period, and old-time literature includes many references to the subject.
Doctor Caius, the founder of the college at Cambridge bearing his name, is
the earliest English writer on the dog. "There is," wrote Caius,
"comprehended under the curs of the coarsest kind, a certain dog in
kitchen service excellent. For when any meat is to be roasted they go into
a wheel, where they, turning about with the weight of their bodies, so
diligently look to their business, that no drudge nor scullion can do the
feat more cunningly, whom the popular sort hereupon term turnspits."
We have seen several pictures of dogs turning the spit, and an interesting
example appears in a work entitled "Remarks on a Tour in North and South
Wales," published in 1800. The dog is engaged in his by no means pleasant
work. "Newcastle, near Carmarthen," says the author, "is a pleasant
village. At a decent inn here a dog is employed as turnspit. Great care is
taken that this animal does not observe the cook approach the larder; if
he does, he immediately hides himself for the remainder of the day, and
the guest must be contented with more humble fare than intended."
Mr. Jesse, a popular writer on rural subjects, was a keen observer of
old-time customs and institutions, and the best account of the turnspit
that has come under our notice is from his pen. "How well do I remember,
in the days of my youth," says Mr. Jesse, "watching the operations of a
turnspit at the house of a worthy old Welsh clergyman in Worcestershire,
who taught me to read. He was a good man, wore a bushy wig, black worsted
stockings, and large plaited buckles in his shoes. As he had several
boarders as well as day scholars, his two turnspits had plenty to do. They
were long-bodied, crook-legged, and ugly dogs, with a suspicious, unhappy
look about them, as if they were weary of the task they had to do, and
expected every moment to be seized upon to do it. Cooks in those days, as
they are said to be at present, were very cross, and if the poor animal,
wearied with having a larger joint than usual to turn, stopped for a
moment, the voice of the cook might be heard rating him in no very gentle
terms. When we consider that a large, solid piece of beef would take at
least three hours before it was properly roasted, we may form some idea of
the task a dog had to perform in turning a wheel during that time. A
pointer has pleasure in finding game, the terrior worries rats with
eagerness and delight, and the bull-dog even attacks bulls with the
greatest energy, while the poor turnspit performs his task with
compulsion, like a culprit on a treadmill, subject to scolding or beating
if he stops a moment to rest his weary limbs, and is then kicked about the
kitchen when the task is over."
The mode of teaching the dog its duties is described in a book of
anecdotes published at Newcastle-on-Tyne, 1809. It was more summary than
humane. The dog was put in the wheel, and a burning coal with him; he
could not stop without burning his legs, and so was kept upon the full
gallop. These dogs were by no means fond of their profession. It was
indeed hard work to run in a wheel for two or three hours, turning a piece
of meat twice their own weight.
In the same work two more anecdotes bearing on this theme also find a
place, and are worth reproducing. "Some years ago," we are told, "a party
of young men, at Bath, hired the chairmen on a Saturday night to steal all
the turnspits in the town, and lock them up till the following evening.
Accordingly, on Sunday, when everybody has roast meat for dinner, all the
cooks were to be seen in the streets, 'Pray have you seen our Chloe?' asks
one. 'Why,' replies the other, 'I was coming to ask if you had seen our
Pompey.' Up came a third, while they were talking, to inquire for her
Toby. And there was no roast meat in Bath that day. It is told of these
dogs in this city, that one Sunday, when they had as usual followed their
mistresses to church, the lesson for the day happened to be that chapter
in Ezekiel, wherein the self-moving chariots are described. When first the
word wheel was pronounced, all the curs pricked up their ears in alarm; at
the second wheel they set up a doleful howl. When the dreadful word was
uttered a third time, every one of them scampered out of church, as fast
as he could, with his tail between his legs."
Allusions to this subject may be found in some of the poets of the olden
time, more especially in those of a political character. Pitt, in his _Art
of Preaching_, has the following on a man who speaks much, but to little
purpose:--
"His arguments in silly circles run,
Still round and round, and end where they begun.
So the poor turnspit, as the wheel runs round,
The more he gains, the more he loses ground."
A Gossip about the Goose.
The goose figures largely in the history, the legends, and the proverbial
lore of our own and other lands. In ancient Egypt it was an object of
adoration in the temple and an article of diet on the table. The Egyptians
mainly took beef and goose flesh as their animal food, and it has been
suggested that they expected to obtain physical power from the beef and
mental vigour from the goose. To support this theory, it has been shown
that other nations have eaten the flesh of wolves and drunk the blood of
lions, hoping thereby to become fierce and courageous. Some other nations
have refused to partake of the hare and the deer on account of the
timidity of these animals, fearing lest by eating their flesh they should
also partake of their characteristic fearfulness and timidity.
Pliny thought very highly of the goose, saying "that one might almost be
tempted to think these creatures have an appreciation of wisdom, for it is
said that one of them was a constant companion of the peripatetic
philosopher Lacydes, and would never leave him, either in public or when
at the bath, by night or by day."
The cackling of the goose saved Rome. According to a very old story, the
guards of the city were asleep, and the enemy taking advantage of this,
were making their way through a weak part of the fortifications, expecting
to take the city by surprise. The wakeful geese hearing them, at once
commenced cackling, and their noise awoke the Romans, who soon made short
work of their foes. This circumstance greatly increased the gratitude of
the Roman citizens for the goose.
We gather from the quaint words of an old chronicler a probable solution
of the familiar phrase, "To cook one's goose." "The kyng of Swedland"--so
runs the ancient record--"coming to a towne of his enemyes with very
little company, his enemyes, to slyghte his forces, did hang out a goose
for him to shoote; but perceiving before nyghte that these fewe soldiers
had invaded and sette their chief houlds on fire, they demanded of him
what his intent was, to whom he replyed, 'To cook your goose'."
In the days when the bow and arrow were the chief weapons of warfare, it
was customary for the sheriffs of the counties where geese were reared to
gather sufficient quantities of feathers to wing the arrows of the English
army. Some of the old ballads contain references to winging the arrow with
goose feathers. A familiar instance is the following:
"'Bend all your bows,' said Robin Hood;
'And with the gray goose wing,
Such sport now show as you would do
In the presence of the king'."
To check the exportation of feathers, a heavy export duty was put upon
them.
The goose frequently figures in English tenures. In a poem by Gascoigne,
published in 1575, there is an allusion to rent-day gifts, which appear to
have been general in the olden time:
"And when the tenants come to pay their quarter's rent,
They bring some fowle at Midsummer, a dish of fish in Lent,
At Christmasse a capon, and at Michaelmasse a goose."
A strange manorial custom was kept up at Hilton in the days of Charles II.
An image of brass, known as Jack of Hilton, was kept there. "In the
mouth," we are told, "was a little hole just large enough to admit the
head of a pin; water was poured in by a hole in the back, which was
afterwards stopped up." The figure was then set on the fire; and during
the time it was blowing off steam, the lord of the manor of Essington was
obliged to bring a goose to Hilton and drive it three times round the
hall-fire. He next delivered the goose to the cook; and when dressed, he
carried it to the table and received in return a dish of meat for his own
mess.
In bygone times, Lincolnshire was a great place for breeding geese; and
its extensive bogs, marshes, and swamps were well adopted for the purpose.
The drainage and cultivation of the land have done away with the haunts
suitable for the goose; but in a great measure Lincolnshire has lost its
reputation for its geese. Frequently in the time when geese were largely
bred, one farmer would have a thousand breeding-geese, and they would
multiply some sevenfold every year, so that he would have under his care
annually, some eight thousand geese. He had to be careful that they did
not wander from the particular district where they had a right to allow
them to feed, for they were regarded as trespassers, and the owner could
not get stray geese back unless he paid a fine of twopence for each
offender.
Within the last fifty years it was a common occurrence to see on sale in
the market-place at Nottingham at the Goose Fair from fifteen to twenty
thousand geese, which had been brought from the fens of Lincolnshire. A
street on the Lincolnshire side of the town is called Goosegate.
The origin of the custom of eating a goose at Michaelmas is lost in the
shadows of the dim historic past. According to one legend, Saint Martin
was tormented with a goose, which he killed and ate. He died after eating
it; and ever since, Christians have, as a matter of duty, on the saint's
day sacrificed the goose. We have seen from the preceding quotation from
Gascoigne that the goose formed a popular Michaelmas dish from an early
period.
It is a common saying, "The older the goose the harder to pluck," when old
men are unwilling to part with their money. The barbarous practice of
plucking live geese for the sake of their quills gave rise to the saying.
It was usual to pluck live geese about five times a year. Quills for pens
were much in request before the introduction of steel pens. One London
house, it is stated, sold annually six million quill pens. A professional
pen-cutter could turn out about twelve hundred daily.
Considerable economy was exercised in the use of quill pens. Leo Allatius,
after writing forty years with one pen, lost it, and it is said he mourned
for it as for a friend. William Hutton wrote the history of his family
with one pen, which he wore down to the stump. He put it aside,
accompanied by the following lines:
THIS PEN.
"As a choice relic I'll keep thee,
Who saved my ancestors and me.
For seven long weeks you daily wrought
Till into light our lives you brought,
And every falsehood you avoided
While by the hand of Hutton guided."
June 3, 1779.
In conclusion, it may be stated that Philemon Holland, the celebrated
translator, wrote one of his books with a single pen, and recorded in
rhyme the feat as follows:
"With one sole pen I wrote this book,
Made of a gray goose quill;
A pen it was when I it took,
A pen I leave it still."
Bells as Time-Tellers.
The ringing of the bell in bygone times was general as a signal to
commence and to close the daily round of labour. In some of the more
remote towns and villages of old England the custom lingers at the
ingathering of the harvest. At Driffield, in the East Riding of Yorkshire,
for example, the harvest bell is still rung at five o'clock in the morning
to arouse the labourers from their slumbers, and at seven in the evening
the welcome sound of the bell intimates the time for closing work for the
day.
References to this subject may sometimes be found in parish accounts and
other old church documents. In the parish chest of Barrow-on-Humber,
Lincolnshire, is preserved a copy of the "Office and Duty of the Parish
Clerk," bearing date of 1713, stating:--
"Item.--He is to ring a Bell Every working day morning at Break of the
day, and continue the ringing thereof until All Saints, and also to
ring a Bell Every Evening about the sunseting until harvest be fully
ended: which Bells are to begin to ring from the beginning of the
harvest."
We learn from an old survey of the parish, still retained amongst the
church papers, the reward given to the clerk for ringing the harvest bell.
Says the document:--
"The Clarke Receiveth from Every Cottoger at Easter for Ringing the
Day and Night Bell in Harvest two pecks of wheat."
Barrow-on-Humber became famous for its bells, beer, and singers. An old
rhyme states:--
"Barrow for ringing,
And Barrow for singing,
And the Oak for good stout ale."
The Oak is the sign of the village inn, and a place of more than local
reputation for its strong, home-brewed ale.
We have traces of the custom of ringing the harvest bell in various parts
of the Midlands. At Moreton and at Walgrave, in Northamptonshire, the
harvest bell was rung at four o'clock in the morning. At Spratton,
Wellingborough, and other places in the county, the custom is still
remembered, but not kept up.
It was customary in many places, when the last load of grain was brought
home, to deck it with the boughs of the oak and ash, and a merry peal of
the church bells made known the news that the farmer had ended his
harvest, the farm labourers riding on the top of the load to sing--
"Harvest home! harvest home!
The boughs they do shake, the bells they do ring,
So merrily we bring the harvest in, harvest in!
So merrily we bring the harvest in."
In some of the more remote villages of the country, the gleaners' bell is
rung as a signal to commence gleaning. By this means, to use the words of
Mr. Thomas North, our leading authority on bell lore, the old and feeble,
as well as the young and active, may have a fair start. At Lyddington,
Rutland, says Mr. North, the clerk claims a fee of a penny a week from
women and big children, as a recompense for his trouble. The parish clerk
at West Deeping, Lincolnshire, claimed twopence a head from the gleaners,
but as they refused to pay, he declined to ring the bell.
Bearing on this theme may be included particulars of a bell formerly rung
at Louth when the harvest on the "Gatherums" was ripe. "A piece of ground
so called," writes Mr. North, "was in former times cultivated for the
benefit of the poor. When the 'pescods' were ripe, the church bell was
rung, which gave warning to the poor that the time had arrived when they
might gather them; hence (it is said) _gather 'em_ or _gatherum_." From
the church accounts is drawn the following:
"1536. Item for Knyllyng the bell in harvest for gatheringe
of the pescods iiijd."
Similar entries occur in the books of the church.
An inscription on a bell at Coventry, dated 1675, states:--
"I ring at six to let men know
When to and fro' their work to goe."
At St. Ives a bell bears a pithy inscription as follows:--
"Arise, and go about your business."
The bells of Bow are amongst the best known in England, and figure in the
legendary lore as well as in the business life of London. Every reader is
familiar with the story of Dick Whittington leaving the city in despair,
resting on Highgate Hill, and hearing the famous bells, which seemed to
say in their merry peals--
"Turn again, Whittington,
Thou worthy citizen,
Lord Mayor of London."
In 1469, an order was given by the Court of the Common Council for Bow
bell to be rung every night at nine o'clock. Nine was the recognised time
for tradesmen to close their shops. The clerk, whose duty it was to ring
the bell, was irregular in his habits, and the late performance of his
duties disappointed the toiling apprentices, who thus addressed him:--
"Clerk of Bow bell,
With thy yellow locks,
For thy late ringing
Thy head shall have knocks."
The clerk replied:--
"Children of Cheape,
Hold you all still,
For you shall hear Bow Bell
Ring at your will."
The foregoing rhymes take us back to a period before clocks were in
general use in this country. The parentage of the present clock cannot be
traced with any degree of certainty. We learn that as early as 996,
Gerbert, a distinguished Benedictine monk (subsequently Pope Sylvester
II.), constructed for Magdeburg a clock, with a weight as a motive power.
Clocks with weights were used in monasteries in Europe in the eleventh
century. It is supposed that they had not dials to indicate the time, but
at certain intervals struck a bell to make known the time for prayers.
From the fact that a clock-keeper was employed at St. Paul's, London, in
1286, it is presumed that there must have been a clock, but we have not
been able to discover any details respecting it. There was a clock at
Westminster in 1290, and two years later L30 was paid for a large clock
put up at Canterbury Cathedral. Thirty pounds represented a large sum of
money in the year 1292. About 1326 an astronomical clock was erected at
St. Albans. It was the work of Richard de Wallingford, a blacksmith's son
of the town, who rose to the position of Abbot there. In the earlier half
of the fourteenth century are traces of numerous other clocks in England.
According to Haydn's "Dictionary of Dates," in the year 1530 the first
portable clock was made. This statement does not agree with a writer in
"Chambers's Encyclopaedia" (edition 1890). "The date," we are told in that
work, "when portable clocks were first made, cannot be determined. They
are mentioned in the beginning of the fourteenth century. The motive power
must have been a mainspring instead of a weight. The Society of
Antiquaries of England possess one, with the inscription in Bohemian that
it was made at Prague, by Jacob Zech, in 1525. It has a spring for motive
power, with fusee, and is one of the oldest portable clocks in a perfect
state in England."
It is asserted that no clock in this country went accurately before the
one was erected at Hampton Court, in 1540. Shakespeare, in his _Love's
Labour's Lost_, gives us an idea of the unsatisfactory manner clocks kept
time in the days of old. He says:--
... "Like a German clock,
Still a-repairing; ever out of frame;
And never going aright."
Coming down to later times, we may give a few particulars of the
difficulty of ascertaining the time in the country in the earlier years of
the last century.
[Illustration: CLOCK, HAMPTON COURT PALACE.]
Norrisson Scatcherd, the historian of Morley, near Leeds, gives in his
history, published in 1830, an amusing sketch of a local worthy named John
Jackson, better known as "Old Trash," poet, schoolmaster, mechanic,
stonecutter, land-measurer, etc., who was buried at Woodkirk on May 19th,
1764. "He constructed a clock, and in order to make it useful to the
clothiers who attended Leeds market from Earls and Hanging Heaton,
Dewsbury, Chickenley, etc., he kept a lamp suspended near the face of
it, and burning through the winter nights, and he would have no shutters
nor curtains to his window, so that the clothiers had only to stop and
look through it to know the time. Now, in our age of luxury and
refinement, the accomodation thus presented by 'Old Trash' may seem
insignificant and foolish, but I can assure the reader that it was not.
The clothiers in the early part of the eighteenth century were obliged to
be upon the bridge at Leeds, where the market was held, by about six
o'clock in the summer, and seven in the winter; and hither they were
convened by a bell anciently pertaining to a Chantry Chapel, which once
was annexed to Leeds Bridge. They did not all ride, but most went on foot.
They did not carry watches, for few of them had ever possessed such a
valuable. They did not dine on fish, flesh, and fowl, with wine, etc., as
some do now. No! no! The careful housewife wrapped up a bit of oatcake and
cheese in a little checked handkerchief, and charged her husband to mind
and not get above a pint of ale at 'The Rodney.' Would Jackson's clock
then be of no use to men who had few such in their villages? Who seldom
saw a watch, but took much of their intelligence from the note of the
cuckoo."
For an extended period, the curfew bell has been a most important
time-teller. The sounds are no longer heard as the signal for putting out
fires, as they were in the days of the Norman kings. It is generally
asserted that William the Conqueror introduced the curfew custom into
England, but it is highly probable that he only enforced a law which had
long been in existence in the kingdom, and which prevailed in France,
Italy, Spain, and other countries on the Continent. Houses at this period
were usually built of wood, and fires were frequent and often fatal, and
on the whole it was a wise policy to put out household fires at night. The
fire as a rule was made in a hole in the middle of the floor, and the
smoke escaped through the roof. In an account of the manners and customs
of the English people, drawn up in 1678, the writer states that before the
Reformation, "Ordinary men's houses, as copyholders and the like, had no
chimneys, but flues like louver holes; some of them were in being when I
was a boy." In the year 1103, Henry I. modified the curfew custom. In
"Liber Albus," we find a curious picture of London life under some of the
Plantagenet kings, commencing with Edward I. It was against the city
regulations for armed persons to wander about the city after the ringing
of the curfew bell.
We may infer from a circumstance in the closing days of William I., that
from a remote period there was a religious service at eight o'clock at
night. It will be remembered that the king died from the injuries received
by the plunging of his horse, caused by the animal treading on some hot
ashes. Shortly before his death he was roused from the stupor which
clouded his mind, by the ringing of the vesper bell of a neighbouring
church. He asked if it were in England and if it were the curfew bell that
he heard. On being told that he was in his "own Normandy," and the bell
was for evening prayer, he "charged them bid the monks pray for his soul,
and remained for a while dull and heavy."
At Tamworth, in 1390, a bye-law was passed, and "it provided that no man,
woman, or servant should go out after the ringing of the curfew from one
place to another unless they had a light in their hands, under pain of
imprisonment." For a long period it was the signal for closing
public-houses.
The Age of Snuffing.
In this country old customs linger long, and although the age of snuffing
has passed away, in some quarters the piquant pinch still finds favour.
Our ancient municipal corporations have been reformed, but old usages are
still maintained and revived. In 1896 we saw an account in the newspapers
of an amusing episode which occurred during a meeting of the Pontefract
Town Council. One of the aldermen, noticing that the councillors had "to
go borrowing" snuff, suggested the re-introduction of the old Corporation
snuff-box. The official box, in the shape of an antler, was unearthed from
underneath the aldermanic bench amidst much amusement, and the Mayor
promised ere another sitting the article in question should be duly
cleaned and replenished with the stimulating powder. Sir Albert K. Rollit,
the learned and genial member of Parliament for South Islington, when
Mayor of his native town of Hull a few years ago, presented to his brother
members of the Corporation a massive and valuable snuff-box. The gift was
much appreciated. In a compilation recently published under the title of
"The Corporation Plate and Insignia of Office, &c., of the Cities and
Towns of England and Wales," will be found particulars of snuff-boxes
belonging to some of the older municipal bodies. In bygone times taking
snuff was extremely popular, its palmy days in England being during the
eighteenth century. Snuff was praised in poetry and prose. Peer and
peasant, rich and poor, the lady in her drawing-room and the humble
housewife alike enjoyed the pungent pinch. The snuff-box was to be seen
everywhere.
The earliest allusion we have to snuffing occurs in the narrative of the
second voyage of Columbus in 1494. It is there related by Roman Pane, the
friar, who accompanied the expedition, that the aborigines of America
reduced tobacco to a powder, and drew it through a cane half a cubit long;
one end of this they placed in the nose and the other upon the powder. He
also stated that it purged them very much.