Part I. 5th May to 13th 8

Transcriber’s Notes

Transcription used: text between ~tildes~, _underscores_, and =equal

signs= represents text printed in blackletter, italics and bold face

in the original work, respectively. Small capitals have been

transcribed as ALL CAPITALS. [X] represents a rotated X.

More transcriber’s notes (including a list of corrections) may be

found at the end of this text.

[Illustration: ~The Clog--a Perpetual Almanack.~

~Explained in the Preface.~]

THE

EVERY-DAY BOOK

AND

TABLE BOOK;

OR,

EVERLASTING CALENDAR OF POPULAR AMUSEMENTS,

SPORTS, PASTIMES, CEREMONIES, MANNERS,

CUSTOMS, AND EVENTS,

INCIDENT TO

~Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days,~

IN PAST AND PRESENT TIMES;

FORMING A

COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE YEAR, MONTHS, AND SEASONS,

AND A

PERPETUAL KEY TO THE ALMANAC;

INCLUDING

ACCOUNTS OF THE WEATHER, RULES FOR HEALTH AND CONDUCT, REMARKABLE AND

IMPORTANT ANECDOTES, FACTS, AND NOTICES, IN CHRONOLOGY, ANTIQUITIES,

TOPOGRAPHY, BIOGRAPHY, NATURAL HISTORY, ART, SCIENCE, AND GENERAL

LITERATURE; DERIVED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND VALUABLE

ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS, WITH POETICAL ELUCIDATIONS, FOR DAILY USE AND

DIVERSION.

BY WILLIAM HONE.

I tell of festivals, and fairs, and plays,

Of merriment, and mirth, and bonfire blaze;

I tell of Christmas-mummings, new year’s day,

Of twelfth-night king and queen, and children’s play;

I tell of valentines, and true-love’s-knots,

Of omens, cunning men, and drawing lots:

I tell of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers,

Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers;

I tell of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,

Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes;

I tell of groves, of twilights, and I sing

The court of Mab, and of the fairy king.

HERRICK.

WITH FOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIX ENGRAVINGS.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR THOMAS TEGG,

73, CHEAPSIDE.

LONDON:

J. HADDON, PRINTER, CASTLE STREET, FINSBURY.

TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE EARL OF DARLINGTON,

LORD LIEUTENANT AND VICE-ADMIRAL OF THE COUNTY

PALATINE OF DURHAM, &c. &c. &c.

MY LORD,

TO YOUR LORDSHIP--as an encourager of the old country sports and usages

chiefly treated of in my book, and as a maintainer of the ancient

hospitality so closely connected with them, which associated the

Peasantry of this land with its Nobles, in bonds which degraded

neither--

I RESPECTFULLY DEDICATE THIS VOLUME;

not unmindful of your Lordship’s peculiar kindness to me under

difficulties, and not unmoved by the pride which I shall have in

subscribing myself,

MY LORD,

YOUR LORDSHIP’S HIGHLY HONOURED,

MOST OBEDIENT,

AND VERY HUMBLE SERVANT,

WILLIAM HONE.

_February 27, 1827._

PREFACE.

Before remarking on the work terminating with this volume, some notice

should be taken of its Frontispiece.

I. The “Clog” or “Perpetual Almanack” having been in common use with our

ancient ancestors, a representation and explanation of it seemed

requisite among the various accounts of manners and customs related in

the order of the calendar.

Of the word “clog,” there is no satisfactory etymology in the sense here

used, which signifies an almanack made upon a square stick. Dr. Robert

Plot, who published the “History of Staffordshire,” in 1686, instances a

variety of these old almanacks then in use in that county. Some he calls

“public,” because they were of a large size, and commonly hung at one

end of the mantle-tree of the chimney; others he calls “private,”

because they were smaller, and carried in the pocket. For the better

understanding of the figures on these clogs, he caused a family clog “to

be represented _in plano_, each angle of the square stick, with the

moiety of each of the flat sides belonging to it, being expressed

apart.” From this clog, so represented in Dr. Plot’s history, the

engraving is taken which forms the frontispiece now, on his authority,

about to be described.

There are 3 months contained upon each of the four edges; the number of

the days in them are represented by the notches; that which begins each

month has a short spreading stroke turned up from it; every seventh

notch is of a larger size, and stands for Sunday, (or rather, perhaps,

for the first day of each successive natural week in the year.)

Against many of the notches there are placed on the _left_ hand several

marks or symbols denoting the golden number or cycle of the Moon, which

number if under 5, is represented by so many points, or dots; but if 5,

a line is drawn from the notch, or day, it belongs to, with a hook

returned back against the course of the line, which, if cut off at due

distance, may be taken for a V, the numeral signifying 5. If the golden

number be above 5, and under 10, it is then marked out by the hooked

line, which is 5; and with one point, which makes 6; or two, which makes

7; or three, for 8; or four, for 9; the said line being crossed with a

broad stroke spreading at each end, which represents an X, when the

golden number for the day, over against which it is put, is 10; points

being added (as above over the hook for 5,) till the number arises to

15, when a hook is placed again at the end of the line above the X, to

show us that number.

The figures issuing from the notches, towards the _right_ hand, are

symbols or hieroglyphics, of either, 1st, the offices, or endowments of

the saints, before whose festivals they are placed; or 2dly, the manner

of their martyrdoms; or 3dly, their actions, or the work or sport, in

fashion about the time when their feasts are kept.

For instance: 1. from the notch which represents January 13th, on the

feast of St. Hilary, issues a cross or badge of a bishop, as St. Hilary

was; from March 1st, a harp, showing the feast of St. David, by that

instrument; from June 29th, the keys for St. Peter, reputed the Janitor

of heaven; from October 25th, a pair of shoes for St. Crispin, the

patron of shoe-makers. Of class 2, are the axe against January 25th, the

feast of St. Paul, who was beheaded with an axe; the sword against June

24th, the feast of St. John Baptist, who was beheaded; the gridiron

against August 10th, the feast of St. Lawrence, who suffered martyrdom

on one; a wheel on the 25th of November, for St. Catherine, and a

decussated cross on the last of that month, for St. Andrew, who are said

also to have suffered death by such instruments. Of the 3d kind, are the

star on the 6th of January, to denote the Epiphany; a true lover’s knot

against the 14th of February, for Valentine’s-day; a bough against the

2d of March, for St. Ceadda, who lived a Hermit’s life in the woods near

Litchfield; a bough on the 1st of May, for the May-bush, then usually

set up with great solemnity; and a rake on the 11th of June, St.

Barnabas’-day, importing that then it is hay-harvest. So, a pot is set

against the 23d of November, for the feast of St. Clement, from the

ancient custom of going about that night to beg drink to make merry

with: for the purification, annunciation, and all other feasts of our

lady, there is always the figure of a heart: and lastly, for December

25th, or Christmas-day, a horn, the ancient vessel in which the Danes

use to wassail, or drink healths; signifying to us, that this is the

time we ought to rejoice and make merry.

II. Respecting this second volume of the _Every-Day Book_, it is

scarcely necessary to say more than that it has been conducted with the

same desire and design as the preceding volume; and that it contains a

much greater variety of original information concerning manners and

customs. I had so devoted myself to this main object, as to find no lack

of materials for carrying it further; nor were my correspondents, who

had largely increased, less communicative: but there were some readers

who thought the work ought to have been finished in one volume, and

others, who were not inclined to follow beyond a second; and their

apprehensions that it could not, or their wishes that it should not be

carried further, constrained me to close it. As an “Everlasting

Calendar” of amusements, sports, and pastimes, incident to the year, the

_Every-Day Book_ is complete; and I venture, without fear of disproof,

to affirm, that there is not such a copious collection of pleasant facts

and illustrations, “for daily use and diversion,” in the language; nor

are any other volumes so abundantly stored with original designs, or

with curious and interesting subjects so meritoriously engraven.

III. Every thing that I wished to bring into the _Every-Day Book_, but

was compelled to omit from its pages, in order to conclude it within

what the public would deem a reasonable size, I purpose to introduce in

my _Table Book_. In that publication, I have the satisfaction to find

myself aided by many of my “_Every-Day_” correspondents, to whom I

tender respectful acknowledgments and hearty thanks. This is the more

due to them here, because I frankly confess that to most I owe letters;

I trust that those who have not been noticed as they expected, will

impute the neglect to any thing rather than insensibility of my

obligations to them, for their valuable favours.

Although I confess myself to have been highly satisfied by the general

reception of the _Every-Day Book_, and am proud of the honour it has

derived from individuals of high literary reputation, yet there is one

class whose approbation I value most especially. The “mothers of

England” have been pleased to entertain it as an every-day assistant in

their families; and instructors of youth, of both sexes, have placed it

in school-libraries:--this ample testimonial, that, while engaged in

exemplifying “manners,” I have religiously adhered to “morals,” is the

most gratifying reward I could hope to receive.

_February, 1827._

W. HONE

THE

EVERY-DAY BOOK.

[Illustration: JANUARY.]

Then came old January, wrapped well

In many weeds to keep the cold away;

Yet did he quake and quiver like to quell,

And blow his nayles to warm them if he may;

For they were numb’d with holding all the day

An hatchet keene, with which he felled wood,

And from the trees did lop the needlesse spray;

Upon a huge great earth-pot steane he stood,

From whose wide mouth there flowed forth the Romane flood.

_Spenser_

~Laus Deo!~--was the first entry by merchants and tradesmen of our

forefathers’ days, in beginning their new account-books with the new

year. LAUS DEO! then, be the opening of this volume of the _Every-Day

Book_, wherein we take further “note of time,” and make entries to the

days, and months, and seasons, in “every varied posture, place, and

hour.”

* * * * *

JANUARY, besides the names already mentioned,[1] was called by the

Anglo-Saxons _Giuli aftera_, signifying the second _Giul_, or _Yule_,

or, as we should say, the second Christmas.[2] Of _Yule_ itself much

will be observed, when it can be better said.

* * * * *

To this month there is an ode with a verse beautifully descriptive of

the Roman symbol of the year:[3]

’Tis he! the two-fac’d Janus comes in view;

Wild hyacinths his robe adorn,

And snow-drops, rivals of the morn

He spurns the goat aside,

But smiles upon the new

Emerging year with pride:

And now unlocks, with agate key,

The ruby gates of orient day.

CLIMATE.

Mr. Luke Howard is the author of a highly useful work, entitled “The

Climate of London, deduced from Meteorological Observations, made at

different places in the neighbourhood of the Metropolis: London, 1818.”

2 vols. 8vo. Out of this magazine of fact it is proposed to extract,

from time to time, certain results which may acquaint general readers

with useful knowledge concerning the weather of our latitude, and induce

the inquisitive to resort to Mr. Howard’s book, as a careful guide of

high authority in conducting their researches. That gentleman, it is

hoped, will not deem this an improper use of his labours: it is meant to

be, as far as regards himself, a humble tribute to his talents and

diligence. With these views, under each month will be given a state of

the weather, in Mr. Howard’s own words: and thus we begin.

JANUARY WEATHER

The _Sun_ in the middle of this month continues about 8 h. 20 m. above

the horizon. The _Temperature_ rises in the day, on an average of

twenty years, to 40·28° and falls in the night, in the open country to

31·36°--the difference, 8·92°, representing the mean effect of the sun’s

rays for the month, may be termed the _solar variation_ of the

temperature.

The _Mean Temperature_ of the month, if the observations in this city be

included, is 36·34°. But this mean has a range, in ten years, of about

10·25°, which may be termed the _lunar variation_ of the temperature. It

holds equally in the decade, beginning with 1797, observed in London,

and in that beginning with 1807, in the country. In the former decade,

the month was coldest in 1802, and warmest in 1812, and coldest in 1814.

I have likewise shown, that there was a tendency in the _daily_

variation of temperature through this month, to proceed, in these

respective periods of years, in opposite directions. The prevalence of

different classes of winds, in the different periods, is the most

obvious cause of these periodical variations of the mean temperature.

The _Barometer_ in this month rises, on an average of ten years, to

30·40 in., and falls to 28·97 in.: the _mean range_ is therefore 1·43

in.; but the extreme range in ten years is 2·38 in. The mean height for

the month is about 29·79 inches.

The prevailing _Winds_ are the class from west to north. The northerly

predominate, by a fourth of their amount, over the southerly winds.

The average _Evaporation_ (on a total of 30·50 inches for the year) is

0·832 in., and the mean of De Luc’s hydrometer 80.

The mean _Rain_, at the surface of the earth, is 1·959 in.; and the

number of days on which snow or rain falls, in this month, averages

14,4.

A majority of the _Nights_ in this month have constantly the temperature

at or below the foregoing point.[4]

Long ere the lingering dawn of that blythe morn

Which ushers in the year, the roosting cock,

Flapping his wings, repeats his larum shrill;

But on that morn no busy flail obeys

His rousing call; no sounds but sounds of joy

Salute the ear--the first-foot’s[5] entering step,

That sudden on the floor is welcome heard,

Ere blushing maids have braided up their hair;

The laugh, the hearty kiss, the _good new year_

Pronounced with honest warmth. In village, grange,

And burrow town, the steaming flaggon, borne

From house to house, elates the poor man’s heart,

And makes him feel that life has still its joys.

The aged and the young, man, woman, child,

Unite in social glee; even stranger dogs,

Meeting with bristling back, soon lay aside

Their snarling aspect, and in sportive chace,

Excursive scour, or wallow in the snow.

With sober cheerfulness, the grandam eyes

Her offspring round her, all in health and peace;

And, thankful that she’s spared to see this day

Return once more, breathes low a secret prayer,

That God would shed a blessing on their heads.

_Grahame_

[1] In vol. i. p. 2.

[2] Sayers.

[3] See vol. i. p. 1.

[4] Howard on Climate.

[5] The first visitant who enters a house on New-year’s day is called

the _first-foot_.

~January 1.~

_The Saints of the Roman calendars and martyrologies._

So far as the rev. Alban Butler, in his every-day biography of Roman

catholic saints, has written their memoirs, their names have been given,

together with notices of some, and especially of those retained in the

calendar of the church of England from the Romish calendar. Similar

notices of others will be offered in continuation; but, on this high

festival in the calendar of nature, particular or further remark on the

saints’ festivals would interrupt due attention to the season, and

therefore we break from them to observe that day which all enjoy in

common,

~New Year’s Day.~

Referring for the “New-year’s gifts,” the “Candlemas-bull,” and various

observances of our ancestors and ourselves, to the first volume of this

work, wherein they are set forth “in lively pourtraieture,” we stop a

moment to peep into the “Mirror of the Months,” and inquire “Who can see

a new year open upon him, without being better for the prospect--without

making sundry wise reflections (for _any_ reflections on this subject

_must_ be comparatively wise ones) on the step he is about to take

towards the goal of his being? Every first of January that we arrive at,

is an imaginary mile-stone on the turnpike track of human life; at once

a resting place for thought and meditation, and a starting point for

fresh exertion in the performance of our journey. The man who does not

at least _propose to himself_ to be better _this_ year than he was last,

must be either very good, or very bad indeed! And only to _propose_ to

be better, is something; if nothing else, it is an acknowledgment of our

_need_ to be so, which is the first step towards amendment. But, in

fact, to propose to oneself to do well, is in some sort to _do_ well,

positively; for there is no such thing as a stationary point in human

endeavours; he who is not worse to-day than he was yesterday, is better;

and he who is not better, is worse.”

It is written, “Improve your time,” in the text-hand set of copies put

before us when we were better taught to write than to understand what we

wrote. How often these three words recurred at that period without their

meaning being discovered! How often and how serviceably they have

recurred since to some who have obeyed the injunction! How painful has

reflection been to others, who recollecting it, preferred to _suffer_

rather than to _do_!

* * * * *

The author of the paragraph quoted above, expresses forcible remembrance

of his youthful pleasures on the coming in of the new year.--“Hail! to

thee, JANUARY!--all hail! cold and wintry as thou art, if it be but in

virtue of thy first day. THE DAY, as the French call it, _par

excellence_, ‘Le jour de l’an.’ Come about me, all ye little schoolboys

that have escaped from the unnatural thraldom of your taskwork--come

crowding about me, with your untamed hearts shouting in your unmodulated

voices, and your happy spirits dancing an untaught measure in your eyes!

Come, and help me to speak the praises of new-year’s day!--_your_

day--one of the three which have, of late, become yours almost

exclusively, and which have bettered you, and have been bettered

themselves, by the change. Christmay-day, which _was_; New-year’s-day,

which _is_; and Twelfth-day, which _is to be_; let us compel them all

three into our presence--with a whisk of our imaginative wand convert

them into one, as the conjurer does his three glittering balls--and then

enjoy them all together,--with their dressings, and coachings, and

visitings, and greetings, and gifts, and “many happy returns”--with

their plum-puddings, and mince-pies, and twelfth-cakes, and

neguses--with their forfeits, and fortune-tellings, and

blindman’s-buffs, and sittings up to supper--with their pantomimes, and

panoramas, and new penknives, and pastrycooks’ shops--in short, with

their endless round of ever new nothings, the absence of a relish for

which is but ill supplied, in after life, by that feverish lingering and

thirsting after excitement, which usurp without filling its place. Oh!

that I might enjoy those nothings once again in fact, as I can in fancy!

But I fear the wish is worse than an idle one; for it not only may not

be, but it ought not to be. “We cannot have our cake and eat it too,” as

the vulgar somewhat vulgarly, but not less shrewdly, express it. And

this is as it should be; for if we could, it would neither be worth the

eating nor the having.”[6]

WASSAIL!

[Illustration]

The Wassail Bowl.

Health, my lord king, the sweet Rowena said,

Health, cry’d the chieftain, to the Saxon maid;

Then gayly rose, and ’midst the concourse wide,

Kiss’d her hale lips, and plac’d her by his side:

At the soft scene such gentle thoughts abound,

That health and kisses ’mongst the guests went round;

From this the social custom took its rise,

We still retain, and must for ever prize.

Now, on New-year’s-day as on the previous eve, the wassail bowl is

carried from door to door, with singing and merriment. In Devonshire,

A massy bowl, to deck the jovial day,

Flash’d from its ample round a sunlike ray.

Full many a cent’ry it shone forth to grace

The festive spirit of th’ Andarton race,

As, to the sons of sacred union dear,

It welcomed with _lambs’ wool_ the rising year.

_Polwhele._

Mr. Brand says, “It appears from Thomas de la Moore,[7] and old

Havillan,[8] that _was-haile_ and _drinc-heil_ were the usual ancient

phrases of quaffing among the English, and synonymous with the ‘Come,

here’s to you,’ and ‘I’ll pledge you,’ of the present day.”

* * * * *

In the “Antiquarian Repertory,” a large assemblage of curious

communications, published by Mr. Jeffery, of Pall-mall, in 4 vols. 4to.

there is the following paper relating to an ancient carving represented

in that work, from whence the above engraving is taken. The verses

beneath it are a version of the old lines in Robert of Gloucester’s

chronicle, by Mr. Jeffery’s correspondent.

_For the Antiquarian Repertory._

In the parish of Berlen, near Snodland, in the county of Kent, are the

vestiges of a very old mansion, known by the name of Groves. Being on

the spot before the workmen began to pull down the front, I had the

curiosity to examine its interior remains, when, amongst other things

well worth observation, appeared in the large oak beam that supported

the chimney-piece, a curious piece of carved work, of which the

_preceding_ is an exact copy. Its singularity induced me to set about an

investigation, which, to my satisfaction, was not long without success.

The large bowl in the middle is the figure of the old wassell-bowl, so

much the delight of our hardy ancestors, who, on the vigil of the new

year, never failed (says my author) to assemble round the glowing

hearth with their cheerful neighbours, and then in the spicy

wassell-bowl (which testifies the goodness of their hearts) drowned

every former animosity--an example worthy modern imitation. Wassell, was

the word; Wassell, every guest returned as he took the circling goblet

from his friend, whilst song and civil mirth brought in the infant year.

This annual custom, says Geoffrey of Monmouth, had its rise from Rouix,

or Rowen, or as some will have it, Rowena, daughter of the Saxon

Hengist; she, at the command of her father, who had invited the British

king Voltigern to a banquet, came in the presence with a bowl of wine,

and welcomed him in these words, Louerd king wass-heil; he in return, by

the help of an interpreter, answered, Drinc heile; and, if we may credit

Robert of Gloster,

~Ruste hire and sitte hire adoune and glad dronke hire heil

And that was tho in this land the verst was-hail

As in language of Saroyne that we might evere iwite

And so well he paith the fole about, that he is yut vorgute.~

Thomas De Le Moor, in his “Life of Edward the Second,” says partly the

same as Robert of Gloster, and only adds, that Wass-haile and Drinc-hail

were the usual phrases of quaffing amongst the earliest civilized

inhabitants of this island.

The two birds upon the bowl did for some time put me to a stand, till

meeting with a communicative person at Hobarrow, he assured me they were

two hawks, as I soon plainly perceived by their bills and beaks, and

were a rebus of the builder’s name. There was a string from the neck of

one bird to the other, which, it is reasonable to conjecture, was to

note that they must be joined together to show their signification;

admitting this, they were to be red hawks. Upon inquiry, I found a Mr.

Henry Hawks, the owner of a farm adjoining to Groves; he assured me, his

father kept Grove farm about forty years since, and that it was built by

one of their name, and had been in his family upwards of four hundred

years, as appeared by an old lease in his possession.

The apple branches on each side of the bowl, I think, means no more than

that they drank good cider at their Wassells. Saxon words at the

extremities of the beam are already explained; and the mask carved

brackets beneath correspond with such sort of work before the

fourteenth century.

T. N.

* * * * *

The following pleasant old song, inserted by Mr. Brand, from Ritson’s

collection of “Antient Songs,” was met with by the Editor of the

_Every-day Book_, in 1819, at the printing-office of Mr. Rann, at

Dudley, printed by him for the Wassailers of Staffordshire and

Warwickshire. It went formerly to the tune of “_Gallants come away_.”

A CARROLL FOR A WASSELL-BOWL.

A jolly Wassel-Bowl,

A Wassel of good ale,

Well fare the butler’s soul,

That setteth this to sale;

Our jolly Wassel.

Good Dame, here at your door

Our Wassel we begin,

We are all maidens poor,

We pray now let us in,

With our Wassel.

Our Wassel we do fill

With apples and with spice,

Then grant us your good will

To taste here once or twice

Of our good Wassel.

If any maidens be

Here dwelling in this house,

They kindly will agree

To take a full carouse

Of our Wassel.

But here they let us stand

All freezing in the cold;

Good master, give command,

To enter and be bold,

With our Wassel.

Much joy into this hall

With us is entered in,

Our master first of all,

We hope will now begin,

Of our Wassel.

And after his good wife

Our spiced bowl will try,

The Lord prolong your life,

Good fortune we espy,

For our Wassel.

Some bounty from your hands,

Our Wassel to maintain.

We’ll buy no house nor lands

With that which we do gain,

With our Wassel.

This is our merry night

Of choosing King and Queen,

Then be it your delight

That something may be seen

In our Wassel.

It is a noble part

To bear a liberal mind,

God bless our master’s heart,

For here we comfort find,

With our Wassel.

And now we must be gone,

To seek out more good cheer;

Where bounty will be shown,

As we have found it here,

With our Wassel.

Much joy betide them all,

Our prayers shall be still,

We hope and ever shall,

For this your great good will,

To our Wassel.

From the “Wassail” we derive, perhaps, a feature by which we are

distinguished. An Englishman eats no more than a Frenchman; but he makes

_yule_-tide of all the year. In virtue of his forefathers, he is given

to “strong drink.” He is a beer-drinker, an enjoyer of “fat ale;” a

lover of the best London porter and double XX, and discontented unless

he can get “stout.” He is a sitter withal. Put an Englishman “behind a

pipe” and a full pot, and he will sit till he cannot stand. At first he

is silent; but as his liquor gets towards the bottom, he inclines

towards conversation; as he replenishes, his coldness thaws, and he is

conversational; the oftener he calls to “fill again,” the more talkative

he becomes; and when thoroughly liquefied, his loquacity is deluging.

He is thus in public-house parlours: he is in parties somewhat higher,

much the same. The business of dinner draws on the greater business of

drinking, and the potations are strong and fiery; full-bodied port, hot

sherry, and ardent spirits. This occupation consumes five or six hours,

and sometimes more, after dining. There is no rising from it, but to

toss off the glass, and huzza after the “hip! hip! hip!” of the toast

giver. A calculation of the number who customarily “dine out” in this

manner half the week, would be very amusing, if it were illustrated by

portraits of some of the indulgers. It might be further, and more

usefully, though not so agreeably illustrated, by the reports of

physicians, wives, and nurses, and the bills of apothecaries. Habitual

sitting to drink is the “besetting sin” of Englishmen--the creator of

their gout and palsy, the embitterer of their enjoyments, the

impoverisher of their property, the widow-maker of their wives.

By continuing the “wassail” of our ancestors, we attempt to cultivate

the body as they did; but we are other beings, cultivated in other ways,

with faculties and powers of mind that would have astonished their

generations, more than their robust frames, if they could appear, would

astonish ours. Their employment was in hunting their forests for food,

or battling in armour with risk of life and limb. They had no

counting-houses, no ledgers, no commerce, no Christmas bills, no

letter-writing, no printing, no engraving, no bending over the desk, no

“wasting of the midnight oil” and the brain together, no financing, not

a hundredth part of the relationships in society, nor of the cares that

_we_ have, who “wassail” as they did, and wonder we are not so strong as

they were. There were no Popes nor Addisons in the days of Nimrod.

The most perfect fragment of the “wassail” exists in the usage of

certain corporation festivals. The person presiding stands up at the

close of dinner, and drinks from a flaggon usually of silver having a

handle on each side, by which he holds it with each hand, and the

toast-master announces him as drinking “the health of his brethren out

of the ‘_loving cup_.’” The _loving cup_, which is the ancient

_wassail-bowl_, is then passed to the guest on his left hand, and by him

to _his_ left-hand neighbour, and as it finds its way round the room to

each guest in his turn, so each stands up and drinks to the president

“out of the _loving cup_.”

The subsequent song is sung in Gloucestershire on New-year’s eve:--

Wassail! Wassail! over the town,

Our toast it is white, our ale it is brown:

Our bowl it is made of a maplin tree,

We be good fellows all; I drink to thee.

Here’s to * * * *[9], and to his right ear,

God send our maister a happy New Year;

A happy New Year as e’er he did see--

With my Wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

Here’s to * * * *[10], and to his right eye,

God send our mistress a good Christmas pie:

A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see--

With my Wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

Here’s to Filpail,[11] and her long tail,

God send our measter us never may fail

Of a cup of good beer; I pray you draw near,

And then you shall hear our jolly wassail.

Be here any maids, I suppose here be some;

Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone;

Sing hey O maids, come trole back the pin,

And the fairest maid in the house, let us all in.

Come, butler, come bring us a bowl of the best:

I hope your soul in Heaven may rest:

But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,

Then down fall butler, bowl, and all.

~Hogmany.~

Of this usage in Scotland, commencing on New-year’s eve, there was not

room in the last sheet of the former volume, to include the following

interesting communication. It is, here, not out of place, because, in

fact, the usage runs into the morning of the New Year.

DAFT DAYS--HOGMANY.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

The annexed account contains, I believe, the first notice of the

_acting_ in our _Daft Days_. I have put it hurriedly together, but, if

of use, it is at your service.

I am, Sir, &c.

JOHN WOOD REDDOCK.

_Falkirk, December, 1825._

During the early ages of christianity, when its promulgation among the

barbarous Celts and Gauls had to contend with the many obstacles which

their ignorance and superstition presented, it is very probable that the

clergy, when they were unable entirely to abolish pagan rites, would

endeavour, as far as possible, to twist them into something of a

christian cast; and of the turn which many heathen ceremonies thus

received, abundant instances are afforded in the Romish church.

The performance of religious MYSTERIES, which continued for a long

period, seems to have been accompanied with much licentiousness, and

undoubtedly was grafted upon the stock of pagan observances.--It was

discovered, however, that the purity of the christian religion could not

tolerate them, and they were succeeded by the MORALITIES, the subjects

of which were either historical, or some existing abuse, that it was

wished to aim a blow at. Of this we have an interesting instance in an

account given by sir William Eure, the envoy of Henry the Eighth to

James the Fifth, in a letter to the lord privy seal of England, dated

26th of January 1540, on the performance of a play, or morality, written

by the celebrated sir David Lindsay. It was entitled _The Satire of the

Three Estates_, and was performed at Linlithgow, “before the king,

queene, and the whole counsaill, spirituall and temporall,” on the feast

of Epiphany. It gives a singular proof of the liberty then allowed, by

king James and his court witnessing the exhibition of a piece, in which

the corruptions of the existing government and religion were treated

with the most satirical severity.

The principal _dramatis personæ_ were a _king_, a _bushop_, a _burges

man_, “armed in harness, with a swerde drawn in his hande,” a _poor

man_, and _Experience_, “clede like ane doctor.” The poor man (who seems

to have represented the people) “looked at the king, and said he was not

king in Scotland, for there was another king in Scotland that hanged

_Johne Armstrong_ with his fellows, _Sym the laird_, and mony other

mae.” He then makes “a long narracione of the oppression of the poor by

the taking of the corse-presaunte beits, and of the herrying of poor men

by the consistorye lawe, and of mony other abusions of the

_spiritualitie_ and church. Then the bushop raised and rebuked him, and

defended himself. Then the man of arms alleged the contrarie, and

commanded the poor man to go on. The poor man proceeds with a long list

of the bushop’s evil practices, the vices of cloisters, &c. This is

proved by EXPERIENCE, who, from a New Testament, showes the office of a

bishop. The man of arms and burges approve of all that was said against

the clergy, and allege the expediency of a reform, with the consent of

parliament. The bushop dissents. The man of arms and burges said they

were two and he but one, _wherefore their voice should have the most

effect_. Thereafter the king in the play ratified, approved, and

confirmed all that was rehearsed.”

None of the ancient religious observances, which have escaped, through

the riot of time and barbarism, to our day, have occasioned more

difficulty than that which forms the subject of these remarks. It is

remarkable, that in all disputed etymological investigations, a number

of words got as explanatory, are so provokingly improbable, that

decision is rendered extremely difficult. With no term is this more the

case, than HOGMENAY. So wide is the field of conjecture, as to the

signification of this word, that we shall not occupy much space in

attempting to settle which of the various etymologies is the most

correct.

Many complaints were made to the Gallic synods of the great excesses

committed on the last night of the year and first of January, by

companies of both sexes dressed in fantastic habits, who ran about with

their Christmas boxes, calling _tire lire_, and begging for the lady in

the straw both money and wassels. The chief of these strollers was

called _Rollet Follet_. They came into the churches during the vigils,

and disturbed the devotions. A stop was put to this in 1598, at the

representation of the bishop of Angres; but debarred from coming to the

churches, they only became more licentious, and went about the country

frightening the people in their houses, so that the legislature having

interfered, an end was put to the practice in 1668.

The period during the continuance of these festivities corresponded

exactly with the present _daft days_, which, indeed, is nearly a

translation of their French name _fêtes de fous_. The cry used by the

_bachelettes_ during the sixteenth century has also a striking

resemblance to the still common cry “hogmenay trololay--gi’ us your

white bread and nane o’ your grey,” it being “au gui menez, Rollet

Follet, au gui menez, tiré liré, mainte du blanc et point du bis.”

The word _Rollet_ is, perhaps, a corruption of the ancient Norman

invocation of their hero, Rollo. _Gui_, however, seems to refer to the

druidical custom of cutting branches from the mistletoe at the close of

the year, which were deposited in the temples and houses with great

ceremony.

A supposition has been founded upon the reference of this cry to the

birth of our Saviour, and the arrival of the wise men from the east; of

whom the general belief in the church of Rome is, that they were three

in number. Thus the language, as borrowed from the French may be “homme

est né, trois rois allois!” A man is born, three kings are come!

Others, fond of referring to the dark period of the Goths, imagine that

this name had its origin there. Thus, _minne_ was one of the cups drunk

at the feast of Yule, as celebrated in the times of heathenism, and

_oel_ is the general term for festival. The night before Yule was called

hoggin-nott, or hogenat, signifying the slaughter night, and may have

originated from the number of cattle slaughtered on that night, either

as sacrifices, or in preparation for the feast on the following day.

They worshipped the sun under the name _Thor_. Hence, the call for the

celebration of their sacrifices would be “Hogg-minne! Thor! oel! oel!”

Remember your sacrifices, the feast of Thor! the feast!

That the truth lies among these various explanations, there appears no

doubt; we however turn to hogmenay among ourselves, and although the

mutilated legend which we have to notice remains but as a few scraps, it

gives an idea of the existence of a custom which has many points of

resemblance to that of France during the _fêtes du fous_. It has

hitherto escaped the attention of Scottish antiquaries.

Every person knows the tenacious adherence of the Scottish peasantry to

the tales and observances of _auld lang syne_. Towards the close of the

year many superstitions are to this day strictly kept up among the

country people, chiefly as connected with their cattle and crops. Their

social feelings now get scope, and while one may rejoice that he has

escaped difficulties and dangers during the past year, another looks

forward with bright anticipation for better fortune in the year to come.

The bannock of the oaten cake gave place a little to the currant loaf

and bun, and the _amories_ of every cottager have goodly store of

dainties, invariably including a due proportion of _Scotch drink_. The

countenances of all seem to say

“Let mirth abound; let social cheer

Invest the dawnin’ o’ the year,

Let blithsome Innocence appear

To crown our joy,

Nor envy wi’ sarcastic sneer,

Our bliss destroy.

When merry Yuleday comes, I trow

You’ll scantlings find a hungry mou;

Sma’ are our cares, our stomacks fu’

O’ gusty gear

An’ kickshaws, strangers to our view

Sin’ fairnyear.

Then tho’ at odds wi’ a’ the warl,

Among oursels we’ll never quarrel

Though discard gie a canker’d snarl

To spoil our glee,

As lang’s there pith into the barrel

We’ll drink and gree!”

_Ferguson’s Daft Days._

It is deemed _lucky_ to see the new moon with some money (silver) in the

pocket. A similar idea is perhaps connected with the desire to enter the

new year _rife o’ roughness_. The grand affair among the boys in the

town is to provide themselves with _fausse faces_, or masks; and those

with crooked horns and beards are in greatest demand. A high paper cap,

with one of their great grandfather’s antique coats, then equips them as

a _guisard_--they thus go about the shops _seeking their hogmenay_. In

the carses and moor lands, however, parties of guisards have long kept

up the practice in great style. Fantastically dressed, and each having

his character allotted him, they go through the farm houses, and unless

denied entrance by being told that the OLD STYLE is kept, perform what

must once have been a connected dramatic piece. We have heard various

editions of this, but the substance of it is something like the

following:--

One enters first to speak the prologue in the style of the Chester

_mysteries_, called the _Whitsun plays_, and which appear to have been

performed during the mayoralty of John Arneway, who filled that office

in Chester from 1268 to 1276. It is usually in these words at present--

Rise up gudewife and _shake your feathers!_

Dinna think that we’re beggars,

We are _bairns_ com’d to play

And for to seek our hogmenay;

Redd up stocks, redd up stools,

Here comes in a pack o’ fools.[12]

Muckle head and little wit stand behint the door,

But sic a set as we are, ne’er were here before.

One with a sword, who corresponds with the _Rollet_, now enters and

says:

Here comes in the great king of Macedon,

Who has conquer’d all the world but Scotland alone.

When I came to Scotland my heart grew so cold

To see a _little nation_ so stout and so bold,

So stout and so bold, so frank and so free!

Call upon Galgacus to fight wi’ me

If national partiality does not deceive us, we think this speech points

out the origin of the story to be the Roman invasion under Agricola, and

the name of Galgacus (although _Galacheus_ and _Saint Lawrence_ are

sometimes substituted, but most probably as corruptions) makes the

famous struggle for freedom by the Scots under that leader, in the

battle fought at the foot of the Grampians, the subject of this

historical drama.

_Enter Galgacus._

Here comes in Galgacus--wha doesna fear my name?

Sword and buckler by my side, I hope to win the game!

They close in a sword fight, and in the “hash smash” the chief is

victorious. He says:

Down Jack! down to the ground you must go--

Oh O! what’s this I’ve done?

I’ve killed my brother Jack, my father’s only son!

Call upon the doctor.

_Enter Doctor_ (saying)

Here comes in the best doctor that ever Scotland bred.

_Chief._ What can you cure?

The doctor then relates his skill in surgery.

_Chief._ What will ye tak to cure this man?

_Doctor._ Ten pound and a bottle of wine.

_Chief._ Will six not do?

_Doctor._ No, you must go higher.

_Chief._ Seven?

_Doctor._ That will not put on the pot, &c.

A bargain however is struck, and the _Doctor_ says to _Jack_, start to

your feet and stand!

_Jack._ Oh hon, my back, I’m sairly wounded.

_Doctor._ What ails your back?

_Jack._ There’s a hole in’t you may turn your tongue ten times round it!

_Doctor._ How did you get it?

_Jack._ Fighting for our land.

_Doctor._ How mony did you kill?

_Jack._ I killed a’ the loons save ane, but he ran, he wad na stand.

Here, most unfortunately, there is a “_hole i’ the ballad_,” a hiatus

which irreparably closes the door upon our keenest prying. During the

late war with France _Jack_ was made to say he had been “fighting the

French,” and that the _loon_ who took leg bail was no less a personage

than NAP. _le grand_! Whether we are to regard this as a dark prophetic

anticipation of what did actually take place, seems really

problematical. The strange eventful history however is wound up by the

entrance of _Judas_ with the bag. He says:

Here comes in Judas--Judas is my name,

If ye pit nought sillar i’ my bag, for gude-sake mind our wame!

When I gaed to the castle yett and tirl’t at the pin,

They keepit the keys o’ the castle wa’, and wad na let me in.

I’ve been i’ the east carse,

I’ve been i’ the west carse,

I’ve been i’ the carse o’ Gowrie,

Where the clouds rain a’ day wi’ _peas_ and wi’ _beans_!

And the farmers _theek_ houses wi’ _needles_ and _prins_!

I’ve seen geese ga’in’ on pattens!

And swine fleeing i’ the air like peelings o’ onions!

Our hearts are made o’ steel, but our body’s sma’ as _ware_,

If you’ve onything to gi’ us, _stap it in there!_

This character in the piece seems to mark its ecclesiastical origin,

being of course taken from the office of the _betrayer_ in the New

Testament; whom, by the way, he resembles in another point; as extreme

jealousy exists among the party, this personage appropriates to himself

the contents of the bag. The money and _wassel_, which usually consists

of _farles_ of short bread, or cakes and pieces of cheese, are therefore

frequently counted out before the whole.

One of the guisards who has the best voice, generally concludes the

exhibition by singing an “_auld Scottish sang_.” The most ancient

melodies only are considered appropriate for this occasion, and many

very fine ones are often sung that have not found their way into

collections: or the group join in a reel, lightly tripping it, although

encumbered with buskins of straw wisps, to the merry sound of the

fiddle, which used to form a part of the establishment of these

itinerants. They anciently however appear to have been accompanied with

a musician, who played the _kythels_, or stock-and-horn, a musical

instrument made of the thigh bone of a sheep and the horn of a bullock.

The above practice, like many customs of the olden time, is now quickly

falling into disuse, and the revolution of a few years may witness the

total extinction of this _seasonable_ doing. That there does still exist

in other places of Scotland the remnants of plays performed upon similar

occasions, and which may contain many interesting allusions, is very

likely. That noticed above, however, is the first which we remember of

seeing noticed in a particular manner.

The kirk of Scotland appears formerly to have viewed these festivities

exactly as the Roman church in France did in the sixteenth century; and,

as a proof of this, and of the style in which the sport was anciently

conducted in the parish of Falkirk, we have a remarkable instance so

late as the year 1702. A great number of farmers’ sons and farm servants

from the “East Carse” were publicly rebuked before the session, or

ecclesiastical court, for going about in disguise upon the last night of

December that year, “acting things unseemly;” and having professed their

sorrow for the sinfulness of the deed, were certified if they should be

found guilty of the like in time coming, they would be proceeded against

after another manner. Indeed the scandalized kirk might have been

compelled to put the _cutty stool_ in requisition, as a consequence of

such promiscuous midnight meetings.

The observance of the old custom of “_first fits_” upon New-year’s day

is kept up at Falkirk with as much spirit as any where else. Both Old

and New Style have their “_keepers_,” although many of the lower classes

keep them in rather a “disorderly style.” Soon as the steeple clock

strikes the ominous _twelve_, all is running, and bustle, and noise;

_hot-pints_ in clear scoured copper kettles are seen in all directions,

and a good noggin to the well-known toast, “A gude new year, and a merry

han’sel Monday,” is exchanged among the people in the streets, as well

as friends in the houses. On _han’sel Monday_ O. S. the numerous

colliers in the neighbourhood of the town have a grand main of cocks;

but there is nothing in these customs peculiar to the season.

_Falkirk_, 1825.

J. W. R.

ANNUAL JOCULAR TENURE.

The following are recorded particulars of a whimsical custom in

Yorkshire, by which a right of _sheep-walk_ is held by the tenants of a

manor:--

_Hutton Conyers, Com. York._

Near this town, which lies a few miles from Ripon, there is a large

common, called _Hutton Conyers Moor_, whereof William Aislabie, esq. of

Studley Royal, (lord of the manor of Hutton Conyers,) is lord of the

soil, and on which there is a large _coney-warren_ belonging to the

lord. The occupiers of messuages and cottages within the several towns

of Hutton Conyers, Baldersby, Rainton, Dishforth, and Hewick, have right

of estray for their sheep to certain limited boundaries on the common,

and each township has a shepherd.

The lord’s shepherd has a preeminence of tending his sheep on every part

of the common; and wherever he herds the lord’s sheep, the several other

shepherds are to give way to him, and give up their _hoofing-place_, so

long as he pleases to depasture the lord’s sheep thereon. The lord holds

his court _the first day in the year_, to entitle those several

townships to such right of estray; the shepherd of each township attends

the court, and does fealty, by bringing to the court a large

_apple-pie_, and a twopenny _sweetcake_, (except the shepherd of Hewick,

who compounds by paying sixteen pence for ale, which is drank as after

mentioned,) and a _wooden spoon_; each pie is cut in two, and divided by

the bailiff, one half between the steward, bailiff, and the tenant of

the coney-warren before mentioned, and the other half into six parts,

and divided amongst the six shepherds of the above mentioned six

townships. In the pie brought by the shepherd of _Rainton_ an inner one

is made, filled with _prunes_. The cakes are divided in the same manner.

The bailiff of the manor provides _furmety_ and _mustard_, and delivers

to each shepherd a _slice of cheese_ and a _penny roll_. The _furmety_,

well mixed with mustard, is put into an earthen pot, and placed in a

hole in the ground, in a garth belonging to the bailiff’s house; to

which place the steward of the court, with the bailiff, tenant of the

warren, and six shepherds, adjourn with their respective _wooden

spoons_. The bailiff provides spoons for the stewards, the tenant of the

warren, and himself. The steward first pays respect to the _furmety_, by

taking a large spoonful, the bailiff has the next honour, the tenant of

the warren next, then the shepherd of _Hutton Conyers_, and afterwards

the other shepherds by regular turns; then each person is served with a

glass of _ale_, (paid for by the sixteen pence brought by the _Hewick_

shepherd,) and the health of the lord of the manor is drank; then they

adjourn back to the bailiff’s house, and the further business of the

court is proceeded in.

Each pie contains about a peck of flour, is about sixteen or eighteen

inches diameter, and as large as will go into the mouth of an ordinary

oven. The bailiff of the manor measures them with a rule, and takes the

diameter; and if they are not of a sufficient capacity, he threatens to

return them, and fine the town. If they are large enough, he divides

them with a rule and compasses into four equal parts; of which the

steward claims one, the warrener another, and the remainder is divided

amongst the shepherds. In respect to the _furmety_, the top of the dish

in which it is put is placed level with the surface of the ground; all

persons present are invited to eat of it, and those who do not, are not

deemed loyal to the lord. Every shepherd is obliged to eat of it, and

for that purpose is to take a _spoon_ in his pocket to the court; for if

any of them neglect to carry a spoon with him, he is to lay him down

upon his belly, and sup the _furmety_ with his face to the pot or dish,

at which time it is usual, by way of sport, for some of the bystanders

to dip his face into the _furmety_; and sometimes a shepherd, for the

sake of diversion, will purposely leave his spoon at home.[13]

NEW-YEAR’S DAY IN SUSSEX.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

A practice which well deserves to be known and imitated is established

at Maresfield-park, Sussex, the seat of sir John Shelley, bart. M. P.

Rewards are annually given on New-year’s day to such of the industrious

poor in the neighbourhood as have not received parish relief, and have

most distinguished themselves by their good behaviour and industry, the

neatness of their cottages and gardens, and their constant attendance at

church, &c. The distribution is made by lady Shelley, assisted by other

ladies; and it is gratifying to observe the happy effects upon the

character and disposition of the poor people with which this benevolent

practice has been attended during the few years it has been established.

Though the highest reward does not exceed two guineas, yet it has

excited a wonderful spirit of emulation, and many a strenuous effort to

avoid receiving money from the parish. Immediately as the rewards are

given, all the children belonging to the Sunday-school and

national-school lately established in the parish, are set down to a

plentiful dinner in the servants’ hall; and after dinner they also

receive prizes for their good conduct as teachers, and their diligence

as scholars.

I am, &c.

J.S.

* * * * *

ODE TO THE NEW YEAR.

BY

A Gentleman of Literary Habits and Means.

_For the Every-day Book._

All hail to the birth of the year,

See golden haired Phœbus afar;

Prepares to renew his career,

And is mounting his dew spangled car.

Stern Winter congeals every brook,

That murmured so lately with glee;

And places a snowy peruke,

On the head of each bald pated tree.

Now wild duck and widgeon abound,

Snipes sit by the half frozen rills

Where woodcocks are frequently found,

That sport such amazing long bills.

The winds blow out shrilly and hoarse,

And the rivers are choking with ice;

And it comes as a matter of course,

That Wallsends are rising in price.

Alas! for the poor! as unwilling

I gaze on each famishing group;

I never miss giving a shilling,

To the parish subscription for soup.

The wood pigeon, sacred to love,

Is wheeling in circles on high;

How charming he looks in the grove!

How charming he looks in the pie!

Now gone is St. Thomas’s day,

The shortest, alas! in the year.

And Christmas is hasting away,

With its holly and berries and beer,

And the old year for ever is gone,

With the tabor, the pipe, and the dance;

And gone is our collar of brawn,

And gone is the mermaid to France.

The scythe and the hour glass of time,

Those fatal mementos of woe,

Seem to utter in accents sublime,

“We are all of us _going to go_!”

* * * * *

We are truly and agreeably informed by the “Mirror of the Months,” that

“Now periodical works put on their best attire; the old ones expressing

their determination to become new, and the new ones to become old; and

each makes a point of putting forth the first of some pleasant series

(such as this, for example!), which cannot fail to fix the most fugitive

of readers, and make him her own for another twelve months at least.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Under this head it is proposed to place the “Mean temperature of every

day in the Year for London and its environs, on an average of Twenty

Years,” as deduced by Mr. Howard, from observations commencing with the

year 1797, and ending with 1816.

For the first three years, Mr. Howard’s observations were conducted at

Plaistow, a village about three miles and a half N. N. E. of the Royal

Observatory at Greenwich, four miles E. of the edge of London, with the

Thames a mile and a half to the S., and an open level country, for the

most part well-drained land, around it. The thermometer was attached to

a post set in the ground, under a Portugal laurel, and from the lowness

of this tree, the whole instrument was within three feet of the turf; it

had the house and offices, buildings of ordinary height, to the S. and

S. E. distant about twenty yards, but was in other respects freely

exposed.

For the next three years, the observations were made partly at Plaistow

and partly at Mr. Howard’s laboratory at Stratford, a mile and a half to

the N. W., on ground nearly of the same elevation. The thermometer had

an open N. W. exposure, at six feet from the ground, close to the river

Lea.

The latter observations were made at Tottenham-green, four miles N. of

London, which situation, as the country to the N. W. especially is

somewhat hilly and more wooded, Mr. Howard considers more sheltered than

the former site; the elevation of the ground is a trifle greater, and

the thermometer was about ten feet from the general level of the garden

before it, with a very good exposure N., but not quite enough detached

from the house, having been affixed to the outer door-case, in a frame

which gave it a little projection, and admitted the air behind it.

On this day, then, the average of these twenty years’ observations gives

Mean Temperature 36·57.

* * * * *

It is, further, proposed to notice certain astronomical and

meteorological phenomena; the migration and singing of birds; the

appearance of insects; the leafing and flowering of plants; and other

particulars peculiar to animal, vegetable, and celestial existences.

These observations will only be given from sources thoroughly authentic,

and the authorities will be subjoined. _Communications_ for this

department will be gladly received.

[6] Mirror of the Months.

[7] Vita Edw. II.

[8] In Architren. lib. 2.

[9] The name of some horse.

[10] The name of another horse.

[11] The name of a cow.

[12] The author of Waverly, in a note to the _Abbot_, mentions three

Moralities played during the time of the reformation--_The Abbot of

Unreason_, _The Boy Bishop_, and the _Pepe o’ Fools_--may not _pack o’

fools_ be a corruption of this last?

[13] Blount’s Plug. Antiq. by Beckwith.

~January 2.~

_St. Concord._

Is said, by his English biographer Butler, to have been a sub-deacon in

a desert, martyred at Spoletto, about the year 178; whereto the same

biographer adds, “In the Roman Martyrology his name occurs on the

_first_, in some others on the _second_ of January.” The infallible

_Roman church_, to end the discord, rejects the authority of the “_Roman

Martyrology_” and keeps the festival of Concord on the second of

January.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·92.

~January 3.~

THE RIDDLE OF THE YEAR,

_By Cleobulus_.

There is a father with twice six sons; these sons have thirty daughters

a-piece, party-coloured, having one cheek white and the other black, who

never see each other’s face, nor live above twenty-four hours.

* * * * *

Cleobulus, to whom this riddle is attributed, was one of the seven wise

men of Greece, who lived about 570 years before the birth of Christ.

Riddles are of the highest antiquity; the oldest on record is in the

book of Judges xiv. 14-18. We are told by Plutarch, that the girls of

his times worked at netting or sewing, and the most ingenious “made

riddles.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·60.

~January 4.~

_Prepare for Twelfth-day._

The “Mirror of the Months,” a reflector of “The Months” by Mr. Leigh

Hunt, enlarged to include other objects, adopts, “Above all other

proverbs, that which says, ‘There’s nothing like the time

present,’--partly because ‘the time present’ is but a periphrasis for

_Now_!” The series of delightful things which Mr. Hunt links together by

the word _Now_ in his “Indicator,” is well remembered, and his pleasant

disciple tells us, “_Now_, then, the cloudy canopy of sea-coal smoke

that hangs over London, and crowns her queen of capitals, floats thick

and threefold; for fires and feastings are rife, and every body is

either ‘out’ or ‘at home’ every night. _Now_, if a frosty day or two

does happen to pay us a flying visit, on its way to the North Pole, how

the little boys make slides on the pathways, for lack of ponds, and, it

may be, trip up an occasional housekeeper just as he steps out of his

own door; who forthwith vows vengeance, in the shape of ashes, on all

the slides in his neighbourhood, not, doubtless, out of vexation at his

own mishap, and revenge against the petty perpetrators of it, but purely

to avert the like from others!--_Now_ the bloom-buds of the fruit-trees,

which the late leaves of autumn had concealed from the view, stand

confessed, upon the otherwise bare branches, and, dressed in their

patent wind-and-waterproof coats, brave the utmost severity of the

season,--their hard, unpromising outsides, compared with the forms of

beauty which they contain, reminding us of their friends the

butterflies, when in the chrysalis state.--_Now_ the labour of the

husbandman is, for once in the year, at a stand; and he haunts the

alehouse fire, or lolls listlessly over the half-door of the village

smithy, and watches the progress of the labour which he unconsciously

envies; tasting for once in his life (without knowing it) the bitterness

of that _ennui_ which he begrudges to his betters.--_Now_,

melancholy-looking men wander ‘by twos and threes’ through market-towns,

with their faces as blue as the aprons that are twisted round their

waists; their ineffectual rakes resting on their shoulders, and a

withered cabbage hoisted upon a pole; and sing out their doleful

petition of ‘Pray remember the poor gardeners, who can get no work!’”

_Now_, however, not to conclude mournfully, let us remember that the

officers and some of the principal inhabitants of most parishes in

London, preceded by their beadle in the full majesty of a full great

coat and gold laced hat, with his walking staff of state higher than

himself, and headed by a goodly polished silver globe, go forth from the

vestry room, and call on every chief parishioner for a voluntary

contribution towards a provision for cheering the abode of the needy at

this cheerful season:--and _now_ the unfeeling and mercenary urge “false

pretences” upon “public grounds,” with the vain hope of concealing their

private reasons for refusing “public charity:”--and _now_, the upright

and kind-hearted welcome the annual call, and dispense bountifully.

Their prosperity is a blessing. Each scattereth and yet increaseth;

their pillows are pillows of peace; and at the appointed time, they lie

down with their fathers, and sleep the sleep of just men made perfect,

in everlasting rest.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·42.

~January 5.~

TWELFTH-DAY EVE.

_Agricultural Custom._

In the parish of Pauntley, a village on the borders of the county of

Gloucester, next Worcestershire, and in the neighbourhood, “a custom,

intended to prevent the smut in wheat, in some respect resembling the

Scotch Beltein, prevails.” “On the eve of Twelfth-day all the servants

of every farmer assemble together in one of the fields that has been

sown with wheat. At the end of twelve lands, they make twelve fires in a

row with straw; around one of which, made larger than the rest, they

drink a cheerful glass of cyder to their master’s health, and success to

the future harvest; then, returning home, they feast on cakes made of

caraways, &c. soaked in cyder, which they claim as a reward for their

past labours in sowing the grain.”[14]

_Credulity and Incredulity._

In the beginning of the year 1825, the flimsiest bubbles of the most

bungling projectors obtained the public confidence; at the close of the

year that confidence was refused to firms and establishments of

unquestionable security. Just before Christmas, from sudden demands

greatly beyond the amounts which were ready for ordinary supply, bankers

in London of known respectability stopped payment; the panic became

general throughout the kingdom, and numerous country banks failed, the

funds fell, Exchequer bills were at a heavy discount, and public

securities of every description suffered material depression. This

exigency rendered prudence still more circumspect, and materially

retarded the operations of legitimate business, to the injury of all

persons engaged in trade. In several manufacturing districts,

transactions of every kind were suspended, and manufactories wholly

ceased from work.

EXCHEQUER BILLS.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

As just at this time it may be interesting to many of your readers, to

know the origin of Exchequer bills, I send you the following account.

In the years 1696 and 1697, the silver currency of the kingdom being, by

clipping, washing, grinding, filing, &c. reduced to about half its

nominal value, acts of parliament were passed for its being called in,

and re-coined; but whilst the re-coinage was going on exchequer bills

were first issued, to supply the demands of trade. The quantity of

silver re-coined, according to D’Avenant, from the old hammered money,

amounted to 5,725,933_l._ It is worthy of remark, that through the

difficulties experienced by the Bank of England (which had been

established only three years,) during the re-coinage, they having taken

the clipped silver at its nominal value, and guineas at an advanced

price, bank notes were in 1697 at a discount of from 15 to 20 per cent.

“During the re-coinage,” says D’Avenant, “all great dealings were

transacted by tallies, bank-bills, and goldsmiths’ notes. Paper credit

did not only supply the place of running cash, but greatly multiplied

the kingdom’s stock; for tallies and bank-bills did to many uses serve

as well, and to some better than gold and silver; and this artificial

wealth which necessity had introduced, did make us less feel the want of

that real treasure, which the war and our losses at sea had drawn out

of the nation.”

I am, &c.

J. G.

THE CHRISTMAS DAYS.

_A Family Sketch._

Bring me a garland of holly,

Rosemary, ivy, and bays;

Gravity’s nothing but folly,

Till after the Christmas day

Fill out a glass of Bucellas;

Here!--boys put the crown on my head:

Now, boys!--shake hands--be good fellows,

And all be--_good men_--when I’m dead.

Come, girls, come! now for your kisses.

Hearty ones--louder--loud--louder!

How I’m surrounded with blisses!

Proud men may here see a prouder.

Now, you rogues, go kiss your mother:--

Ah! ah!--she won’t let you?--pho! pho!

Gently--there, there now!--don’t smother:--

Old lady! come, _now_ I’ll kiss _you_.

Here take the garland, and wear it;

‘Nay, nay!’ but you must, and you shall;

For, _here’s such a kiss_!--come, don’t fear it;

If you do--turn round to the wall.

A kiss too for Number Eleven,

The Newcome--the young Christmas berry--

My Alice!--who makes my girls seven,

And makes merry Christmas more merry.

Another good glass of Bucellas,

While I’ve the crown on my head;

Laugh on my good girls, and good fellows,

Till it’s off--then off to bed.

Hey!--now, for the Christmas holly,

Rosemary, ivy, and bays;

Gravity’s nothing but folly,

Till after the Christmas days.

_December 30, 1825._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·47.

* * * * *

[Illustration: ~“The King drinks!”~]

The _bean_ found out, and _monarch_ crown’d,

He dubs a fool, and sends him round,

To raise the frolic when it’s low--

Himself commands the wine to flow.

Each watches for the king to quaff,

When, all at once, up springs the laugh;

They cry “The king drinks!” and away

They shout a long and loud huzza!

And when it’s ended comes the dance,

And--thus is Twelfth-night spent in France.

*

[14] Rudge’s Gloucester.

~January 6.~

_Epiphany.--Old Christmas-day._

Holiday at the Public-offices.

TWELFTH-DAY.

It is only in certain rural parts of France that the merriments

represented above still prevail. The engraving is from an old print, “I.

Marriette ex.” inscribed as in the next column.

“L’HIVER.

_Les Divertissements du Roi-boit._

Loin dicy mille soins facheux,

Que porte avec soy la coronne;

Celle quá table Bacchus donne

Ne fit jamais de malheureux.”

This print may be regarded a faithful picture of the almost obsolete

usage.

During the holidays, and especially on Twelfth-night, school-boys

dismiss “the cares and the fears” of academic rule; or they are regarded

but as a passing cloud, intercepting only for an instant the sunshine of

joy wherewith their sports are brightened. Gerund-grinding and parsing

are usually prepared for at the last moment, until when “the master’s

chair” is only “remembered to be forgotten.” There is entire suspension

of the authority of that class, by whom the name of “Busby” is

venerated, till “Black Monday” arrives, and chaises and stages convey

the young Christmas-keepers to the “seat of government.”

[Illustration: ~Dr. Busby’s Chair.~]

Him! sui generis, alone,

Busby! the great substantive noun!

Whose look was lightning, and whose word

Was thunder to the boys who heard,

Is, as regards his long vocation,

Pictured by this his great location.

Look on it well, boys, and digest

The symbols!--learn--and shun the rest!

The name of Busby!--not the musical doctor, but a late magisterial

doctor of Westminster school--celebrated for severe discipline, is a

“word of fear” to all living who know his fame! It is perpetuated by an

engraved representation of his chair, said to have been designed by sir

Peter Lily, and presented by that artist to king Charles II. The arms,

and each arm, are appalling; and the import of the other devices are, or

ought to be, known by every tyro. Every prudent person lays in stores

before they are wanted, and Dr. Busby’s chair may as well be “in the

house” on Twelfth-day as on any other; not as a mirth-spoiler, but as a

subject which we know to-day that we have “by us,” whereon to inquire

and discuss at a more convenient season. Dr. Busby was a severe, but not

an ill-natured man. It is related of him and one of his scholars, that

during the doctor’s absence from his study, the boy found some plums in

it, and being moved by lickerishness, began to eat some; first, however,

he waggishly cried out, “I publish the banns of matrimony between my

mouth and these plums; if any here present know just cause or impediment

why they should not be united, you are to declare it, or hereafter hold

your peace;” and then he ate. But the doctor had overheard the

proclamation, and said nothing till the next morning, when causing the

boy to be “brought up,” and disposed for punishment, he grasped the

well-known instrument, and said, “I publish the banns of matrimony

between this rod and this boy: if any of you know just cause or

impediment why they should not be united, you are to declare it.”--The

boy himself called out, “I forbid the banns!” “For what cause?” inquired

the doctor. “Because,” said the boy, “the parties are not agreed!” The

doctor enjoyed the validity of the objection urged by the boy’s wit, and

the ceremony was not performed. This is an instance of Dr. Busby’s

admiration of talent: and let us hope, in behalf of its seasonableness

here, that it was at Christmas time.

_The King drinks._

We recur once more to this subject, for the sake of remarking that there

is an account of a certain curate, “who having taken his preparations

over evening, when all men cry (as the manner is) _The king drinketh_,

chanting his masse the next morning, fell asleep in his memento; and

when he awoke, added, with a loud voice, _The king drinketh_.” This

mal-apropos exclamation must have proceeded from a foreign ecclesiastic:

we have no account of the ceremony to which it refers having prevailed

in merry England.

* * * * *

An excellent pen-and-ink picture of “_Merry England_”[15] represents

honest old Froissart, the French chronicler, as saying of some English

in his time, that “they amused themselves sadly after the fashion of

their country;” whereon the portrayer of _Merry England_ observes, “They

have indeed a way of their own. Their mirth is a relaxation from

gravity, a challenge to ‘Dull Care’ to ‘be gone;’ and one is not always

clear at first, whether the appeal is successful. The cloud may still

hang on the brow; the ice may not thaw at once. To help them out in

their new character is an act of charity. Any thing short of hanging or

drowning is something to begin with. They do not enter into their

amusements the less doggedly because they may plague others. They like a

thing the better for hitting them a rap on the knuckles, for making

their blood tingle. They do not dance or sing, but they make good

cheer--‘eat, drink, and are merry.’ No people are fonder of

field-sports, Christmas gambols, or practical jests. Blindman’s-buff,

hunt-the-slipper, hot-cockles, and snap-dragon, are all approved English

games, full of laughable surprises and ‘hair-breadth ’scapes,’ and serve

to amuse the winter fireside after the roast beef and plum-pudding, the

spiced ale and roasted crab, thrown (hissing-hot) into the foaming

tankard. Punch (not the liquor, but the puppet) is not, I fear, of

English origin; but there is no place, I take it, where he finds himself

more at home or meets a more joyous welcome, where he collects greater

crowds at the corners of streets, where he opens the eyes or distends

the cheeks wider, or where the bangs and blows, the uncouth gestures,

ridiculous anger and screaming voice of the chief performer excite more

boundless merriment or louder bursts of laughter among all ranks and

sorts of people. An English theatre is the very throne of pantomime; nor

do I believe that the gallery and boxes of Drury-lane or Covent-garden

filled on the proper occasions with holiday folks (big or little) yield

the palm for undisguised, tumultuous, inextinguishable laughter to any

spot in Europe. I do not speak of the refinement of the mirth (this is

no fastidious speculation) but of its cordiality, on the return of these

long-looked-for and licensed periods; and I may add here, by way of

illustration, that the English common people are a sort of grown

children, spoiled and sulky, perhaps, but full of glee and merriment,

when their attention is drawn off by some sudden and striking object.

“The _comfort_, on which the English lay so much stress, arises from the

same source as their mirth. Both exist by contrast and a sort of

contradiction. The English are certainly the most uncomfortable of all

people in themselves, and therefore it is that they stand in need of

every kind of comfort and accommodation. The least thing puts them out

of their way, and therefore every thing must be in its place. They are

mightily offended at disagreeable tastes and smells, and therefore they

exact the utmost neatness and nicety. They are sensible of heat and

cold, and therefore they cannot exist, unless every thing is snug and

warm, or else open and airy, where they are. They must have ‘all

appliances and means to boot.’ They are afraid of interruption and

intrusion, and therefore they shut themselves up in in-door enjoyments

and by their own firesides. It is not that they require luxuries (for

that implies a high degree of epicurean indulgence and gratification,)

but they cannot do without _their comforts_; that is, whatever tends to

supply their physical wants, and ward off physical pain and annoyance.

As they have not a fund of animal spirits and enjoyments in themselves,

they cling to external objects for support, and derive solid

satisfaction from the ideas of order, cleanliness, plenty, property, and

domestic quiet, as they seek for diversion from odd accidents and

grotesque surprises, and have the highest possible relish not of

voluptuous softness, but of hard knocks and dry blows, as one means of

ascertaining their personal identity.”

* * * * *

_Twelfth-day_, in the times of chivalry, was observed at the court of

England by grand entertainments and tournaments. The justings were

continued till a period little favourable to such sports.

In the reign of James I., when his son prince Henry was in the 16th

year of his age, and therefore arrived to the period for claiming the

principality of Wales and the duchy of Cornwall, it was granted to him

by the king and the high court of parliament, and the 4th of June

following appointed for his investiture: “the _Christmas_ before which,”

sir Charles Cornwallis says, “his highnesse, not onely for his owne

recreation, but also that the world might know what a brave prince they

were likely to enjoy, under the name of Meliades, lord of the isles, (an

ancient title due to the first-borne of Scotland,) did, in his name, by

some appointed for the same purpose, strangely attired, accompanied with

drummes and trumpets, in the presence, before the king and queene, and

in the presence of the whole court, deliver a challenge to all knights

of Great Britaine.” The challenge was to this effect, “That Meliades,

their noble master, burning with an earnest desire to trie the valour of

his young yeares in foraigne countryes, and to know where vertue

triumphed most, had sent them abroad to espy the same, who, after their

long travailes in all countreyes, and returne,” had nowhere discovered

it, “save in the fortunate isle of Great Britaine: which ministring

matter of exceeding joy to their young Meliades, who (as they said)

could lineally derive his pedegree from the famous knights of this isle,

was the cause that he had now sent to present the first fruits of his

chivalrie at his majesties’ feete; then after returning with a short

speech to her majestie, next to the earles, lords, and knights, excusing

their lord in this their so sudden and short warning, and lastly, to the

ladies; they, after humble delivery of their chartle concerning time,

place, conditions, number of weapons and assailants, tooke their leave,

departing solemnly as they entered.”

Then preparations began to be made for this great fight, and each was

happy who found himself admitted for a defendant, much more an

assailant. “At last to encounter his highness, six assailants, and

fifty-eight defendants, consisting of earles, barons, knights, and

esquires, were appointed and chosen; eight defendants to one assailant,

every assailant being to fight by turnes eight severall times fighting,

two every time with push and pike of sword, twelve strokes at a time;

after which, the barre for separation was to be let downe until a fresh

onset.” The summons ran in these words:

“To our verie loving good ffreind sir Gilbert Houghton, knight, geave

theis with speed:

“After our hartie commendacions unto you. The prince, his highnes, hath

comanded us to signifie to you that whereas he doth intend to make a

challenge in his owne person at the Barriers, with sixe other

assistants, to bee performed some tyme this Christmas; and that he hath

made choice of you for one of the defendants (whereof wee have

comandement to give you knowledge), that theruppon you may so repaire

hither to prepare yourselfe, as you may bee fitt to attend him. Hereunto

expecting your speedie answer wee rest, from Whitehall this 25th of

December, 1609. Your very loving freindes,

Notingham. | T. Suffolke. | E. Worcester.”

On New-year’s Day, 1610, or the day after, the prince’s challenge was

proclaimed at court, and “his highnesse, in his own lodging, in the

Christmas, did feast the earles, barons, and knights, assailants and

defendants, untill the great Twelfth appointed night, on which this

great fight was to be performed.”

On the 6th of January, in the evening, “the barriers” were held at the

palace of Whitehall, in the presence of the king and queen, the

ambassadors of Spain and Venice, and the peers and ladies of the land,

with a multitude of others assembled in the banqueting-house: at the

upper end whereof was the king’s chair of state, and on the right hand a

sumptuous pavilion for the prince and his associates, from whence, “with

great bravery and ingenious devices, they descended into the middell of

the roome, and there the prince performed his first feats of armes, that

is to say, at _Barriers_, against all commers, being assisted onlie with

six others, viz. the duke of Lenox, the earle of Arundell, the earle of

Southampton, the lord Hay, sir Thomas Somerset, and sir Richard Preston,

who was shortly after created lord Dingwell.”

To answer these challengers came fifty-six earles, barons, knights, and

esquiers. They were at the lower end of the roome, where was erected “a

very delicat and pleasant place, where in privat manner they and their

traine remained, which was so very great that no man imagined that the

place could have concealed halfe so many.” From thence they issued, in

comely order, to the middell of the roome, where sate the king and the

queene, and the court, “to behold the barriers, with the several showes

and devices of each combatant.” Every challenger fought with eight

several defendants two several combats at two several weapons, viz. at

push of pike, and with single sword. “The prince performed this

challenge with wonderous skill and courage, to the great joy and

admiration of the beholders,” he “not being full sixteene yeeres of age

untill the 19th of February.” These feats, and other “triumphant

shewes,” began before ten o’clock at night, and continued until three

o’clock the next morning, “being Sonday.” The speeches at “the barriers”

were written by Ben Jonson. The next day (Sunday) the prince rode in

great pomp to convoy the king to St James’, whither he had invited him

and all the court to supper, whereof the queen alone was absent; and

then the prince bestowed prizes to the three combatants best deserving;

namely, the earl of Montgomery, sir Thomas Darey (son to lord Darey),

and sir Robert Gourdon.[16] In this way the court spent Twelfth-night in

1610.

* * * * *

On _Twelfth-night_, 1753, George II. played at hazard for the benefit of

the groom porter. All the royal family who played were winners,

particularly the duke of York, who won 3000_l._ The most considerable

losers were the duke of Grafton, the marquis of Hartington, the earl of

Holderness, earl of Ashburnham, and the earl of Hertford. The prince of

Wales (father of George III.) with prince Edward and a select company,

danced in the little drawing room till eleven o’clock, and then

withdrew.[17]

_Old Christmas-day._

According to the alteration of the style, OLD Christmas-day falls on

Twelfth-day, and in distant parts is even kept in our time as the

festival of the nativity. In 1753, Old Christmas-day was observed in the

neighbourhood of Worcester by the _Anti-Gregorians_, full as sociably,

if not so religiously, as formerly. In several villages, the

parishioners so strongly insisted upon having an _Old-style_ nativity

sermon, as they term it, that their ministers could not well avoid

preaching to them: and, at some towns, where the markets are held on

_Friday_, not a butter basket, nor even a _Goose_, was to be seen in the

market-place the whole day.[18]

To heighten the festivities of Christmas, 1825, the good folks of

“London and its environs” were invited to Sadler’s Wells, by the

following whimsical notice, printed and distributed as a handbill:

“SOVEREIGNS WILL BE TAKEN, during the Christmas holidays, and as long as

any body will bring them to SADLER’S WELLS; nay so little fastidious are

the Proprietors of that delectable fascinating snuggery, that, however

incredible it may appear, they, in some cases, have actually had the

liberality to prefer Gold to Paper. Without attempting to investigate

their motives for such extraordinary conduct, we shall do them the

justice to say, they certainly give an amazing quantum of amusement,

_All in One Night_, at the HOUSE ON THE HEATH, where, besides the THREE

CRUMPIES, AND THE BARON AND HIS BROTHERS, an immense number of

fashionables are expected on MERLIN’S MOUNT, and some of the first

Cambrian families will countenance HARLEQUIN CYMRAEG, in hopes to

partake of the _Living Leek_, which being served up the last thing

before supper, will constitute a most excellent Christmas carminative,

preventing the effects of night air on the crowds who will adorn this

darling little edifice. In addition to a most effective LIGHT COMPANY

engaged here, a very respectably sized _Moon_ will be in attendance to

light home a greater number of Patrons than ever this popular petted

Palace of Pantomime is likely to produce. We say nothing of warmth and

comfort, acquired by recent improvements, because these matters will

soon be subjects of common conversation, and omit noticing the happiness

of Half-price, and the cheering qualities of the Wine-room, fearful of

wounding in the bosom of the Manager that innate modesty which is ever

the concomitant of merit; we shall therefore conclude, by way of

invitation to the dubious, in the language of an elegant writer, by

asserting that the _Proof of the Pudding is in_--VERBUM SAT.”

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·12.

[15] In the New Monthly Magazine, Dec. 1825

[16] Mr. Nichols’s Progresses of James I.

[17] Gentleman’s Magazine.

[18] Ibid.

~January 7.~

1826. _Distaff’s Day._[19]

* * * * *

STANZAS ON THE NEW YEAR.

I stood between the meeting years,

The coming and the past,

And I ask’d of the future one,

Wilt thou be like the last?

The same in many a sleepless night,

In many an anxious day?

Thank Heaven! I have no prophet’s eye

To look upon thy way!

For Sorrow like a phantom sits

Upon the last Year’s close.

How much of grief, how much of ill,

In its dark breast repose!

Shadows of faded Hopes flit by,

And ghosts of Pleasures fled:

How have they chang’d from what they were!

Cold, colourless, and dead.

I think on many a wasted hour,

And sicken o’er the void;

And many darker are behind,

On worse than nought employ’d.

Oh Vanity! alas, my heart!

How widely hast thou stray’d

And misused every golden gift

For better purpose made!

I think on many a once-loved friend

As nothing to me now;

And what can mark the lapse of time

As does an alter’d brow?

Perhaps ’twas but a careless word

That sever’d Friendship’s chain;

And angry Pride stands by each gap,

Lest they unite again.

Less sad, albeit more terrible,

To think upon the dead,

Who quiet in the lonely grave

Lay down their weary head.

For faith and hope, and peace, and trust,

Are with their happier lot:

Though broken is their bond of love,

At least _we_ broke it not.--

Thus thinking of the meeting years,

The coming and the past,

I needs must ask the future one,

Wilt thou be like the last?

There came a sound, but not of speech,

That to my thought replied,

“Misery is the marriage-gift

That waits a mortal bride:

“But lift thine hopes from this base earth,

This waste of worldly care,

And wed thy faith to yon bright sky,

For Happiness dwells there!”

L. E. L.[20]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·85.

[19] See vol. i. p. 61.

[20] New Monthly Magazine, January, 1826.

~January 8.~

1826. _First Sunday after Epiphany._

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 8th of January, 1753, died sir Thomas Burnet, one of the judges

of the court of Common Pleas, of the gout in his stomach, at his house

in Lincoln’s-inn fields. He was the eldest son of the celebrated Dr.

Gilbert Burnet, bishop of Salisbury; was several years consul at Lisbon;

and in November, 1741, made one of the judges of the Common Pleas, in

room of judge Fortescue, who was appointed master of the rolls. On

November 23, 1745, when the lord chancellor, judges, and association of

the gentlemen of the law, waited on his majesty with their address, on

occasion of the rebellion, he was knighted. He was an able and upright

judge, and a great benefactor to the poor.[21]

THE NEW YEAR NEW MOON

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

Encouraged by your various expressions of willingness to receive notices

of customs not already “imprinted” in your first volume, I take the

liberty of presenting the first of several which I have not yet seen in

print.

I am, sir,

Your constant reader,

J. O. W.

_Chelsea._

MONEY AND THE MOON.

Gentle reader,

If thou art not over-much prejudiced by the advances of modernization,

(I like a long new-coined word,) so that, even in these “latter days,”

thou dost not hesitate to place explicit reliance on ancient, yet

infallible “sayings and doings,” (ancient enough, since they have been

handed down to us by our grandmothers--and who would doubt the weight

and authority of _so many_ years?--and infallible enough, since they

themselves absolutely believed in their “quite-correctness,”) I will

tell thee a secret well worth knowing, if _that_ can be called a secret

which arises out of a well-known and almost universal custom, at least,

in “days of yore.” It is neither more nor less than the possession

throughout “the rolling year” of a pocket never without money. Is not

this indeed a secret well worth knowing? Yet the means of its

accomplishment are exceedingly simple (as all difficult things are when

once known.) On the first day of the first new moon of the new year, or

so soon afterwards as you observe it, all that you have to do is

this:--on the first glance you take at “pale Luna’s silvery crest” in

the western sky, put your hand in your pocket, shut your eyes, and turn

the smallest piece of _silver_ coin you possess upside down in your said

pocket. This will ensure you (if you will but _trust_ its

infallibility!) throughout the whole year that “summum bonum” of earthly

wishes, a pocket never empty. If, however, you neglect, on the first

appearance of the moon, your case is hopeless; nevertheless and

notwithstanding, at a future new moon you may pursue the same course,

and it will _be sure_ to hold good during the then current month, but

not a “whit” longer.

This mention of the new moon and its crest brings to mind a few verses I

wrote some time ago, and having searched my scrap-book, (undoubtedly

_not such_ a one as _Geoffery Crayon’s_,) I copied them from thence, and

they are here under. Although written in the “merry merry month of May,”

they may be read in the “dreary dark December,” for every new moon

presents the same beautiful phenomenon.

_A Simile._

Hast thou ne’er marked, when first the crescent moon

Shines faintly in the western horizon,

O’er her whole orb a slight soft blush o’erspread,

As though she were abashed to be thus seen

From the sun’s couch with silver steps retreating?

Hast thou ne’er marked, that when by slow degrees,

Night after night, her crescent shape is lost,

And steadily she gains her stores of light,

Till half her form resplendently proclaims

An envious rival to the stars around--

Then mark’st thou not, that nought of her sweet blush

Remains to please the gazer’s wistful sight,

And that she shines increasingly in strength,

Till she is full-orb’d, mistress of the sky?--

So is it with the mind, when silently

Into the young heart’s void steals timorous love.

Then enter with it fancy’s fairy dreams,

Visions of glory, reveries of bliss;

And then they come and go, till comes, alas!

Knowledge, forced on us, of the “world without!”

How soon these scenes of beauty disappear!

How soon fond thought sinks into nothingness!

How soon the mind discovers that true bliss

Reposes not on sublunary things,

But is alone when passion’s blaze is o’er

In that high happy sphere, where love’s supreme.

Here it may not be out of place to endeavour to describe, as familiarly

as possible, the cause of the lunar appearance. Hold a piece of

looking-glass in a ray of sunshine, and then move a small ball through

the _reflected_ ray: it is easy to conceive that both sides will be

illumined; that side towards the sun by the _direct sunbeam_, and the

side towards the mirror, though less powerfully, by the _reflected

sunbeam_. In a somewhat similar manner, the earth supplies the place of

the mirror, and as at every new moon, and for several days after the

moon is in that part of her orbit between the earth and the sun, the

rays of the sun are reflected from the earth to the dark side of the

moon, and consequently to the inhabitants of that part of the moon, (if

any such there be, and query why should there not be such?) the earth

must present the curious appearance of a _full_ moon of many times the

diameter which ours presents.

J. O. W.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·05.

[21] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~January 9.~

1826. _Plough Monday._

The first Monday after Twelfth day.[22]

CHRONOLOGY.

On the 9th of January, 1752, William Stroud was tried before the bench

of justices at Westminster-hall, for personating various characters and

names, and defrauding numbers of people, in order to support his

extravagance. It appeared by the evidence, that he had cheated a tailor

of a suit of velvet clothes, trimmed with gold; a jeweller of upwards of

100_l._ in rings and watches, which he pawned; a coachmaker of a chaise;

a carver and cabinet-maker of household goods; a hosier, hatter, and

shoemaker, and, in short, some of almost every other business, to the

amount of a large sum. He sometimes appeared like a gentleman attended

with livery servants; sometimes as a nobleman’s steward; and, in the

summer time, he travelled the west of England, in the character of

Doctor Rock; and, at the same time, wrote to London for goods, in the

names of the Rev. Laroche, and the Rev. Thomas Strickland. The evidence

was full against him; notwithstanding which, he made a long speech in

his own defence. He was sentenced to six months’ hard labour in

Bridewell, and, within that time, to be six times publicly whipped.

Such offences are familiar to tradesmen of the present times, through

many perpetrators of the like stamp; but all of them are not of the same

audacity as Stroud, who, in the month following his conviction, wrote

and published his life, wherein he gives a very extraordinary account of

his adventures, but passes slightly over, or palliates his blackest

crimes. He was bred a haberdasher of small wares in Fleet-street,

married his mistress’s sister before his apprenticeship determined, set

up in the Poultry, became a bankrupt, in three months got his

certificate signed, and again set up in Holborn, where he lived but a

little while before he was thrown into the King’s Bench for debt, and

there got acquainted with one Playstowe, who gradually led him into

scenes of fraud, which he afterwards imitated. Playstowe being a

handsome man, usually passed for a gentleman, and Stroud for his

steward; at last the former, after many adventures, married a girl with

4000_l._, flew to France, and left Stroud in the lurch, who then retired

to Yorkshire, and lived some time with his aunt, pretending his wife was

dead, and he was just on the brink of marrying advantageously, when his

real character was traced. He then went to Ireland, passed for a man of

fashion, hired an equipage, made the most of that country, and escaped

to London. His next grand expedition was to the west of England, where

he still personated the man of fortune, got acquainted with a young

lady, and pursued her to London, where justice overtook him; and,

instead of wedlock, bound him in the fetters of Bridewell.

On the 24th of June, 1752, Stroud received “his last and severest

whipping, from the White Bear to St. James’s church Piccadilly.”[23]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·12.

[22] See vol. i. p. 71.

[23] Gentleman’s Magazine.

~January 10.~

_Winter in London._

On the 10th of January, 1812, it is observed, that London was this day

involved, for several hours, in palpable darkness. The shops, offices,

&c., were necessarily lighted up; but, the streets not being lighted as

at night, it required no small care in the passenger to find his way,

and avoid accidents. The sky where any light pervaded it, showed the

aspect of bronze. Such is, occasionally, the effect of the accumulation

of smoke between two opposite gentle currents, or by means of a misty

calm. The fuliginous cloud was visible, in this instance, from a

distance of forty miles. Were it not for the extreme mobility of our

atmosphere, this volcano of a hundred thousand mouths would, in winter,

be scarcely habitable![24]

_Winter in the Country._

All out door work

Now stands; the waggoner, with wisp-wound feet,

And wheelspokes almost filled, his destined stage

Scarcely can gain. O’er hill, and vale, and wood,

Sweeps the snow-pinioned blast, and all things veils

In white array, disguising to the view

Objects well known, now faintly recognised.

One colour clothes the mountain and the plain,

Save where the feathery flakes melt as they fall

Upon the deep blue stream, or scowling lake,

Or where some beetling rock o’erjutting hangs

Above the vaulty precipice’s cove.

Formless, the pointed cairn now scarce o’ertops

The level dreary waste; and coppice woods,

Diminished of their height, like bushes seem.

With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocks

Onward still urged by man and dog, escape

The smothering drift; while, skulking at a side,

Is seen the fox, with close downfolded tail,

Watching his time to seize a straggling prey;

Or from some lofty crag he ominous howls,

And makes approaching night more dismal fall.

_Grahame._

[Illustration: ~Mr. Paul Pry in the Character of Mr. Liston.~

“Just popp’d in, you know!”]

LETTER

_from_

_=PAUL PRY=_.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

I hope I don’t intrude--I have called at Ludgate-hill a great many times

to see you, and made many kind inquiries, but I am always informed you

are “not at home;” and what’s worse, I never can learn when you’ll be

“at home;” I’m constantly told, “it’s very uncertain.” This looks very

_odd_; I don’t think it _correct_. Then again, on asking your people

what the _Every-Day Book_ is all about? they say it’s about _every_

thing; but that you know is no answer--is it? I want something more than

that. When I tell ’em so, and that I’m so much engaged I haven’t time to

read, they say the book is as useful to people engaged in business as to

people out of business--as if _I_ was in business! I wish to acquaint

every body, that I am not in business, and never was in business, though

I’ve a deal of business to do; but then it’s for my own amusement, and

that’s nobody’s business, you know--as I also told ’em. They say it’s

impossible to describe the contents of the book, but that all the

particulars are in the Index; that’s just what I wanted; but behold! it

is “not _out_”--that is, it is not _in_--I mean not in the book--you

_take_. Excuse my humorsomeness: I only wish to know when I can get it?

They say in a few days, but, bless you, I don’t believe ’em; for though

I let ’em know I’ve a world of things to communicate to you, when you’ve

time to see me, and let me ask you a few questions, they won’t credit

_me_, and why should I credit _them_--I was not born yesterday, I assure

you. I’m of a very ancient stock, and I’ve some notion you and I are

kinsmen--don’t you think we are? I dare say there’s a likeness, for I’m

sure we are of the same disposition; if you aren’t, how can you find

out so much “about _every_ thing.” If I can make out that you are one of

the _Pry_ family, it will be mutually agreeable--won’t it? How people

will stare--won’t they?

I suppose you’ve heard how I’ve been used by Mr. Liston--my private

character exposed on the public stage, and the whole town roaring at the

whole of the _Pry_ family. But we are neither to be cried down nor

laughed down, and so I’d have let the play-goers know, if the managers

had allowed me to sing a song on New-year’s night, in imitation of Mr.

Liston when he’s a playing _me_. Will you believe it--they burst out a

laughing, and would not let me go on the boards--they said the audience

would suppose me to be the actor himself; what harm would that have done

the theatre?--can you tell? They said, it would hurt Mr. Liston’s

feelings--never considering _my_ feelings! If ever I try to serve them

or their theatre again, I’ll be--_Liston_! They shall be matched,

however, if you’ll help me. I’ve copied out my song, and if you’ll print

it in the _Every-Day Book_, it will drive ’em mad. I wish, of all

things, that Mr. Cruikshank could see me in the character of Liston--he

could _hit_ me I know--don’t you think he could?--just as I am--“quite

correct”--like he did “Guy Faux” last 5th of November. I never laughed

so much in all my life as when I saw _that_. Bless you, I can mimic

Liston all to nothing. Do get your friend George to your house some

day--any day he likes--it’s all one to me, for I call _every_ day; and

as I’m an “every-day” _man_, you know, why you might pop me at the head

of the song in your _Every-Day Book_--_that’s_ a joke you know--I can’t

help laughing--so droll! I’ve enclosed the song, you see.

[The wish of this correspondent is complied with, and the manner

wherein, it is presumed, he would have sung the song, is hinted at

parenthetically.]

=MR. PAUL PRY’S SONG,=

_Intended to have been sung by him at the Theatre_,

=In the Character of MR. LISTON,=

ON NEW YEAR’S EVE.

TUNE----_Mr. Liston’s_.

(_Pryingly._) I hope I don’t intrude!--

(_Fearfully._) I thought I heard a _cough_--

(_Apologetically._) I hope I am not rude--

(_Confidentially._) I _say_--the Year’s going _off_!

(_Inquisitively._) Where _can_ he be going _to_?

(_Ruminatively._) It’s very odd!--it’s _serious_!--

(_Self-satisfactively._) I’m rather _knowing_ too!--

(_Insinuatively._) But isn’t it _mysterious_?

(_Comfortably._) ’Twas better than the other--

(_Informingly._) The one that went before;--

(_Consolingly._) But then there’ll be _another_--

(_Delightedly._) And that’s one comfort more!

(_Alarmedly._) I’m half afraid he’s _gone_!

(_Kindlily._) Must _part_ with the old fellow!

(_Hastily._) Excuse me--I must run--(_Exit._)

(_Returns._) Forgot my umbrella.

(_Determinedly._) I’ll watch the _new_ one though,

(_Circumspectly._) And _see_ what _he’ll_ be at--(_Exit._)

(_Returns._) Beg pardon--didn’t bow--(_Bows and exit._)

(_Returns._) Bid pardon--left my hat.

(_Lingeringly._) It’s always the wish of Paul,

(_Seriously._) To be _quite correct_ and right--

(_Respectfully._) Ladies and gentlemen--all--

(_Retreatingly._) I wish you very good night!

(_Recollectively._) And--ladies and gentlemen--all!

(_Interjectively._) You laugh so much, I declare--

(_Vexedly._) I’m not Mr. Liston!--I’m _Paul_!--

(_Lastly._) I wish you a happy New Year!--(_Exit finally._)

If you print this in the _Every-Day Book_ it will send Liston into

fits--it will kill him--won’t it? But you know that’s all right--if he

takes me off I’ve a right to take him off--haven’t I? I say, that’s

_another_ joke--isn’t it? Bless you, I co’d do as good as that for ever.

But I want to see you, and ask you how you go on? and I’ve lots of

intelligence for you--_such_ things as never were known in this

world--all true, and on the very best authority, you may take my word

for it. Several of my relations have sent you budgets. Though they know

you won’t publish their names unless they like it, they don’t choose to

sign ’em to their letters for private reasons,--why don’t you print ’em?

They cann’t give up their authors you know, (that’s impossible,) but

what does that signify? And then you give ’em so much trouble to call

and make inquiries--not that they care about that, but it looks so.

However, I’m in a great hurry and so you’ll excuse me.--Mind though I

shall pop in every day till I catch you. I hope you’ll print the

song--it’s all my own writing, it will do for Liston, depend on it. What

a joke--isn’t it a good one?

_Pryory Place,_

_January 6, 1826._

Yours eternally,

PAUL PRY.

P. S. Don’t forget the Index--I want to learn all the

particulars--_multum in parvo_--all quite correct.

P. S. I’m told you’ve _eleven_ children--is it true? What day shall you

have another?--to-day?--_Twelfth_-day? that _would_ be a

_joke_--wouldn’t it? I hope I don’t intrude. I don’t wish to seem

curious.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·07.

[24] Howard on Climate.

~January 11.~

_Feast Week._

This is a term in many parts of England for an annual festivity

celebrated on the occasion described in the subjoined communication.

_For the Every-Day Book._

THE FEAST WEEK.

This festival, so called, is supposed to be nearly coeval with the

establishment of Christianity in this island. Every new church that was

founded was dedicated to some peculiar saint, and was naturally followed

by a public religious celebration, generally on the day of that saint,

or on the Sunday immediately following. Whatever might be the origin,

the festival part is still observed in most of the villages of several

of the midland and other counties. It is a season much to be remembered,

and is anticipated with no little pleasure by the expecting villagers.

The joyful note of preparation is given during the preceding week; and

the clash, and splash, and bustle of cleansing, and whitewashing, and

dusting, is to be seen and heard in almost every cottage. Nor is the

still more important object of laying in a good solid supply for a

hungry host of visitors forgotten. Happy those who can command _a ham_

for the occasion. This is a great favourite, as it is a

_cut-and-come-again_ dish, ready at hand at all times. But this is

mostly with the tip-topping part. Few but can boast of a substantial

plum-pudding!--And now the important day is arrived. The merry bells

from the steeple announce the event; and groups of friends and

relations, not forgetting distant cousins and children, are seen making

their way, long before the hour of dinner, to the appointed spot. This

is Sunday; and in the afternoon a portion of these strangers, clean and

neatly dressed, are seen flocking to the village church, where the

elevated band in the gallery, in great force both in noise and number,

contribute lustily to their edification, and the clergyman endeavours to

improve the solemnity of the occasion by an appropriate address. During

the early part of the ensuing week, the feast is kept up with much

spirit: the village presents a holiday appearance, and openhousekeeping,

as far as may be, is the order of the day; the bells at intervals send

forth an enlivening peal; all work is nearly suspended; gay stalls of

gingerbread and fruit, according to the season of the year, together

with swings and roundabouts, spread out their allurements to the

children; bowls, quoits, and nine-pins, for the men; and the merry dance

in the evening, for the lasses. Fresh visitors keep dropping in; and

almost all who can make any excuse of acquaintance are acknowledged, and

are hospitably entertained, according to the means of their village

friends. As the week advances, these means gradually diminish; and as an

empty house has few attractions, by the end of the week the bustle

ceases, and all is still and silent, as if it had never been.

Man naturally requires excitement and relaxation; but it is essentially

necessary that they should be adapted to his situation and

circumstances. The _feast week_, however alluring it may appear in

description, is in reality productive of greater evil than good. The

excitement lasts too long, and the enjoyment, whatever it may be, is

purchased at the sacrifice of too great expense. It is a well-known

fact, that many of the poor who have exerted every effort to make this

profuse, but short-lived display, have scarcely bread to eat for weeks

after. But there is no alternative, if they expect to be received with

the same spirit of hospitality by their friends. The alehouses, in the

interim, are too often scenes of drunkenness and disorder; and the

labouring man who has been idle and dissipated for a week, is little

disposed for toil and temperance the next. Here, then, the illusion of

rural simplicity ends! These things are managed much better where one

_fair day_, as it is called, is set apart in each year, as is the case

in many counties; the excitement, which is intense for ten or twelve

hours, is fully sufficient for the purpose; all is noise and merriment,

and one general and simultaneous burst and explosion, if it may be so

expressed, takes place. You see groups of happy faces. Every one is

willing “to laugh he knows not why, and cares not wherefore;” and _one

day’s_ gratification serves him for _every day’s_ pleasing topic of

reference for weeks to come.

S. P.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·62.

~January 12.~

_Leeches unhurt by Frost._

Among the cold-blooded animals which resist the effects of a low

temperature, we may reckon the common leech, which is otherwise

interesting to the meteorologist, on account of its peculiar habits and

movements under different states of the atmosphere. A group of these

animals left accidentally in a closet without a fire, during the frost

of 1816, not only survived, but appeared to suffer no injury from being

locked up in a mass of ice for many days.[25]

SWEEPING RHETORIC.

Certain rewards allowed by act of parliament to firemen, turncocks, and

others, who first appear with their engines and implements at premises

sworn to be on fire, were claimed at the public office,

Marlborough-street, in this month, 1826, and resisted on the ground that

the chimney, which belonged to a brewery, and was more than eighty feet

high, was not, and could not be on fire. A witness to that end, gave a

lively specimen of familiar statement and illustration. He began by

telling the magistrate, that he was a sweep-chimney by profession--a

piece of information very unnecessary, for he was as black and sooty a

sweep as ever mounted a chimney-top,--and then went on in this

fashion--“This here man, (pointing to the patrol,) your wortship, has

told a false affidavit. I knows that ere chimley from a hinfant, and she

knows my foot as well as my own mother. The way as I goes up her is

this--I goes in all round the boiler, then I twistes in the chimley like

the smoke, and then up I goes with the wind, for, your wortship, there’s

a wind in her that would blow you out like a feather, if you didn’t know

her as well as I do, and that makes me always go to the top myself,

because there isn’t a brick in her that doesn’t know my foot. So that

you see, your wortship, no soot or blacks is ever in her: the wind won’t

let ’em stop: and besides they knows that I go up her regular. So that

she always keeps herself as clean as a new pin. I’ll be bound the sides

of her is as clean this minute as I am (not saying much for the

chimney); therefore, your wortship, that ere man as saw two yards of

fire coming out of her, did not see no such thing, I say; and he has

told your wortship, and these here gentlemen present, a false affidavit,

I say. I was brought up in that chimley, your wortship, and I can’t

abear to hear such things said--lies of her; and that’s all as I knows

at present, please your wortship.”[26]

AMUSEMENTS.

The London Christmas evenings of 1826, appear to have been kept out of

doors, for every place of entertainment was overflowing every night.

At this season, from six o’clock in the evening, a full tide of

passengers sets in along every leading street to each of the theatres.

Hackney coaches drawl, and cabriolets make their way, and jostle each

other, and private carriages swiftly roll, and draw up to the box door

with a vigorous sweep, which the horses of hired vehicles are too aged,

or too low in condition to achieve. Within a hundred yards of either

playhouse, hands are continually thrust into each coach window, with “a

bill of the play,” and repeated cries of “only a penny!” The coachdoor

being opened, down fall the steps with a sharp clackity-clack-click, and

the companies alight, if they can, without the supernumerary aid of

attendant pliers, who offer their over-ready arms to lean upon, and

kindly entreat--“Take care, sir!--mind how you step ma’am--this way if

you please--this way,” all against your will, and ending with “I hope

you’ll please to remember a poor fellow!” the “poor fellow” having done

nothing but interrupt you. When past the “pay place,” great coats,

umbrellas, shawls or other useful accompaniments to and from “the

house,” though real encumbrances within it, may be safely deposited with

persons stationed for their reception, who attach tickets to them, and

deliver corresponding numbers, which ensure the return of your property

on your coming out; sixpence or a shilling being a gratuity for the

accommodation. Then, when the whole is over, there is the strict

blockade of coaches further than the eye can reach; servants looking out

for the parties they came with, and getting up their masters’ carriages;

and a full cry of hackney coachmen and their representatives,

vociferating “Want a coach, sir? Here’s your coach, sir! Which is it,

sir? Coach to the city, sir! West end, sir! Here! Coach to the city!

Coach to Whitechapel! Coach to Portman-square! Coach to Pentonville!

Coach to the Regent’s Park! This way! this way! Stand clear there!

Chariot, or a coach, sir? No chariots, sir, and all the coaches are

hired! There’s a coach here, sir--just below! Coachman, draw up!” and

drawing up is impossible, and there is an incessant confusion of calls

and complaints, and running against each other, arising out of the

immediate wants of every body, which can only be successively gratified.

Pedestrians make their way home, or to the inns, as fast as possible, or

turn in to sup at the fish-shops, which, in five minutes, are more

lively than their oysters were at any time. “Waiter! Waiter! Yes, sir!

Attend to you directly, sir! Yours is gone for, sir! Why, I’ve ordered

nothing! It’s coming directly, sir! Ginger-beer--why this is poison!

Spruce--why this is ginger-beer! Porter, sir! I told you brandy and

water! Stewed oysters! I ordered scolloped! When am I to have _my_

supper? You’ve had it, sir--I beg your pardon, sir, the gentleman that

sat here is gone, sir! Waiter! waiter!” and so on; and he who has

patience, is sure to be indulged with an opportunity of retaining it,

amidst loud talking and laughter; varied views of the new pantomime;

conflicting testimony as to the merits of the clown and the harlequin;

the “new scenery, dresses, and machinery;” likings and dislikings of

certain actresses; “the lovely” Miss So-and-so, or “that detestable”

woman, Mrs. Such-an-one, that clever fellow, “Thing-a-merry,” or that

stupid dog, “What-d’ye-call-um.” These topics failing, and the oysters

discussed, then are stated and considered the advantages of taking

something “to keep’em down;” the comparative merits of Burton, Windsor,

or Edinburgh ale; the qualities of porter; the wholesomeness of smoking;

the difference between a pipe and a segar, and the preference of one to

the other; whether brandy or rum, or the clear spirit of juniper, is the

best preservative of health; which of the company or their friends can

drink most; whether the last fight was “a cross,” and who of all the men

in the fancy is most “game;” whether the magistrates dare to interfere

with “the ring;” whether if fighting should be “put an end to”

Englishmen will have half the courage they had three hundred years ago,

before prize fighting existed; whether Thurtell was not “a good one” to

the last, and whether there’s a better “trump” in the room. On these

points, or to points like these, the conversation of an oyster room is

turned by sitters after the play, till they adjourn to “spend the

evening” at the “flash-and-foolish” houses which “keep it up” all night

in the peculiar neighbourhood of the public office, Bow-street. This is

more than mere animal gratification, as the police reports exemplify.

[Illustration: ~Seasonable Refreshment.~]

Capital oysters, I declare!

Excellent spruce, and ginger beer!

Don’t you take vinegar? there’s the bread--

We’ll just have a pipe--and then to bed.

*

Why should not this be deemed a real scene, and as respectable as that

just described. It is quite as lively and as intellectual. The monkey

eats, and according to many accounts can catch fish as well as man. It

is told of this animal, that from love of the crab and experience of his

claws, he gently shakes his tail before the hole of the crab, who, as

soon as he begins to “pull him by his long tail,” is drawn out by that

dependancy and falls a prey to his decoyer. It is related that a party

of officers belonging to the 25th regiment of infantry, on service at

Gibraltar, amused themselves with whiting fishing at the back of the

rock till they were obliged to shift their ground from being pelted from

above, they did not know by whom. At their new station they caught

plenty of fish, but the drum having unexpectedly beat to arms, they

rowed hastily ashore, and drew their boat high and dry upon the beach.

On their return they were greatly surprised to find it in a different

position ashore, and some hooks baited which they had left bare. In the

end it was ascertained that their pelters while they were fishing were a

party of young monkeys. They were driven off by two or three old ones

who remained secretly observing the whiting fishing of the officers till

they had retired. The old monkeys then launched the boat, put to sea,

baited their hooks, and proceeded to work. The few fish they caught,

they hauled up with infinite gratification, and when tired they landed,

placed the boat as nearly as they could in its old position, and went up

the rock with their prey. General Elliot, while commander at Gibraltar,

never suffered the monkeys with which the rock abounds to be molested or

taken.

The faculty of imitation in monkeys is limited, but not so in man; a

remarkable instance of this is lately adduced in a pleasant little story

of perhaps the greatest performer on our stage.

_Garrick._

At a splendid dinner-party at lord ----’s they suddenly missed Garrick,

and could not imagine what was become of him, till they were drawn to

the window by the convulsive screams and peals of laughter of a young

negro boy, who was rolling on the ground in an ecstasy of delight to see

Garrick mimicking a turkey-cock in the court yard, with his coat-tail

stuck out behind, and in a seeming flutter of feathered rage and pride.

Of our party only two persons present had seen the British Roscius; and

they seemed as willing as the rest to renew their acquaintance with

their old favourite. This anecdote is new: it is related by the able

writer of a paper concerning “Persons one would wish to have seen,”[27]

as an instance of Garrick’s singleness of purpose when he was fully

possessed by an idea.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 34·45.

[25] Howard on Climate.

[26] The Times, 5th January, 1826.

[27] In the New Monthly Magazine, Jan. 1826.

~January 13.~

1826. Hilary Cambridge Term begins.

St. VERONICA.

Some curious circumstances are connected with the name of this saint,

who appears to have been a poor ignorant girl, born near Milan, where

she worked in the fields for her living. Conceiving a desire to become a

nun, she sat up at night to learn to read and write, which, her

biographer says, for want of an instructor, was a great fatigue to her.

He proceeds to tell us, that she was relieved from labour of that kind

in the following manner:--“One day, being in great anxiety about her

learning, the mother of God, in a comfortable vision, bade her banish

that anxiety, for it was enough if she knew three letters.” So Veronica

became a nun, seeking “the greatest drudgery,” desiring “to live always

on bread and water,” and dying “at the hour which she had foretold, in

the year 1497, and the fifty-second of her age. Her sanctity was

confirmed by miracles.” We gather this from Alban Butler, who subjoins,

by way of note, thus:--

“_The print of the holy face of our Saviour on a linen cloth_ is kept

in St. Peter’s church at Rome, with singular veneration.--Some private

writers and churches have given the name of St. Veronica to the devout

woman who is said to have presented this linen to our divine Redeemer,

but without sufficient warrant.”

* * * * *

Before saying any thing concerning the earlier St. Veronica, or “this

linen” whereon Romish writers allege Christ impressed his own portrait

by wiping his face with it, mention may be made of _another_ portrait of

him which Romish writers affirm he miraculously executed in the same

manner, and sent to Abgarus, king of Edessa, in the way hereafter

related. They have further been so careful as to publish a print of this

pretended portrait, with representations around illustrating the history

they tell of it. An engraving from it immediately follows. The Latin

inscription beneath their print is placed beneath the present

engraving.

[Illustration: ~Effigies Christi Domini.~

_Ex ipsomet Divino Exemplari_ AD ABGARUM _missa Genuæ in Ecclesia_

S^{ti}. Bartolomæi _Clericorum Reg._ S^{ti}. Pauli _Summa Veneratione

asservato_

~Accuratissime Expressa.~]

No circumstance is more remarkable than the existence of this pretended

resemblance, as an object of veneration in the Romish church. Being one

of the greatest curiosities in its numerous cabinets of relics, it has a

place in this work, which, while it records manners and customs,

endeavours to point out their origin, and the means by which they have

been continued. Nor let it be imagined that these representations have

not influenced our own country; there is evidence to the contrary

already, and more can be adduced if need require, which will

incontestably prove that many of our present popular customs are derived

from such sources.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·27.

~January 14.~

1826. Oxford Hilary Term begins.

SAILORS.

Mariners form a distinct community, with peculiar manners, little known

to their inland fellow countrymen, except through books. In this way

Smollett has done much, and from Mr. Leigh Hunt’s “Indicator,” which may

not be in every one’s hands, though it ought to be, is extracted the

following excellent description:

SEAMEN ON SHORE.

And first of the common sailor.--The moment the common sailor lands, he

goes to see the watchmaker, or the old boy at the Ship. His first object

is to spend his money: but his first sensation is the strange firmness

of the earth, which he goes treading in a sort of heavy light way, half

waggoner and half dancing master, his shoulders rolling, and his feet

touching and going; the same way, in short, in which he keeps himself

prepared for all the rolling chances of the vessel, when on deck. There

is always, to us, this appearance of lightness of foot and heavy

strength of upper works, in a sailor. And he feels it himself. He lets

his jacket fly open, and his shoulders slouch, and his hair grow long to

be gathered into a heavy pigtail; but when full dressed, he prides

himself on a certain gentility of toe; on a white stocking and a natty

shoe, issuing lightly out of the flowing blue trowser. His arms are

neutral, hanging and swinging in a curve aloof; his hands, half open,

look as if they had just been handling ropes, and had no object in life

but to handle them again. He is proud of appearing in a new hat and

slops, with a belcher handkerchief flowing loosely round his neck, and

the corner of another out of his pocket. Thus equipped, with pinchbeck

buckles in his shoes (which he bought for gold) he puts some tobacco in

his mouth, not as if he were going to use it directly, but as if he

stuffed it in a pouch on one side, as a pelican does fish, to employ it

hereafter: and so, with Bet Monson at his side, and perhaps a cane or

whanghee twisted under his other arm, sallies forth to take possession

of all Lubberland. He buys every thing that he comes athwart,--nuts,

gingerbread, apples, shoe-strings, beer, brandy, gin, buckles, knives, a

watch, (two, if he has money enough,) gowns and handkerchiefs for Bet,

and his mother and sisters, dozens of “superfine best men’s cotton

stockings,” dozens of “superfine best women’s cotton ditto,” best good

check for shirts (though he has too much already), infinite needles and

thread (to sew his trowsers with some day), a footman’s laced hat,

bear’s grease to make his hair grow (by way of joke), several sticks,

all sorts of jew articles, a flute (which he can’t play and never

intends), a leg of mutton which he carries somewhere to roast, and for a

piece of which the landlord of the Ship makes him pay twice what he gave

for the whole;--in short, all that money can be spent upon, which is

every thing but medicine gratis; and this he would insist on paying for.

He would buy all the painted parrots on an Italian’s head, on purpose to

break them, rather than not spend his money. He has fiddles and a dance

at the Ship, with oceans of flip and grog; and gives the blind fiddler

tobacco for sweetmeats, and half a crown for treading on his toe. He

asks the landlady with a sigh, after her daughter Nance who first fired

his heart with her silk stockings; and finding that she is married and

in trouble, leaves five crowns for her; which the old lady appropriates

as part payment for a shilling in advance. He goes to the port playhouse

with Bet Monson, and a great red handkerchief full of apples,

gingerbread nuts, and fresh beef; calls out for the fiddlers and Rule

Britannia; pelts Tom Sikes in the pit; and compares Othello to the black

ship’s cook in his white night-cap. When he comes to London, he and some

messmates take a hackney-coach, full of Bet Monsons and tobacco pipes,

and go through the streets smoking and lolling out of window. He has

ever been cautious of venturing on horseback; and among his other sights

in foreign parts, relates with unfeigned astonishment how he has seen

the Turks ride,--“Only,” says he, guarding against the hearer’s

incredulity, “they have saddle-boxes to hold ’em in, fore and aft; and

shovels like for stirrups.” He will tell you how the Chinese drink, and

the NEGURS dance, and the monkies pelt you with cocoa-nuts; and how

king Domy would have built him a mud hut and made him a peer of the

realm, if he would have stopped with him and taught him to make

trowsers. He has a sister at a “school for young ladies,” who blushes

with a mixture of pleasure and shame at his appearance; and whose

confusion he completes, by slipping fourpence into her hand, and saying

out loud that he has “no more copper” about him. His mother and elder

sisters at home doat on all he says and does, telling him however that

he is a great sea-fellow, and was always wild ever since he was a

hop-o’-my-thumb no higher than the window-locker. He tells his mother

she would be a duchess in Paranaboo; at which the good old portly dame

laughs and looks proud. When his sisters complain of his romping, he

says that they are only sorry it is not the baker. He frightens them

with a mask made after the New Zealand fashion, and is forgiven for his

learning. Their mantle-piece is filled by him with shells and shark’s

teeth; and when he goes to sea again, there is no end of tears, and

God-bless you, and home-made gingerbread.

His _officer_ on shore does much of all this, only, generally speaking,

in a higher taste. The moment he lands he buys quantities of jewellery

and other valuables, for all the females of his acquaintance; and is

taken in for every article. He sends in a cart load of fresh meat to the

ship, though he is going to town next day; and calling in at a

chandler’s for some candles, is persuaded to buy a dozen of green wax,

with which he lights up the ship at evening; regretting that the fine

moonlight hinders the effect of the colour. A man, with a bundle beneath

his arm, accosts him in an undertone; and, with a look in which respect

for his knowledge is mixed with an avowed zeal for his own interest,

asks if his honour will just step under the gangway here, and inspect

some real India shawls. The gallant lieutenant says to himself, “this

fellow knows what’s what by his face;” and so he proves it by being

taken in on the spot. When he brings the shawls home, he says to his

sister with an air of triumph, “there Poll, there’s something for you;

only cost me twelve, and is worth twenty, if it’s worth a dollar.” She

turns pale--“Twenty what, my dear George? Why, you haven’t given twelve

dollars for it, I hope?” “Not I, by the Lord.”--“That’s lucky; because

you see, my dear George, that all together is not worth more than

fourteen or fifteen shillings.” “Fourteen or fifteen what! Why, it’s

real India, en’t it? Why the fellow told me so; or I’m sure I’d as

soon”--(here he tries to hide his blushes with a bluster) “I’d as soon

have given him twelve douses on the chaps as twelve guineas.”

“Twelve GUINEAS,” exclaims the sister; and then drawling forth

“Why--my--DEAR--George,” is proceeding to show him what the articles

would have cost him at Condell’s, when he interrupts her by requesting

her to go and choose for herself a tea-table service. He then makes his

escape to some messmates at a coffee-house, and drowns his recollection

of the shawls in the best wine, and a discussion on the comparative

merits of the English and West Indian beauties and tables. At the

theatre afterwards, where he has never been before, he takes a lady at

the back of one of the boxes for a woman of quality: and when after

returning his long respectful gaze with a smile, she turns aside and

puts her handkerchief to her mouth, he thinks it is in derision, till

his friend undeceives him. He is introduced to the lady; and ever

afterwards, at first sight of a woman of quality (without any

disparagement either to those charming personages), expects her to give

him a smile. He thinks the other ladies much better creatures than they

are taken for; and for their parts, they tell him, that if all men were

like himself, they would trust the sex again:--which, for aught we know,

is the truth. He has, indeed, what he thinks a very liberal opinion of

ladies in general; judging them all, in a manner, with the eye of a

seaman’s experience. Yet he will believe nevertheless in the “true-love”

of any given damsel whom he seeks in the way of marriage, let him roam

as much, or remain as long at a distance as he pleases. It is not that

he wants feeling; but that he has read of it, time out of mind, in

songs; and he looks upon constancy as a sort of exploit, answering to

those which he performs at sea. He is nice in his watches and linen. He

makes you presents of cornelians, antique seals, cocoa-nuts set in

silver, and other valuables. When he shakes hands with you, it is like

being caught in a windlass. He would not swagger about the streets in

his uniform, for the world. He is generally modest in company, though

liable to be irritated by what he thinks ungentlemanly behaviour. He is

also liable to be rendered irritable by sickness; partly because he has

been used to command others, and to be served with all possible

deference and alacrity; and partly, because the idea of suffering pain,

without any honour or profit to get by it, is unprofessional, and he is

not accustomed to it. He treats talents unlike his own with great

respect. He often perceives his own so little felt that it teaches him

this feeling for that of others. Besides, he admires the quantity of

information which people can get, without travelling like himself;

especially when he sees how interesting his own becomes, to them as well

as to every body else. When he tells a story, particularly if full of

wonders, he takes care to maintain his character for truth and

simplicity, by qualifying it with all possible reservations,

concessions, and anticipations of objection; such as “in case, at such

times as, so to speak, as it were, at least, at any rate.” He seldom

uses sea-terms but when jocosely provoked by something contrary to his

habits of life; as for instance, if he is always meeting you on

horseback, he asks if you never mean to walk the deck again; or if he

finds you studying day after day, he says you are always overhauling

your log-book. He makes more new acquaintances, and forgets his old ones

less, than any other man in the busy world; for he is so compelled to

make his home every where, remembers his native one as such a place of

enjoyment, has all his friendly recollections so fixed upon his mind at

sea, and has so much to tell and to hear when he returns, that change

and separation lose with him the most heartless part of their nature. He

also sees such a variety of customs and manners, that he becomes

charitable in his opinions altogether; and charity, while it diffuses

the affections, cannot let the old ones go. Half the secret of human

intercourse is to make allowance for each other.

When the officer is superannuated or retires, he becomes, if intelligent

and inquiring, one of the most agreeable old men in the world, equally

welcome to the silent for his card-playing, and to the conversational

for his recollections. He is fond of astronomy and books of voyages; and

is immortal with all who know him, for having been round the world, or

seen the Transit of Venus, or had one of his fingers carried off by a

New Zealand hatchet, or a present of feathers from an Otaheitean

beauty. If not elevated by his acquirements above some of his humbler

tastes, he delights in a corner-cupboard holding his cocoa-nuts and

punch-bowl; has his summer-house castellated and planted with wooden

cannon; and sets up the figure of his old ship, the Britannia or the

Lovely Nancy, for a statue in the garden; where it stares eternally with

red cheeks and round black eyes, as if in astonishment at its situation.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·20.

~January 15.~

_Changes of Climate._

An opinion has been long entertained, that there are vicissitudes in the

climate and temperature of the air unknown to former times, and that

such variations exist in America as well as in Europe. It is said that

the transatlantic changes have been more frequent, and the heat of the

sun not so early or so strongly experienced as formerly. In America,

these alterations are attributed to a more obvious cause than uncertain

hypothesis, and at not many degrees distance. For instance, the ice in

the great river St. Lawrence, at Quebec, did not break up till the first

week in May, 1817, when it floated down the stream in huge masses, and

in vast quantities; these, with other masses from the coast of Labrador,

&c. spread a general coldness many degrees to the southward. But a few

weeks before the snow fell in some parts of New England, and New York,

to a considerable depth, and there were severe frosts. The vessels from

England and Ireland, which arrived at Quebec, all concurred in their

accounts of the dangers which they encountered, and the cold which they

suffered. In fine, it would appear that the ice in those regions had

accumulated to so alarming a degree, as to threaten a material change in

all the adjacent countries, and to verify the theory of some who

imagined that the extreme cold of the north was gradually making

encroachments upon the extreme heat of the south. They have remarked, in

confirmation of their opinions, that the accounts of travellers and

navigators, furnish strong reasons for supposing that the islands of ice

in the higher northern latitudes, as well as the glaciers on the Alps,

continue perpetually to increase in bulk. At certain times, in the ice

mountains of Switzerland, there occur fissures, which show the immense

thickness of the frozen matter; some of these cracks have measured three

or four hundred ells deep. The great islands of ice, in the northern

seas bordering upon Hudson’s Bay, have been observed to be immersed one

hundred fathoms beneath the surface of the sea, and to have risen a

fifth or sixth part above the surface, measuring, at the same time,

about a mile and a half in diameter. It has been shown by Dr. Lyster,

that the marine ice contains some salt, and less air, than common ice,

and that it therefore is more difficult of solution. From these

premises, he endeavours to account for the perpetual augmentation of

those floating islands. By a celebrated experiment of Mr. Boyle, it has

been demonstrated that ice evaporates very fast, in severe frosty

weather, when the wind blows upon it; and as ice, in a thawing state, is

known to contain six times more cold than water, at the same degree of

sensible coldness, it is easy to conceive that winds sweeping over

islands and continents of ice, perhaps much below _northing_ on

Fahrenheit’s scale, and rushing thence into our latitudes, must bring

most intense degrees of cold along with them. If to this be added the

quantity of cold produced by the evaporation of the water, as well as by

the solution of ice, it can scarcely be doubted but that the arctic seas

are the principal source of the cold of our winters, and that it is

brought hither by the regions of the air blowing from the north, and

which take an apparently easterly direction, by their coming to a part

of the surface of the earth, which moves faster than the latitude from

which they originate. Hence, the increase of the ice in the polar

regions, by increasing the cold of our climate, adds, at the same time,

to the bulk of the glaciers of Italy and Switzerland.

Reasonings of this kind are supported by the greatest names, and

countenanced by the authentic reports of the best informed travellers.

Mr. Bradley attributes the cold winds and wet weather, which sometimes

happen in May and June, to the solution of ice islands accidentally

detached and floating from the north. Mr. Barham, about the year 1718,

in his voyage from Jamaica to England, in the beginning of June, met

with some of those islands, which were involved in such a fog that the

ship was in danger of striking against them. One of them measured sixty

miles in length.

On the 22d of December, 1789, there was an instance of ice islands

having been wafted from the southern polar regions. It was on these

islands that the Guardian struck, at the commencement of her passage

from the Cape of Good Hope towards Botany Bay. These islands were wrapt

in darkness, about one hundred and fifty fathoms long, and above fifty

fathoms above the surface of the waves. In the process of solution, a

fragment from the summit of one of them broke off, and plunging into the

sea, caused a tremendous commotion in the water, and dense smoke all

around it.

These facts were strongly urged upon public attention in the autumn of

1817,[28] as grounds of not only curious and interesting, but likewise

of highly important speculation. A supposed change in the temper, and

the very character of our seasons, was deemed to have fallen within the

observation of even young men, or at least middle-aged men; and upon

this supposition, it was not deemed extravagant to anticipate the

combined force of the naval world employed in navigating the immense

masses of ice into the more southern oceans; while to render the notion

more agreeable, and to enliven the minds of such as might think such

matters of speculation dull or uninteresting, the project was laid

before them in a versified garb, characterising the arctic regions.

There in her azure coif, and starry stole,

Grey Twilight sits, and rules the slumbering pole;

Bends the pale moon-beams round the sparkling coast,

And strews, with livid hands, eternal frost!

There, Nymphs! alight, array your dazzling powers,

With sudden march alarm the torpid hours;

On ice-built isles expand a thousand sails,

Hinge the strong helm, and catch the frozen gales;

The winged rocks to feverish climates guide,

Where fainting zephyrs pant upon the tide;

Pass where to Ceuta Calpe’s thunder roars,

And answering echoes shake the kindred shores;

Pass where with palmy plumes Canary smiles,

And in her silver girdle binds her isles;

Onward, where Niger’s dusky Naiad laves

A thousand kingdoms with prolific waves,

Or leads o’er golden sands her threefold train

In steamy channels to the fervid main,

While swarthy nations crowd the sultry coast,

Drink the fresh breeze, and hail the floating frost;

Nymphs! veil’d in mist, the melting treasures steer,

And cool with arctic snows the tropic year.

So from the burning line, by monsoons driv’n,

Clouds sail in squadrons o’er the darken’d heav’n,

Wide wastes of sand the gelid gales pervade,

And ocean cools beneath the moving shade.

_Darwin._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·05.

[28] See M. Chronicle, 4 Oct. 1817.

~January 16.~

HOGMANY.

Mr. Reddock’s paper on this subject, at page 13. has elicited the

following letter from a literary gentleman, concerning a dramatic

representation in England similar to that which Mr. Reddock instances at

Falkirk, and other parts of North Britain. Such communications are

particularly acceptable; because they show to what extent usages

prevail, and wherein they differ in different parts of the country. It

will be gratifying to every one who peruses this work, and highly so to

the editor, if he is obliged by letters from readers acquainted with

customs in their own vicinity, similar to those that they are informed

of in other counties, and particularly if they will take the trouble to

describe them in every particular. By this means, the _Every-Day Book_

will become what it is designed to be made,--_a storehouse of past and

present manners and customs_. Any customs of any place or season that

have not already appeared in the work, are earnestly solicited from

those who have the means of furnishing the information. The only

condition stipulated for, as absolutely indispensable to the insertion

of a letter respecting _facts_ of this nature, is, that the name and

address of the writer be communicated to the editor, who will subjoin

such signature as the writer may choose his letter should bear to the

eye of the public. The various valuable articles of this kind which

have hitherto appeared in the work, however signed by initials or

otherwise, have been so authenticated to the editor’s private

satisfaction, and he is thus enabled to vouch for the genuineness of

such contributions.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

In your last number appeared a very amusing article touching some usages

and customs in Scotland, and communicated from Falkirk. In the

description of the boys’ play, ingeniously suggested as typical of the

Roman invasion under Agricola, we, however, read but a varied edition of

what is enacted in other parts besides Scotland, and more particularly

in the western counties, by those troops of old Father Christmas boys,

which are indeed brief chronicles of the times. I mean, those

paper-decorated, brick-dust-daubed urchins, ’yclept Mummers.

To be sure they do not begin,

“Here comes in the king of Macedon;”

but we have instead,

“Here comes old Father Christmas,

Christmas or Christmas not,

I hope old Father Christmas never will be forgot.”

And then for the Scottish leader Galgacus, we find,

“_Here comes in_ St. George, St. George

That man of mighty name,

With _sword and buckler by my side

I hope to win the game_.”

These “western kernes” have it, you see, Mr. Editor, “down along,” to

use their own dialect, with those of the thistle. Then, too, we have a

fight. Oh! how beautiful to my boyish eyes were their wooden swords and

their bullying gait!--then we have a fight, for lo

“Here’s come I, the Turkish knight,

Come from the Soldan’s land to fight,

And be the foe’s blood _hot_ and bold

With my sword I’ll make it _cold_.”

A vile _Saracenic_ pun in the very minute of deadly strife. But they

fight--the cross is victorious, the crescent o’erthrown, and, as a

matter of course, even in our pieces of mock valour, _duels_ we have

therein--the doctor is sent for; and he is addressed, paralleling again

our players of “Scotia’s wild domain,” with

“Doctor, doctor, can you tell

What will make a sick man well?”

and thereupon he enumerates cures which would have puzzled Galen, and

put Hippocrates to a “non-plus;” and he finally agrees, as in the _more

classical_ drama of your correspondent, to cure our unbeliever for a

certain sum.

The “last scene of all that ends this strange eventful history” consists

in the entrance of the most diminutive of these Thespians, bearing, as

did Æneas of old, his parent upon his shoulders, and reciting this bit

of good truth and joculation (permitting the word) by way of epilogue:

“Here comes I, little Johnny Jack,

With my wife and family at my back,

Yet, though my _body is but small_,

I’m the _greatest rogue amongst ye all_;

This is my scrip--so for Christmas cheer

If _you’ve any thing to give throw it in here_.”

This may be but an uninteresting tail-piece to your correspondent’s

clever communication, but still it is one, and makes the picture he so

well began of certain usages more full of point.

I doat upon old customs, and I love hearty commemorations, and hence

those mimics of whom I have written--I mean the mummers--are my delight,

and in the laughter and merriment they create I forget to be a critic,

and cannot choose but laugh in the fashion of a Democritus, rather than

weep worlds away in the style of a Diogenes.

I am, &c. &c.

J. S. jun.

_Little Chelsea,_

_Jan. 4, 1826._

* * * * *

In the preface to Mr. Davies Gilbert’s work on “Ancient Christmas

Carols,” there is an account of Cornish sports, with a description of a

“metrical play,” which seems to be the same with which is the subject of

the preceding letter.

* * * * *

Being on the _popular_ drama, and as the topic arose in Mr. Reddock’s

communication from Scotland, a whimsical dramatic anecdote, with another

of like kin from that part of the kingdom, is here subjoined from a

Scottish journal of this month in the year 1823.

_New Readings of Burns._

We were lately favoured with the perusal of a Perth play-bill, in which

_Tam O’Shanter_, dramatized, is announced for performance as the

afterpiece. A ludicrous mistake has occurred, however, in the

classification of the _Dramatis Personæ_. The sapient playwright, it

would appear, in reading the lines

“Tam had got planted unco richt,

Fast by an ingle bleezin’ finely,

Wi’ _reaman’ swats_ that drank divinely,”

very naturally conceiving ream an’ swats, from the delectable style of

their carousing, to be a brace of Tam’s pot companions, actually

introduced them as such, as we find in the bill that the characters of

“Ream” and “Swats” are to be personated by two of the performers!

This reminds us of an anecdote, connected with the same subject, which

had its origin nearer home. Some time ago we chanced to be in the shop

of an elderly bookseller, when the conversation turned upon the identity

of the characters introduced by Burns in his _Tam O’Shanter_. The

bibliopole, who had spent the early part of his life in this

neighbourhood, assured us that, “exceptin’ Kerr, he kent every body to

leuk at that was mentioned, frae _Tam_ himsel’ doun to his mare

_Maggie_.” This being the first time we had ever heard Mr. Kerr’s

cognomen alluded to, in connection with _Tam O’Shanter_, we expressed

considerable surprise, and stated that he undoubtedly must have made a

mistake in the name. “It may be sae, but its a point easily sattled,”

said he, _raxing_ down a copy of Burns from the shelf. With “spectacles

on nose,” he turned up the poem in question. “Ay, ay,” said he, in an

exulting tone, “I thocht I was na that far wrang--

“_Care_ mad to see a man sae happy,

E’n drowned himself amang the happy.”

Now, I kent twa or three o’ the Kerr’s that leev’t in the town-head,

but I never could fin’ out whilk o’ them Burns had in his e’e when he

wrote the poem.”[29]

* * * * *

To Thespian ingenuity we are under an obligation for an invention of

great simplicity, which may be useful on many occasions, particularly to

literary persons who are too far removed from the press to avail

themselves of its advantages in printing short articles for limited

distribution.

_A Dramatic Printing Apparatus._

Itinerant companies of comedians frequently print their play-bills by

the following contrivance: The form of letter is placed on a flat

support, having ledges at each side, that rise within about a thirteenth

of an inch of the inked surface of the letter. The damped paper is laid

upon the letter so disposed, and previously inked, and a roller, covered

with woollen cloth, is passed along the ledges over its surface; the use

of the ledges is to prevent the roller from rising in too obtuse an

angle against the first letters, or going off too abruptly from the

last, which would cause the paper to be cut, and the impression to be

injured at the beginning and end of the sheet. The roller must be passed

across the page, for if it moves in the order of the lines, the paper

will bag a little between each, and the impression will be less

neat.[30]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·65.

[29] Ayr Courier.

[30] Dr. Aikin’s Athenæum.

~January 17.~

_Snow, &c._

On the 16th and 17th of January, 1809, Mr. Howard observed, that the

snow exhibited the beautiful blue and pink shades at sunset which are

sometimes observable, and that there was a strong evaporation from its

surface. A circular area, of five inches diameter, lost 150 grains troy,

from sunset on the 15th to sunrise next morning, and about 50 grains

more by the following sunset; the gauge being exposed to a smart breeze

on the house top. The curious reader may hence compute for himself, the

enormous quantity raised in those 24 hours, without any visible

liquefaction, from an acre of snow: the effects of the load thus given

to the air were soon perceptible. On the 17th, a small brilliant meteor

descended on the S. E. horizon about 6 p. m. On the 18th, though the

moon was still conspicuous, the horns of the crescent were obtuse. On

the 19th appeared the _Cirrus_ cloud, followed by the _Cirrostratus_. In

the afternoon a freezing shower from the eastward glazed the windows,

encrusted the walls, and encased the trees, the garments of passengers,

and the very plumage of the birds with ice. Birds thus disabled were

seen lying on the ground in great numbers in different parts of the

country. Nineteen rooks were taken up alive by one person at Castle

Eaton Meadow, Wilts. The composition of this frozen shower, examined on

a sheet of paper, was no less curious than these effects. It consisted

of hollow spherules of ice, filled with water; of transparent globules

of hail; and of drops of water at the point of freezing, which became

solid on touching the bodies they fell on. The thermometer exposed from

the window indicated 30,5°. This was at Plaistow. The shower was

followed by a moderate fall of snow. From this time to the 24th, there

were variable winds and frequent falls of snow, which came down on the

22d in flakes as large as dollars, with sleet at intervals. On the 24th

a steady rain from W. decided for a thaw. This and the following night

proved stormy: the melted snow and rain, making about two inches depth

of water on the level, descended suddenly by the rivers, and the country

was inundated to a greater extent than in the year 1795. The River Lea

continued rising the whole of the 26th, remained stationary during the

27th, and returned into its bed in the course of the two following days.

The various channels by which it intersects this part of the country

were united in one current, above a mile in width, which flowed with

great impetuosity, and did much damage. From breaches in the banks and

mounds, the different _levels_, as they are termed, of embanked pasture

land, were filled to the depth of eight or nine feet. The cattle, by

great exertions, were preserved, being mostly in the stall; and the

inhabitants, driven to their upper rooms, were relieved by boats plying

under the windows. The Thames was so full during this time, that no tide

was perceptible; happily, however, its bank suffered no injury; and the

recession of the water from the levels proceeded with little

interruption till the 23d of February, when it nearly all subsided. No

lives were lost in these parts; but several circumstances concurred to

render this inundation less mischievous than it might have been, from

the great depth of snow on the country. It was the time of _neap_ tide;

the wind blew strongly from the _westward_, urging the water _down_ the

Thames; while moonlight nights, and a temperate atmosphere, were

favourable to the poor, whose habitations were filled with water. On the

28th appeared a lunar halo of the largest diameter. On the 29th, after a

fine morning, the wind began to blow hard from the south, and during the

whole night of the 30th it raged with excessive violence from the west,

doing considerable damage. The barometer rose, during this hurricane,

one-tenth of an inch per hour. The remainder of the noon was stormy and

wet, and it closed with squally weather; which, with the frequent

appearance of the rainbow, indicated the approach of a drier atmosphere,

a change on few occasions within Mr. Howard’s recollection more

desirable.

Numerous inundations, consequent on the thaw of the 24th, appear to have

prevailed in low and level districts all along the east side of the

island: but in no part with more serious destruction of property, public

works, and the hopes of the husbandman, than in the fens of

Cambridgeshire: where, by some accounts, 60,000, by others above 150,000

acres of land, were laid under deep water, through an extent of 15

miles. It is a fact worth preserving, that about 500 sacks filled with

earth, and laid on the banks of the Old Bedford river, at various

places, where the waters were then flowing over, proved effectual in

saving that part of the country from a general deluge.

[Illustration: ~Swearing on the Horns at Highgate.~]

It’s a custom at Highgate, that all who go through,

Must be sworn on the horns, sir!--and so, sir, must you!

Bring the horns! shut the door!--now, sir, take off your hat!--

When you come here again, don’t forget to mind _that_!

*

“Have you been sworn at Highgate?” is a question frequently asked in

every part of the kingdom; for, that such a custom exists in this

village is known far and near, though many who inquire, and are asked,

remain ignorant of the ceremony. As the practice is declining, diligence

has been exercised to procure information on the spot, and from every

probable source, concerning this remarkable usage.

The village of Highgate takes its name from the gate across the public

road into London, opposite the chapel, which is sometimes erroneously

called the church, for it is, in fact, only a chapel of ease to Hornsey

church. This road runs through land belonging to the bishopric of

London, and was made, by permission of the bishop in former times,

probably when the whole of this spot, and the circumjacent country, was

covered with wood, and part of the great forest of Middlesex, which,

according to Matthew Paris, was infested by wolves, stags, boars, and

other wild beasts, besides robbers. This gate, from being on the great

northern eminence towards London, was called the _high_-gate; as the

land became cleared of wood, houses arose near the spot, and hence the

village now called _Highgate_. It seems probable, that the first

dwelling erected here was the gate-house. The occupier of the inn of

that name holds it under a lease from the bishop, under which lease he

also farms the bishop’s toll. In the year 1769 the old gate-house, which

extended over the road, was taken down, and the present common

turnpike-gate put up. So much, then, concerning Highgate, as

introductory to the custom about to be related.

“Swearing on the _horns_,” which now is “a custom more honour’d in the

breach than in the observance,” prevailed at Highgate as a continual

popular amusement and private annoyance. An old and respectable

inhabitant of the village says, that sixty years ago upwards of eighty

stages stopped every day at the Red Lion, and that out of every five

passengers three were sworn. It is a jocular usage of the place, from

beyond the memory of man, especially encouraged by certain of the

villagers, to the private advantage of public landlords. On the drawing

up of coaches at the inn-doors, particular invitations were given to the

company to alight, and after as many as could be collected were got into

a room for purposes of refreshment, the subject of being “sworn at

Highgate” was introduced, and while a little artifice easily detected

who had not taken the oath, some perhaps expressed a wish to submit to

the ceremony. It often happened however, that before these facts could

be ascertained “the horns” were brought in by the landlord, and as soon

as they appeared, enough were usually present to enforce compliance.

“The horns,” fixed on a pole of about five feet in height, were erected,

by placing the pole upright on the ground, near the person to be sworn,

who was required to take off his hat, and all present having done the

same, the landlord then, in a loud voice, swore in the “party

proponent.” What is called the oath is traditional, and varies verbally

in a small degree. It has been taken down in writing from the lips of

different persons who administer it, and after a careful collation of

the different versions the following may be depended on as correct.--The

landlord, or the person appointed by him to “swear in,” proclaims

aloud--

“Upstanding and uncovered! Silence!” Then he addresses himself to the

person he swears in, thus:--

“TAKE NOTICE what I now say unto you, for _that_ is the first word of

your oath--mind _that_! You must acknowledge me to be your adopted

Father, I must acknowledge you to be my adopted son (or daughter.) If

you do not call me father you forfeit a bottle of wine, if I do not call

you son, I forfeit the same. And now, my good son, if you are travelling

through this village of Highgate, and you have no money in your pocket,

go call for a bottle of wine at any house you think proper to go into,

and book it to your father’s score. If you have any friends with you,

you may treat them as well, but if you have money of your own, you must

pay for it yourself. For you must not say you have no money when you

have, neither must you convey the money out of your own pocket into your

friends’ pockets, for I shall search you as well as them, and if it is

found that you or they have money, you forfeit a bottle of wine for

trying to cozen and cheat your poor old ancient father. You must not eat

brown bread while you can get white, except you like the brown the best;

you must not drink small beer while you can get strong, except you like

the small the best. You must not kiss the maid while you can kiss the

mistress, except you like the maid the best, but sooner than lose a good

chance you may kiss them both. And now, my good son, for a word or two

of advice. Keep from all houses of ill repute, and every place of public

resort for bad company. Beware of false friends, for they will turn to

be your foes, and inveigle you into houses where you may lose your money

and get no redress. Keep from thieves of every denomination. And now, my

good son, I wish you a safe journey through Highgate and this life. I

charge you, my good son, that if you know any in this company who have

not taken this oath, you must cause them to take it, or make each of

them forfeit a bottle of wine, for if you fail to do so you will forfeit

a bottle of wine yourself. So now, my son, God bless you! Kiss the horns

or a pretty girl if you see one here, which you like best, and so be

free of Highgate!”

If a female be in the room she is usually saluted, if not, the horns

_must_ be kissed: the option was not allowed formerly. As soon as the

salutation is over the swearer-in commands “silence!” and then

addressing himself to his new-made “son,” he says, “I have now to

acquaint you with your privilege as a freeman of this place. If at any

time you are going through Highgate and want to rest yourself, and you

see a pig lying in a ditch you have liberty to kick her out and take her

place; but if you see three lying together you must only kick out the

middle one and lie between the other two! God save the king!” This

important privilege of the freemen of Highgate was first discovered by

one Joyce a blacksmith, who a few years ago kept the Coach and Horses,

and subjoined the agreeable information to those whom “he swore in.”

When the situation of things and persons seems to require it, the

“bottle of wine” is sometimes compounded for by a modus of sundry

glasses of “grog,” and in many cases a pot of porter.

* * * * *

There is one circumstance essential for a freeman of Highgate to

remember, and “_that_ is the first word of his oath,--mind _that_!” If

he fail to recollect _that_, he is subject to be resworn from time to

time, and so often, until he remember _that_. He is therefore never to

forget the injunction before he swears, to take notice what is said,

“for _that_ is the first word of your oath--mind _that_!” Failure of

memory is deemed want of comprehension, which is no plea in the high

court of Highgate--“mind _that_!” That is, that _that_ “that,” is

“_that_.”

* * * * *

There is no other formality in the administration or taking of this

oath, than what is already described; and the only other requisite for

“a stranger in _Highgate_” to be told, is, that now in the year 1826,

there are nineteen licensed houses in this village, and that at each of

these houses the “horns” are kept, and the oath administered by the

landlord or his deputy.

To note the capabilities of each house, their signs are here enumerated,

with the quality of horns possessed by each.

1. THE GATE-HOUSE is taken first in order, as being best entitled to

priority, because it has the most respectable accommodation in Highgate.

Besides the usual conveniences of stabling and beds, it has a

coffee-room, and private rooms for parties, and a good assembly-room.

The horns there are Stag’s.

2. Mitre, has Stag’s horns.

3. Green Dragon, Stag’s horns.

4. Red Lion and Sun, Bullock’s horns.

The late husband of Mrs. Southo, the present intelligent landlady of

this house, still lives in the recollection of many inhabitants, as

having been a most facetious swearer in.

5. Bell, Stag’s horns. This house now only known as the sign of the

“Bell,” was formerly called the “Bell and Horns.” About fifty years ago,

it was kept by one Anderson, who had his “horns” over his door, to

denote that persons were sworn there as well as at the Gate-house.

Wright, the then landlord of the “Red Lion and Sun,” determined not to

be outrivalled, and hung out a pair of bullock’s horns so enormous in

size, and otherwise so conspicuous, as to eclipse the “Bell and Horns;”

at last, all the public houses in the village got “horns,” and swore in.

It is within recollection that every house in Highgate had “the horns”

at the door as a permanent sign.

6. Coach and Horses, Ram’s horns.

7. Castle, Ram’s horns.

8. Red Lion, Ram’s horns.

9. Wrestler’s, Stag’s horns.

10. Bull, Stag’s horns.

11. Lord Nelson, Stag’s horns.

12. Duke of Wellington, Stag’s horns.

This house is at the bottom of Highgate Hill, towards Finchley, in the

angle formed by the intersection of the old road over the hill, and the

road through the archway to Holloway. It therefore commands the Highgate

entrance into London, and the landlord avails himself of his “eminence”

at the foot of the hill, by proffering his “horns” to all who desire to

be free of Highgate.

13. Crown, Stag’s horns. This is the first public house in Highgate

coming from Holloway.

14. Duke’s Head, Stag’s horns.

15. Cooper’s Arms, Ram’s horns.

16. Rose and Crown, Stag’s horns.

17. Angel, Stag’s horns.

18. Flask, Ram’s horns.

This old house is now shut up. It is at the top of Highgate Hill, close

by the pond, which was formed there by a hermit, who caused gravel to be

excavated for the making of the road from Highgate to Islington, through

Holloway. Of this labour old Fuller speaks, he calls it a “two-handed

charity, providing water on the hill where it was wanting, and

cleanliness in the valley which before, especially in winter, was passed

with difficulty.”

19. Fox and Crown, Ram’s Horns.

This house, commonly called the “Fox” and the “Fox under the Hill,” is

nearly at the top of the road from Kentish Town to Highgate, and though

not the most remarked perhaps, is certainly the most remarkable house

for “swearing on the horns.” Guiver, the present landlord, (January

1826) came to the house about Michaelmas 1824, and many called upon him

to be sworn in; not having practised he was unqualified to indulge the

requisitionists, and very soon finding, that much of the custom of his

house depended on the “custom of Highgate,” and imagining that he had

lost something by his indifference to the usage, he boldly determined to

obtain “indemnity for the past, and security for the future.” Thereupon

he procured habiliments, and an assistant, and he is now an

office-bearer as regards the aforesaid “manner” of Highgate, and

exercises his faculties so as to dignify the custom. Robed in a domino

with a wig and mask, and a book wherein is written the oath, he recites

it in this costume as he reads it through a pair of spectacles. The

staff with “the horns” is held by an old villager who acts as clerk, and

at every full stop, calls aloud, “Amen!” This performance furnishes the

representation of the present engraving from a sketch by Mr. George

Cruikshank. He has waggishly misrepresented one of the figures, which

not being the landlord, who is the most important character, no way

affects the general fidelity of the scenes sometimes exhibited in the

parlour of the Fox and Crown.

* * * * *

It is not uncommon for females to be “sworn at Highgate.” On such

occasions the word “daughter” is substituted for “son,” and other

suitable alterations are made in the formality. Anciently there was a

register kept at the gate-house, wherein persons enrolled their names

when sworn there, but the book unaccountably disappeared many years

ago.--Query. Is it in Mr. Upcott’s collection of autographs?

There seems to be little doubt, that the usage first obtained at the

Gate-house; where, as well as in other public houses, though not in all,

at this time, deputies are employed to swear in. An old inhabitant, who

formerly kept a licensed house, says, “In _my_ time nobody came to

Highgate in any thing of a carriage, without being called upon to be

sworn in. There was so much doing in this way at one period, that I was

obliged to hire a man as a ‘swearer-in:’ I have sworn in from a hundred

to a hundred and twenty in a day. Bodies of tailors used to come up here

from town, bringing five or six new shopmates with them to be sworn; and

I have repeatedly had parties of ladies and gentlemen in private

carriages come up purposely to be made free of Highgate in the same

way.”

Officers of the guards and other regiments repeatedly came to the

Gate-house and called for “the horns.” Dinner parties were formed there

for the purpose of initiating strangers, and as pre-requisite for

admission to sundry convivial societies, now no more, the freedom of

Highgate was indispensable.

* * * * *

Concerning the origin of this custom, there are two or three stories.

One is, that it was devised by a landlord, who had lost his licence, as

a means of covering the sale of his liquors; to this there seems no

ground of credit.

Another, and a probable account, is, to this effect--That Highgate being

the place nearest to London where cattle rested on their way from the

north for sale in Smithfield, certain graziers were accustomed to put up

at the Gate-house for the night, but as they could not wholly exclude

strangers, who like themselves were travelling on their business, they

brought an ox to the door, and those who did not choose to kiss its

horns, after going through the ceremony described, were not deemed fit

members of their society.

* * * * *

It is imagined by some, because it is so stated in a modern book or two

as likely, that the horns were adopted to swear this whimsical oath

upon, because it was tendered at the parish of _Horns-ey_, wherein

Highgate is situated.

The reader may choose either of these origins; he has before him all

that can be known upon the subject.

* * * * *

An anecdote related by Mrs. Southo of the Red Lion and Sun, may, or may

not, be illustrative of this custom. She is a native of Hoddesdon in

Hertfordshire, where her father kept the Griffin, and she says, that

when any fresh waggoner came to that house with his team, a drinking

horn, holding about a pint, fixed on a stand made of four rams’ horns,

was brought out of the house, and elevated above his head, and he was

compelled to pay a gallon of beer, and to drink out of the horn. She

never heard how the usage originated; it had been observed, and the

stand of rams’ horns had been in the house, from time immemorial.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·52.

~January 18.~

_St. Priscian._

In the church of England calendar.

OLD TWELFTH DAY.

This is still observed in some parts of England.

_Don Sebastian._

In default of holiday making by the editor, who during the Christmas

season has been employed in finishing the indexes, which will be in the

readers’ hands in few days to enable them to complete the first volume

of this work, he has now and then turned to his collections to relieve

the wearisomeness of his occupation, and finding the following anecdote

in “The Times” of Dec. 1825, he subjoins from his stores an

illustration of the curious fact it relates to. “It may be mentioned,”

_The Times_ says, “as a singular species of infatuation, that many

Portuguese residing in Brazil as well as Portugal, still believe in the

coming of Sebastian, the romantic king, who was killed in Africa about

the year 1578, in a pitched battle with the emperor Muley Moluc. Some of

these old visionaries will go out, wrapped in their large cloaks, on a

windy night, to watch the movements of the heavens, and frequently, if

an exhalation is seen flitting in the air, resembling a falling star,

they will cry out, “there he comes!” Sales of horses and other things

are sometimes effected, payable at the coming of king Sebastian. It was

this fact that induced Junot, when asked what he would be able to do

with the Portuguese, to answer, what can I do with a people who are

still waiting for the coming of the Messiah and king Sebastian?”

This superstitious belief is mentioned in a MS. Journal of a Residence

at Lisbon in 1814, written by an individual personally known to the

editor, who extracts from the narrative as follows:--

It is the daily practice at Lisbon for the master of the family to cater

for the wants of his table himself. According to ancient usage, he must

either employ and pay a porter to carry home his purchases at market, or

send a servant for them. A certain doctor, well known to be a lover of

fish, and an enthusiastic expectant of Don Sebastian, was watched

several days in the fish market by some knavish youths, who contrived a

trick upon him. One morning, they observed him very intent upon a fine

large fish, yet disagreeing with the fishmonger as to its price. One of

these knaves managed to inform the man, if he would let the doctor have

the fish at his own price he would pay the difference, and the

fishmonger soon concluded the bargain with the doctor. As soon as he was

gone, one of the party, without the fishmonger’s knowledge, insinuated

down the fish’s throat a scroll of parchment curiously packed, and

shortly afterwards, the doctor’s servant arrived for his master’s

purchase. On opening the fish, in order to its being cooked, the

parchment deposit was found, and the credulous man, to his astonishment

and delight, read as follows:--

“Worthy and well-beloved Signor: ---- ----, respected by the saints and

now revered by men. From our long observation of thine heart’s

integrity, and in full knowledge of thy faith and firm belief, thou art

selected as the happy instrument of our return; but know, most worthy

Signor, the idea of a white horse in clouds of air, is a mere fable

invented by weak men. It will be far otherwise, but be thou circumspect

and secret, and to thee these things will be explained hereafter. Know,

that by the element of water, by which we make this known, we shall

return. Not far from Fort St. Juliana is a spot thou knowest well, a

smooth declivity towards the sea; it is there we first shall touch the

shore of our loved Portugal to-morrow’s night at twelve. Be thou there

alone, and softly gliding on the water’s surface a small boat shall

appear. Be silent and remain quiet on our appearance, for until we can

join our prayers with thine thou must not speak; load not thyself with

coin, for soon as dawn appears a troop of goodly horse from Cintra’s

Road will rise upon thy view. But be not destitute of wherewith to bear

thine expense. All thy future life shall be thy prince’s care.

“SEBASTIAN.”

The trick succeeded; for the next day the doctor left Lisbon as

privately as possible, while his trepanners who had watched him quickly

followed, two in a boat hired for the purpose, and two on shore, to make

a signal. The boat arrived at the appointed hour, and the doctor

expected nothing less than the landing of the long expected and

well-beloved Sebastian. It reached the shore, and by those who stepped

out and their confederates concealed on the beach, the doctor was eased

of some doubloons he had with him, received a cool dip in the water, and

was left on the beach to bewail his folly. The story soon got wind, and

now (in 1814) there are wags who, when they observe the doctor coming,

affect to see something in the sky; this hint concerning Don Sebastian’s

appearance is usually intimated beyond the reach of the doctor’s cane.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·12.

~January 19.~

_Feast of Lanthorns._

This is a festival with the Chinese on the fifteenth day of the first

month of their year. It is so called from the great number of

_lanthorns_ hung out of the houses, and in the streets; insomuch that it

rather appears a season of madness, than of feasting. On this day are

exposed lanthorns of all prices, whereof some are said to cost two

thousand crowns. Some of their grandees retrench somewhat every day out

of their table, their dress, their equipage, &c. to appear the more

magnificent in lanthorns. They are adorned with gilding, sculpture,

painting, japanning, &c. and as to their size, it is extravagant; some

are from twenty-five to thirty feet diameter; they represent halls and

chambers. Two or three such machines together would make handsome

houses. In lanthorns of these dimensions the Chinese are able to eat,

lodge, receive visits, have balls, and act plays. The great multitude of

smaller lanthorns usually consist of six faces or lights, each about

four feet high, and one and a half broad, framed in wood finely gilt and

adorned; over these are stretched a fine transparent silk, curiously

painted with flowers, trees, and sometimes human figures. The colours

are extremely bright; and when the torches are lighted, they appear

highly beautiful and surprising.

_French Lark Shooting._

To the gentleman whose letter from Abbeville, descriptive of “Wild fowl

shooting in France,” is on p. 1575 of vol. I., the editor is indebted

for another on “Lark shooting,” which is successfully practised there by

a singular device unknown to sportsmen in this country.[31]

[Illustration: ~Lark Shooting in France.~]

------------------ As far-off islanders,

Innocent of trade, unskilled in commerce,

To whom a glass or toy unknown before

Is wonderful, give freely, flocks and fruits

To gain mere baubles; so, these silly birds

Attracted by the glisten of the twirler,

Hover above the passing strange decoy,

Intent to gaze, and fall the gunner’s prey.

*

_Abbeville._

Dear Sir,

If I do not send you your wished for wood cuts I at least keep my

promise of letting you hear from me. I told you in my last you should

have something about our lark-shooting, and so you shall, and at this

time too; though I assure you writing flying as I almost do, is by no

means so agreeable to me as shooting flying, which is the finest sport

imaginable. When I come home I will tell you all about it, for the

present I can only acquaint you with enough to let you into the secret

of the enjoyment that I should always find in France, if I had no other

attraction to the country. I must “level” at once, for I have no time to

spare, and so “here goes,” as the boy says.

Partridge and quail shooting cease in this delightful part of the world

about the middle of October, for by that time the partridges are so very

wild and wary that there is no getting near them. The reason of this is,

that our fields here are all open without either hedge or ditch, and

when the corn and hemp are off, the stubble is pulled up so close by the

poor people for fuel, that there is no cover for partridges; as to the

quails, they are all either “killed off,” or take their departure for a

wilder climate; and then there is nothing left for the French gentry to

amuse themselves with but lark-shooting. These birds are attracted to

any given spot in great numbers by a singular contrivance, called a

_miroir_. This is a small machine, made of a piece of mahogany, shaped

like a chapeau bras, and highly polished; or else it is made of common

wood, inlaid with small bits of looking glass, so as to reflect the suns

rays upwards. It is fixed on the top of a thin iron rod, or upright

spindle, dropped through an iron loop or ring attached to a piece of

wood, to drive into the ground as here represented.

[Illustration]

By pulling a string fastened to the spindle, the _miroir_ twirls, and

the reflected light unaccountably attracts the larks, who hover over it,

and become a mark for the sportsman. In this way I have had capital

sport. A friend of mine actually shot six dozen before breakfast. While

he sat on the ground he pulled the twirler himself, and his dogs fetched

the birds as they dropped. However, I go on in the common way, and

employ a boy to work the twirler. Ladies often partake in the amusement

on a cold dry morning, not by shooting but by watching the sport. So

many as ten or a dozen parties are sometimes out together, firing at a

distance of about five hundred yards apart, and in this way the larks

are constantly kept on the wing. The most favourable mornings are when

there is a gentle light frost, with little or no wind, and a clear

sky--for when there are clouds the larks will not approach. One would

think the birds themselves enjoyed their destruction, for the

fascination of the twirler is so strong, as to rob them of the usual

“fruits of experience.” After being fired at several times they return

to the twirler, and form again into groupes above it. Some of them even

fly down and settle on the ground, within a yard or two of the

astonishing instrument, looking at it “this way and that way, and all

ways together,” as if nothing had happened.

Larks in France fetch from three to four sous a piece. In winter,

however, when they are plentiful, they are seldom eaten, because here

they are always dressed with the trail, like snipes and woodcocks; but

for this mode of cooking they are not fitted when the snow is on the

ground, because they are then driven to eat turnip-tops, and other

watery herbs, which communicate an unpleasant flavour to the trail. Were

you here at the season, to eat larks in their perfection, and dressed as

we dress them, I think your praise of the cooking would give me the

laugh against you, if you ever afterwards ventured to declaim against

the use of the gun, which, next to my pencil, is my greatest hobby. I

send you a sketch of the sport, with the boy at the twirler--do what you

like with it.

I rather think I did not tell you in my last, that the decoy ducks, used

in wild-fowl shooting, are made of wood--any stump near at hand is

hacked out any how for the body, while a small limb of any tree is

thrust into the stump for the duck’s neck, and one of the side branches

left short makes his head. These ducks answer the purpose with their

living prototypes, who fly by moonlight, and have not a perfect view,

and don’t stay for distinctions, like philosophers.

It will not be long before I’m off for England, and then, &c.

I am, &c.

J. H. H.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·02.

[31] To his former letter J. J. H. are printed as initials by mistake,

instead of J. H. H.

~January 20.~

_Fabian._

In the church of England calendar.[32]

DEDICATION.

The dedication of each day in the year, by the Romish church, in honour

of a saint, which converts every day into a festival, is a fact pretty

well known to the readers of the _Every-Day Book_. It is also generally

known, that in certain almanacs every part of the human body is

distributed among the days throughout the year, as subjects of diurnal

influence; but it is not perhaps so well known, that every joint of

each finger on each hand was appropriated to some saint. The proof of

this is supplied by two very old prints, from engravings on wood, at the

British Museum. They are among a collection of ancient wood cuts pasted

in a folio volume. It would occupy too much room to give copies of these

representations in fac-simile: the curiously inclined, who have access

to the Museum print-room, may consult the originals; general readers may

be satisfied with the following description:--

_Right Hand._

The top joint of the _thumb_ is dedicated to GOD; the second joint to

the Virgin; the top joint of the _fore finger_ to Barnabas, the second

joint to John, the third to Paul; the top joint of the _second finger_

to Simeon Cleophas, the second joint to Tathideo, the third to Joseph;

the top joint of the _third finger_ to Zaccheus, the second to Stephen,

the third to Luke; the top joint of the _little finger_ to Leatus, the

second to Mark, the third joint to Nicodemus.

_Left Hand._

The top joint of the _thumb_ is dedicated to Christ, the second joint to

the Virgin; the top joint of the _fore finger_ to St. James, the second

to St. John the evangelist, the third to St. Peter; the first joint of

the _second finger_ to St. Simon, the second joint to St. Matthew, the

third to St. James the great; the top joint of the _third finger_ to St.

Jude, the second joint to St. Bartholomew, the third to St. Andrew; the

top joint of the _little finger_ to St. Matthias, the second joint to

St. Thomas, the third joint to St. Philip.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·92.

[32] See vol. i. p. 135.

~January 21.~

_St. Agnes._

In the church of England calendar.[33]

_How to sleep well in cold weather._

Obtain a free circulation of the blood by walking, or other wholesome

exercise, so as to procure a gentle glow over the entire surface of the

body. Hasten to your chamber, undress yourself quickly, and jump into

bed without suffering its temperature to be heightened by the machine

called a warming-pan. Your bed will be warmed by your own heat, and if

you have not eaten a meat supper, or drank spirits, you will sleep well

and warm all night. Calico sheets are adapted to this season--blankets

perhaps are better; but as they absorb perspiration they should be

washed before they come into use with sheets in summer time.

_Extraordinary sleeper._

Samuel Clinton, of Timbury, near Bath, a labouring man, about

twenty-five years of age, had frequently slept, without intermission,

for several weeks. On the 13th of May, 1694, he fell into a profound

sleep, out of which he could by no means be roused by those about him;

but after a month’s time, he rose of himself, put on his clothes, and

went about his business as usual. From that time to the 9th of April

following he remained free from any extraordinary drowsiness, but then

fell into another protracted sleep. His friends were prevailed on to try

what remedies might effect, and accordingly he was bled, blistered,

cupped, and scarified, but to no purpose. In this manner he lay till the

7th of August, when he awaked, and went into the fields, where he found

people busy in getting in the harvest, and remembered that when he fell

asleep they were sowing their oats and barley. From that time he

remained well till the 17th of August, 1697, when he complained of a

shivering, and, after some disorder of the stomach, the same day fell

fast asleep again. Dr. Oliver went to see him; he was then in an

agreeable warmth, but without the least sign of his being sensible; the

doctor then held a phial of sal-ammoniac under his nose, and injected

about half an ounce up one of his nostrils, but it only made his nose

run and his eyelids shiver a little. The doctor then filled his nostrils

with powder of white hellebore, but the man did not discover the least

uneasiness. About ten days after, the apothecary took fourteen ounces of

blood from his arm without his making the least motion during the

operation. The latter end of September Dr. Oliver again visited him, and

a gentleman present ran a large pin into his arm to the bone, but he

gave not the least sign of feeling. In this manner he lay till the 19th

of November, when his mother hearing him make a noise ran immediately to

him, and asked him how he did, and what he would have to eat? to which

he replied, “very well, I thank you; I’ll take some bread and cheese.”

His mother, overjoyed, ran to acquaint his brother that he was awake,

but on their going up stairs they found him as fast asleep as ever. Thus

he continued till the end of January, at which time he awoke perfectly

well and very little altered in his flesh, and went about his business

as usual.[34]

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·35.

[33] See vol. i. p. 141.

[34] Phil. Trans.

~January 22.~

_St. Vincent._

In the church of England calendar.[35]

[Illustration: ~Skating on the Serpentine.~]

The Hyde-park river--which no river is,

The Serpentine--which is not serpentine

When frozen, every skater claims as his,

In right of common, there to intertwine

With countless crowds, and glide upon the ice.

Lining the banks, the timid and unwilling

Stand and look on, while some the fair entice

By telling, “yonder skaters are quadrilling”--

And here the skateless hire the “_best_ skates” for a shilling.

*

A hard frost is a season of holidays in London. The scenes exhibited are

too agreeable and ludicrous for the pen to describe. They are for the

pencil; and Mr. Cruikshank’s is the only one equal to the series. In a

work like this there is no room for their display, yet he has hastily

essayed the preceding sketch in a short hour. It is proper to say, that

however gratifying the representation may be to the reader, the

friendship that extorted it is not ignorant that scarcely a tithe of

either the time or space requisite has been afforded Mr. Cruikshank for

the subject. It conveys some notion however of part of the doings on

“the Serpentine in Hyde-park” when the thermometer is below “freezing,”

and every drop of water depending from trees and eaves becomes solid,

and hangs

“like a diamond in the sky.”

The ice-bound Serpentine is the resort of every one who knows how or is

learning to skate, and on a Sunday its broad surface is covered with

gazers who have “as much right” to be on it as skaters, and therefore

“stand” upon the right to interrupt the recreation they came to see.

This is especially the case on a Sunday. The entire of this canal from

the wall of Kensington-gardens to the extremity at the Knightsbridge end

was, on Sunday the 15th of January, 1826, literally a mob of skaters and

gazers. At one period it was calculated that there were not less than a

hundred thousand persons upon this single sheet of ice.

* * * * *

The coachmen on the several roads, particularly on the western and

northern roads, never remembered a severer frost than they experienced

on the Sunday night just mentioned. Those who recollected that of 1814,

when the Thames was frozen over, and booths raised on the ice, declared

that they did not feel it so severely, as it did not come on so

suddenly. The houses and trees in the country had a singular appearance

on the Monday, owing to the combination of frost and fog; the trees, and

fronts of houses, and even the glass was covered with thick white frost,

and was no more transparent than ground-glass.

Butchers, in the suburbs, where the frost was felt more keenly than in

the metropolis, were obliged to keep their shops shut in order to keep

out the frost; many of them carried the meat into their parlours, and

kept it folded up in cloths round the fires, and unfolded it as their

customers came in and required it. The market gardeners also felt the

severity of the weather--it stopped their labours, and some of the men,

attended by their wives, went about in parties, and with frosted greens

fixed at the tops of rakes and hoes, uttered the ancient cry of “Pray

remember the gardeners! Remember the poor frozen out gardeners!”[36]

* * * * *

_The Apparition._

’Twas silence all, the rising moon

With clouds had veil’d her light,

The clock struck twelve, when, lo! I saw

A very chilling sight.

Pale as a snow-ball was its face,

Like icicles its hair;

For mantle, it appeared to me

A sheet of ice to wear.

Tho’ seldom given to alarm,

I’ faith, I’ll not dissemble,

My teeth all chatter’d in my head,

And every joint did tremble.

At last, I cried, “Pray who are you,

And whither do you go?”

Methought the phantom thus replied,

“My name is Sally Snow;

“My father is the Northern Wind,

My mother’s name was Water;

Old parson Winter married them,

And I’m their hopeful Daughter.

“I have a lover--Jackey Frost,

My dad the match condemns;

I’ve run from home to-night to meet

My love upon the Thames.”

I stopp’d Miss Snow in her discourse,

This answer just to cast in,

“I hope, if John and you unite,

Your union wo’n’t be lasting!

“Besides, if you should marry him,

But ill you’d do, that I know;

For surely Jackey Frost must be

A very slippery fellow.”

She sat her down before the fire,

My wonder now increases;

For she I took to be a maid,

Then tumbled into pieces!

For air, thin air, did Hamlet’s ghost,

His foremost cock-crow barter;

But what I saw, and now describe,

Resolv’d itself to water.

GREAT FROST, 1814.

The severest and most remarkable frost in England of late years,

commenced in December, 1813, and generally called “the Great Frost in

1814,” was preceded by a great fog, which came on with the evening of

the 27th of December, 1813. It is described as a darkness that might be

felt. Cabinet business of great importance had been transacted, and lord

Castlereagh left London about two hours before, to embark for the

continent. The prince regent, (since George IV.) proceeding towards

Hatfield on a visit to the marquis of Salisbury, was obliged to return

to Carlton-house, after being absent several hours, during which period

the carriages had not reached beyond Kentish-town, and one of the

outriders fell into a ditch. Mr. Croker, secretary of the admiralty, on

a visit northward, wandered likewise several hours in making a progress

not more than three or four miles, and was likewise compelled to put

back. It was “darkness that might be felt.”

On most of the roads, excepting the high North-road, travelling was

performed with the utmost danger, and the mails were greatly impeded.

On the 28th, the Maidenhead coach coming to London, missed the road near

Hartford bridge and was overturned. Lord Hawarden was among the

passengers, and severely injured.

On the 29th, the Birmingham mail was nearly seven hours in going from

the Post-office to a mile or two below Uxbridge, a distance of twenty

miles only: and on this, and other evenings, the short stages in the

neighbourhood of London had two persons with links, running by the

horses’ heads. Pedestrians carried links or lanterns, and many, who were

not so provided, lost themselves in the most frequented, and at other

times well-known streets. Hackney-coachmen mistook the pathway for the

road, and the greatest confusion prevailed.

On the 31st, the increased fog in the metropolis was, at night, truly

alarming. It required great attention and thorough knowledge of the

public streets to proceed any distance, and persons who had material

business to transact were unavoidably compelled to carry torches. The

lamps appeared through the haze like small candles. Careful

hackney-coachmen got off the box and led their horses, while others

drove only at a walking pace. There were frequent meetings of

carriages, and great mischief ensued. Foot passengers, alarmed at the

idea of being run down, exclaimed, “Who is coming?”--“Mind!”--“Take

care!” &c. Females who ventured abroad were in great peril; and

innumerable people lost their way.

After the fogs, there were heavier falls of snow than had been within

the memory of man. With only short intervals, it snowed incessantly for

forty-eight hours, and this after the ground was covered with ice, the

result of nearly four weeks continued frost. During this long period,

the wind blew almost continually from the north and north-east, and the

cold was intense. A short thaw of about one day, rendered the streets

almost impassable. The mass of snow and water was so thick, that

hackney-coaches with an additional horse, and other vehicles, could

scarcely plough their way through. Trade and calling of all kinds in the

streets were nearly stopped, and considerably increased the distresses

of the industrious. Few carriages, even stages, could travel the roads,

and those in the neighbourhood of London seemed deserted. From many

buildings, icicles, a yard and a half long, were seen suspended. The

water-pipes to the houses were all frozen, and it became necessary to

have plugs in the streets for the supply of all ranks of inhabitants.

The Thames, from London Bridge to Blackfriars, was completely blocked up

at ebb-tide for nearly a fortnight. Every pond and river near the

metropolis was completely frozen.

Skating was pursued with great avidity on the Canal in St. James’s, and

the Serpentine in Hyde-park. On Monday the 10th of _January_, the Canal

and the Basin in the Green-park were conspicuous for the number of

skaters, who administered to the pleasure of the throngs on the banks;

some by the agility and grace of their evolutions, and others by tumbles

and whimsical accidents from clumsy attempts. A motley collection of all

orders seemed eager candidates for applause. The sweep, the dustman, the

drummer, the beau, gave evidence of his own good opinion, and claimed

that of the _belles_ who viewed his movements. In Hyde-park, a more

distinguished order of visitors crowded the banks of the Serpentine.

Ladies, in robes of the richest fur, bid defiance to the wintry winds,

and ventured on the frail surface. Skaters, in great numbers, of

first-rate notoriety, executed some of the most difficult movements of

the art, to universal admiration. A lady and two officers, who performed

a reel with a precision scarcely conceivable, received applause so

boisterous as to terrify the fair cause of the general expression, and

occasion her to forego the pleasure she received from the amusement. Two

accidents occurred: a skating lady dislocated the _patella_ or kneepan,

and five gentlemen and a lady were submerged in the frosty fluid, but

with no other injury than from the natural effect of so cold an embrace.

* * * * *

On the 20th, in consequence of the great accumulation of snow in London,

it became necessary to relieve the roofs of the houses by throwing off

the load collected upon them. By this means the carriage-ways in the

middle of the streets were rendered scarcely passable; and the streams

constantly flowing from the open plugs, added to the general mass of

ice.

Many coach proprietors, on the northern and western roads, discontinued

to run their coaches. In places where the roads were low, the snow had

drifted above carriage height. On Finchley-common, by the fall of one

night, it lay to a depth of sixteen feet, and the road was impassable

even to oxen. On Bagshot-heath and about Esher and Cobham the road was

completely choked up. Except the Kent and Essex roads, no others were

passable beyond a few miles from London. The coaches of the western road

remained stationary at different parts. The Windsor coach was worked

through the snow at Colnbrook, which was there sixteen feet deep, by

employing about fifty labourers. At Maidenhead-lane, the snow was still

deeper; and between Twyford and Reading it assumed a mountainous

appearance. Accounts say that, on parts of Bagshot-heath, description

would fail to convey an adequate idea of its situation. The Newcastle

coach went off the road into a pit upwards of eight feet deep, but

without mischief to either man or horse. The middle North-road was

impassable at Highgate-hill.

* * * * *

On the 22d of January, and for some time afterwards, the ice on the

Serpentine in Hyde-park bore a singular appearance, from mountains of

snow which sweepers had collected together in different situations. The

spaces allotted for the skaters were in circles, squares, and oblongs.

Next to the carriage ride on the north side, many astonishing evolutions

were performed by the skaters. Skipping on skates, and the Turk-cap

backwards, were among the most conspicuous. The ice, injured by a

partial thaw in some places, was much _cut up_, yet elegantly dressed

females dashed between the hillocks of snow, with great bravery.

* * * * *

At this time the appearance of the river Thames was most remarkable.

Vast pieces of floating ice, laden generally with heaps of snow, were

slowly carried up and down by the tide, or collected where the

projecting banks or the bridges resisted the flow. These accumulations

sometimes formed a chain of glaciers, which, uniting at one moment, were

at another cracking and bounding against each other in a singular and

awful manner with loud noise. Sometimes these ice islands rose one over

another, covered with angry foam, and were violently impelled by the

winds and waves through the arches of the bridges, with tremendous

crashes. Near the bridges, the floating pieces collected about

mid-water, or while the tide was less forcible, and ranged themselves on

each other; the stream formed them into order by its force as it passed,

till the narrowness of the channel increased the power of the flood,

when a sudden disruption taking place, the masses burst away, and

floated off. The river was frozen over for the space of a week, and a

complete _Frost Fair_ held upon it, as will be mentioned presently.

* * * * *

Since the establishment of mail-coaches correspondence had not been so

interrupted as on this occasion. Internal communication was completely

at a stand till the roads could be in some degree cleared. The entire

face of the country was one uniform sheet of snow; no trace of road was

discoverable.

The Post-office exerted itself to have the roads cleared for the

conveyance of the mails, and the government interfered by issuing

instructions to every parish in the kingdom to employ labourers in

reopening the ways.

* * * * *

In the midland counties, particularly on the borders of Northamptonshire

and Warwickshire, the snow lay to a height altogether unprecedented. At

Dunchurch, a small village on the road to Birmingham, through Coventry,

and for a few miles round that place, in all directions, the drifts

exceeded twenty-four feet, and no tracks of carriages or travellers

could be discovered, except on the great road, for many days.

The Cambridge mail coach coming to London, sunk into a hollow of the

road, and remained with the snow drifting over it, from one o’clock to

nine in the morning, when it was dragged out by fourteen waggon horses.

The passengers, who were in the coach the whole of the time, were nearly

frozen to death.

* * * * *

On the 26th, the wind veered to the south-west, and a thaw was speedily

discernible. The great fall of the Thames at London-bridge for some days

presented a scene both novel and interesting. At the ebbing of the tide,

huge fragments of ice were precipitated down the stream with great

violence, accompanied by a noise, equal to the report of a small piece

of artillery. On the return of the tide, they were forced back; but the

obstacles opposed to their passage through the arches were so great, as

to threaten a total stoppage to the navigation of the river. The thaw

continued, and these appearances gradually ceased.

On the 27th, 28th, and 29th, the roads and streets were nearly

impassable from floods, and the accumulation of snow. On Sunday the 30th

a sharp frost set in, and continued till the following Saturday evening,

the 5th of February.

* * * * *

The _Falmouth_ mail coach started from thence for Exeter, after having

proceeded a few miles was overturned, without material injury to the

passengers. With the assistance of an additional pair of horses it

reached the first stage; after which all endeavours to proceed were

found perfectly useless, and the letters were sent to Bodmin by the

guard on horseback. The Falmouth and Plymouth coach and its passengers

were obliged to remain at St. Austell.

At _Plymouth_, the snow was nearly four feet high in several of the

streets.

At _Liverpool_, on the 17th of January, Fahrenheit’s thermometer, in the

Athenæum, stood at fifteen degrees; seven below the freezing point. From

the ice accumulated in the Mersey, boats could not pass over. Almost

all labour without doors was at a stand.

At _Gloucester_, Jan. 17. The severity of the frost had not been

exceeded by any that preceded it. The Severn was frozen over, and people

went to Tewkesbury market across the ice on horseback. The cold was

intense. The thermometer, exposed in a north-eastern aspect, stood at

thirteen degrees, nine below the freezing point. On the eastern coast,

it stood as low as nine and ten; a degree of cold unusual in this

county.

_Bristol_, Jan. 18. The frost continued in this city with the like

severity. The Floating Harbour from Cumberland basin to the Feeder, at

the bottom of Avon-street, was one continued sheet of ice; and for the

first time in the memory of man, the skater made his appearance under

Bristol-bridge. The Severn was frozen over at various points, so as to

bear the weight of passengers.

At _Whitehaven_, Jan. 18, the frost had increased in severity. All the

ponds and streams were frozen; and there was scarcely a pump in the town

that gave out water. The market was very thinly attended; it having been

found in many parts impossible to travel until the snow was cut.

At _Dublin_, Jan. 14, the snow lay in a quantity unparalleled for half a

century. In the course of one day and night, it descended so

inconceivably thick and rapid, as to block up all the roads, and

preclude the possibility of the mail coaches being able to proceed, and

it was even found impracticable to send the mails on horseback. Thus all

intercourse with the interior was cut off, and it was not until the

18th, when an intense frost suddenly commenced, that the communication

was opened, and several mail bags arrived from the country on horseback.

The snow in many of the narrow streets of Dublin, after the footways had

been in some measure cleared, was more than six feet. It was nearly

impossible for any carriage to force a passage, and few ventured on the

hazardous attempt. Accidents, both distressing and fatal, occurred. In

several streets and lanes the poorer inhabitants were literally blocked

up in their houses, and in the attempt to go abroad, experienced every

kind of misery. The number of deaths from cold and distress were greater

than at any other period, unless at the time of the plague. There were

eighty funerals on the Sunday before this date. The coffin-makers in

Cook-street could with difficulty complete their numerous orders: and

not a few poor people lay dead in their wretched rooms for several days,

from the impossibility of procuring assistance to convey them to the

Hospital-fields, and the great difficulty and danger of attempting to

open the ground, which was very uneven, and where the snow remained in

some parts, twenty feet deep.

From _Canterbury_, January 25, the communication with the metropolis was

not open from Monday until Saturday preceding this date, when the snow

was cut through by the military at Chathamhill, and near Gravesend; and

the stages proceeded with their passengers. The mail of the Thursday

night arrived at Canterbury late on Friday evening, the bags having been

conveyed part of the distance upon men’s shoulders. The bags of Friday

and Saturday night arrived together on Sunday morning about ten o’clock.

_Dalrymple, North Britain_, January 29.--Wednesday, the 26th, was an

epoch ever to be remembered by the inhabitants of this village. The thaw

of that and the preceding day had opened the Doon, formerly “bound like

a rock,” to a considerable distance above this; and the melting of the

snow on the adjacent hills swelled the river beyond its usual height,

and burst up vast fragments of ice and congealed snow. It forced them

forward with irresistible impetuosity, bending trees like willows,

carrying down Skelton-bridge, and sweeping all before it. The

overwhelming torrent in its awful progress accumulated a prodigious mass

of the frozen element, which, as if in wanton frolic, it heaved out into

the fields on both sides, covering acres of ground many feet deep.

Alternately loading and discharging in this manner, it came to a door or

two in the village, as if to apprize the inhabitants of its powers. The

river having deserted its wonted channel, endeavoured to make its grand

entry by several courses successively in Saint Valley, and finding no

one of them sufficient for its reception, took them altogether, and

overrunning the whole holm at once, appeared here in terrific grandeur,

between seven and eight o’clock in the evening, when the moon retreated

behind a cloud, and the gloom of night added to the horrors of the

tremendous scene. Like a sea, it overflowed all the gardens on the east

side, from the cross to the bridge, and invaded the houses behind by the

doors and windows, extinguishing the fires in a moment, lifting and

tumbling the furniture, and gushing out at the front doors with

incredible rapidity. Its principal inroad was by the end of a bridge.

Here, while the houses stood as a bank on either side, it came crashing

and roaring up the street in full career, casting forth, within a few

yards of the cross, floats of ice like millstones. The houses on the

west side were in the same situation with those on the east. At one

place the water was running on the house-eaves, at another it was near

the door-head, and midway up the street, it stood three feet and a half

above the door. Had it advanced five minutes longer in this direction,

the whole village must have been inundated.

* * * * *

During this frost a great number of the fish called golden maids, were

picked up on Brighton beach and sold at good prices. They floated ashore

quite blind, having been reduced to that state by the snow.

* * * * *

Annexed are a few of the casualties consequent on this great frost. A

woman was found frozen to death on the Highgate-road. She proved to have

been a charwoman, returning from Highgate, where she had been at work,

to Pancras.

A poor woman named Wood, while crossing Blackheath from Leigh to the

village of Charlton, accompanied by her two children, was benighted, and

missed her way. After various efforts to extricate herself, she fell

into a hole, and was nearly buried in the snow. From this, however, she

contrived to escape, and again proceeded; but at length, being

completely exhausted, and her children benumbed with cold, she sat down

on the trunk of a tree, where, wrapping her children in her cloak, she

endeavoured by loud cries to attract the attention of some passengers.

Her shrieks at length were heard by a waggoner, who humanely waded

through the snow to her assistance, and taking her children, who seemed

in a torpid state, in his arms, he conducted her to a public-house; one

of the infants was frozen to death, and the other was recovered with

extreme difficulty.

As some workmen were clearing away the snow, which was twelve feet deep,

at Kipton, on the border of Northamptonshire, the body of a child about

three years old was discovered, and immediately afterwards the body of

its mother. She was the wife of a soldier of the 16th regiment,

returning home with her infant after accompanying her husband to the

place of embarkation. It was supposed they had been a week in the snow.

There was found lying in the road leading from Longford to Upham, frozen

to death, a Mr. Apthorne, a grazier, at Coltsworth. He had left Hounslow

at dusk on Monday evening, after having drank rather freely, and

proposed to go that night to Marlow.

On his return from Wakefield market, Mr. Husband, of Holroyd Hall, was

frozen to death, within little more than a hundred yards of the house of

his nephew, with whom he resided.

Mr. Chapman, organist, and master of the central school at Andover,

Hants, was frozen to death near Wallop, in that county.

A young man named Monk, while driving a stage-coach near Ryegate, was

thrown off the box on a lump of frozen snow, and killed on the spot.

* * * * *

The thermometer during this intense frost was as low as 7° and 8° of

Fahrenheit, in the neighbourhood of London. There are instances of its

having been lower in many seasons, but so long a continuance of very

cold weather was never experienced in this climate within the memory of

man.

~Frost Fair--1814.~

On Sunday, the 30th of January, the immense masses of ice that floated

from the upper parts of the river, in consequence of the thaw on the two

preceding days, blocked up the Thames between Blackfriars and London

Bridges; and afforded every probability of its being frozen over in a

day or two. Some adventurous persons even now walked on different parts,

and on the next day, Monday the 31st, the expectation was realized.

During the whole of the afternoon, hundreds of people were assembled on

Blackfriars and London Bridges, to see people cross and recross the

Thames on the ice. At one time seventy persons were counted walking from

Queenhithe to the opposite shore. The frost of Sunday night so united

the vast mass as to render it immovable by the tide.

On Tuesday, February 1, the river presented a thoroughly solid surface

over that part which extends from Blackfriars Bridge to some distance

below Three Crane Stairs, at the bottom of Queen-street, Cheapside. The

watermen placed notices at the end of all the streets leading to the

city side of the river, announcing a safe footway over, which attracted

immense crowds, and in a short time thousands perambulated the rugged

plain, where a variety of amusements were provided. Among the more

curious of these was the ceremony of roasting a small sheep, or rather

toasting or burning it over a coal fire, placed in a large iron pan. For

a view of this extraordinary spectacle, sixpence was demanded, and

willingly paid. The delicate meat, when _done_, was sold at a shilling a

slice, and termed “_Lapland mutton_.” There were a great number of

booths ornamented with streamers, flags, and signs, and within them

there was a plentiful store of favourite luxuries with most of the

multitude, _gin_, _beer_, and _gingerbread_. The thoroughfare opposite

Three Crane Stairs was complete and well frequented. It was strewed with

ashes, and afforded a very safe, although a very rough path. Near

Blackfriars Bridge, however, the way was not equally severe; a plumber,

named _Davis_, having imprudently ventured to cross with some lead in

his hands, sank between two masses of ice, and rose no more. Two young

women nearly shared a similar fate; they were rescued from their

perilous situation by the prompt efforts of two watermen. Many a fair

nymph indeed was embraced in the _icy arms_ of old Father Thames;--three

young quakeresses had a sort of semi-bathing, near London Bridge, and

when landed on terra-firma, made the best of their way through the

Borough, amidst the shouts of an admiring populace. From the entire

obstruction the tide did not appear to ebb for some days more than one

half the usual mark.

On Wednesday, Feb. 2, the sports were repeated, and the Thames presented

a complete “FROST FAIR.” The grand “mall” or walk now extended from

Blackfriars Bridge to London Bridge; this was named the “City-road,” and

was lined on each side by persons of all descriptions. Eight or ten

printing presses were erected and numerous pieces commemorative of the

“great frost” were printed on the ice. Some of these frosty typographers

displayed considerable taste in their specimens. At one of the presses,

an orange-coloured standard was hoisted, with the watch-word “ORANGE

BOVEN,” in large characters. This was in allusion to the recent

restoration of the stadtholder to the government of Holland, which had

been for several years under the dominion of the French. From this press

the following papers were issued.

“FROST FAIR.

“Amidst the arts which on the THAMES appear,

To tell the wonders of this _icy_ year,

PRINTING claims prior place, which at one view

Erects a monument of THAT and YOU.”

_Another:_

“You that walk here, and do design to tell

Your children’s children what this year befell,

Come, buy this print, and it will then be seen

That such a year as this has seldom been.”

Another of these _stainers of paper_ addressed the spectators in the

following terms, “Friends, now is your time to support the freedom of

the press. Can the press have greater liberty? here you find it working

in the middle of the Thames; and if you encourage us by buying our

impressions, we will keep it going in the true spirit of liberty during

the frost.” One of the articles printed and sold contained the following

lines:

“Behold, the river Thames is frozen o’er,

Which lately ships of mighty burden bore;

Now different arts and pastimes here you see,

But printing claims the superiority.”

The Lord’s prayer and several other pieces were issued from these icy

printing offices, and bought with the greatest avidity.

On Thursday, Feb. 3, the number of adventurers increased. Swings,

bookstalls, dancing in a barge, suttling-booths, playing at skittles,

and almost every appendage of a fair on land, appeared now on the

Thames. Thousands flocked to this singular spectacle of sports and

pastimes. The ice seemed to be a solid rock, and presented a truly

picturesque appearance. The view of St. Paul’s and of the city with the

white foreground had a very singular effect;--in many parts, mountains

of ice upheaved resembled the rude interior of a stone quarry.

Friday, Feb. 4. Each day brought a fresh accession of “pedlars to sell

their wares;” and the greatest rubbish of all sorts was raked up and

sold at double and treble the original cost. Books and toys, labelled

“bought on the Thames,” were in profusion. The _watermen_ profited

exceedingly, for each person paid a toll of twopence or threepence

before he was admitted to “Frost Fair;” some douceur was expected on the

return. Some of them were said to have taken six pounds each in the

course of a day.

This afternoon, about five o’clock, three persons, an old man and two

lads, were on a piece of ice above London-bridge, which suddenly

detached itself from the main body, and was carried by the tide through

one of the arches. They laid themselves down for safety, and the boatmen

at Billingsgate, put off to their assistance, and rescued them from

their impending danger. One of them was able to walk, but the other two

were carried, in a state of insensibility, to a public-house, where they

received every attention their situation required.

Many persons were on the ice till late at night, and the effect by

_moonlight_ was singularly novel and beautiful. The bosom of the Thames

seemed to rival the frozen climes of the north.

Saturday, Feb. 5. This morning augured unfavourably for the continuance

of “FROST FAIR.” The wind had veered to the south, and there was a light

fall of snow. The visitors, however, were not to be deterred by trifles.

Thousands again ventured, and there was still much life and bustle on

the frozen element; the footpath in the centre of the river was hard and

secure, and among the pedestrians were four donkies; they trotted a

nimble pace, and produced considerable merriment. At every glance, there

was a novelty of some kind or other. Gaming was carried on in all its

branches. Many of the itinerant admirers of the profits gained by _E O

Tables_, _Rouge et Noir_, _Te-totum_, wheel of fortune, the garter, &c.

were industrious in their avocations, and some of their customers left

the lures without a penny to pay the passage over a plank to the shore.

Skittles was played by several parties, and the drinking tents were

filled by females and their companions, dancing reels to the sound of

fiddles, while others sat round large fires, drinking rum, grog, and

other spirits. Tea, coffee, and eatables, were provided in abundance,

and passengers were invited to eat by way of recording their visit.

Several tradesmen, who at other times were deemed respectable, attended

with their wares, and sold books, toys, and trinkets of almost every

description.

Towards the evening, the concourse thinned; rain began to fall, and the

ice to crack, and on a sudden it floated with the printing presses,

booths, and merry-makers, to the no small dismay of publicans,

typographers, shopkeepers, and sojourners.

A short time previous to the general dissolution, a person near one of

the printing presses, handed the following _jeu d’esprit_ to its

conductor; requesting that it might be printed on the Thames.

_To Madam Tabitha Thaw._

“Dear dissolving dame,

“FATHER FROST and SISTER SNOW have _Boneyed_ my borders, formed an _idol

of ice_ upon my bosom, and all the LADS OF LONDON come to make merry:

now as you love mischief, treat the multitude with a few CRACKS by a

sudden visit, and obtain the prayers of the poor upon both banks. _Given

at my own press_, the 5th Feb. 1814.

THOMAS THAMES.”

The _thaw_ advanced more rapidly than indiscretion and heedlessness

retreated. Two genteel-looking young men ventured on the ice above

Westminster Bridge, notwithstanding the warnings of the watermen. A

large mass on which they stood, and which had been loosened by the flood

tide, gave way, and they floated down the stream. As they passed under

Westminster Bridge they cried piteously for help. They had not gone far

before they sat down, near the edge; this overbalanced the mass, they

were precipitated into the flood, and overwhelmed for ever.

A publican named Lawrence, of the Feathers, in High Timber-street,

Queenhithe, erected a booth on the Thames opposite Brook’s-wharf, for

the accommodation of the curious. At nine at night he left it in the

care of two men, taking away all the liquors, except some gin, which he

gave them for their own use.

Sunday, Feb. 6. At two o’clock this morning, the tide began to flow with

great rapidity at London Bridge; the thaw assisted the efforts of the

tide, and the booth last mentioned was violently hurried towards

Blackfriars Bridge. There were nine men in it, but in their alarm they

neglected the fire and candles, which communicating with the covering,

set it in a flame. They succeeded in getting into a lighter which had

broken from its moorings. In this vessel they were wrecked, for it was

dashed to pieces against one of the piers of Blackfriars Bridge: seven

of them got on the pier and were taken off safely; the other two got

into a barge while passing Puddle-dock.

On this day, the Thames towards high tide (about 3 p. m.) presented a

miniature idea of the Frozen Ocean; the masses of ice floating along,

added to the great height of the water, formed a striking scene for

contemplation. Thousands of disappointed persons thronged the banks; and

many a ’prentice, and servant maid, “sighed unutterable things,” at the

sudden and unlooked for destruction of “FROST FAIR.”

Monday, Feb. 7. Immense fragments of ice yet floated, and numerous

lighters, broken from their moorings, drifted in different parts of the

river; many of them were complete wrecks. The frozen element soon

attained its wonted fluidity, and old Father Thames looked as cheerful

and as busy as ever.

* * * * *

The severest English winter, however astonishing to ourselves, presents

no views comparable to the winter scenery of more northern countries. A

philosopher and poet of our own days, who has been also a traveller,

beautifully describes a lake in Germany:--

_Christmas out of doors at Ratzburg._

By S. T. COLERIDGE, Esq.

The whole lake is at this time one mass of thick transparent ice, a

spotless mirror of nine miles in extent! The lowness of the hills, which

rise from the shores of the lake, preclude the awful sublimity of Alpine

scenery, yet compensate for the want of it, by beauties of which this

very lowness is a necessary condition. Yesterday I saw the lesser lake

completely hidden by mist; but the moment the sun peeped over the hill,

the mist broke in the middle, and in a few seconds stood divided,

leaving a broad road all across the lake; and between these two walls of

mist the sunlight burnt upon the ice, forming a road of golden fire,

intolerably bright! and the mist walls themselves partook of the blaze

in a multitude of shining colours. This is our second post. About a

month ago, before the thaw came on, there was a storm of wind; during

the whole night, such were the thunders and howlings of the breaking

ice, that they have left a conviction on my mind, that there are sounds

more sublime than any sight _can_ be, more absolutely suspending the

power of comparison, and more utterly absorbing the mind’s

self-consciousness in its total attention to the object working upon it.

Part of the ice, which the vehemence of the wind had shattered, was

driven shoreward, and froze anew. On the evening of the next day at

sunset, the shattered ice thus frozen appeared of a deep blue, and in

shape like an agitated sea; beyond this, the water that ran up between

the great islands of ice which had preserved their masses entire and

smooth, shone of a yellow green; but all these scattered ice islands

themselves were of an intensely bright blood colour--they seemed blood

and light in union! On some of the largest of these islands, the

fishermen stood pulling out their immense nets through the holes made in

the ice for this purpose, and the men, their net poles, and their huge

nets, were a part of the glory--say rather, it appeared as if the rich

crimson light had shaped itself into these forms, figures, and

attitudes, to make a glorious vision in mockery of earthly things.

The lower lake is now all alive with skaters and with ladies driven

onward by them in their ice cars. Mercury surely was the first maker of

skates, and the wings at his feet are symbols of the invention. In

skating, there are three pleasing circumstances--the infinitely subtle

particles of ice which the skaters cut up, and which creep and run

before the skate like a low mist and in sunrise or sunset become

coloured; second, the shadow of the skater in the water, seen through

the transparent ice; and third, the melancholy undulating sound from the

skate not without variety; and when very many are skating together, the

sounds and the noises give an impulse to the icy trees, and the woods

all round the lake _trinkle_.

In the frosty season when the sun

Was set, and visible for many a mile,

The cottage windows through the twilight blazed,

I heeded not the summons;--happy time

It was indeed for all of us, to me

It was a time of rapture! clear and loud

The village clock tolled six! I wheel’d about

Proud and exulting, like an untired horse

That cared not for its home. All shod with steel

We hissed along the polished ice, in games

Confederate, imitative of the chase

And woodland pleasures, the resounding horn,

The pack loud bellowing and the hunted hare.

So through the darkness and the cold we flew,

And not a voice was idle; with the din,

Meanwhile the precipices rang aloud,

The leafless trees and every icy crag

Tinkled like iron, while the distant hills

Into the tumult sent an alien sound

Of melancholy--not unnoticed, while the stars

Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west

The orange sky of evening died away.

Not seldom from the uproar I retired

Into a silent bay, or sportively

Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng

To cut across the image of a star

That gleamed upon the ice; and oftentimes

Where we had given our bodies to the wind,

And all the shadowy banks on either side

Came sweeping through the darkness, shunning still

The rapid line of motion, then at once

Have I, reclining back upon my heels,

Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs

Wheeled by me even as if the earth had rolled

With visible motion her diurnal round!

Behind me did they stretch in solemn train

Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched

Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.

_Wordsworth._

~Skating.~

The earliest notice of skating in England is obtained from the earliest

description of London. Its historian relates that, “when the great fenne

or moore (which watereth the walles of the citie on the north side) is

frozen, many young men play upon the yce.” Happily, and probably for

want of a term to call it by, he describes so much of this pastime in

Moorfields, as acquaints us with their mode of skating: “Some,” he says,

“stryding as wide as they may, doe slide swiftly,” this then is sliding;

but he proceeds to tell us, that “some tye bones to their feete, and

under their heeles, and shoving themselves by a little picked staffe doe

slide as swiftly as a birde flyeth in the air, or an arrow out of a

crosse-bow.”[37] Here, although the implements were rude, we have

skaters; and it seems that one of their sports was for two to start a

great way off opposite to each other, and when they met, to lift their

poles and strike each other, when one or both fell, and were carried to

a distance from each other by the celerity of their motion. Of the

present wooden skates, shod with iron, there is no doubt, we obtained a

knowledge from Holland.

The icelanders also used the shankbone of a deer or sheep about a foot

long, which they greased, because they should not be stopped by drops of

water upon them.[38]

It is asserted in the “Encyclopædia Britannica,” that Edinburgh produced

more instances of elegant skaters than perhaps any other country, and

that the institution of a skating club there contributed to its

improvement. “I have however seen, some years back,” says Mr. Strutt,

“when the Serpentine river was frozen over, four gentlemen there dance,

if I may be allowed the expression, a double minuet in skates with as

much ease, and I think more elegance, than in a ball room; others again,

by turning and winding with much adroitness, have readily in succession

described upon the ice the form of all the letters in the alphabet.” The

same may be observed there during every frost, but the elegance of

skaters on that sheet of water is chiefly exhibited in quadrilles, which

some parties go through with a beauty scarcely imaginable by those who

have not seen graceful skating. In variety of attitude, and rapidity of

movement, the Dutch, who, of necessity, journey long distances on their

rivers and canals, are greatly our superiors.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·35.

[35] See vol. I. p. 151.

[36] Morning Herald, 16th January, 1826.

[37] Fitzstephen.

[38] Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities.

~January 23.~

1826. Hilary Term begins.

LARKING.

It appears that our ingenious neighbours, the French, are rivalled by

the lark-catchers of Dunstaple, in the mode of attracting those birds.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

_6, Bermondsey New Road_

_January 18, 1826._

Sir,

In the present volume of your _Every-Day Book_, p. 91, a correspondent

at Abbeville has given an account of lark-shooting in that country, in

which he mentions a machine called a _miroir_, as having been used for

the purpose of attracting the birds within shot. Perhaps you are not

aware that in many parts of England a similar instrument is employed for

catching the lark when in flight, and at Dunstaple. At that place,

persons go out with what is called a larking glass, which is, if I may

so term it, a machine made somewhat in the shape of a cucumber. This

invention is hollow, and has holes cut round it, in which bits of

looking-glass are fitted; it is fixed on a pole, and has a sort of reel,

from which a line runs; this line, at a convenient distance, is worked

backward and forward, so as to catch the rays of the sun: the larks

seeing themselves in the glass, as some think, but more probably blinded

by the glare of it, come headlong down to it, a net is drawn over them,

and thus many are taken, deceived like ourselves with glittering

semblances. Yes! lords as we deem ourselves of the creation, we are as

easily lured by those who bait our passions or propensities, as those

poor birds. This simple truth I shall conclude with the following lines,

which, be they good, bad, or indifferent, are my own, and such as they

are I give them to thee:--

As in the fowler’s glass the lark espies

His feath’ry form from ’midst unclouded skies;

And pleased, and dazzled with the novel sight,

Wings to the treacherous earth his rapid flight,

So, in the glass of self conceit we view

Our soul’s attraction, and pursue it too,

In every shape wherein it may arise,

In gold, or land, or love before our eyes,

And in the wary net are captive ta’en,

By the sure hand of woman, or of gain.

_S. R. Jackson._

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·57.

~January 24.~

The scenes and weather which sometimes prevail on the Vigil of St. Paul

are described in some verses inserted by Dr. Forster in his “Perennial

Calendar.”

_St. Paul’s Eve._

Winter’s white shrowd doth cover all the grounde,

And Caecias blows his bitter blaste of woe;

The ponds and pooles, and streams in ice are bounde,

And famished birds are shivering in the snowe.

Still round about the house they flitting goe,

And at the windows seek for scraps of foode

Which Charity with hand profuse doth throwe,

Right weeting that in need of it they stoode,

For Charity is shown by working creatures’ goode.

The sparrowe pert, the chaffinche gay and cleane,

The redbreast welcome to the cotter’s house,

The livelie blue tomtit, the oxeye greene,

The dingie dunnock, and the swart colemouse;

The titmouse of the marsh, the nimble wrenne,

The bullfinch and the goldspinck, with the king

Of birds the goldcrest. The thrush, now and then,

The blackbird, wont to whistle in the spring,

Like Christians seek the heavenlie foode St. Paul doth bring.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·60.

~January 25.~

_Conversion of St. Paul._[39]

This Romish festival was first adopted by the church of England in the

year 1662, during the reign of Charles II.

ST. PAUL’S DAY.

_Buck and Doe in St. Paul’s Cathedral._

Formerly a buck’s head was carried in procession at St. Paul’s

Cathedral. This by some antiquaries is presumed to have been the

continuation of a ceremony in more ancient times when, according to

certain accounts, a heathen temple existed on that site. It is

remarkable that this notion as to the usage is repeated by writers whose

experience in other respects has obtained them well-earned regard: the

origin of this custom, is stated by Stow to the following purport.

Mentioning the opinion already noticed, which, strange to tell, has been

urged ever since his time, he says in its refutation, “But true it is I

have read an ancient deed to this effect,” and the “effect” is, that in

1274, the dean and chapter of St. Paul’s granted twenty-two acres of

land, part of their manor of Westley, in Essex, to sir William Baud,

knt., for the purpose of being enclosed by him within his park of

Curingham; in consideration whereof he undertook to bring to them on the

feast day of the Conversion of St. Paul, in winter, a good doe,

seasonable and sweet; and upon the feast of the commemoration of St.

Paul in summer, a good buck, and offer the same to be spent (or divided)

among the canons resident; the doe to be brought by one man at the hour

of procession, and through the procession to the high altar, and the

bringer to have nothing; the buck to be brought by all his men in like

manner, and they to be paid twelve pence only, by the chamberlain of

the church, and no more to be required. For the performance of this

annual present of venison, he charged his lands and bound his heirs; and

twenty seven years afterwards, his son, sir Walter, confirmed the grant.

The observance of this ceremony, as to the _buck_, was very curious, and

in this manner. On the aforesaid feast-day of the commemoration, the

_buck_ being brought up to the steps of the high altar in St. Paul’s

church at the hour of procession, and the dean and chapter being

apparelled in their copes and vestments, with garlands of roses on their

heads, they sent the body of the buck to be baked; and having fixed the

head on a pole, caused it to be borne before the cross in their

procession within the church, until they issued out of the west door.

There the keeper that brought it blew “the death of the buck,” and then

the horners that were about the city answered him in like manner. For

this the dean and chapter gave each man fourpence in money and his

dinner, and the keeper that brought it was allowed during his abode

there, meat, drink and lodging, at the dean and chapter’s charges, and

five shillings in money at his going away, together with a loaf of

bread, with the picture of St. Paul on it. It appears also that the

granters of the venison presented to St. Paul’s cathedral two special

suits of vestments, to be worn by the clergy on those two days; the one

being embroidered with bucks, and the other with does.

The translator of Dupre’s work on the “Conformity between modern and

ancient ceremonies,” also misled by other authorities, presumed that the

“bringing up a fat buck to the altar of St. Paul’s with hunters, horns

blowing, &c. in the middle of divine service,” was of heathen

derivation, whereas we see it was only a provision for a venison feast

by the Romish clergy, in return for some waste land of one of their

manors.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 35·10.

[39] See vol. i. p. 175.

~January 26.~

_“St. George he was for England.”_

So says a well-known old ballad, and we are acquainted, by the following

communication, that our patron saint still appears _in_ England,

through his personal representatives, at this season of the year.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

Sir,

I send you an account of the Christmas drama of “St. George,” as acted

in Cornwall, subscribing also my name and address, which you properly

deem an indispensable requisite. I thereby vouch for the authenticity of

what I send you. Having many friends and relations in the west, at whose

houses I have had frequent opportunities of seeing the festivities and

mixing in the sports of their farm, and other work-people, at the joyous

times of harvest home, finishing the barley mow, (of which more

hereafter if agreeable,) Christmas, &c. In some of the latter it is

still customary for the master of the house and his guests to join at

the beginning of the evening, though this practice, I am sorry to say,

is gradually wearing out, and now confined to a few places. I have

“footed it” away in sir Roger de Coverley, the hemp-dressers, &c. (not

omitting even the cushion dance,) with more glee than I ever slided

through the _chaine anglaise_, or _demi-queue de chat_, and have formed

acquaintance with the master of the revels, or leader of the parish

choir, (generally a shrewd fellow, well versed in song,) in most of the

western parishes in Cornwall; and from them have picked up much

information on those points, which personal observation alone had not

supplied to my satisfaction.

You may be sure that “St. George” with his attendants were personages

too remarkable not to attract much of my attention, and I have had their

adventures represented frequently; from different versions so obtained,

I am enabled to state that the performances in different parishes vary

only in a slight degree from each other.

St. George and the other tragic performers are dressed out somewhat in

the style of morris-dancers, in their shirt-sleeves, and white trowsers

much decorated with ribands and handkerchiefs, each carrying a drawn

sword in his hand, if they can be procured, otherwise a cudgel. They

wear high caps of pasteboard, adorned with beads, small pieces of

looking-glass, coloured paper, &c.; several long strips of pith

generally hang down from the top, with small pieces of different

coloured cloth, strung on them: the whole has a very smart effect.

Father _Christmas_ is personified in a grotesque manner, as an ancient

man, wearing a large mask and wig, and a huge club, wherewith he keeps

the bystanders in order.

The _doctor_, who is generally the merry-andrew of the piece, is dressed

in any ridiculous way, with a wig, three-cornered hat, and painted face.

The other comic characters are dressed according to fancy.

The _female_, where there is one, is usually in the dress worn half a

century ago.

The _hobby-horse_, which is a character sometimes introduced, wears a

representation of a horse’s hide.

Besides the regular drama of “St. George,” many parties of mummers go

about in fancy dresses of every sort, most commonly the males in female

attire, and _vice versâ_.

This Christmas play, it appears, is, or was in vogue also in the north

of England as well as in Scotland. A correspondent of yours (Mr.

Reddock) has already given an interesting account of that in Scotland,

and a copy of that acted at Newcastle, printed there some thirty or

forty years since, is longer than any I have seen in the west. By some

the play is considered to have reference to the time of the crusades,

and to have been introduced on the return of the adventurers from the

Holy-Land, as typifying their battles. Before proceeding with our drama

in the west, I have merely to observe that the old fashion was to

continue many of the Christmas festivities till Candlemas-day, (February

2,) and then “throw cards and candlesticks away.”

_Battle of St. George._

[_One of the party steps in, crying out_--

Room, a room, brave gallants, room,

Within this court

I do resort,

To show some sport

And pastime,

Gentlemen and ladies, in the Christmas time--

[_After this note of preparation, old Father Christmas capers into the

room, saying,_

Here comes I, old Father Christmas,

Welcome, or welcome not,

I hope old Father Christmas

Will never be forgot.

I was born in a rocky country, where there was no wood to make me a

cradle; I was rocked in a stouring bowl, which made me round shouldered

then, and I am round shouldered still.

[_He then frisks about the room, until he thinks he has sufficiently

amused the spectators, when he makes his exit with this speech,_

Who went to the orchard, to steal apples to make gooseberry pies against

Christmas?

[_These prose speeches, you may suppose, depend much upon the

imagination of the actor._

_Enter Turkish Knight._

Here comes I, a Turkish knight,

Come from the Turkish land to fight,

And if St. George do meet me here

I’ll try his courage without fear.

_Enter St. George._

Here comes I, St. George; that worthy champion bold,

And, with my sword and spear, I won three crowns of gold.

I fought the dragon bold, and brought him to the slaughter,

By that I gained fair Sabra, the king of Egypt’s daughter.

_T. K._ Saint George, I pray be not too bold,

If thy blood is hot, I’ll soon make it cold.

_St. G._ Thou Turkish knight, I pray forbear,

I’ll make thee dread my sword and spear.

[_They fight until the T. knight falls._

_St. G._ I have a little bottle, which goes by the name of

_Elicumpane_,

If the man is alive let him rise and fight again.

[_The knight here rises on one knee, and endeavours to continue the

fight, but is again struck down._

_T. K._ Oh! pardon me, St. George, oh! pardon me I crave.

Oh! pardon me this once, and I will be thy slave.

_St. G._ I’ll never pardon a Turkish Knight,

Therefore arise, and try thy might.

[_The knight gets up, and they again fight, till the knight receives a

heavy blow, and then drops on the ground as dead._

_St. G._ Is there a doctor to be found,

To cure a deep and deadly wound?

_Enter Doctor._

Oh! yes, there is a doctor to be found,

To cure a deep and deadly wound.

_St. G._ What can you cure?

_Doctor._ I can cure the itch, the palsy, and gout,

If the devil’s in him, I’ll pull him out.

[_The Doctor here performs the cure with sundry grimaces, and St.

George and the Knight again fight, when the latter is knocked down,

and left for dead._

[_Then another performer enters, and on seeing the dead body, says,_

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

If uncle Tom Pearce won’t have him, Aunt Molly must.

[_The hobby-horse here capers in, and takes off the body._

_Enter Old Squire._

Here comes I, old, old squire,

As black as any friar,

As ragged as a colt,

To leave fine clothes for malt.

_Enter Hub Bub._

Here comes I old Hub Bub Bub Bub,

Upon my shoulders I carries a club,

And in my hand a frying pan,

So am not I a valiant man.

[_These characters serve as a sort of burlesque on St. George and the

other hero, and may be regarded in the light of an anti-masque._

_Enter the Box-holder._

Here comes I, great head and little wit,

Put your hand in your pocket and give what you think fit.

Gentlemen and ladies, sitting down at your ease,

Put your hands in your pockets, give me what you please.

_St. G._ Gentlemen and Ladies, the sport is almost ended,

Come pay to the box, it is highly commended.

The box it would speak, if it had but a tongue;

Come throw in your money, and think it no wrong.

The characters now generally finish with a dance, or sometimes a song or

two is introduced. In some of the performances, two or three other

tragic heroes are brought forward, as the king of Egypt and his son,

&c.; but they are all of them much in the style of that I have just

described, varying somewhat in length and number of characters.

I am, Sir,

Your constant reader,

W. S.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·20.

~January 27.~

[Illustration]

WEIGHTS AND MEASURES.

1826. The alteration of the standard this year, in order to its

uniformity throughout the kingdom, however inconvenient to individuals

in its first application, will be ultimately of the highest public

advantage. The difference between beer, wine, corn, and coal measure,

and the difference of measures of the same denomination in different

counties, were occasions of fraud and grievance without remedy until the

present act of parliament commenced to operate. In the twelfth year of

Henry VII. a standard was established, and the table was kept in the

treasury of the king’s exchequer, with drawings on it, commemorative of

the regulation, and illustrating its principles. The original document

passed into the collection of the liberal Harley, earl of Oxford, and

there being a print of it with some of its pictorial representations, an

engraving is here given of the mode of trial which it exhibits as having

been used in the exchequer at that period.

[Illustration: ~Trial of Weights and Measures under Henry VII.~]

From the same instrument is also taken the smaller diagram. They are

curious specimens of the care used by our ancestors to establish and

exemplify rules by which all purchases and sales were to be effected. In

that view only they are introduced here. Conformity to the new standard

is every man’s business and interest, and daily experience will prove

its wisdom and justice. It would be obviously inexpedient to state any

of the parliamentary provisions in this work, which now merely records

one of the most remarkable and laudable acts in the history of our

legislation.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 37·82.

~January 28.~

_An Appearance of the Season._

Apology will scarcely be required for introducing a character, who at

this season of the year comes forth in renovated honours, and may aptly

be termed one of its _ever-blues_--

[Illustration: ~The Beadle--~]

“The great image of authority!”

_Shakspeare._

not a peculiar of either Farringdons, nor him of Cripplegate, or St.

Giles in the Fields, or of any ward or precinct within the bills: not

this or that “good man”--but the _universal parish beadle_. “How

Christmas and consolatory he looks! how redolent of good cheer is he! He

is a cornucopia--an abundance. What pudding sleeves!--what a collar,

red, and like a beef steak, is his! He is a walking refreshment! He

looks like a whole parish, full, important--but untaxed. The children of

charity gaze at him with a modest smile. The straggling boys look on him

with confidence. They do not pocket their marbles. They do not fly from

their familiar gutter. This is a red-letter day; and the cane is

reserved for to-morrow.”

For the pleasant verbal description we are indebted to an agreeable

writer in the “London Magazine;”[40] his corporal lineaments are

“borrowed” (with permission) from a new caricature,[41] if it may be

given so low a name, wherein this figure stands out, the very gem and

jewel, in a grouping of characters of all sorts and denominations

assembled with “infinite fancy” and “fun,” to illustrate the designer’s

views of the age. It is a graphic satire of character rather than

caricatura; mostly of class-characters, not persons; wherein the

ridicule bears heavily, but is broad and comprehensive enough to shift

from one neighbour to another.

* * * * *

The print, wherein our beadle is foremost, though not first, is one of

the pleasantest “drolls” of the century, and seems to hit at all that

is. In this whimsical representation, a painted show-board, at the

window of a miserable garret, declares it to be “The Office of the

Peruvian Mining Company.” On the casement of the first floor, in the

same hereditament of poverty, is a bill of “Eligant rooms to let.” Wigs

in the shop-window illustrate the punning announcement above it--“Nature

improved by Rickets,” which is the name of the proprietor, a capital

barber, who stands at the door, and points to a ragged inscription

depending from the parti-coloured pole of his art, from whence we learn

that “Nobody is to be s( )aved during di( )ine service, by command of

the magistracy.” He enforces attention to this fact on an unshaved

itinerant, with “Subscription for putting down Bartlemy fair” placarded

on his back. This fellow has a pole in his right hand for “The

preservation of public morals,” and a puppet of punch lolling from his

left coat pocket. An apple-stall is taken care of by a fat body with a

screaming child, whose goods appear to be coveted by two little beings

untutored in the management of the eye. We gather from the “New Times,”

on the ground, that the fruit woman is Sarah Crumpage, and that she and

Rickets, the former for selling fruit, and the latter for shaving on the

Sunday, “were convicted on the oath of the notorious Johnson, and fined

ten shillings each.” Next to the barber’s is “the Star eating-house,”

with “Ladies School” on the first-floor casement, and “Mangleing took

in.” At the angle of the penthouse roofs of these dwellings “an angel’s

head in stone with pigeon’s wings” deceives a hungry cat into an attempt

to commit an assault upon it from the attic window. Opposite the cook’s

door an able-bodied waggoner, with a pennon from his whip, inscribed

“Knowledge is Power,” obscures part of another whereon all that remains

is “NICK’S INSTITUTION.” A “steeled butcher,” his left hand resting at

ease within his apron, cleaver hung, and carelessly capped, with a

countenance indicating no other spirit than that of the still, and no

disposition to study deeper than the bottom of a porter pot, carries the

flag of the “London University:” a well-fed urchin, his son, hangs by

his father’s sleeve, and drags along a wheeled toy, a lamb--emblem of

many a future “lamb his riot dooms to bleed.” A knowing little Jewboy,

with the flag of the “Converted Jews,” relieves the standard-bearer of

the “School for Adults” from the weight of his pocket handkerchief, and

his banner hides the letter “d” on another borne by a person of uneven

temper in canonicals, and hence for “The Church in danger,” we read “The

Church in anger.” Close at the heels of the latter is an object almost

as miserable, as the exceedingly miserable figure in the frontispiece to

the “Miseries of Human Life.” This rearward supporter of “the church in

danger,” alias in “anger,” is a poor, undersized, famine-worn, badged

charity boy, with a hat abundantly too large for its hydrocephalic

contents, and a coat to his heels, and in another person’s shoes, a

world too wide for his own feet--he carries a crooked little wand with

“No Popery” on it; this standard is so low, that it would be lost if the

standard-bearer were not away from the procession. A passionate person

in a barrister’s wig, with a shillelagh, displays “Catholic Claims.”

Opposite to a church partly built, is a figure clearly designating a

distinguished preacher of the established church of Scotland in London,

planting the tallest standard in the scene upright on the ground, from

whence is unfurled “No Theatre”--the flag-bearer of “The Caledonian

Chapel,” stands behind, in the act of tossing up a halfpenny with the

standard bearer of “No more State Lotteries.” A black mask bears the

“Liberty of the Press.” A well-fed man with bands beneath his chin,

rears a high pole, inscribed “No fat Livings,” and “The cause of Greece”

follows. A jovial undertaker in his best grave-clothes, raises a mute’s

staff, and “No Life in London:” this character looks as if he would bury

his wife comfortably in a country churchyard, get into the return-hearse

with his companions, and crack nuts and drink wine all the way to town.

A little personage, booted and buttoned up, carries a staff in his

pocket, surmounted by a crown, and a switch to his chin, the tip whereof

alone is visible, his entire face and head being wholly concealed by the

hat; this is “The great Unknown”--he has close behind him “Gall and

Spurs-him.” “No Treadmill” is exhibited by a merry rogue, half disarmed,

with a wooden leg. At a public house, “The Angel and Punch Bowl,--T.

Moore,” the “United Sons of Harmony” hold wassail; their flag is hung at

one of the windows, from whence many panes are absent, and themselves

are fighting at the door, and heartily cheered by the standard bearer of

“No Pugilism.” A ferocious looking fellow, riding on a blind horse,

elevates “Martin for Ever,” and makes cruel cuts with his whip on the

back of a youth who is trying to get up behind him with the banner of

“No climbing Boys.” We are now at a corner messuage, denominated

“Prospect House Establishment for Young Ladies, by the Misses Grace and

Prudence Gregory.” The corner opposite is “Seneca House Academy for

Young Gentlemen, by Dr. Alex. Sanderson.” Prospect House has an

“Assurance” policy, and from one of its windows one of the “young

ladies” drops a work by “H. More”--in eager regard of one of the “young

gentlemen” of Seneca-house, who addresses her from his room, with a

reward of merit round his neck. This Romeoing is rendered more scenical

by a tree, whereon hangs a lost kite, papered with a “Prospectus” of

Seneca-house, from whence it appears that pupils bringing a “knife and

fork,” and paying “Twenty Guineas per ann.,” are entitled to “Universal

Erudition,” and the utmost attention to their “Morals and Principles.”

Near this place, the representative of “United Schools” fells to the

earth the flag-bearer of “Peace to the World;” while the able supporter

of “Irish Conciliation,” endeavours to settle the difference by the

powerful use of his pole; the affray being complacently viewed by a

half-shod, and half-kilted maintainer of “Scotch Charity.” A demure

looking girl is charged with “Newgatory Instruction.” At her elbow, a

female of the order of disorder, so depicted that Hogarth might claim

her for his own, upholds “Fry for ever,” and is in high converse with a

sable friend who keeps “Freedom for the Blacks.” Hopeless idiocy,

crawling on its knees by the aid of crutches, presents the “March of

Mind.” An excellent slippered fruiterer with a tray of apples and pears,

beguiles the eyes of a young Gobbleton, who displays “Missionary penny

subscriptions,” and is suffering his hand to abstract wherewithal for

the satisfaction of his longings. Here too are ludicrous representations

of the supporters of “Whitefield and Wesley,” “Reform,” &c. and a Jewish

dealer in old clothes, covered in duplicate, with the pawnbroker’s sign

upside down, finds wind for “The Equitable Loan.” A wall round

Seneca-house is “contrived a double debt to pay”--proffering seeming

security to the “sightless eyeballs” of over-fond and over-fearful

parents, and being of real use to the artist for the expression of

ideas, which the crowding of his scene does not leave room to picture.

This wall is duly chalked and covered by bills in antithesis. A line of

the chalkings, by an elision easily supplied, reads, “Ask for War.” One

of the best exhibitions in the print is a youth of the “Tract Society,”

with a pamphlet entitled “Eternity,” so rolled as to look like a pistol,

which he tenders to a besotted brute wearing candidates’ favours in his

hat, and a scroll “Purity of Election.” The villainous countenance of

the intoxicated wretch is admirable--a cudgel under his arm, his

tattered condition, and a purse hanging from his pocket, tell that he

has been in fight, and received the wages of his warfare; in the last

stage of drunkenness he drops upon a post inscribed “under Government.”

Among books strewed on the ground are “Fletcher’s Appeal,” “Family

Shakspeare,” “Hohenlohe,” &c.; at the top is a large volume lettered

“Kant,” which, in such a situation, Mr. Wirgman, and other disciples of

the German philosopher, will only quarrel or smile at, in common with

all who conceive their opinions or intentions misrepresented. In truth

it is only because the print is already well known among the few

lynx-eyed observers of manners that this notice is drawn up. Its

satire, however well directed in many ways, is too sweeping to be just

every way, and is in several instances wholly undeserved. The designer

gives evidence however of great capability, and should he execute

another it will inevitably be better than this, which is, after all, an

extraordinary production.--In witness whereof, and therefrom, is

extracted and prefixed the “Beadle” hereinbefore mentioned.

NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.

Mean Temperature 36·37.

[40] For December, 1822.

[41] The Progress of Cant; designed and etched by one of the authors

of “Odes and Addresses to Great People;” and published by T. Maclean,

Haymarket, L. Relfe, Cornhill, and Dickenson, New Bond-street.

~January 29.~

1826. _Sexagesima Sunday._

Accession of George IV.

1820. King George III. died. A contemporary kalendarian, in recording

this memorable fact, observes, that “the slow and solemn sound of St.

Paul’s bell announced the event a short time after, and was heard to a

great distance around the country.” He adds, that he was reminded, by

this “mournful proclamation of departed royalty,” of the following lines

in Heywood’s “Rape of Lucrece,” written to go to a funeral peal from

eight bells:

Come list and hark, the bell doth toll

For some but now departing soul,

Whom even now those ominous fowle,

The bat, the nightjar, or screech owl,

Lament; hark! I hear the wilde wolfe howle

In this black night that seems to scowle,

All these my black book shall enscrole.

For hark! still still the bell doth toll

For some but now departing soul.

This opportunity the same agreeable writer improves to discourse on,

thus:

_Bells._

The passing bell owes its origin to an idea of sanctity attached to

bells by the early Catholics, who believed that the sound of these holy

instruments of percussion actually drove the devil away from the soul of

the departing Christian. Bells were moreover regarded formerly as

dispelling storms, and appeasing the imagined wrath of heaven, as the

following lines from Barnaby Googe will show:--

If that the thunder chaunce to rore and stormie tempest shake,

A woonder is it for to see the wretches howe they quake,

Howe that no fayth at all they have, nor trust in any thing,

The clarke doth all the belles forthwith at once in steeple ring:

With wondrous sound and deeper farre than he was woont before,

Till in the loftie heavens darke, the thunder bray no more.

For in these christned belles they thinke, doth lie such powre and

might

As able is the tempest great, and storme to vanquish quight.

I saw myself at Numburg once, a towne in Toring coast,

A bell that with this title bolde hirself did prowdly boast:

By name I Mary called am, with sound I put to flight

The thunder crackes, and hurtfull stormes, and every wicked spright.

Such things when as these belles can do, no wonder certainlie

It is, if that the papistes to their tolling always flie,

When haile, or any raging storme, or tempest comes in sight,

Or thunder boltes, or lightning fierce, that every place doth

smight.

_Naogeorgus._

We find from Brand, that “an old bell at Canterbury required twenty-four

men, and another thirty-two men, ad sonandum. The noblest peal of ten

bells, without exception, in England, whether tone or tune be

considered, is said to be in St. Margaret’s church, Leicester. When a

full peal was rung, the ringers were said ‘pulsare classicum.’”

Bells were a great object of superstition among our ancestors. Each of

them was represented to have its peculiar name and virtues, and many are

said to have retained great affection for the churches to which they

belonged, and where they were consecrated. When a bell was removed from

its original and favourite situation, it was sometimes supposed to take

a nightly trip to its old place of residence, unless exercised in the

evening, and secured with a chain or rope. Mr Warner, in his

“Hampshire,” enumerates the virtues of a bell, by translating two lines

from the “Helpe to Discourse.”

Men’s deaths I tell by doleful knell.

Lightning and thunder I break asunder.

On sabbath all to church I call.

The sleepy head I raise from bed.

The winds so fierce I doe disperse.

Men’s cruel rage I do asswage.

There is an old Wiltshire legend of a tenor bell having been conjured

into the river; with lines by the ringer, who lost it through his

pertinacious garrulity, and which say:

In spite of all the devils in hell

Here comes our old Bell.[42]

* * * * *

Baron Holberg says he was in a company of men of letters, where several

conjectures were offered concerning the origin of the word _campana_; a

_klocke_, (i. e. bell) in the northern tongues. On his return home, he

consulted several writers. Some, he says, think the word _klocke_ to be

of the northern etymology; these words, _Ut cloca habeatur in ecclesia_,

occurring in the most ancient histories of the north. It appears from

hence, that in the infancy of Christianity, the word _cloca_ was used in

the north instead of _campana_. Certain french writers derive the word

_cloca_ from cloche, and this again from _clocher_, i. e. to limp; for,

say they, as a person who limps, falls from one side to the other, so do

_klocks_ (bells) when rung. Some have recourse to the latin word

_clangor_, others recur to the greek καλεω, I call; some even deduce it

from the word _cochlea_, a snail, from the resemblance of its shell to a

bell. As to the latin word _campana_, it was first used in Italy, at

Nola in Campania; and it appears that the greater bells only were called

_campana_, and the lesser _nola_. The invention of them is generally

attributed to bishop Paulinus; but this certainly must be understood

only of the religious use of them; it being plain, from Roman writers,

that they had the like machines called _tintinnabula_.

The use of bells continued long unknown in the east, the people being

called to public worship by strokes of wooden hammers; and to this day

the Turks proclaim the beginning of their service, by vociferations from

the steeple. Anciently priests themselves used to toll the bell,

especially in cathedrals and great churches, and these were

distinguished by the appellation of _campanarii_. The Roman Catholics

christen their bells, and godfathers assist at the solemnity; thus

consecrating them to religious use. According to Helgaudus, bells had

certain names given them like men; and Ingulphus says, “he ordered two

great clocks (bells) to be made, which were called Bartholomeus and

Bettelinus, and two lesser, Pega and Bega.” The time is perhaps

uncertain when the hours first began to be distinguished by the striking

of a bell. In the empire this custom is said to have been introduced by

a priest of Ripen, named Elias, who lived in the twelfth century; and

this the _Chronicon Anonymi Ripense_ says of him, _hic dies et horas

campanarum pulsatione distinxit_. The use of them soon became extended

from their original design to other solemnities, and especially burials:

which incessant tolling has long been complained of as a public

nuisance, and to this the french poet alludes:--

Pour honorer les morts, ils font mourir les vivans.

Besides the common way of tolling bells, there is also ringing, which is

a kind of chimes used on various occasions in token of joy. This ringing

prevails in no country so much as in England, where it is a kind of

diversion, and, for a piece of money, any one may have a peal. On this

account it is, that England is called _the ringing island_. Chimes are

something very different, and much more musical; there is not a town in

all the Netherlands without them, being an invention of that country.

The chimes at Copenhagen, are one of the finest sets in all Europe; but

the inhabitants, from a pertinacious fondness for old things, or the

badness of their ear, do not like them so well as the old ones, which

were destroyed by a conflagration.

* * * * *

The Rev. W. L. Bowles has an effusion agreeably illustrative of feelings

on hearing the bells ring.

SONNET.

_Written at Ostend, July 22, 1787._

How sweet the tuneful bells responsive peal!

As when at opening morn, the fragrant breeze

Breathes on the trembling sense of wan disease

So piercing to my heart their force I feel!

And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall,

And now, along the white and level tide,

They fling their melancholy music wide;

Bidding me many a tender thought recall

Of summer days, and those delightful years

When by my native streams, in life’s fair prime,

The mournful magic of their mingling chime

First wak’d my wondering childhood into tears!

But seeming now, when all those days are o’er,

The sounds of joy once heard, and heard no more.

“The Times”[43] has a literary correspondent, who communicates

information that it may be useful to record.

CONSECRATION OF BELLS.

_To the Editor of the Times._

MR. EDITOR,--Having read in your paper of to-day, that the king of

France “has been pleased to grant to the parish of Notre-Dame, at

Nismes, two unserviceable _pieces of cannon_ from the arsenal of

Montpellier, for the purpose of forming a _parish bell_” it has

occurred to me that the following description of the practice of

_baptizing bells_, used by the Roman Catholics, may not be unacceptable

to your readers. This account is a true translation from a book entitled

“_Pontificale Romanum, Autoritate Pontificia, impressum Venetiis, 1698.

Lib. ii. Cap. de Benedictione Signi vel Campanæ_.” I have run parallel

with their method of baptizing children and bells, in twelve

particulars, as follows:--

_Of the Baptism of a Child._ _Of the Baptism of a Bell._

I.

The child must be first The bell must be first

baptized, before it can be baptized, before it may be hung

accounted one of the church. in the steeple.

II.

The child must be baptized The bell must be baptized by a

by a priest or a minister. bishop or his deputy.

III.

In baptizing a child there In the baptism of a bell, there

is used holy water, cream, is used holy water, oil, salt,

salt, oil, spittle, &c. &c. cream, tapers for lights, &c.

IV.

In baptism, the child And so it is in the baptism of

receiveth a name. bells.

V.

The child must have The bell must have godfathers,

godfathers, &c., &c. and they must be persons of great

rank.

VI.

The child must be washed in The bell must be washed in

water. water by the hands of the bishop

and priests.

VII.

The child must be crossed in The bell is solemnly crossed by

baptism. the bishop.

VIII.

The child must be anointed. The bell is anointed by the

bishop.

IX.

The child must be baptized The bell is washed and

in the name of the Holy anointed, in the name of the

Trinity. Trinity, by the bishop.

X.

At baptism they pray for the At the baptism of the bell they

child. pray literally _for the bell_.

XI.

At the child’s baptism the There are more psalms read at the

scriptures are read. baptism of a bell than at the

baptism of a child; and a gospel

also.

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