls on the friends and readers of his labours to send him their aid.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 40·51.
~March 17.~
_1826, Cambridge Term ends._
[Illustration: ~St. Patrick’s Day--a Pattern.~]
“An Irishman all in his glory was there, With a sprig of shillelagh and shamrock so green.”
It happens that several _fairs_, similar to those in the country parts of England as to tents and booths, are held in Ireland on Saint Patrick’s day, and then its hilarity is heightened by the publicity of the celebration.
The usual fair day or “_patron_,” or, as it is usually pronounced, _pattern_ or _patten_, is a festive meeting to commemorate the virtues of a patron saint. It is a kind of rural fete with drinking and dancing, whereto (in Ireland) is added fighting, “unless the neighbouring magistrates personally interfere, or the spirits of the people are repressed by a conscious participation in plots and conspiracies.” This is the character of these festivals by an Irish writer, who relates an anecdote resulting from one of these festivals: “We were waiting (he says,) in the vain hope that the weather would clear up, and allow us a fine evening for return, when a poor stranger from Joyce country came before ‘his honour’ as a magistrate. His black eye, swelled face, and head and shoulders covered with clotted blood, too plainly told the history of his sufferings; and his woeful countenance formed a strange and ludicrous contrast with his account of the pleasures of the preceding evening.” He had obtained these features at a _patron_. “The poor fellow had travelled many a weary mile across the mountains to share its rustic mirth and revelry: but, ‘plaze your honour, there was a little bit of fighting in it,’ and as no true follower of St. Macdarragh could refuse to take a part in such a peaceful contest, he had received, and no doubt given, many a friendly blow; but his meditations on a broken head during the night, had both cooled his courage and revived his prudence, and he came to swear before ‘his honour’ a charge of assault and battery against those who had thus woefully demolished his upper works.”[82]
The constant use of the “shillelagh” by Irishmen at a “patron,” is a puzzling fact to Englishmen, who, on their own holidays, regard a “shillelagh” as a malicious weapon. In the hand of an Irishman, in his own country, at such a season, it is divested of that character; this singular fact will be accounted for, when the origin of the custom comes to be considered. At present, nothing more is requisite than to add, that the “shillelagh” is seldom absent on St. Patrick’s day, celebrated as a _patron_.
* * * * *
Some account of the commemoration of this festival, and of the tutelar saint of Ireland and his miracles, is already given in vol. i. p. 363. To this may be added the annexed notices relative to the day, obtained from an Irish gentleman.
* * * * *
It is a tradition that St. Patrick first landed at _Croagh Patrick_, a high and beautiful mountain in the county of Mayo, from which place he banished all venomous animals into the sea, and to this day, multitudes of the natives who are catholics, make pilgrimages to Croagh Patrick, under the persuasion of efficacy in these journies to atone for misdeeds, or mitigate the penalties attached to sin.
It is a very popular tradition that when St. Patrick was dying, he requested his weeping and lamenting friends to forego their grief, and rather rejoice at his comfortable exit, for the better furtherance of which, he advised each one to take “a drop of something to drink;” and that this last injunction of the saint in reverence to his character was complied with. However this may be, it is a custom on his anniversary to observe the practice to supererogation; for the greater number of his present followers, who take a little “crathur” for the purpose of dissipating woeful reminiscencies, continue to imbibe it till they “lisp and wink.”
Some years ago, “Patrick’s day” was welcomed, in the smaller country towns or hamlets, by every possible manifestation of gladness and delight. The inn, if there was one, was thrown open to all comers, who received a certain allowance of oaten bread and fish. This was a benevolence from the host, and to it was added a “Patrick’s pot,” or quantum of beer; but, of late years, whiskey is the beverage most esteemed. The majority of those who sought entertainment at the village inn, were young men who had no families, whilst those who had children, and especially whose families were large, made themselves as snug as possible by the turf fire in their own cabins.
Where the village or hamlet could not boast of an inn, the largest cabin was sought out, and poles were extended horizontally from one end of the apartment to the other; on these poles, doors purposely unhinged, and brought from the surrounding cabins were placed, so that a table of considerable dimensions was formed, round which all seated themselves, each one providing his own oaten bread and fish. At the conclusion of the repast, they sat for the remainder of the evening over a “Patrick’s pot,” and finally separated quietly, and it is to be hoped in perfect harmony.
In the city of Dublin, “Patrick’s day” is still regarded as a festival from the highest to the lowest ranks of society. There is an annual ball and supper at the lord lieutenant’s residence in the castle, and there are private convivial assemblies of the most joyous character. On this day every Irishman who is alive to its importance, adorns his hat with bunches of shamrock, which is the common trefoil or clover, wherewith, according to tradition, St. Patrick converted the Irish nation to belief in the doctrine of the trinity in unity. In the humbler ranks, it is the universal practice to get a morning dram as a preparation for the duties of the festival. They then attend chapel and hear high mass. After the ceremonies and observances peculiar to the Romish worship, they again resort to the whiskey shop, and spend the remainder of the day in devotions to Bacchus, which are mostly concluded, with what in England would be called, by persons of this class, “a row.”
On Patrick’s day, while the bells of churches and chapels are tuned to joyous notes, the piper and harper play up “Patrick’s day in the morning;” old women, with plenteous supplies of trefoil, are heard in every direction, crying “Buy my shamrocks, green shamrocks,” and children have “Patrick’s crosses” pinned to their sleeves. These are small prints of various kinds; some of them merely represent a cross, others are representations of Saint Patrick, trampling the reptiles under his feet.
* * * * *
It appears from this account, and from general narrations, that St. Patrick is honoured on his festival by every mode which mirth can devise for praise of his memory. The following whimsical song is a particular favourite, and sung to “his holiness” by all ranks in the height of convivial excitement:--
_St. Patrick was a Gentleman._
St. Patrick was a gentleman, and he came from decent people: In Dublin town he built a church and on it put a steeple; His father was a Wollaghan, his mother an O’Grady, His aunt she was a Kinaghan, and his wife a widow Brady. Tooralloo tooralloo, what a glorious man our saint was, Tooralloo, tooralloo, O whack fal de lal, de lal, &c.
Och! Antrim hills are mighty high and so’s the hill of Howth too; But we all do know a mountain that is higher than them both too; ’Twas on the top of that high mount St. Patrick preach’d a sermon, He drove the frogs into the bogs, and banished all the vermin. Tooralloo, &c.
No wonder that we Irish lads, then, are so blythe and frisky; St. Patrick was the very man that taught us to drink whiskey; Och! to be sure, he had the knack and understood distilling, For his mother kept a sheebeen shop, near the town of Enniskillen. Tooralloo, &c.
The day after St. Patrick’s day is “Sheelah’s day,” or the festival in honour of Sheelah. Its observers are not so anxious to determine who “Sheelah” was, as they are earnest in her celebration. Some say she was “Patrick’s wife,” others that she was “Patrick’s mother,” while all agree that her “immortal memory” is to be maintained by potations of whiskey. The shamrock worn on St. Patrick’s day should be worn also on Sheelah’s day, and, on the latter night, be drowned in the last glass. Yet it frequently happens that the shamrock is flooded in the last glass of St. Patrick’s day, and another last glass or two, or more, on the same night, deluges the over-soddened trefoil. This is not “quite correct,” but it is endeavoured to be remedied the next morning by the display of a fresh shamrock, which is steeped at night in honour of “Sheelah” with equal devotedness.
That Saint Patrick was not married is clear from the rules of the Roman catholic church, which impose celibacy on its clergy. A correspondent suggests that the idea of his matrimonial connection, arose out of a burlesque, or, perhaps, ironical remark, by females of the poorer class in Ireland, to retaliate on their husbands for their excesses on the 17th of March; or, perhaps, from the opportunity the effects of such indulgence afforded them, these fair helpmates are as convivial on the following morning, as their “worser halves” were the preceding day. “Sheelah” is an Irish term, generally applied to a slovenly or muddling woman, more particularly if she be elderly. In this way, probably, the day after St. Patrick’s obtained the name of “Sheelah’s day,” _speciale gratia_, without any reference to the calendar of saints. The saint himself, if we determine from the sacrifices to his memory, is deemed a kind of christian Bacchus; and, on like home-made authority, “Sheelah” is regarded as his consort.
* * * * *
The editor of this work especially regrets that few of the peculiarities regarding this festival which are familiar to Irishmen have been communicated to him. He has received letters expressing surprise that so little has been observed concerning their country. Such complaints have been made under initials, and therefore he could not answer them: the complainants he has no doubt could have contributed largely themselves, and from them he would have required information. As many Irish usages are fast dying away, he hopes and earnestly solicits to be favoured with
## particulars, which he is persuaded the collections or recollections of
his Irish readers can readily furnish, and which he will be most happy in having intrusted to him for publication. Any illustrations of Irish character and manners, especially if drawn up by natives of Ireland, will be highly valued.
* * * * *
On St. Patrick’s day, 1740, the butchers in Clare-market, London, hung up a grotesque figure of an Irishman. A great number of Irishmen came to pull it down, when a fierce battle ensued, much mischief was done, and several persons were dangerously wounded; but a file of musqueteers having been fetched from St. James’s, some of the rioters were taken into custody, and three of them were committed by col. De Veil to Newgate.[83]
* * * * *
A correspondent who signs, “IKEY PINGLE,” communicates a copy of a singular monumental inscription in the churchyard of Grimmingham, in Norfolk. It is subjoined on this day, because the public performer to whom it refers is stated to have quitted this stage of life on this day, in the year 1798.
~Epitaph.~
SACRED
_To the memory of_
THOMAS JACKSON, COMEDIAN,
who was _engaged_, 21st of Dec. 1741, to _play a comic cast of characters, in this great theatre_--the World: for many of which he was _prompted_ by nature to excel.
The season being ended, his _benefit_ over, the charges all paid, and his account closed, he made his _exit_ in the _tragedy_ of Death, on the 17th of March, 1798, in full assurance of being called once more to _rehearsal_; where he hopes to find his _forfeits_ all cleared, his _cast of parts_ bettered, and his situation made agreeable, by him who paid the great stock-debt, for the love he bore to _performers_ in general.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 41·27.
[82] Letters from the Irish Highlands.
[83] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~March 18.~
_Edward, king of the West Saxons._
On this anniversary, which is a holiday in the church of England calendar, and kept at the Exchequer, Rapin says, “I do not know upon what foundation Edward was made both a saint and a martyr, unless it was pretended he was murdered out of revenge for his great affection to Dunstan and the monks.” See farther concerning him in vol. i. p. 372.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 41·75.
~March 19.~
1826. _Oxford Term ends._
PALM SUNDAY.
This is the first of _Passion Week_. To accounts of remarkable ceremonies peculiar to the day, and its present observance, it is proper to add the mode wherein it is celebrated by the papal pontiff at Rome. An eye-witness to the pageant relates as follows:--
About half-past nine in the morning, the pope entered the Sistine chapel, attired in a robe of scarlet and gold, which he wore over his ordinary dress, and took his throne. The cardinals, who were at first dressed in under-robes of a violet colour (the mourning for cardinals), with their rich antique lace, scarlet trains, and mantles of ermine, suddenly put off these accoutrements, and arrayed themselves in most splendid vestments, which had the appearance of being made of carved gold. The tedious ceremony of each separately kissing the pope’s hand, and making their three little bows, being gone through, and some little chaunting and fidgetting about the altar being got over, two palm branches, of seven or eight feet in length, were brought to the pope, who, after raising over them a cloud of incense, bestowed his benediction upon them: then a great number of smaller palms were brought, and a cardinal, who acted as the pope’s aid-de-camp on this occasion, presented one of these to every cardinal as he ascended the steps of the throne, who again kissed the pope’s hand and the palm, and retired. Then came the archbishops, who kissed both the pope’s hand and toe, followed by the inferior orders of clergy, in regular gradations, who only kissed the toe, as they carried off their palms.
The higher dignitaries being at last provided with palms, the deacons, canons, choristers, cardinals, train-bearers, &c. had each to receive branches of olive, to which, as well as to the palms, a small cross was suspended. At last, all were ready to act their parts, and the procession began to move: it began with the lowest in clerical rank, who moved off two by two, rising gradually in dignity, till they came to prelates, bishops, archbishops, and cardinals, and terminated by the pope, borne in his chair of state (_sedia gestatoria_) on men’s shoulders, with a crimson canopy over his head. By far the most striking figures in the procession were the bishops and patriarchs of the Armenian church. One of them wore a white crown, and another a crimson crown glittering with jewels. The mitres of the bishops were also set with precious stones; and their splendid dresses, and long wavy beards of silver whiteness, gave them a most venerable and imposing appearance.
The procession issued forth into the Sala Borgia (the hall behind the Sistine chapel), and marched round it, forming nearly a circle; for by the time the pope had gone out, the leaders of the procession had nearly come back again; but they found the gates of the chapel closed against them, and, on admittance being demanded, a voice was heard from within, in deep recitative, seemingly inquiring into their business, or claims for entrance there. This was answered by the choristers from the procession in the hall; and after a chaunted parley of a few minutes, the gates were again opened, and the pope, cardinals, and priests, returned to their seats. Then the passion was chaunted; and then a most tiresome long service commenced, in which the usual genuflections, and tinkling of little bells, and dressings and undressings, and walking up and coming down the steps of the altar, and bustling about, went on; and which at last terminated in the cardinals all embracing and kissing each other, which is considered the kiss of peace.
The palms are artificial, plaited of straw, or the leaves of dried reeds, so as to resemble the real branches of the palm-tree when their leaves are plaited, which are used in this manner for this ceremony in the catholic colonies of tropical climates. These artificial palms, however, are topped with some of the real leaves of the palm-tree, brought from the shores of the gulf of Genoa.[84]
_Palm Sunday in Spain._
The following is a description of the celebration of this day in the cathedral of Seville:--
Early in the morning, the melancholy sound of the _passion-bell_ announces the beginning of the solemnities for which the fast of Lent is a preparation. This bell, the largest of several which are made to revolve upon pivots, is moved by means of two long ropes, which by swinging the bell into a circular motion, are twined, gently at first, round the massive arms of a cross, of which the bell forms the foot, and the head its counterpoise. Six men then draw back the ropes, till the enormous machine receives a sufficient impetus to coil them in an opposite direction; and thus alternately, as long as ringing is required. To give this bell a tone appropriate to the sombre character of the season, it has been cast with several large holes disposed in a circle round the top--a contrivance which without diminishing the vibration of the metal, prevents the distinct formation of any musical note, and converts the sound into a dismal clangour.
The chapter, consisting of about eighty resident members, in choral robes of black silk with long trains and hoods, preceded by the inferior ministers, by thirty clergymen, in surplices, whose deep bass voices perform the plain or Ambrosian chaunt, and by the band of wind-instruments and singers, who execute the more artificial strains of modern or counterpoint music, move in a long procession round the farthest aisles, each holding a branch of the oriental, or date palm, which overtopping the heads of the assembled multitude, nod gracefully, and bend into elegant curves at every step of the bearers. For this purpose a number of palm-trees are kept with their branches tied up together, that, by the want of light, the more tender shoots may preserve a delicate yellow tinge. The ceremony of blessing these branches is solemnly performed by the officiating priest, previously to the procession, after which they are sent by the clergy to their friends, who tie them to the iron bars of the balconies, to be, as they believe, a protection against lightning.
In the long church-service for this day, the organ is silent, the voices being supported by hautboys and bassoons. All the altars are covered with purple or grey curtains. The holy vestments, during this week, are of the first-mentioned colour, except on Friday, when it is changed for black. The four accounts of our saviour’s passion, appointed as gospels for this day, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, are dramatized in the following manner:--Outside of the gilt-iron railing which encloses the presbytery, are two large pulpits of the same materials, from one of which, at the daily high mass, the sub-deacon chaunts the epistle, as the deacon does the gospel from the other. A movable platform with a desk, is placed between the pulpits on the _passion-days;_ and three priests or deacons, in _albes_--the white vestment, over which the dalmatic is worn by the latter, and the _casulla_ by the former--appear on these elevated posts, at the time when the gospel should be said. These officiating ministers are chosen among the singers in holy orders, one a bass, another a tenor, and the third a counter-tenor. The tenor chaunts the narrative without changing from the keynote, and makes a pause whenever he comes to the words of the interlocutors mentioned by the evangelist. In those passages the words of our saviour are sung by the bass in a solemn strain. The counter-tenor, in a more florid style, personates the inferior characters, such as Peter, the maid, and Pontius Pilate. The cries of the priests and the multitude are represented by the band of musicians within the choir.[85]
PALM SUNDAY CUSTOM
_in Lincolnshire_.
The following letter is from a correspondent on the spot where the custom is still preserved.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,--There is a singular ceremony at Caistor church, Lincolnshire, every Palm Sunday, which you may think worth describing from this account of it.
A deputy from Broughton brings a very large ox-whip, called here a gad-whip. _Gad_ is an old Lincolnshire measure of ten feet; the stock of the gad-whip is, perhaps, of the same length. The whip itself is constructed as follows. A large piece of ash, or any other wood, tapered towards the top, forms the stock; it is wrapt with white leather half way down, and some small pieces of mountain ash are enclosed. The thong is very large, and made of strong white leather. The man comes to the north porch, about the commencement of the first lesson, and cracks his whip in front of the porch door three times; he then, with much ceremony, wraps the thong round the stock of the whip, puts some rods of mountain ash lengthwise upon it, and binds the whole together with whip-cord. He next ties to the top of the whip-stock a purse containing two shillings, (formerly this sum was in twenty-four silver pennies,) then taking the whole upon his shoulder, he marches into the church, where he stands in front of the reading desk till the commencement of the second lesson: he then goes up nearer, waves the purse over the head of the clergyman, kneels down on a cushion, and continues in that position, with the purse suspended over the clergyman’s head, till the lesson is ended. After the service is concluded, he carries the whip, &c. to the manor-house of Undon, a hamlet adjoining, where he leaves it. There is a new whip made every year; it is made at Broughton, and left at Undon.
Certain lands in the parish of Broughton are held by the tenure of this annual custom, which is maintained to the present time.
I am, Sir, &c.
G. P. J.
* * * * *
On the 19th of March, 1755, three women in the village of Bergemoletto, near Piedmont, were buried for thirty-seven days in the ruins of a stable, by a heavy fall of snow. They survived their confinement, and the facts relating to it were published by Ignazio Somis, professor in the university of Turin. With the case of these poor creatures, that, related at p. 176, of our Elizabeth Woodcock, who remained so imprisoned eight days, is scarcely to be compared. Her sufferings highly interest the feelings; a narration of theirs would too deeply wound them.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 41·25
[84] Rome in the Nineteenth Century.
[85] Doblado’s Letters from Spain.
~March 20.~
LAMB SEASON.
_An Anecdote._
It is related in the Scottish newspapers that about the year 1770, a Selkirkshire farmer, a great original in his way, and remarkable for his fondness of a “big price” for every thing, attended at Langholm fair, and, notwithstanding his parsimonious habits, actually sold his lambs to a perfect stranger upon his simply promising to pay him punctually at the next market. On his return home, the farmer’s servants, who regularly messed at the same table, and seldom honoured him with the name of master, inquired “Weel, Sandy, hae ye sell’t the lambs?” “Atweel hae I, and I gat saxpence mair a-head for them than ony body in the market.” “And a’ weel paid siller?” “Na, the siller’s no paid yet, but its sure eneuch.” “Wha’s your merchant, and, and what’s your security?” “Troth I never spiered, but he’s a decent lookin’ man wi tap boots, and a bottle-green coat.” The servants, at this, laughed outright, and tauntingly told him he would never get a farthing. Sandy, however, thought differently, and having accidentally hurt his leg so as to prevent him from travelling, he sent a shepherd to Langholm, with instructions to look for a man with a bottle-green coat, whom he was sure he said, to find standing near a certain sign. The shepherd did as he was bid, and, strange to say, discovered a person standing at the identical spot, who, on learning his errand, inquired kindly for his master, and paid the money to the uttermost farthing. Sandy, who piqued himself on his skill in physiognomy, heard the news without emotion, and merely said, “I wad at any time trust mair to looks than words, and whan I saw Colly smeiling about hun sae kindly, I ken’t weel eneuch he couldna be a scoundrel.” This result differs from one which might have been expected. Sandy believed in a “second sight,” which, in these times, a knowledge of the arts of life disqualify most persons for indulging on such an occasion.
* * * * *
In an early edition of vol. i. p. 374, the death of sir Isaac Newton is stated to have happened on this day in the year 1727; and it is added, that he was born on the 25th of December 1742, instead of the proper year 1642.
* * * * *
On the same page the death of the celebrated earl Mansfield, is mentioned to have taken place on the same day in the year 1793. He was aged eighty-nine, and his autograph is now added for the gratification of those who desire to be acquainted with the hand-writing of distinguished persons.
[Illustration: Mansfield]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 42·81.
~March 21.~
_Benedict._
Concerning this saint in our almanacs, see vol. i. p. 380.
A SURPRISING CALCULATION.
_For the Every-Day Book._
In the summer of 1825, a meeting was held at Tunbridge in Kent, by some gentlemen interested in the formation of a rail road, in that neighbourhood; at which was a present a young gentleman well known for astonishing celerity in resolving difficult calculations by the aid of memory alone. One of the company, a great snuff-taker, and good mathematician, proposed the following, (as he thought,) puzzling question;
“If I take so many (a given quantity) of pinches of snuff every quarter of an hour, how many pinches shall I have taken in fifteen years?”
The young gentleman in little more than a minute gave his answer.
The snuff-taker called for pen, ink, and paper, to examine the answer, when after a considerable time he declared it erroneous; upon hearing which, the calculator asked the snuff-taker if he had allowed for the leap-years? being answered in the negative, the snuff-taker was requested to add them, when the calculator’s answer was found to be correct to a single pinch, to the no small astonishment and delight of the assembled party.
A. S.
* * * * *
The preceding anecdote is wholly new, and, after a “pinch of snuff,” the editor introduces a topic somewhat corresponding.
“TOBACCO.”
“EX FUMO dare lucem.”
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
The use of tobacco, “that stinking weed so much abused to God’s dishonour,” as Stow expresses himself, having become so common, as to be almost “naturalized on English ground;” perhaps a short article on the subject at this seasonable period, may not be unacceptable to the numerous readers of the _Every-Day Book_. Let me however be understood in the outset.
I do not mean to write a historical--nor yet critical--nor yet a poetical essay on my subject--no! I merely wish to “cull a few _leaves_” from the “fragrant herb,” and leave them for you to _burn_, or your readers to _cut up_, or _smoke_, at their good pleasure. Dropping all metaphor, the subject is worth attention, and treated with judgment, might be rendered highly interesting. Resigning all pretension however to that quality, I have merely collected a few “passages,” which, I hope, will be considered worthy of a place in your interesting miscellany.
“Commencing our commencement,” says the old French proverb, my medical dictionary, (Hooper’s) has the following under this head:--
“Tobacco. See Nicotiana.”
“Nicotiana. (From M. Nicot, who first brought it into Europe.) Tobacco.”
“1st. The name of a genus of plants in the Linnean system. Class _Pentandria_; order, _Monogynia_.”
“2nd. The former pharmacopæial name of the officinal tobacco,” &c. &c.
_Hooper’s Medical Dictionary_, 4th edit. p. 594.
In that elegant work, “Flora Domestica,” the botanical summary says, “This genus is named from Jean Nicot of Nismes, agent from the king of France to Portugal, who procured the seeds from a Dutchman, and sent them to France. Tobacco, from the island Tobago. The French have many names for it; as, le tabac: Nicotiane from its first introducer; petum [the original Indian appellation;] herbe du grand prieur; herbe à la Reine; herbe sacrìe; herbe propre à tous maux; herbe de St. Croix; &c. &c. _Italian_, tabacco; terna bona.”
_Flora Domestica_, 1823. p. 365.
Of these names, the Italian one of “terna bona,” is very singular, and as _arbitrary_ as need be, for example, what connection can there be between tobacco, and the “grand prior,” the “queen’s,” or the “holy cross?” “Propre à tous maux,” is _rather_ too comprehensive an appellation; I have copied but few of these names, many as there may appear to be.
Of all the subjects which have employed the pens of writers, perhaps no one has called forth so great a diversity of opinion as this; and we may perhaps go further, and say, that no other (save only, _love_ and _war_) has attracted so much notice since its introduction. Popes, poets, historians, kings, and physicians, have dwelt upon its use and abuse, and even historians have condescended to mention it. But to proceed.
With regard to its first introduction into England, Hume says, “chap. xli. Eliz. 1558, 1603,” at the close of the narration of Drake’s attack on the Spanish provinces in the West Indies. “It is thought that Drake’s fleet first introduced the use of tobacco into England.”
In an after part of his work “Appendix, James I. 1603-1625,” he adds,
“After supplying themselves with provisions more immediately necessary for the support of life, the new planters began the cultivating of tobacco; and James notwithstanding his antipathy to that drug, which he affirmed to be pernicious to men’s morals as well as health, gave them permission to enter it in England; and he inhibited by proclamation all importation of it from Spain.”
At this period originated the story of the wetting poor sir Walter Raleigh, received from the hands (and bucket) of his servant; this, however, is too common to deserve transferring to your pages. The following facts, however, are not so generally known. “On the first introduction of tobacco, our ancestors carried its use to an enormous excess, smoking even in the churches, which made pope Urban VIII. in 1624, publish a decree of excommunication against those who used such an unseemly practice; and Innocent XII. A. D. 1690, solemnly excommunicated all those who should take snuff or tobacco, in St. Peter’s church at Rome.” _Flora Domestica_, p. 367.
This excess is perhaps only equalled by the case of William Breedon, vicar of Thornton, Bucks, “a profound divine, but absolutely the most polite person for nativities in that age;” of whom William Lilly, “student in astrology,” says, “when he had no tobacco, (and I suppose too much drink,) he would cut the bell ropes and smoke them.”--_History of Lilly’s Life and Times_, p. 44.[86]
* * * * *
To the eulogist of tobacco, who, on column 195 of your present volume, defies “all daintie meats,” and
----“keeps his kitchen in a box, And roast meat in a pipe,”
take as an antidote the following from Peter Hausted’s Raphael Thorius: London, 1551.
Let it be damn’d to Hell, and call’d from thence, Proserpine’s wine, the Furies’ frankincense, The Devil’s addle eggs.
Hawkins Brown, esq., parodying Ambrose Philips, writes thus prettily to his pipe:--
Little tube of mighty power, Charmer of an idle hour, Object of my warm desire; Lip of wax, and eye of fire; And thy snowy taper waist, With my finger gently brac’d; &c.
In our own times the following have appeared.
“La Pipe de Tabac,” a French song to music, by Geweaux, contains the following humorous stanzas:--
“Le soldat baille sous la tente, Le matelot sur le tillac, Bientôt ils ont l’âme contente, Avec la pipe de tabac; Si pourtant survient une belle, A l’instant le cœur fait tìc tac, Et l’Amant oublie auprès d’elle, Jusqu’à la pipe de tabac.
“Je tiens cette maxime utile, De ce fameux Monsieur de Crac, En campagne comme à la ville, Font tous l’amour et le tabac, Quand ce grand homme allait en guerre Il portait dans son petit sac, Le doux portrait de sa bergère, Avec la pipe de tabac.”
In the accompanying English version, they are thus imitated:--
See, content, the soldier smiling Round the vet’ran smoking crew And the tar, the time beguiling, Sighs and whiffs, and thinks of Sue. Calm the bosom; naught distresses;-- Labour’s harvest’s nearly ripe;-- ‘Susan’s health;’--the brim he presses,-- Here alone he quits his pipe.
Faithful still to every duty Ne’er his faithful heart will roam; Mines of wealth, and worlds of beauty, Tempt him not from Susan’s home. From his breast--wherever steering, Oft a sudden tear to wipe, Susan’s portrait,--sorrow cheering, First he draws--and then his pipe!
Our immortal Byron, in his poem of “The Island,” sings thus the praises of “the Indian weed:”--
Sublime tobacco!--which from east to west Cheers the tar’s labours, or the Turkman’s rest; Which on the Moslem’s ottoman divides His hours,--and rivals opium and his brides; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand; Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe When tipped with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers, wooing the caress More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far, Thy naked beauties---- Give me a cigar!
If, Sir, you should deem this communication worthy of your notice, I shall feel inclined to pursue my researches farther; and, whatever the result, allow me in the mean time to subscribe myself,
Your well-wisher,
FUMO.
P. S. Should you, Sir, _burn_ this, the Roman adage, which I have used as my motto, will be once more _verified_.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 43·44.
[86] “The following commendation of Lilly is inserted under a curious frontispiece to his “Anima Astrologiæ,” 1676, containing portraits of Cardan, Guido, and himself.
“Let Envy burst--Vrania’s glad to see Her sons thus Ioyn’d in a Triplicity; To Cardan and to Guido much is due, But in one Lilly wee behold them Two.”
~March 22.~
_Passion Wednesday._
In 1826, this being the Wednesday before Easter, called _Passion Wednesday_, is celebrated with great solemnity in catholic countries. At Seville a white veil conceals the officiating priest and ministers, during mass, until the words in the service “the veil of the temple was rent in twain” are chaunted. At this moment the veil disappears, as if by enchantment, and the ears of the congregation are stunned with the noise of concealed fireworks, which are meant to imitate an earthquake.
The evening service, named _Tinieblas_, (darkness) is performed this day after sunset. The cathedral, on this occasion, exhibits the most solemn and impressive aspect. The high altar, concealed behind dark grey curtains which fall from the height of the cornices, is dimly lighted by six yellow wax candles, while the gloom of the whole temple is broken in large masses by wax torches, fixed one on each pillar of the centre aisle, about one-third of its length from the ground. An elegant candlestick of brass, from fifteen to twenty feet high, is placed, on this and the following evening, between the choir and the altar, holding thirteen candles, twelve of yellow, and one of bleached wax, distributed on the two sides of the triangle which terminates the machine. Each candle stands by a brass figure of one of the apostles. The white candle occupying the apex is allotted to the virgin Mary. At the conclusion of each of the twelve psalms appointed for the service, one of the yellow candles is extinguished, till, the white taper burning alone, it is taken down and concealed behind the altar. Immediately after the ceremony, the _Miserere_, (Psalm 50.) set, every other year, to a new strain of music, is sung in a grand style. This performance lasts exactly an hour. At the conclusion of the last verse the clergy break up abruptly without the usual blessing, making a thundering noise by clapping their movable seats against the frame of the stalls, or knocking their ponderous breviaries against the boards, as the rubric directs.[87]
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 22d of March, 1687, Jean Baptiste Lully, the eminent musical composer, died at Paris. He was born of obscure parents at Florence, in 1634, and evincing a taste for music, a benevolent cordelier, influenced by no other consideration than the hope of his becoming eminent in the science, undertook to teach him the guitar. While under his tuition, a French gentleman, the chevalier Guise, arrived at Florence, commissioned by Mlle. de Montpensier, niece to Louis XIV., to bring her some pretty little Italian boy as a page. The countenance of Lully did not answer to the instructions, but his vivacity, wit, and skill on an instrument, as much the favourite of the French as of the Italians, determined the chevalier to send him to Paris. On his arrival, he was presented to the lady; but his figure obtained for him so cool a reception, that she commanded him to be entered in her household books as an under-scullion. Lully was at this time ten years old. In the moments of his leisure from the kitchen, he used to scrape upon a wretched fiddle. He was overheard by a person about the court, who informed the princess he had an excellent taste for music, and a master was employed to teach him the violin, under whom in the course of a few months, he became so great a proficient, that he was elevated to the rank of court-musician. In consequence of an unlucky accident he was dismissed from this situation; but, obtaining admission into the king’s band of violins, he applied himself so closely to study, that in a little time he began to compose. His airs were noticed by the king, Lully was sent for, and his performance of them was thought so excellent, that a new band was formed, called _les petits violons_, and under his direction it surpassed the band of twenty-four, till that time celebrated throughout Europe. This was about the year 1660, when the favourite entertainments at the French court were dramatic representations, consisting of dancing intermixed with singing and speaking in recitative; they were called _ballets_, and to many of them Lully was employed in composing the music.
In 1669, an opera in the French language, on the model of that at Venice, being established at Paris, Lully obtained the situation of composer and joint director, left his former band, instituted one of his own, and formed the design of building a new theatre near the Luxemburg palace, which he accomplished, and opened in November, 1670.
Previous to this, Lully, having been appointed surperintendent to the king’s private music, had neglected the practice of the violin; yet, whenever he could be prevailed with to play, his excellence astonished all who heard him.
In 1686, the king recovering from an indisposition that threatened his life, Lully composed a “_Te Deum_,” which was not more remarkable for its excellence, than the unhappy accident with which its performance was attended. In the preparations for the execution of it, and the more to demonstrate his zeal, he himself beat the time. With the cane that he used for this purpose, he struck his foot, which caused so much inflammation, that his physician advised him to have his little toe taken off; and, after a delay of some days, his foot; and at length the whole limb. At this juncture, an empiric offered to perform a cure without amputation. Two thousand pistoles were promised him if he should accomplish it, but his efforts were vain; and Lully died.
Lully’s confessor in his last illness required as a testimony of his sincere repentance, and as the condition of his absolution, that he should throw the last of his operas into the fire. After some excuses, Lully acquiesced, and pointing to a drawer in which the rough draft of “_Achilles and Polixenes_” was deposited, it was taken out and burnt, and the confessor went away satisfied. Lully grew better and was thought out of danger, when one of the young princes came to visit him: “What, Baptiste,” says he to him, “have you thrown your opera into the fire? You were a fool for thus giving credit to a gloomy Jansenist, and burning good music.” “Hush! hush! my lord,” answered Lully, in a whisper, “I knew very well what I was about, I have another copy of it!” This pleasantry was followed by a relapse; and the prospect of inevitable death threw him into such pangs of remorse, that he submitted to be laid on ashes with a cord round his neck; and, in this situation, he chaunted a deep sense of his late trangression.
Lully contributed greatly to the improvement of French music. In his overtures he introduced fugues, and was the first who, in the choruses, made use of the side and kettle drums. It is difficult to characterize his style, which seems to have been derived from no other source than his own invention.
His compositions were chiefly operas and other dramatic entertainments, adapted to the desires of Louis XIV., who was fond of dancing, and had not taste for any music but airs, in the composition of which a stated number of bars was the chief rule to be observed. Of harmony or fine melody, or of the relation between poetry and music, he seems to have had no conception; and these were restraints upon Lully’s talents.
He is said to have been the inventor of that species of composition, the overture; for, though the symphonies or preludes of Carissimi, Colonna, and others, are, in effect, overtures, yet they were compositions of a mild and placid kind, while Lully’s are animated and full of energy.[88]
* * * * *
Notwithstanding the character of Lully’s compositions, when unrestricted by the royal command and the bad taste of the court, he was one day reproached with having set nothing to music but languid verses. He flew to his harpsichord, and wildly running over the keys, sung, with great violence of gesture, the following terrific lines from Racine’s tragedy of “Iphigenie:”
“Un prêtre environne d’une foule cruelle Portera sur ma fille, une maine criminelle Dechirera son sein, et d’un œil curieux Dans son cœur palpitant consultera les Dieux.”
When cardinal d’Estrees was at Rome, he highly praised Corelli’s sonatas to that eminent composer. “Sir,” replied Corelli, “if they have any merit it is because I have studied Lully.” Handel has imitated Lully in many of his overtures.[89]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 42·79.
[87] Doblado’s Letters from Spain.
[88] Biograph. Dictionary of Musicians.
[89] Seward.
~March 23.~
MAUNDY THURSDAY.
_Shere Thursday._
These denominations have been sufficiently explained in vol. i. p. 400, with an account of the _Maundy_ at the chapel royal St. James’s. The Romish church this day institutes certain ceremonies to commemorate the washing of the disciples’ feet.
_Celebration of the day at Seville._
The particulars of these solemnities are recorded by the rev. Blanco White.
The ceremonies of the high mass, are especially intended as a remembrance of the last supper, and the service, as it proceeds, rapidly assumes the deepest hues of melancholy. The bells, in every steeple, from one loud and joyous peal, cease at once, and leave a peculiar heavy stillness, which none can conceive but those who have lived in a populous Spanish town long enough to lose the sense of that perpetual tinkling which agitates the ear during the day and great part of the night.
In every church a “host,” consecrated at the mass, is carried with great solemnity to a temporary structure, called the _monument_, which is erected with more or less splendour, according to the wealth of the establishment. It is there deposited in a silver urn, generally shaped like a sepulchre, the key of which, hanging from a gold chain, is committed by the priest to the care of a chief inhabitant of the parish, who wears it round his neck as a badge of honour, till the next morning. The key of the cathedral monument is intrusted to the archbishop, if present, or to the dean in his absence.
The striking effect of the last-mentioned structure, the “monument” in the cathedral, is not easily conceived. It fills up the space between four arches of the nave, rising in five bodies to the roof of the temple. The columns of the two lower tiers, which, like the rest of the monument, imitate white marble filletted with gold, are hollow, allowing the numerous attendants who take care of the lights that cover it from the ground to the very top, to do their duty during four-and-twenty hours, without any disturbance or unseemly bustle. More than three thousand pounds of wax, besides one hundred and sixty silver lamps, are employed in the illumination.
The gold casket set with jewels, which contains the host, lies deposited in an elegant temple of massive silver, weighing five hundred and ten marks, which is seen through a blaze of light on the pediment of the monument. Two members of the chapter in their choral robes, and six inferior priests in surplices, attend on their knees before the shrine, till they are relieved by an equal number of the same classes at the end of every hour. This adoration is performed without interruption from the moment of depositing the host in the casket till that of taking it out the next morning. The cathedral, as well as many others of the wealthiest churches, are kept open and illuminated the whole night.
One of the public sights of the town, on this day, is the splendid cold dinner which the archbishop gives to twelve paupers, in commemoration of the apostles. The dinner is to be seen laid out on tables filling up two large rooms in the palace. The twelve guests are completely clothed at the expense of their host; and having partaken of a more homely dinner in the kitchen, they are furnished with large baskets to take away the splendid commons allotted to each in separate dishes, which they sell to the _gourmands_ of the town. Each, besides, is allowed to dispose of his napkin, curiously made up into the figure of some bird or quadruped, which people buy as ornaments to their china cupboards, and as specimens of the perfection to which some of the poorer nuns have carried the art of plaiting.
At two in the afternoon, the archbishop, attended by his chapter, repairs to the cathedral, where he performs the ceremony, which, from the notion of its being literally enjoined by our saviour, is called the _mandatum_. The twelve paupers are seated on a platform erected before the high altar, and the prelate, stripped of his silk robes, and kneeling successively before each, washes their feet in a large silver bason.
About this time the processions, known by the name of _cofradías_, (confraternities) begin to move out of the different churches to which they are attached. The head of the police appoints the hour when each of these pageants is to appear in the square of the town hall, and the _audiencia_ or court of justice. From thence their route to the cathedral, and out of it, to a certain point, is the same for all. These streets are lined by two rows of spectators of the lower classes, the windows being occupied by those of a higher rank. An order is previously published by the town-crier, directing the inhabitants to decorate their windows, which they do by hanging out the showy silk and chintz counterpanes of their beds. As to the processions themselves, except one which has the privilege of parading the town in the dead of night, they have little to attract the eye or affect the imagination. Their chief object is to convey groups of figures, as large as life, representing different scenes of our saviour’s passion.
There is something remarkable in the established and characteristic marks of some figures. The Jews are distinguished by long aquiline noses. Saint Peter is completely bald. The dress of the apostle John is green, and that of Judas Iscariot yellow; and so intimately associated is this circumstance with the idea of the traitor, that it has brought that colour into universal discredit. It is probably from this circumstance, (though yellow may have been allotted to Judas from some more ancient prejudice,) that the inquisition has adopted it for the _sanbenito_, or coat of infamy, which persons convicted of heresy are compelled to wear. The red hair of Judas, like Peter’s baldness, seems to be agreed upon by all the painters and sculptors in Europe. _Judas’ hair_ is a usual name in Spain; and a similar application, it should seem, was used in England in Shakspeare’s time. “His hair,” says Rosalind, in _As you like it_, “is of the dissembling colour:” to which Celia answers--“Something browner than Judas’s.”
The midnight procession derives considerable effect from the stillness of the hour, and the dress of the attendants on the sacred image. None are admitted to this religious act but the members of that fraternity; generally young men of fashion. They all appear in a black tunic, with a broad belt so contrived as to give the idea of a long rope tied tight round the body; a method of penance commonly practised in former times. The face is covered with a long black veil, falling from a sugar-loaf cap three feet high. Thus arrayed, the nominal _penitents_ advance, with silent and measured steps, in two lines, dragging a train six feet long, and holding aloft a wax-candle of twelve pounds, which they rest upon the hip-bone, holding it obliquely towards the vacant space between them. The veils, being of the same stuff with the cap and tunic, would absolutely impede the sight but for two small holes through which the eyes are seen to gleam, adding no small effect to the dismal appearance of such strange figures. The pleasure of appearing in a disguise, in a country where masquerades are not tolerated by the government, is a great inducement, to the young men for subscribing to this religious association. The disguise, it is true, does not in the least relax the rules of strict decorum which the ceremony requires; yet the mock penitents think themselves repaid for the fatigue and trouble of the night by the fresh impression which they expect to make on the already won hearts of their mistresses, who, by preconcerted signals, are enabled to distinguish their lovers, in spite of the veils and the uniformity of the dresses.
It is scarcely forty years since the disgusting exhibition of people streaming in their own blood, was discontinued by an order of the government. These _penitents_ were generally from among the most debauched and abandoned of the lower classes. They appeared in white linen petticoats, pointed white caps and veils, and a jacket of the same colour, which exposed their naked shoulders to view. Having, previous to their joining the procession, been scarified on the back, they beat themselves with a cat-o’nine-tails, making the blood run down to the skirts of their garment. It may be easily conceived that religion had no share in these voluntary inflictions. There was a notion afloat, that this act of penance had an excellent effect on the constitution.[90]
* * * * *
The pope commemorates the washing of the disciples’ feet by officiating in person. A modern traveller who was present at the ceremony says,--“There were _thirteen_ instead of twelve; the one being the representative of the angel that once came to the table of twelve that St. Gregory was serving. The twelve were old priests, but the one who performed the part of the angel was very young. They were all dressed in loose white gowns, and white caps on their heads, and clean woollen stockings, and were seated in a row along the wall, under a canopy. When the pope entered and took his seat at the top of the room, the whole company of them knelt in their places, turning towards him; and on his hand being extended in benediction, they all rose again and reseated themselves. The splendid garments of the pope were then taken off; and clad in a white linen robe which he had on under the others, and wearing the bishop’s mitre instead of the tiara, he approached the pilgrims, took from an attendant cardinal a silver bucket of water, knelt before the first of them, immersed one foot in the water, put water over it with his hand, and touched it with a square fringed cloth; kissed the leg, and gave the cloth, and a sort of white flower or feather, to the man; then went on to the next. The whole ceremony was over, I think, in less than two minutes, so rapidly was this act of humility gone through. From thence the pope returned to his throne, put on his robes of white and silver again, and proceeded to the Sala di Tavola: the thirteen priests were seated in a row at the table, which was spread with a variety of dishes, and adorned with a profusion of flowers. The pope gave the blessing, and walking along the side of the table opposite to them, handed each of them bread, then plates, and lastly, cups of wine. They regularly all rose up to receive what he presented; and the pope having gone through the forms of service, and given them his parting benediction, left them to finish their dinner in peace. They carry away what they cannot eat, and receive a small present in money besides.”[91]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 43·15
[90] Doblado’s Letters from Spain.
[91] Rome in the Nineteenth Century.
~March 24.~
GOOD FRIDAY.
This annual commemoration is the only one observed in England, with the exception of Christmas, by the suspension of all business, and the closing of shops. The late bishop Porteus having particularly insisted on this method of keeping Good Friday, the reverend Robert Robinson of Cambridge wrote a remarkable pamphlet, entitled, “The History and Mystery of Good Friday,” wherein he urges various statements and arguments against the usage. This tract has been published from time to time by Mr. Benjamin Flower. The controversy is referred to, because the writings of the bishop and his opponent state the grounds on both sides. It is to be remarked likewise, that several dissenters openly engage in their usual avocations, contrary to the general practice, which does not appear to be enforced by the church of England, farther than by notices through the parochial beadle and other officers.
_Hot-cross Buns._
On the popular cry of “hot-cross buns,” and the custom of eating them to-day, there are particulars in vol. i. p. 402; and in the illustration of the ancient name and use of the _bun_, a few interesting passages are added. “The offerings which people in ancient times used to present to the gods, were generally purchased at the entrance of the temple; especially every species of consecrated bread, which was denominated accordingly. One species of sacred bread which used to be offered to the gods, was of great antiquity, and called _boun_. The Greeks, who changed the _nu_ final into a _sigma_, expressed it in the nominative Βους, but in the accusative more truly _boun_, Βουν. Hesychius speaks of the _boun_, and describes it a kind of cake with a representation of two horns. Julius Pollux mentions it after the same manner, a sort of cake with horns. Diogenes Laertius, speaking of the same offering being made by Emperocles, describes the chief ingredients of which it was composed:--‘he offered up one of the sacred libra, called a _boun_, which was made of fine flour and honey.’ It is said of Cecrops, he first offered up this sort of sweet bread. Hence we may judge of the antiquity of the custom, from the times to which Cecrops is referred. The prophet Jeremiah takes notice of this kind of offering when he is speaking of the Jewish women at Pathros, in Egypt, and of their base idolatry; in all which their husbands had encouraged them: the women, in their expostulation upon his rebuke, tell him, ‘Did we make her cakes to worship her?’ &c. Jer. xliv. 18, 19. Ib. vii. 18.[92]”
_Irish Custom._
In the midland districts of Ireland, viz. the province of Connaught, on Good Friday, it is a common practice with the lower orders of Irish catholics to prevent their young from having any sustenance, even to those at the breast, from twelve on the previous night to twelve on Friday night, and the fathers and mothers will only take a small piece of dry bread and a draught of water during the day. It is a common sight to see along the roads between the different market towns, numbers of women with their hair dishevelled, barefooted, and in their worst garments; all this is in imitation of Christ’s passion.[93]
* * * * *
In Ireland, as a catholic country, excessive attention prevails to the remarkable instances in the passion of Christ, which terminated in the crucifixion; and a revelation from Christ himself, to three nuns canonized by the Romish church, has been devised to heighten the fervour of the ignorant. The Irish journals of 1770, contain the copy of a singular paper said to have been sold to devotees at a high price, viz.
H I | S HOLY---+---JUBILEE, 1770. | |
“This revelation was made by the mouth of our Lord Jesus Christ, to those three saints, viz. St. Elizabeth, St. Clare, and St. Bridget, they being desirous to know something in particular of the blessed passion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
“First, I received 30 cuffs; 2dly, when I was apprehended in the garden, I received 40 blows: 3dly, I journeying to Annas’s house, got 7 falls: 4thly, they gave me 444 blows of whips upon my shoulders: 5thly, they raised me up from the ground, by the hair of the head, 330 times: 6thly, they gave me 30 blows against my teeth: 7thly, I have breathed 8888 sighs: 8thly, they drew me by my beard 35 times: 9thly, I received one mortal wound at the foot of the cross: 10th, 666 blows they gave me when I was bound to the pillar of stone: 11th, they set a crown of thorns upon my head: 12th, they have spitted at me 63 times: 13th, the soldiers gave me 88 blows of whips: 14th, they gave me gall and vinegar to drink: 15th, when I hanged on the cross I received five mortal wounds.
“All men or women that will say seven paters, seven aves, and a creed daily, in honour of the blessed passion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, for the space of 15 years, they shall obtain five graces: first, they shall receive plenary indulgence and remission of their sins; 2dly, they will not suffer the pains of purgatory; 3dly, if it happen that they die before 15 years be ended, they shall obtain grace as well as if they had suffered martyrdom; 4thly, in point of death, I will not come myself alone, to receive his own soul, but also his parents, if they be in purgatory; finally, I will convert them into everlasting bliss.
“This revelation hath those virtues, that whosoever shall carry it about him, shall be free from his enemies, neither will he die of any sudden death; and if there be any woman with child, that carry this revelation about her, she shall feel no pain in child-birth; and in whatsoever part of the house this revelation shall lye, it shall not be infected with any contagious diseases, or any other evil: and whosoever shall carry it about him, the glorious virgin Mary will show herself to him 46 days before his death.”
H I | S --+-- | |
The custom of preaching at St. Paul’s cross on Good Friday and other holidays, and some account of the cross itself is communicated in the following letter of a correspondent, who will be recognised by his initials to have been a contributor of former interesting articles.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
_Kennington, March 10, 1826._
Sir,--The following account of a sermon, annually preached on Good Friday at St. Paul’s cross, with a brief notice of that structure, will I hope be considered worthy preservation in your valuable miscellany.
It was, for a considerable period, a custom on Good Friday in the afternoon, for some learned man, by appointment of the bishop, to preach a sermon at Paul’s cross, which was situated in the midst of the churchyard on the north side towards the east end. The sermon generally treated of Christ’s passion; and upon the ensuing Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in Easter week, other learned men used to preach in a similar pulpit, at the Spital, now the Old Artillery Ground, Spitalfields; the subject of their discourse was the articles of Christ’s resurrection. Then, on Low Sunday, another divine was at Paul’s cross, to make a rehearsal of the four former sermons, either commending or disproving them as in his judgment he thought fit; all this done, (which by the by was no easy task,) he was to make a sermon himself, which in all were five sermons in one. At these sermons, so severally preached, the mayor, with his brethren the aldermen, were accustomed to be present in their “violets,” at St. Paul’s on Good Friday, and in their “scarlets,” both they and their ladies, at the Spital, in the holidays, except Wednesday in violet; and the mayor, with his brethren, on Low Sunday, in scarlet, at Paul’s cross. Since the Restoration these sermons were continued, by the name of the Spital sermons, at St. Bride’s, with the like solemnity, on Easter Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, every year.
Respecting the antiquity of this custom, I learn from Maitland, that, in the year 1398, king Richard having procured from Rome confirmation of such statutes and ordinances as were made in the parliament begun at Westminster and ended at Shrewsbury, he caused the same confirmation to be read and pronounced at Paul’s cross, and at St. Mary, Spital, in the sermons before all the people. Philip Malpas, one of the sheriffs, in the year 1439, the eighteenth of Henry VII., gave twenty shillings a year to the three preachers at the Spital. Stephen Foster, mayor, in the year 1454, gave forty shillings to the preachers of Paul’s cross and Spital. Opposite the pulpit at the Spital, was a handsome house of two stories high, for the mayor, aldermen, sheriffs, and other persons of distinction, to sit in, to hear the sermons preached in the Easter holidays; in the part above, stood the bishop of London and other prelates.
In foul and rainy weather, these solemn sermons were preached in a place called _the shrowds_, which was by the side of the cathedral church under covering, but open in front.--_Ellis’s St. Paul’s Cathedral, p. 52._
For the maintenance of these St. Paul’s cross sermons, many of the citizens were liberal benefactors; as Aylmer, bishop of London, the countess dowager of Shrewsbury, Thomas Russell, George Bishop, who gave ten pounds a year, &c.; and for further encouragement of those preachers, in the year 1607, the lord mayor and court of aldermen then ordered, “that every one that should preach there, considering the journies some of them might take from the universities, or elsewhere, should at his pleasure be freely entertained, for five days space, with sweet and convenient lodging, fire, candle, and all other necessaries, viz. from Thursday before their day of preaching, to Thursday morning following.” This provision had a good effect, and the custom continued for some time, added to which the bishop of London, or his chaplain, when he sent to any one to preach, signified the place whither he might sojourn at his coming up, and be entertained freely. Towards this charge of the city, George Palin, a merchant of London, gave two hundred pounds to defray expenses.
At some future time a few observations on crosses will be introduced; at present I shall confine myself to the history of St. Paul’s cross, which was used, not only for the instruction of mankind by the doctrine of the preacher, but for every purpose, political or ecclesiastical; for giving force to oaths; for promulgating laws; or rather, the royal pleasure; for the emission of papal bulls; for anathematizing sinners; for benedictions; for exposing penitents under censure of the church; for recantations; for the private ends of the ambitious; and for defaming those who had incurred the displeasure of the crown. _Pennant, 4to. 394._
To enter minutely into all the events connected with the history of this cross would be a work of considerable labour and difficulty, added to which, space could not be well spared in a work of the present nature. I shall therefore only notice some of the most remarkable that occur in history.
[Illustration: ~Sermon at St. Paul’s Cross on Good Friday.~]
This cross was strongly built of timber, mounted upon steps of stone, and covered with lead. The earliest mention of it occurs in the year 1259, when king Henry III. commanded a general assembly to be made at the cross, where he in person commanded the mayor that on the morrow he should cause to be sworn before the alderman, every youth of twelve years of age or upward, to be true to the king and his heirs kings of England. In the same year Henry III. caused to be read at this cross a bull obtained from pope Urban IV. as an absolution for him and for all that were sworn to maintain the articles made in the parliament at Oxford. In the year 1299, the dean of St. Paul’s cursed at the cross all those which had searched in the church of St. Martin in the Fields for a hoard of gold, &c.
This pulpit cross was by tempest of lightning and thunder, much defaced Thomas Kempe, bishop of London, from 28 Hen. VI. to 5 Hen. VII., new built the pulpit and cross.
The following is curious:--
“On the 8th day of March, 1555, while a doctor preached at the cross, a man did penance for transgressing Lent, holding two pigs ready drest, whereof one was upon his head, having brought them to sell.”--[_Strype’s Ecclesiastical Memorials._]
Before this cross, in 1483, was brought, divested of all her splendour, Jane Shore, the charitable, the merry concubine of Edward IV., and after his death, of his favourite the unfortunate lord Hastings. After the loss of her protectors, she fell a victim to the malice of the crook-backed tyrant Richard III. He was disappointed (by her excellent defence) of convicting her of witchcraft, and confederating with her lover to destroy him. He then attacked her on the side of frailty. This was undeniable. He consigned her to the severity of the church: she was carried to the bishop’s palace, clothed in a white sheet, with a taper in her hand, and from thence conducted to the cathedral, and the cross, before which she made a confession of her only fault. “In her penance she went,” says Holinshed, “in countenance and pase demure, so womanlie, that albeit she were out of all araie, save her kirtle onlie, yet went she so faire and lovelie, namelie, while the woondering of the people cast a comelie rud in hir cheeks (of whiche she before had most misse), that hir great shame was hir much praise among those that were more amorous of hir bodie than curious of hir soule. And manie good folkes that hated hir living (and glad were to see sin corrected), yet pitied they more hir penance than rejoised therin, when they considered that the Protector procured it more of a corrupt intent, than anie virtuous affection.”--[_Hardyng’s Chron._ 4to. Lond. 1812. p. 499.] She lived to a great age, but in great distress and poverty; deserted even by those to whom she had, during prosperity, done the most essential services.
In 1538, “The 24th of February being Sunday, the Rood of Boxeley, in Kent, called the ‘Rood of Grace,’ made with divers vices, to move the eyes and lips, was shewed at Pawle’s Cross by the preacher, which was the bishop of Rochester, and there it was broken and plucked to pieces.”--[_Stow’s Annals_, p. 575.]
“On the 17th of November, 1595, a day of great triumph for the long and prosperous raigne of her majestie (queen Elizabeth) at London, the pulpit crosse in Pawle’s churchyard was new repayred, painted, and
## partly inclosed with a wal of bricke: Doctour Fletcher, bishop of
London, preached there in prayse of the queene, and prayer for her majestie, before the lord mayor, aldermen, and citizens, in their best liveries. Which sermon being ended, upon the church leades the trumpets sounded, the cornets winded, and the quiristers sung an antheme. On the steeple many lights were burned: the Tower shot off her ordinance, the bels were rung, bonefires made,” &c.--[_Stow’s Annals_, p. 770.]
Pennant says, the last sermon which was preached at this place was before James I., who came in great state from Whitehall, on Midlent Sunday, 1620; but Mr. Ellis, the learned and indefatigable editor of the new edition of Dugdale’s “History of St. Paul’s Cathedral,” says, there is a sermon in print, entitled, “The White Wolfe, preached at Paul’s Crosse, February 11, 1627;” and according to the continuator of “Stow’s Annals,” Charles I., on the 30th of May, 1630, having attended divine service in the cathedral, “went into a roome, and heard the sermon at Paule’s Crosse.”--[_Stow’s Annals_, p. 1045.]
Thus this cross stood till it was demolished, in 1643, by order of parliament, executed by the willing hands of Isaac Pennington, the fanatical lord mayor of London for that year, who died in the Tower a convicted regicide.
The engraving at the head of this article is from a drawing in the Pepysian library, and appears to have been the same that was erected _circa_ 1450.
There is a large painting of this cross as it appeared on Sunday, 26th of March, 1620, when king James I., his queen, Charles, prince of Wales, the archbishop of Canterbury, &c. attended with their court. It has been engraved in Wilkinson’s “Londina Illustrata.”
I am, Sir, &c. &c.
T. A.
_Good Friday at Lisbon._
To a protestant, the observance of this holiday in catholic countries is especially remarkable. In 1768, the late rev. George Whitefield published “An Account of some Lent and other Extraordinary Processions and Ecclesiastical Entertainments seen at Lisbon; in four Letters to an English Friend.” Very early in the morning of Good Friday, he had gone on board a vessel at Bellem for the purpose of sailing, but the wind dying away he returned ashore. “But how was the scene changed! Before, all used to be noise and hurry; now all was hushed and shut up in the most awful and profound silence. No clock or bell had been heard since yesterday noon, and scarce a person was to be seen in the street all the way to Lisbon. About two in the afternoon we got to the place where (I had heard some days ago) an extraordinary scene was to be exhibited: it was ‘the crucifixion of the Son of God, represented partly by dumb images, and partly by living persons, in a large church belonging to the convent of St. De Beato.’ Several thousands crowded into it, some of which, as I was told, had been waiting there ever since six in the morning. I was admitted, and very commodiously situated to view the whole performance. We had not waited long before the curtain was drawn up. Immediately, upon a high scaffold, hung in the front with black baize, and behind with silk purple damask laced with gold, was exhibited to our view an image of the Lord Jesus, at full length, crowned with thorns, and nailed on a cross, between two figures of like dimensions, representing the two thieves. At a little distance on the right hand was placed an image of the virgin Mary, in plain long ruffles, and a kind of widow’s weeds. The veil was purple silk, and she had a wire glory round her head. At the foot of the cross lay, in a mournful pensive posture, a living man dressed in woman’s clothes, who personated Mary Magdalen; and not far off stood a young man, in imitation of the beloved disciple. He was dressed in a loose green silk vesture and bob-wig. His eyes were fixed on the cross, and his two hands a little extended. On each side, near the front of the stage, stood two sentinels in buff, with formidable caps and long beards; and directly in the front stood another yet more formidable, with a large target in his hand. We may suppose him to be the Roman centurion. To complete the scene, from behind the purple hangings came out about twenty little purple-vested winged boys, two by two, each bearing a lighted wax taper in his hand, and having a crimson and gold cap on his head. At their entrance upon the stage, they gently bowed their heads to the spectators, then kneeled and made obeisance, first to the image on the cross, and then to that of the virgin Mary. When risen, they bowed to each other, and then took their respective places over against one another, on steps assigned for them on the front of the stage. Opposite to this, at a few yards’ distance, stood a black friar in a pulpit hung with mourning. For a while he paused, and then breaking silence, gradually raised his voice till it was extended to a pretty high pitch, though I think scarcely high enough for so large an auditory. After he had proceeded in his discourse about a quarter of an hour, a confused noise was heard near the great front door; and turning my head, I saw four long-bearded men, two of whom carried a ladder on their shoulders; and after them followed two more, with large gilt dishes in their hands, full of linen, spices, &c.; these, as I imagined, were the representatives of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimatlian. On a signal given from the pulpit, they advanced towards the steps of the scaffold; but, upon their first attempting to mount it, at the watchful centurion’s nod, the observant soldiers made a pass at them, and presented the points of their javelins directly to their breasts. They are repulsed. Upon this, a letter from Pilate is produced. The centurion reads it, shakes his head, and with looks that bespoke a forced compliance, beckons the sentinels to withdraw their arms. Leave being thus obtained, they ascend; and having paid their homage by kneeling first to the image on the cross and then to the virgin Mary, they retired to the back of the stage. Still the preacher continued declaiming, or rather, as was said, explaining the mournful scene. Magdalen persists in wringing her hands, and variously expressing her personated sorrow; while John (seemingly regardless of all besides) stood gazing on the crucified figure. By this time it was nearly three o’clock, and the scene was drawing to a close. The ladders are ascended, the superscription and crown of thorns taken off; long white rollers put round the arms of the image; and then the nails knocked out which fastened the hands and feet. Here Mary Magdalen looks most languishing, and John, if possible, stands more thunderstruck than before. The orator lifts up his voice, and almost all the hearers expressed their concern by weeping, beating their breasts, and smiting their cheeks. At length the body is gently let down; Magdalen eyes it, and gradually rising, receives the feet into her wide spread handkerchief; while John (who hitherto had stood motionless like a statue), as the body came nearer the ground, with an eagerness that bespoke the intense affection of a sympathizing friend, runs towards the cross, seizes the upper part of it into his clasping arms, and, with his disguised fellow-mourner, helps to bear it away. And here the play should end, was I not afraid that you would be angry with me if I did not give you an account of the last act, by telling you what became of the corpse after it was taken down. Great preparations were made for its interment. It was wrapped in linen and spices, &c. and being laid upon a bier richly hung, was carried round the churchyard in grand procession. The image of the virgin Mary was chief mourner; and John and Magdalen, with a whole troop of friars with wax tapers in their hands, followed. Determined to see the whole, I waited its return, and in about a quarter of an hour the corpse was brought in, and deposited in an open sepulchre prepared for the purpose; but not before a priest, accompanied by several of the same order, in splendid vestments, had perfumed it with incense, sang to, and kneeled before it. John and Magdalen attended the obsequies, but the image of the virgin Mary was carried away, and placed in the front of the stage, in order to be kissed, adored, and worshipped by the people. And thus ends this Good Friday’s tragi-comical, superstitious, idolatrous droll. I am well aware that the Romanists deny the charge of idolatry; but after having seen what I have seen this day, as well as at sundry other times since my arrival here, I cannot help thinking but a person must be capable of making more than metaphysical distinctions, and deal in very abstract ideas indeed, fairly to evade the charge.”
_Good Friday at Seville._
The rev. Blanco White relates the celebration of the day at Seville in the following terms:--
The altars, which, at the end of yesterday’s mass, were publicly and solemnly stripped of their clothes and rich table-hangings by the hands of the priest, appear in the same state of distressed negligence. No musical sound is heard, except the deep-toned voices of the psalm, or plain chant singers. After a few preparatory prayers, and the dramatized history of the passion, already described, the officiating priest (the archbishop at the cathedral), in a plain albe or white tunic, takes up a wooden cross six or seven feet high, which, like all other crosses, has for the last two weeks of Lent been covered with a purple veil, and standing towards the people, before the middle of the altar, gradually uncovers the sacred emblem, which both the clergy and laity worship upon their knees. The prelate is then unshod by the assistant ministers, and taking the cross upon his right shoulder, as our saviour is represented by painters on his way to Calvary, he walks alone from the altar to the entrance of the presbytery or chancel, and lays his burden upon two cushions. After this, he moves back some steps, and approaching the cross with three prostrations, kisses it, and drops an oblation of a piece of silver into a silver dish. The whole chapter, having gone through the same ceremony, form themselves in two lines, and repair to the monument, from whence the officiating priest conveys the deposited host to the altar, where he communicates upon it without consecrating any wine. Here the service terminates abruptly; all candles and lamps are extinguished; and the tabernacle, which throughout the year contains the sacred wafers, being left open, every object bespeaks the desolate and widowed state of the church from the death of the saviour to his resurrection.
The ceremonies of Good Friday being short, and performed at an early hour, both the gay and the devout would be at a loss how to spend the remainder of the day but for the grotesque _passion sermons_ of the suburbs and neighbouring villages, and the more solemn performance known by the name of _Tres Horas_,--three hours.
The practice of continuing in meditation from twelve to three o’clock of this day,--the time which our saviour is supposed to have hung on the cross,--was introduced by the Spanish Jesuits, and partakes of the impressive character which the members of that order had the art to impart to the religious practices by which they cherished the devotional spirit of the people. The church where the _three hours_ are kept is generally hung in black, and made impervious to daylight. A large crucifix is seen on the high altar, under a black canopy, with six unbleached wax candles, which cast a sombre glimmering on the rest of the church. The females of all ranks occupy, as usual, the centre of the nave, squatting or kneeling on the matted ground, and adding to the dismal appearance of the scene by the colour of their veils and dresses.
Just as the clock strikes twelve, a priest in his cloak and cassock ascends the pulpit, and delivers a preparatory address of his own composition. He then reads the printed meditations on the _seven words_, or sentences, spoken by Jesus on the cross, allotting to each such a portion of time as that, with the interludes of music which follow each of the readings, the whole may not exceed three hours. The music is generally good and appropriate, and if a sufficient band can be collected, well repays to an amateur the inconvenience of a crowded church, where, from the want of seats, the male part of the congregation are obliged either to stand or kneel. It is, in fact, one of the best works of Haydn, composed a short time ago for some gentlemen of Cadiz, who showed both their taste and liberality in thus procuring this masterpiece of harmony for the use of their country. It has been lately published in Germany under the title of the “Sette Parole.”
Every part of the performance is so managed, that the clock strikes three about the end of the meditation, on the words, _It is finished_. The picture of the expiring saviour, powerfully drawn by the original writer of the _Tres Horas_, can hardly fail to strike the imagination when listened to under the influence of such music and scenery; and when, at the first stroke of the clock, the priest rises from his seat, and in a loud and impassioned voice, announces the consummation of the awful and mysterious sacrifice, on whose painful and bloody progress the mind has been dwelling so long, few hearts can repel the impression, and still fewer eyes can conceal it. Tears bathe every cheek, and sobs heave every female bosom. After a parting address from the pulpit, the ceremony concludes with a piece of music, where the powers of the great composer are magnificently displayed in the imitation of the disorder and agitation of nature which the evangelists relate.
The _passion sermons_ for the populace might be taken for a parody of the _three hours_. They are generally delivered in the open air, by friars of the Mendicant orders, in those parts of the city and suburbs which are chiefly, if not exclusively, inhabited by the lower classes. Such gay young men, however, as do not scruple to relieve the dulness of Good Friday with a ride, and feel no danger of exposing themselves by any unseasonable laughter, indulge not unfrequently in the frolic of attending one of the most complete and perfect sermons of this kind at the neighbouring village of Castilleja.
A movable pulpit is placed before the church door, from which a friar, possessed of a stentorian voice, delivers an _improved_ history of the passion, such as was revealed to St. Bridget, a Franciscan nun, who, from the dictation of the virgin Mary, has left us a most minute and circumstantial account of the life and death of Christ and his mother. This yearly narrative, however, would have lost most of its interest but for the scenic illustrations, which keep up the expectation and rivet the attention of the audience. It was formerly the custom to introduce a living saint Peter--a character which belonged by a natural and inalienable right to the baldest head in the village--who acted the apostle’s denial, swearing by _Christ_, he did not know the man. This edifying part of the performance is omitted at Castilleja; though a practised performer crows with such a shrill and natural note as must be answered with challenge by every cock of spirit in the neighbourhood. The flourish of a trumpet announces, in the sequel, the publication of the sentence passed by the Roman governor; and the town crier delivers it with legal precision, in the manner it is practised in Spain before an execution. Hardly has the last word been uttered, when the preacher, in a frantic passion, gives the crier the _lie direct_, cursing the tongue that has uttered such blasphemies. He then invites an angel to contradict both Pilate and the Jews; when, obedient to the orator’s desire, a boy gaudily dressed, and furnished with a pair of gilt pasteboard wings, appears at a window, and proclaims _the true verdict of heaven_. Sometimes, in the course of the preacher’s narrative, an image of the virgin Mary is made to meet that of Christ, on his way to Calvary, both taking an affectionate leave in the street. The appearance, however, of the virgin bearing a handkerchief to collect a sum for her son’s burial, is never omitted; both because it melts the whole female audience into tears, and because it produces a good collection for the convent. The whole is closed by the _descendimiento_, or unnailing a crucifix, as large as life, from the cross, an operation performed by two friars, who, in the character of Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, are seen with ladders and carpenters’ tools letting down the jointed figure, to be placed on a bier and carried into the church in the form of a funeral.
I have carefully glided over such parts of this absurd performance as would shock many an English reader, even in narrative. Yet, such is the strange mixture of superstition and profaneness in the people for whose gratification these scenes are exhibited, that, though any attempt to expose the indecency of these shows would rouse their zeal “to the knife,” I cannot venture to translate the jokes and sallies of wit that are frequently heard among the Spanish peasantry upon these sacred topics.[94]
Judas is a particular object of execration on Good Friday, in the Spanish and Portuguese navy. An eye-witness relates the following occurrences at Monte Video. “The three last days had been kept as days of sorrow; all the ships in the harbour expressed it by having their colours hoisted only half-mast high, as a token of mourning, and the yards crossed as much as possible, to make them resemble a crucifix, while apparent solemnity prevailed both on shore and in the harbour; but immediately on a signal, when the minute arrived, all being in waiting, the yards were squared, the colours hoisted wholly up, and the guns fired from all the ships in the harbour, while the bells on shore were set ringing promiscuously, as fast as possible; and at the bowsprit, or yard-arm of the ships was suspended an effigy of Judas, which they began to dip in the river, acting with the greatest possible enthusiasm and ridiculous madness, beating it on the shoulders, dipping it, and then renewing their former ridiculous conduct.”[95]
_Relics of the Crucifixion._
Sir Thomas More, in his “Dialogue concernynge Heresyes, 1528,” says, “Ye might upon Good Friday, every yere this two hundred yere, till within this five yere that the turkes have taken the towne, have sene one of the thornes that was in Cristes crowne, bud and bring forth flowers in the service time, if ye would have gone to Rodes.” The printing press has done more mischief to miracles of this sort than the Turks.
Patience seems to have been wearied in supplying relics to meet the enormous demand. Invention itself became exhausted; for the cravings of credulity are insatiable. If angels are said to weep at man’s “fantastic tricks before high heaven,” protestants may smile, while, perhaps, many catholics deplore the countless frauds devised by Romish priests of knavish minds, for cajoling the unwary and the ignorant. “The greater the miracle the greater the saint,” has been assuredly a belief; and, according to that belief, the greater the relics, the greater the possessors must have appeared, in the eyes of the vulgar. In this view there is no difficulty in accounting for hordes of trumpery in shrines and reliquaries.
The instruments of the crucifixion--the very inscription on the cross--the crown of thorns--the nails--the lance--are shown to the present hour, as the _true_ inscription, the _true_ thorns, the _true_ nails, and the _true_ lance. So also there are exhibitions of the _true_ blood, yet it is a printed truth, that what is exposed to worshippers in churches by ecclesiastics for _true_ blood, is doubted of by the rev. Alban Butler. In a note to his article on “The Invention of the Holy Cross,” he states a ground for his incredulity, quite as singular as that whereon holders of the _true_ blood maintain their faith. His words are: “The _blood_ of Christ, which is kept in some places, of which the most famous is that at Mantua, seems to be what has sometimes issued from the miraculous bleeding of some crucifix, when pierced in derision by Jews or Pagans, instances of which are recorded in authentic histories.”[96] Though, as a catholic priest and biographer well acquainted with these “authentic histories,” Mr. Butler might have set them forth, yet he abstains from the disclosure; and hence on their superior credibility in his eyes, to the credibility of the declarations and testimonials urged by the owners of the blood itself, we may choose between _their_ requisition to believe that the blood is the _true_ blood, and Mr. Butler’s belief, that it is the blood of bleeding crucifixes. So stands the question of credibility.
Concerning the alleged implements of the crucifixion, it would be curious to examine particulars; but we are limited in room, and shall only recur to one--
“THE HOLY LANCE.”
Respecting this weapon, reference should be first made to the great authority cited above. Mr. Butler, speaking of other instruments of Christ’s crucifixion, which he maintains to be genuine, says:--
“The _holy lance_ which opened his sacred side, is kept at Rome, but wants the point. Andrew of Crete says, that it was buried, together with the cross. At least, St. Gregory of Tours, and venerable Bede, testify, that, in their time, it was kept at Jerusalem. For fear of the Saracens it was buried privately at Antioch; in which city it was found, in 1098, under ground, and wrought many miracles, as Robert the monk, and many eye-witnesses, testify. It was carried first to Jerusalem, and soon after to Constantinople. The emperor, Baldwin II., sent the point of it to Venice, by way of pledge for a loan of money. St. Lewis, king of France, redeemed this relick by paying off the sum it lay in pledge for, and caused it to be conveyed to Paris, where it is still kept in the holy chapel. The rest of the lance remained at Constantinople, after the Turks had taken that city, till, in 1492, the sultan Bajazet sent it by an ambassador, in a rich and beautiful case, to pope Innocent VIII., adding, that the point was in the possession of the king of France.”
This is Mr. Butler’s account of the “_holy lance_,” without the omission of a word, which should be recollected for reasons that will be obvious.
_St. Longinus._
It is now necessary to observe, that there is not any account of this saint in Alban Butler’s “Lives of the Saints,” though (in the _Breviar Roman. Antiq._ 1543) the 15th of March is dedicated to him for his festival, and though the saint himself is declared, in the Romish breviary, to have been the Roman soldier who pierced the side of the saviour with the lance; and that, “being almost blind by the blood which fell, it is supposed on his eyes, he immediately recovered his sight and believed;” and that, furthermore, “forsaking his military profession he converted many to the faith,” and under the president Octavius suffered martyrdom.[97]
_Cardinal Vigerius._
This dignitary, who died in 1516, was bishop of Præneste, and arch-priest of the Vatican church. He wrote a book to prove that Christ’s tunic ought to give place to the eminence of Longinus’s lance. The occasion of the work unfolds the history of the _holy lance_. In 1488, the sultan Bajazet II., being in fear of his brother, who had become prisoner to the king of France, offered that sovereign, if he would keep his brother in France, all the relics which his late father Mahomet had found in Constantinople when he took that city. Bajazet’s letter came too late; the court of France had already promised to put his brother in the custody of Innocent VIII. “When the sultan knew this, he wrote to the pope, and endeavoured to gain him by presents, and amongst others by the iron of the lance that pierced our saviour’s side, which he had before offered to the grand master, and assured him of the punctual payment of 40,000 ducats every year, on condition that he would not let his brother go upon any pretence whatsoever.” It appears, however, that Bajazet retained the relic called the “seamless coat,” and that this gave rise to a great dispute in Italy, as to whether the _holy lance_ presented to the pope, or the _holy coat_, which Bajazet reserved for himself, was the most estimable; and hence it was assigned to cardinal Vigerius to make it clear that the pope had the best relic. He executed the task to the satisfaction of those who contended for the precedence of the lance.[98]
THE TRUE LANCE.
Utrum horum?
[Illustration]
Before speaking further on the lance itself, it must not be forgotten that Alban Butler has told us, “the holy lance kept at Rome _wants the point_,” and that after various adversities, the point was “conveyed to Paris, where it is still kept in the holy chapel.” But Richard Lassels, who in his “Voyage of Italy, 1670,” visited the church of St. Peter’s, Rome, says, the cupola of that church rests upon “vast square pillars a hundred and twenty feet in compass, and capable of stairs within them, and large sacristyes above for the holy reliques that are kept in them; to wit--the _top_ of the lance wherewith our saviour’s side was pierced--under the _top_ of the lance the statue of Longinus.” So that at Rome, where according to Mr. Butler, the “holy lance” itself is kept, he omits to mention that there is a _top_ of the lance, besides the other _top_ “in the holy chapel” at Paris. In that cathedral, too, we have the statue of St. Longinus, whom Mr. Butler also, for good reasons no doubt, omits to mention in his twelve volumes of “Lives of the Saints.”
But there is _another_ “holy lance.” It is kept in the church of the hospital of Nuremberg, with the crown and sceptre and other regalia of Charlemagne. Misson so particularly distinguishes it, that his account shall be given verbatim. After mentioning the sword of Charlemaigne, which its keepers pretend “was brought by an angel from heaven;” he says, “they also keep many relics in this church; and among others St. Longin’s lance.” There is no reason to doubt, therefore, that the ecclesiastics of Nuremberg deemed Longinus a saint, as well as the ecclesiastics of St. Peter’s at Rome. Misson goes on to say, “They are not ignorant that this pretended lance is to be seen in above ten other places of the world; but, they say, theirs came from Antioch; it was St. Andrew who found it; one single man with it discomfited a whole army; it was the thing of the world which Charlemaigne loved most. The other lances are counterfeits, and this is the _true_ one.” It is requisite to observe Misson’s very next words, which, though they do not seem connected with this “true lance” of Nuremberg, are yet connected with the issue. He proceeds to say, “They have also an extraordinary veneration for a piece of the cross, in the midst of which there is a hole that was made by one of the nails. They tell us, that heretofore, the emperors placed their greatest hopes of prosperity and success, both in peace and war, in the possession of this enlivening wood, with the nail and other relics that are kept at Nuremberg.” Misson then adds, by way of note, the following
_List of these Relics._
The lance.
The piece of the wood of the cross.
One of the nails.
Five thorns of the crown that was put on Christ’s head.
Part of the chains with which St. Peter and St. Paul were bound at Rome.
A little piece of the manger.
A tooth of St. John Baptist.
One of St. Anne’s arms.
The towel with which Christ wiped the feet of his apostles.
A piece of St. John the Evangelist’s gown.
A piece from the table cloth which Christ used at his last supper with his disciples.
These relics, accompanying Misson’s account of the “_true_ lance” of Nuremberg, are here enumerated, because his statement as to the existence of the lance, in connection with those relics, is corroborated by a rare print, sixteen inches and a quarter wide, by thirteen inches high, published by the ecclesiastics of Nuremberg, in the possession of the editor of the _Every-Day Book_. It represents the whole of these relics at one view, except the five thorns. The true lance, being placed in the print angle-ways, measures nineteen inches and three quarters, from the point of the sheath to the rim of the iron shaft. The preceding column contains a reduced fac-simile of this “true” relic. It is not denied that the “holy lance” at Paris, “where it is still kept in the holy chapel,” is also “true”--they are without a shadow of doubt, _equally_ “true.” See Butler and Misson, and Misson and Butler.
By the by, it must be remembered, that the genuine lantern which Judas carried, was also “kept at Rome,” when Misson was there; and that, at the same time, Judas’s lantern was also at St. Denis in France--both genuine.[99]
* * * * *
The romance of “Spomydon,” printed by Wynkyn de Worde, celebrates the exploits of Charlemagne, for the recovery or the relics of the passion in the following lines:--
~Cherles--wanne fro the hethen houndes The spere and nayles of crystes woundes And also the croune of thorne And many a ryche relyke mo Maugre of them he wanne also And kylled them euen and morne.~
_Pilate._
There is a tradition at Vienne, that in the reign of the emperor Tiberius, Pontius Pilate was exiled to that city, where he died not long after, of grief and despair, for not having prevented the crucifixion of the saviour; and his body was thrown into the Rhone. There it remained, neither carried away by the force of the current, nor consumed by decay, for five hundred years; until the town being afflicted with the plague, it was revealed to the then archbishop, in a vision, that the calamity was occasioned by Pilate’s body, which unknown to the good people of Vienne was lying at the foot of a certain tower. The place was accordingly searched and the body drawn up entire, but nothing could equal its intolerable odour. Wherefore, it was carried to a marsh two leagues from the town, and there interred; but for a long series of years after, strange noises were reported by certain people to issue from this place continually; these sounds were believed to be the groans of Pontius Pilate, and the cries of the devils tormenting him. They also imagined, the neighbourhood of his body to be the cause of violent storms of thunder and lightning which are frequent at Vienne; and as the tower, where the body was found, has been several times struck by lightning, it has acquired the name of the tower of _Mauconseil_.[100]
* * * * *
It will be seen from the subjoined letter of a correspondent, who communicates his name to the editor, that remains of the ancient disguises are still to be seen in the proceedings of those persons in this country, who, towards the termination of the fast of Lent, collect materials for good cheer to make an Easter festival.
PASTE EGGS.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
_Liverpool, Good Friday, 1826._
Sir,--Having been much entertained lately by your accounts of “festivals, and fairs, and plays,” I am induced to contribute, in some small degree, to the store of amusement in your interesting every-day miscellany. The subject on which I am to treat, is a custom that prevails in the neighbourhood of West Derby, on this day; it is known by the denomination of “paste egging,” and is practised by the humbler classes of the juvenile peasantry.
The parties who are disposed to partake in the fun, disguise themselves in the most fantastic habiliments--such as clothes turned inside out, with strange patches on, some with masks, veils, ribbands, &c.; some with faces blacked, and (perhaps, your fair readers may not excuse me for telling them that,) even the females disguise their sex! Thus equipped, they betake themselves (in numbers of from about four to a dozen of both sexes) to the different farm-houses, and solicit contributions towards the “festival” of Easter Sunday. The beginning of my tale seems to indicate the sort of gifts that are expected; these gifts are generally made up of great numbers of eggs and oatmeal cakes. One of the party usually carries a basket for the cakes, another for the eggs, and (as our best feasts can scarcely be got up without a portion of the _one_ thing needful,) a third is the bearer of a small box for pecuniary contributions.
Conscious of the _charms_ of _music_, they generally exhilarate their benefactors with some animated songs, appropriate to the occasion, and sung in excellent taste; and by these means seldom fail to return homeward with a plentiful supply of their “paste egg,” and no trivial aid in money. With these materials, a festival is got up on Easter Sunday evening. The different parties meet at the village alehouse, where “Bacchus’s blisses and Venus’s kisses,” accompany the circling bowl, and associate the village host in a universal compact of mirth and merriment.
I cannot discover any reasonable account of the origin of this custom; and must, therefore, Mr. Editor, subscribe myself, your faithful servant,
WILL. HONEYCOMB.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 43·27.
[92] Bryant’s Analysis.
[93] Communicated by T. A.
[94] Doblado’s Letters.
[95] Gregory’s Journal of a captured Missionary.
[96] Butler’s Lives of the Saints, (edit. 1795) vol. v. p. 47.
[97] Bishop Patrick’s Reflections.
[98] Bayle.
[99] Misson’s Travels, 1714.
[100] Miss Plumtree’s Residence.
~March 25.~
_Annunciation, or Lady Day._
QUARTER DAY.
_For the Every-Day Book._
Relentless, undelaying quarter-day! Cold, though in Summer, cheerless, though in Spring, In Winter, bleak; in Autumn, withering-- No _quarter_ dost thou give, not for one day, But rent and tax enforceth us to pay; Or, with a _quarter_-staff, enters our dwelling, Thy ruthless minion, our small chattels selling, And empty-handed sending us away!--
Thee I abhor, although I lack not coin To bribe thy “itching palm:” for I behold The poor and needy whom sharp hunger gnawing Compels to flit, on darksome night and cold, Leaving dismantled walls to meet thy claim:-- Then scorn I thee, and hold them free from blame!