A “walking” man should not refrain
To take a saunter up Webb’s-lane,
Tow’rds Shepherd’s bush, and see a rude
Old lumb’ring pump. It’s made of wood,
And pours its water in a font
So beautiful--that if he do’n’t
Admire how such a combination
Was form’d, in such a situation,
He has no power of causation,
Or taste, or feeling; but must live
Painless, and pleasureless; and give
Himself to doing what he can;
And die a sort of sort-of-man.
Some persons walk the strait road from Dan to Beersheba, and finding it
firm beneath the foot, have no regard to any thing else, and are
satisfied when they get to their journey’s end. I do not advise these
good kind of people to go to Hammersmith; but, here and there, an
out-of-the-way man will be glad to bend his course thitherward, in
search of the object represented. It is fair to say I have not seen it
myself: it turned up the other day in an artist’s sketch-book. He had
taken it as an object, could tell no more than that he liked it, and, as
I seemed struck by its appearance, but could not then go to look at it
and make inquiries, he volunteered his services, and wrote me as
follows:--“I went to Hammersmith, and was some time before I could find
the place again; however, I at length discovered it in Webb’s-lane,
opposite the Thatched-house, (Mr. Gowland is the landlord.) There I took
some refreshment, and gained what information I could, which was but
little. The stone _font_ with other things (old carved ornaments, &c.,
which were used in fitting up the upper rooms of some cottages that the
pump belongs to) were purchased at a sale; and this was all I could
obtain at the Thatched-house. Coming from thence I learned from a cobler
at work that there was originally a _leaden_ pump, but that it was
doubled up, and rolled away, by some thieves, and they attempted to take
the font, but found it too heavy. The Crispin could not inform me where
the sale was, but he told me where his landlady lived and her name,
which was Mrs. Springthorp, of Hammersmith, any one could tell me her
house: so, being very tired, I took coach, and rode to town without
inquiry. Please to send me word whether I shall do it for next week.”
To the latter inquiry my answer of course was “yes,” but I am as dark as
my informant, as to the origin of what he calls the “font” which forms
the sink of this pump. It does not appear to me to be a font, but a
vase. I could have wished he had popped the question to “Mrs.
Springthorp” respecting the place from whence it came, and concerning
the “other things, old carved ornaments, &c.” I entreat some kind reader
to diligently seek out and obligingly acquaint me with full particulars
of these matters. In the mean time I console myself with having
presented a picturesque object, and with the hope of being enabled to
account for the agreeable union.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·07.
[339] Butler’s Chronological Exercises.
[340] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~September 11.~
WOODLAND WALKS.
These are delightful at any time. At about this season of the year,
1817, the following poetical description appeared in a newspaper which
no longer exists:--
LINES
BY MR. J. H. REYNOLDS.
Whence is the secret charm of this lone wood,
Which in the light of evening sweetly sleeps!--
I tread with lingering feet the quiet steeps,
Where thwarted oaks o’er their own old age brood;--
And where the gentler trees, in summer weather,
Spring up all greenly in their youth together;
And the grass is dwelling in a silent mood,
And the fir-like fern its under forest keeps
In a strange stillness. My winged spirit sweeps
Not as it hath been wont,--but stays with me
Like some domestic thing that loves its home;
It lies a-dreaming o’er the imagery
Of other scenes,--which from afar do come,
Matching them with this indolent solitude.
Here,--I am walking in the days gone by,--
And under trees which I have known before.
My heart with feelings old is running o’er--
And I am happy as the morning sky.
The present seems a mockery of the past--
And all my thoughts flow by me, like a stream,
That hath no home, that sings beneath the beam
Of the summer sun,--and wanders through sweet meads,--
In which the joyous wildflower meekly feeds,--
And strays,--and wastes away in woods at last.
My thoughts o’er many things fleet silently,--
But to this older forest creep, and cling fast.
Imagination, ever wild and free,
With heart as open as the naked sea,
Can consecrate whate’er it looks upon:--
And memory, that maiden never lone,
Lights all the dream of life. While I can see
This blue deep sky,--that sun so proudly setting
In the haughty west,--this spring patiently wetting
The shadowy dell,--these trees so tall and fair,
That have no visiters but the birds and air:--
And hear those leaves a gentle whispering keep,
Light as young joy, and beautiful as sleep,--
The melting of sweet waters in the dells,--
The music of the loose flocks’ lulling bells,
Which sinks into the heart like spirit’s spells.
While these all softly o’er my senses sweep,--
I need not doubt that I shall ever find
Things, that will feed the cravings of my mind.
My happiest hours were past with those I love
On steeps;--in dells, with shadowy trees above;
And therefore it may be my soul ne’er sleeps,
When I am in a pastoral solitude:--
And such may be the charm of this lone wood,
That in the light of evening sweetly sleeps.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·40.
~September 12.~
STORM AT ENGHIEN.
On the 12th of September, 1817, the gentlemen forming a deputation of
the “Caledonian Horticultural Society,” while inspecting Mr.
Parmentier’s gardens at Enghien, were suddenly overtaken by a violent
thunder storm, and compelled to flee for shelter to Mr. Parmentier’s
house. “As this thunder storm was of a character different from what we
are accustomed to in Scotland, and much more striking than what we had
witnessed at Brussels, a short notice of it may be excused.--A dense,
black cloud was seen advancing from the east; and as this cloud
developed itself and increased in magnitude, one-half of the horizon
became shrouded in darkness, enlivened only by occasional flashes of
forked lightning, while the other half of the horizon remained clear,
with the sun shining bright. As the black cloud approached, the sun’s
rays tinged it of a dull copper colour, and the reflected light caused
all the streets and houses to assume the same lurid and metallic hue.
This had a very uncommon and impressive effect. Before we reached the
mayor’s house, scarce a passenger was to be seen in the streets; but we
remarked women at the doors, kneeling, and turning their rosaries as
they invoked their saints. Meantime ‘thick and strong the sulphurous
flame descended;’ the flashes and peals began to follow each other in
almost instantaneous succession, and the tout-ensemble became awfully
sublime. A sort of whirlwind, which even raised the small gravel from
the streets, and dashed it against the windows, preceded the rain, which
fell in heavy drops, but lasted only a short time. The sun now became
obscured, and day seemed converted into night. Mr. Parmentier having
ordered wine, his lady came to explain that she could not prevail on
any of the servants to venture across the court to the cellar. The
mayor, in spite of our remonstrances, immediately undertook the task
himself; and when, upon his return, we apologised for putting him to so
much trouble, he assured us that he would not on any account have lost
the brilliant sight he had enjoyed, from the incessant explosions of the
electric fluid, in the midst of such palpable darkness. Such a scene, he
added, had not occurred at Enghien for many years; and we reckoned
ourselves fortunate in having witnessed it. We had to remain housed for
more than two hours; when the great cloud began to clear away, and to
give promise of a serene and clear evening.”
Two days before, on the 10th, the same party had been surprised at
Brussels by a similar tempest. They were on a visit to the garden of Mr.
Gillet, and remarking on the construction of his forcing-house. “In this
forcing-house, as is usual, the front of the roof extends over the
sloping glass, till it reaches the perpendicular of the parapet. Mr.
Gillet had no doubt, that the object of this sort of structure is to
help to save the glass from the heavy falls of hail, which frequently
accompany thunder storms. Just as he had made this observation, we
perceived menacing thunder clouds approaching: the gardener hastened to
secure his glazed frames; Mr. Gillet took his leave; and before we could
get home, the whole horizon was overcast; lightning flashed incessantly;
the streets seemed to have been suddenly swept of the inhabitants, the
shop-doors were shut, and we could scarcely find a person of whom to
inquire the way.”--The day had been altogether sultry; and at ten
o’clock P. M. the mercury in the thermometer stood at seventy-two
degrees Fahrenheit.[341]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 56·42.
[341] Journal of a Horticultural Tour.
~September 13.~
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 56·90.
~September 14.~
HOLY CROSS.
The origin of the festival of “Holy Cross,” standing in the church of
England calendar and almanacs, is related in vol. i. col. 1291, with
some account of the _rood_ and the _rood-loft_ in churches.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·20.
~September 15.~
“THE DEVIL LOOKING OVER LINCOLN.”
On the 15th of September, 1731, “the famous devil that used to overlook
Lincoln college in Oxford, was taken down, having, about two years
since, lost his head, in a storm.”
On the same day in the same year “a crown, fixed on the top of Whitehall
gate in the reign of king Charles II., fell down suddenly.”[342]
* * * * *
The origin of the statue of the devil at Oxford is not so certain as
that the effigy was popular, and gave rise to the saying of “the devil
looking over Lincoln.”
SATANIC SUPERSTITIONS.
That the devil has a “cloven foot,” which he cannot hide if it be looked
for is a common belief with the vulgar. “The ground of this opinion at
first,” says sir Thomas Browne, “might be his frequent appearing in the
shape of a goat,” (this accounts also for his horns and tail,) “which
answers this description. This was the opinion of the ancient
christians, concerning the apparition of panites, fauns, and satyrs; and
of this form we read of one that appeared to Anthony in the wilderness.”
Mr. Brand collects, respecting this appearance, that Othello says, in
the “Moor of Venice,”
“I look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable;
If that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee;”
which Dr. Johnson explains: “I look towards his feet, to see, if,
according to the common opinion, his feet be cloven.” There is a popular
superstition both in England and Scotland relative to _goats_: that
they are never to be seen for twenty-four hours together; and that once
in that space, they pay a visit to the devil in order to have their
beards combed.
Baxter, in his “World of Spirits,” mentions an anecdote from whence Mr.
Brand imagines, that “this infernal visitant was in no instance treated
with more _sang froid_ on his appearing, or rather, perhaps, his
imagined appearance, than by one Mr. White of Dorchester.” That
gentleman was assessor to the Westminster Assembly at Lambeth, and “the
devil, in a light night, stood by his bed-side: he looked awhile whether
he would say or do any thing, and then said, ‘If thou hast nothing else
to do, I have;’ and so turned himself to sleep.”
* * * * *
King James I. told his parliament in a speech on a certain occasion,
that “the _devil_ is a busy _bishop_.” It has been objected to this
saying of “His Most Dread Majesty,” that it would have sounded well
enough from a professed enemy to the bench, “but came very improperly
from a king who flattered them more, and was more flattered by them,
than any prince till his time.”[343]
PRINTERS’ DEVILS.
As I was going the other day into Lincoln’s-inn, (says a writer in the
“Grub-street Journal” of October 26, 1732,) under a great gateway, I met
several lads loaded with great bundles of newspapers, which they brought
from the stamp-office. They were all exceeding black and dirty; from
whence I inferred they were “printers’ devils,” carrying from thence the
returns of unsold newspapers, after the stamps had been cut off. They
stopt under the gateway, and there laid down their loads; when one of
them made the following harangue: “Devils, gentlemen, and
brethren:--though I think we have no reason to be ashamed on account of
the vulgar opinion concerning the origin of our name, yet we ought to
acknowledge ourselves obliged to the learned herald, who, upon the death
of any person of title, constantly gives an exact account of his ancient
family in my London Evening Post. He says, there was one monsieur
Devile, or De Ville, who came over with William the Conqueror, in
company with De Laune, De Vice, De Val, D’Ashwood, D’Urfie, D’Umpling,
&c. One of the sons of a descendant of this monsieur De Ville, was taken
in by the famous Caxton in 1471, as an errand boy; was afterwards his
apprentice, and in time an eminent printer, from whom our order took
their name; but suppose they took it from infernal devils, it was not
because they were messengers frequently sent in darkness, and appeared
very black, but upon a reputable account, viz., John Fust, or Faustus,
of Mentz, in Germany, was the inventor of printing, for which he was
called a conjurer, and his art the black art. As he kept a constant
succession of boys to run on errands, who were always very black, these
they called devils; some of whom being raised to be his apprentices, he
was said to have raised many a devil. As to the inferior order among us,
called flies, employed in taking newspapers off the press, they are of
later extraction, being no older than newspapers themselves. Mr. Bailey
thinks, their original name was lies, taken from the papers they so took
off, and the alteration occasioned thus. To hasten these boys, the
pressmen used to cry flie, lie, which naturally fell into one single
word lie. This conjecture is confirmed by a little corruption in the
true title of the fLying Post; since, therefore, we are both
comprehended under the title of devils, let us discharge our office with
diligence; so may we attain, as many of our predecessors have done, to
the dignity of printers, and to have an opportunity of using others as
much like poor devils, as we have been used by them, or as they and
authors are used by booksellers. These are an upstart profession, who
have engrossed the business of bookselling, which originally belonged
solely to our masters. But let them remember, that if we worship Belial
and Beelzebub, the God of flies, all the world agrees, that their God is
mammon.”
* * * * *
The preceding is from the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for October, 1732; and
it is mentioned, that “at the head of the article is a picture
emblematically displaying the art and mystery of printing; in which are
represented a compositor, with an ass’s head; two pressmen, one with the
head of a hog, the other of a horse, being names which they fix upon one
another; a flie taking off the sheets, and a devil hanging them up; a
messenger with a greyhound’s face kicking out the “Craftsman;” a figure
with two faces, for the master, to show he prints on both sides; but the
reader is cautioned against applying it to any particular person, who
is, or ever was a printer; for that all the figures were intended to
represent characters and not persons.”
* * * * *
It is a proverbial expression, not confined to our country, that “the
devil is not so black as he is painted.” The French, in their usual
forms of speech, mention him with great honour and respect. Thus, when
they would commend any thing, they break out into this pious
exclamation, “Diable! que cela est bon!” When they would represent a man
honest, sincere, and sociable, they call him “un bon Diable.” Some of
our own countrymen will say, a thing is “devilish good;” a lady is
“devilish pretty.” In a mixture of surprise and approbation, they say,
“the devil’s in this fellow, or he is a comical devil.” Others speak of
the apostate angel with abhorrence, and nothing is more common than to
say, “such a one is a sad devil.” I remember when I was at St. Germains,
a story of a gentleman, who being in waiting at the court of king James
II., and the discourse running upon demons and apparitions, the king
asked him whether ever he had seen any thing of that sort. “Yes,”
replied he, “last night.” His majesty asked him what he had seen. He
answered, “the devil.” Being asked in what shape,--“O sir,” said he,
with a sigh, “in his usual and natural shape, that of an empty
bottle.”[344]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 59·32.
[342] Gentleman’s Magazine.
[343] Ibid.
[344] Ibid.
~September 16.~
FRAUDULENT DEBTOR.
On the 16th of September, 1735, Mr. Yardley died in the Fleet prison,
where he had been confined nearly ten years in execution for a debt of a
hundred pounds. He was possessed of nearly seven hundred a year, and
securities and other effects to the value of five thousand pounds were
found in his room.[345]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 59·04.
[345] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~September 17.~
LAMBERT.
There is an account of this saint of the church of England calendar, in
vol. i. col. 1295.
REMARKABLE THIEF.
On the 17th of September, 1737, the secret was discovered of some
mysterious robberies committed in Gray’s-inn, while the inhabitants had
been in the country.
About a month before, there died at a madhouse near Red Lion-square, one
Mr. Rudkins, who had chambers up three pair of stairs, at No. 14, in
Holborn-court, Gray’s-inn. His sister-in law and executrix, who lived in
Staffordshire, wrote to Mr. Cotton, a broker, to take care of the
effects in her behalf; and he having read a Mr. Warren’s advertisement
of his chambers having been robbed, found several of his writings there;
several things of a Mr. Ellis, who had been robbed about two years
before of above three hundred pounds, of a Mr. Lawson’s of the Temple,
and of captain Haughton’s, whose chambers were broken open some years
previously, and two hundred pounds’ reward offered for his writings,
which were a part found here. There were also found books to one hundred
pounds’ value, belonging to Mr. Osborne the bookseller in Gray’s-inn.
It is remarkable, that when Mr. Rudkins had any thing in view in this
way, he would padlock up his own door, and take horse at noonday, giving
out to his laundress that he was going into the country. His chambers
consisted of five rooms, two of which not even his laundress was ever
admitted into, and in these was found the booty, with all his working
tools, picklocks, &c. He had formerly been a tradesman in King-street,
near Guildhall. It is further remarkable of this private house-breaker,
that he always went to Abingdon’s coffee-house, in Holborn, on an
execution-day, to see from thence the poor wretches pass by to their
dismal end; and at no other time did he frequent that coffee-house.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·95.
~September 18.~
GEORGE I. AND II. LANDED.
The “coming over” of these two kings of the house of Brunswick, is
marked in the almanacs on this day, which is kept as a holiday at all
the public offices, except the excise, stamps, and customs.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·97.
~September 19.~
UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN.
In September, 1737, a new university founded at Gottingen, by his
Britannic majesty, which has since attained to great eminence, was
“opened with a very solemn inauguration.” In 1788, the black board, on
the walls of its council-house, bore three edicts for the expulsion of
three students named Westfield, Planch, and Bauer. These papers were
drawn up in Latin by the celebrated professor Heyne, and are printed in
the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for June, 1789. King George IV., when prince
regent in 1814, sent a copy of every important work published in England
during the ten preceding years, as a present to the library of the
university, agreeable to a promise he had made to that purport.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 57·87.
~September 20.~
HEALTH--_Cholera Morbus_.
This is, of all times of the year, the most productive of epidemical
disorders of the bowels, which are erroneously ascribed to fruits, but
which, in reality, the autumnal fruits seem best calculated to mollify.
If the diarrhea be very violent, or accompanied with incessant vomiting,
as in _cholera morbus_, the best practice is, after the intestinal canal
has been suffered copiously to evacuate itself, to take small doses of
chalk, or of some other substance known to check the disorder, with
which chemists are always prepared. But in ordinary cases, it is a safer
plan to let the disease spend itself, as there is a great deal of
irritation of the intestines, which the flux carries off. We should
avoid eating animal food, but take tea, broths, gruel, and other
diluents, and the disorder will usually soon subside of itself. After it
has so subsided we should guard against its return, by taking great care
to keep the bowels regular, by eating light and vegetable food and
fruits, or now and then taking a gentle dose of aloes, gr. iiii. The
pills which commonly go by the name of Hunt’s pills, if genuine, are
very good medicines to regulate the bowels. When low spirits and want of
bile indicate the liver to partake much of the disease, two grains of
the pil. hydrarg., commonly called blue pill, may be used now and then
with advantage.[346]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·45.
[346] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.
~September 21.~
THE SEASON.
Swallows and martins are still very numerous, the general migration not
having begun. They roost in immense numbers on buildings, round about
which martins fly some times in such quantities as almost to darken the
air with their plumes. Sparrows, linnets, various finches, and also
plovers, are now seen about in flocks, according to an annual habit,
prevalent among many kinds of birds, of assembling together in
autumn.[347]
* * * * *
The accompanying stanzas applicable to the season, are extracted from an
original poem, entitled “The Libertine of the Emerald Isle,” which will,
probably, be published early in the next year.
AUTUMN.
_For the Every-Day Book._
The leaves are falling, and the hollow breeze
At ev’ning tide sweeps mournfully along,
Making sad music, such as minor keys
Develope in a melancholy song:
The meadows, too, are losing by degrees
Their green habiliments--and now among
The various works of nature there appears
A gen’ral gloom, prophetic of the year’s
Approaching dissolution:--but to me
These sombre traits are pregnant with delight,
And yield my soul more true felicity
Than words can justly picture:--they invite
My mind to contemplation--they agree
With my heart’s bias, and at once excite
Those feelings, both of love and admiration,
Which make this world a glorious revelation!
Hence--not unfrequently when all is still,
And Cynthia walks serenely through the sky,
Silv’ring the groves and ev’ry neighb’ring hill,
I sit and ponder on the years gone by:
This is the time when reason has her fill
Of this world’s good and evil, when the eye
Of contemplation takes a boundless range
Of spheres that never vacillate or change!
Sweet Autumn! thou’rt surrounded with the charms
Of reason, and philosophy, and truth,
And ev’ry “sound reflection” that disarms
This life of half its terrors:--in our youth
We feel no sense of danger, and the qualms
Of conscience seldom trouble us forsooth,
Because the splendour of its reign destroys
Whatever checks our sublunary joys?
But thou art far too rigid and severe
To let these errors triumph for a day,
Or suffer folly, in her mad career,
To sweep our reas’ning faculties away!
Thou pointest out the fun’ral of the year,
The summer’s wreck and palpable decay,
Stamping a “moral lesson” on the mind,
To awe, restrain, and meliorate mankind!
But men are callous to thy warning voice,
And pass thee by, regardless of thy worth,
Making a false and perishable choice
Of all the fleeting pleasures of the earth:
They love gross riot, turbulence, and noise,
The Bacchanalian’s ebriating mirth,
And when the autumn of their lives creeps on,
Their wit has vanish’d, and their strength is gone!
But had they been observant of thy pow’rs,
And ponder’d o’er thy ruin and decay,
They might have well applied them to those hours
Which nothing, for an instant, can delay;
But whilst health, strength, and competence are our’s,
And youth is basking in the summer’s ray,
Life’s autumn scenes reluctantly are view’d,
And folly’s visions joyously pursued!
B. W. R.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 58·02.
[347] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.
~September 22.~
ST. MAURICE.
This saint, to whom and his companions a festival is celebrated by the
Romish church on this day, received a similar honour in England. They
are said to have been officers in the Theban legion, which refused to
sacrifice to the gods on their march into Gaul, and were, therefore,
ordered to be decimated by Maximian. Every tenth man was accordingly put
to death, and on their continued resistance, a second decimation
ordered, and Maurice and his companions encouraged them, and the whole
legion consisting of six thousand six hundred men, well armed, being no
way intimidated to idolatry by cruelty, were slaughtered by the rest of
the army, and relics of their bodies were gathered and preserved, and
worked miracles.[348]
BATTLE OF THREEKINGHAM.
_For the Every-Day Book._
The village of Threekingham, in the county of Lincoln, was known by the
name of Laundon, previous to this day, A. D. 870, when a battle was
fought between the English and Danes, of which Ingulphus, a monk of
Crowland abbey, has left the following account.
The Danes entered England in the year 879, and wintered at York; and in
the year 880 proceeded to the parts of Lindsey, in Lincolnshire, where
they commenced their destructive depredations by laying waste the abbey
of Bardney. In the month of September in the latter year, earl Algar,
with two of his seneschals, (Wibert, owner of Wiberton, and Leofric,
owner of Leverton,) attended by the men of Holland (Lincolnshire), Toly,
a monk (formerly a soldier), with two hundred men belonging to Crowland
abbey, and three hundred from Deeping, Langtoft, and Boston, Morcar,
lord of Bourn, with his powerful family, and Osgot, sheriff of
Lincolnshire, with the forces of the county, being five hundred more,
mustered in Kesteven, on the day of St. Maurice, and fought with the
Danes, over whom they obtained considerable advantage, killing three of
their kings and many of their private soldiers, and pursued the rest to
their very camp, until night obliged them to separate. In the same night
several princes and earls of the Danes, with their followers, who had
been out in search of plunder, came to the assistance of their
countrymen; by the report of which many of the English were so dismayed
that they took to flight. Those, however, who had resolution to face the
enemy in the morning, went to prayers, and were marshalled for battle.
Among the latter was Toly with his five hundred men in the right wing,
with Morcar and his followers to support them; and Osgot the sheriff,
with his five hundred men, and with the stout knight, Harding de
Riehall, and the men of Stamford. The Danes, after having buried the
three kings whom they had lost the day before, at a place there called
Laundon, but since, from that circumstance, called _Three-king-ham_,
marched out into the field. The battle began, and the English, though
much inferior in numbers, kept their ground the greater part of the day
with steadiness and resolution, until the Danes feigning a flight, were
rashly pursued without attention to order. The Danes then took advantage
of the confusion of the English, returned to the charge, and made their
opponents pay dearly for their temerity; in fine, the Danes were
completely victorious. In this battle, earl Algar, the monk Toly, and
many other valiant men, were slain on the part of the English; after
which the Danes proceeded to the destruction of the abbeys of Crowland,
Thorney, Ramsey and Hamstede (Peterborough) and many other places in the
neighbourhood.--Thus far is from Ingulphus the monk.
A fair, said to have arisen from the above circumstance, is annually
held at _Three-king-ham_, on a remarkable piece of ground, called _Stow
Green Hill_, reported to be the spot whereon the battle was principally
contested, and Domesday-book in some degree corroborates the statement;
for in the Conqueror’s time, A. D. 1080, when that survey was taken, we
find that there was then a fair held here, which yielded forty
shillings, accounted for to Gilbert de Gand, lord of Foldingham. This
fair, however, is not held now in the month of September, but commences
on the 15th of June, and continues till the fourth of July, and was very
probably changed in the fifty-second year of the reign of king Henry
III., who according to Tanner’s “Notitia Monastica,” granted a charter
for a fair at this place to the monastery of Sempringham.
SLEAFORDENSIS.
_September 8, 1826._
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 57·70.
[348] Butler.
~September 23.~
OPENING OF THE WINTER THEATRES.
_For the Every-Day Book._
To cultivate pleasant associations, may well be deemed a part and parcel
of the philosophy of life. Now that spring, that sweet season redolent
of flowers and buds hath passed away, and summer mellowing into autumn,
has well nigh fallen into the “sere the yellow leaf,” _we_ in “populous
city pent,” gladly revert to those social enjoyments peculiar to a great
metropolis, and among which stand conspicuous, the amusements of the
acted drama.
The opening of the winter theatres may be reckoned as one of the
principal _fasti_ of cockney land, an epoch which distinctly marks the
commencement of a winter in London. How changed from the auspicious
season, when the bright sun glancing into our gloomy retreats,
tantalizes us with visions of the breathing sweets of nature, and when
we in our very dreams “babbled of green fields,”--to the period when
even the thronged and dirty streets are endurable, as we wend our way
perchance through a fog, (a London particular,) towards the crowded and
gaily lighted theatre, by contrast made more brilliant.
“My first play” forms an era to most young persons, and is generally
cherished among our more agreeable juvenile reminiscences: but the
subject has been recently expatiated upon so delightfully and in so
genial a spirit by ELIA, as almost to make further comment “a wasteful
and ridiculous excess.” I well remember the vast and splendid area of
old Drury-lane theatre, where the mysterious green curtain portico, to
that curious microcosm the stage, first met my youthful gaze. The
performances were, the “Stranger” and “Blue Beard,” both then in the
very bloom of their popularity: and whatever difference of opinion may
exist as to the moral tendency of the first, all must allow that never
piece was more effective in the representation, when aided by the
unrivalled talents of Kemble, and Mrs. Siddons, at that time in the
zenith of their powers. I confess, that to my unsophisticated boyish
feelings, subdued by the cunning of the scene, it seemed quite natural,
that the sufferings of bitter remorse and repentance should suffice to
ensure the pity and forgiveness of outraged society.--Happy age, when
the generous impulses of our nature are not yet blunted by the stern
experience of after life!
This brings me to record a remarkable and disastrous event in theatrical
annals, and one which in a great measure suggested the present
communication. It was my fortune to be present at the _last_
performances ever given on the boards of Old Drury--and which took place
on Thursday evening the 23rd of February, 1809--when was acted for the
first, and as it proved, the last time, a new opera composed by Bishop,
called the “Circassian Bride.” The next night this magnificent theatre
was a pile of burning ruins. The awful grandeur of the conflagration
defies description, but to enlarge upon a circumstance so comparatively
recent would be purely gratuitous; it was, however, an event which might
be truly said, “to eclipse the harmless gaiety of nations,”--for the
metropolis then presented the unprecedented spectacle of the national
drama without a home,--the two sister theatres both prostrate in the
dust!
Annexed is a copy of the play-bill, which at this distance of time, may
perhaps be valued as an interesting relic, illustrative of dramatic
history.
J. H.
* * * * *
NEVER ACTED.
Theatre Royal, Drury-lane.
This present THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 23,
1809.
Their Majesties Servants will perform a
New Opera, in Three Acts, called the
CIRCASSIAN BRIDE.
_With New Scenery, Dresses, and Decorations._
The OVERTURE and MUSIC entirely new,
composed by Mr. BISHOP.
_CIRCASSIANS._
Alexis, Mr. BRAHAM,
Rhindax, Mr. DE CAMP,
Demetrio, Mr. MARSHALL,
Basil, Mr. RAY,
Officers, Mr. GIBBON, Mr. MILLER,
Chief Priest, Mr. MADDOCKS,
Erminia, Miss LYON.
_ENGLISH._
Ben Blunt, Mr. BANNISTER,
Tom Taffrel, Mr. SMITH,
Rachael, Mrs. MOUNTAIN.
_TARTARS._
Usberg, (_the Khan_,) Mr. J. SMITH,
Barak, Mr. MATHEWS,
Kerim, Mr. FISHER, Hassan, Mr. COOKE,
Slaves, Messrs. WEBB, EVANS,
CHATTERLEY,
Anna, Mrs. BLAND.
The _DANCE_ by
Mesds. GREEN, TWAMLEY, DAVIS, H.
and F. DENNET.
_Chorus of Circassians, Tartars, &c._
By Messrs. Danby, Cook, Evans, Caulfield,
Bond, Dibble, Jones,
Mesds. Stokes, Chatterley, Menage,
Maddocks, Wells, Butler.
The New Scenes designed by
Mr. GREENWOOD,
And executed by him, Mr. BANKS, and
Assistants.
The Dresses and Decorations, by
Mr. JOHNSTON,
and executed by him, Mr. BANKS and
Mr. UNDERWOOD.
The Female Dresses designed and executed
by Miss REIN.
Books of the Songs to be had in the
Theatre.
To which will be added the Farce of
FORTUNE’S FROLIC.
Robin Roughhead, Mr. MATHEWS,
Rattle, Mr. PALMER, Nancy Miss LACY
Margery, Mrs. SPARKS,
Dolly, Mrs. HARLOWE.
Places for the Boxes to be taken of Mr.
SPRING, at the Box-Office, Russel-street.
_No money to be returned._
Vivant Rex et Regina! (Lowndes and Hobbs,
Printers, Marquis-court, Drury-lane.)
* * * * *
“ELIA.”-Why should J. H. pop on me with his mention of ELIA, just as I
was about to write “an article?” Write!--it’s impossible. I have turned
to “My First Play”--I cannot get it out my head: the reader must take
the consequence of my inability, and of the fault of J. H., and read
what I shall never approach to, in writing, were I to “grind my quill
these hundred years”----
MY FIRST PLAY
BY ELIA.
At the north end of Cross-court there yet stands a portal, of some
architectural pretensions, though reduced to humble use, serving at
present for an entrance to a printing-office. This old door-way, if you
are young, reader, you may not know was the identical pit entrance to
Old Drury--Garrick’s Drury--all of it that is left. I never pass it
without shaking some forty years from off my shoulders, recurring to the
evening when I passed through it to see _my first play_. The afternoon
had been wet, and the condition of our going (the elder folks and
myself) was, that the rain should cease. With what a beating heart did I
watch from the window the puddles, from the stillness of which I was
taught to prognosticate the desired cessation! I seem to remember the
last spurt, and the glee with which I ran to announce it.
We went with orders, which my godfather F. had sent us. He kept the oil
shop (now Davies’s) at the corner of Featherstone-building, in Holborn.
F. was a tall grave person, lofty in speech, and had pretensions above
his rank. He associated in those days with John Palmer, the comedian,
whose gait and bearing he seemed to copy; if John (which is quite as
likely) did not rather borrow somewhat of his manner from my godfather.
He was also known to, and visited by, Sheridan. It was to his house in
Holborn, that young Brinsley brought his first wife on her elopement
with him from a boarding school at Bath--the beautiful Maria Linley. My
parents were present (over a quadrille table) when he arrived in the
evening with his harmonious charge.--From either of these connections,
it may be inferred that my godfather could command an order for the then
Drury-lane theatre at pleasure--and, indeed, a pretty liberal issue of
those cheap billets, in Brinsley’s easy autograph, I have heard him say
was the sole remuneration which he had received for many years’ nightly
illumination of the orchestra, and various avenues of that theatre--and
he was content that it should be so. The honour of Sheridan’s
familiarity--or supposed familiarity--was better to my godfather than
money.
F. was the most gentlemanly of oilmen; grandiloquent, yet courteous. His
delivery of the commonest matters of fact was Ciceronian. He had two
Latin words almost constantly in his mouth, (how odd sounds Latin from
an oilman’s lips!) which my better knowledge since, has enabled me to
correct. In strict pronunciation they should have been sounded _vice
versâ_--but in those young years they impressed me with more awe than
they would now do, read aright from Seneca or Varro--in his own peculiar
pronunciation, monosyllabically elaborated, or anglicized, into
something like _verse verse_. By an imposing manner, and the help of
these distorted syllables, he climbed (but that was little) to the
highest parochial honours which St. Andrew’s has to bestow.
He is dead, and thus much I thought due to his memory, both for my first
orders (little wondrous talismans!--slight keys, and insignificant to
outward sight, but opening to me more than Arabian paradises!) and
moreover, that by his testamentary beneficence I came into possession of
the only landed property which I could ever call my own--situate near
the road-way village of pleasant Puckeridge, in Hertfordshire. When I
journied down to take possession, and planted foot on my own ground, the
stately habits of the donor descended upon me, and I strode (shall I
confess the vanity?) with larger paces over my allotment of three
quarters of an acre, with its commodious mansion in the midst with the
feeling of an English freeholder, that all betwixt sky and centre was my
own. The estate has passed into more prudent hands, and nothing but an
agrarian can restore it.
In those days were pit orders. Beshrew the uncomfortable manager who
abolished them!--with one of these we went. I remember the waiting at
the door--not that which is left--but between that and an inner door in
shelter--O when shall I be such an expectant again;--with the cry of
nonpareils, an indispensable playhouse accompaniment in those days. As
near as I can recollect, the fashionable pronunciation of the theatrical
fruiteresses then was, “Chase some oranges, chase some numparels, chase
a bill of the play;”--chase _pro_ chuse. But when we got in, and I
beheld the green curtain that veiled a heaven to my imagination, which
was soon to be disclosed--the breathless anticipations I endured! I had
seen something like it in the plate prefixed to “Troilus and Cressida,”
in Rowe’s “Shakspeare”--the tent scene with Diomede--and a sight of that
plate can always bring back in a measure the feeling of that
evening.--The boxes at that time, full of well-dressed women of quality,
projected over the pit; and the pilasters reaching down were adorned
with a glistering substance (I know not what) under glass (as it seemed)
resembling--a homely fancy--but I judged it to be sugar-candy--yet, to
my raised imagination, divested of its homelier qualities, it appeared a
glorified candy!--The orchestra lights at length arose, those “fair
Auroras!” Once the bell sounded. It was to ring out yet once again--and,
incapable of the anticipation, I reposed my shut eyes in a sort of
resignation upon the maternal lap. It rang the second time. The curtain
drew up--I was not past six years old--and the play was Artaxerxes!
I had dabbled a little in the Universal History--the ancient part of
it--and here was the court of Persia. It was being admitted to a sight
of the past. I took no proper interest in the action going on, for I
understood not its import--but I heard the word Darius, and I was in the
midst of Daniel. All feeling was absorbed in vision. Gorgeous vests,
gardens, palaces, princesses, passed before me. I knew not players. I
was in Persepolis for the time; and the burning idol of their devotion
almost converted me into a worshipper. I was awe-struck, and believed
those significations to be something more than elemental fires. It was
all enchantment and a dream. No such pleasure has since visited me but
in dreams.--Harlequin’s Invasion followed; where, I remember, the
transformation of the magistrates into reverend beldams seemed to me a
piece of grave historic justice, and the tailor carrying his own head to
be as sober a verity as the legend of St. Denys.
The next play to which I was taken was the “Lady of the Manor,” of
which, with the exception of some scenery, very faint traces are left in
my memory. It was followed by a pantomime, called “Lun’s Ghost”--a
satiric touch, I apprehend, upon Rich, not long since dead--but to my
apprehension (too sincere for satire) “Lun” was as remote a piece of
antiquity as “Lud”--the father of a line of Harlequins--transmitting his
dagger of lath (the wooden sceptre) through countless ages. I saw the
primeval Motley come from his silent tomb in a ghastly vest of white
patch-work, like the apparition of a dead rainbow. So harlequins
(thought I) look when they are dead.
My third play followed in quick succession. It was the “Way of the
World.” I think I must have sat at it as grave as a judge; for, I
remember, the hysteric affectations of good lady Wishfort affected me
like some solemn tragic passion. “Robinson Crusoe” followed; in which
Crusoe, man Friday, and the parrot, were as good and authentic as in the
story.--The clownery and pantaloonery of these pantomimes have clean
passed out of my head. I believe, I no more laughed at them, than at the
same age I should have been disposed to laugh at the grotesque Gothic
heads (seeming to me then replete with devout meaning) that gape, and
grin, in stone around the inside of the old round church (my church) of
the Templars.
I saw these plays in the season 1781-2, when I was from six to seven
years old. After the intervention of six or seven other years (for at
school all play-going was inhibited) I again entered the doors of a
theatre. That old Artaxerxes evening had never done ringing in my fancy.
I expected the same feelings to come again with the same occasion. But
we differ from ourselves less at sixty and sixteen, than the latter does
from six. In that interval what had I not lost! At the first period I
knew nothing, understood nothing, discriminated nothing. I felt all,
loved all, wondered all--
Was nourished, I could not tell how.--
I had left the temple a devotee, and was returned a rationalist. The
same things were there materially; but the emblem, the reference, was
gone!--The green curtain was no longer a veil, drawn between two worlds,
the unfolding of which was to bring back past ages, to present “a royal
ghost,”--but a certain quantity of green baize, which was to separate
the audience for a given time from certain of their fellow-men who were
to come forward and pretend those parts. The lights--the orchestra
lights--came up a clumsy machinery. The first ring, and the second ring,
was now but a trick of the prompter’s bell--which had been, like the
note of the cuckoo, a phantom of a voice, no hand seen or guessed at
which ministered to its warning. The actors were men and women painted.
I thought the fault was in them; but it was in myself, and the
alteration which those many centuries--of six short twelvemonths--had
wrought in me. Perhaps it was fortunate for me that the play of the
evening was but an indifferent comedy, as it gave me time to crop some
unreasonable expectations, which might have interfered with the genuine
emotions with which I was soon after enabled to enter upon the first
appearance to me of Mrs. Siddons in “Isabella.” Comparison and
retrospection soon yielded to the present attraction of the scene; and
the theatre became to me, upon a new stock, the most delightful of
recreations.
* * * * *
After this robbery of “ELIA,” my conscience forces me to declare that I
wish every reader would save me from the shame of further temptation to
transgress, by ordering “ELIA” into his collection. There is no volume
in our language so full of beauty, truth, and feeling, as the volume of
“ELIA.” I am convinced that every person who has not seen it, and may
take the hint, will thank me for acquainting him with a work which he
cannot look into without pleasure, nor lay down without regret. It is a
delicious book.
SHERBORNE BELLS.
On this day it is a custom to exercise the largest bell of one of our
country churches, in the manner described in the following
communication.
TOLLING DAY.
_For the Every-Day Book._
The 23d of September has obtained in Sherborne, Dorset, the name of
“tolling-day,” in commemoration of the death of John Lord Digby, baron
Digby of Sherborne, and earl of Bristol, in the year MDCXCVIII. and in
conformity with the following wish expressed in a codicil annexed to his
lordship’s will.
“Item, I give and bequeath out of my said estate to the parish church,
the yearly sum of ten pounds, to be paid by my successors, lords of the
said manor for the time being, at and upon, or within forty days after,
the feast days of St. Michael the archangel, and of the annunciation of
our blessed lady St. Mary the virgin, by equal portions yearly and for
ever, and to be employed and bestowed by the churchwardens of the said
parish for the time being, with the consent of the lord of the said
manor for the time being, in keeping in good repair the chancel, and
towards the reparations of the rest of the said church, yearly and for
ever; provided that my successors, the lord or lords of the said manor
for the time being, shall have and enjoy a convenient pew, or seat, in
the said chancel for himself and family for ever; and provided that the
said churchwardens for the time being, shall cause the largest bell in
the tower of the said church, to be tolled six full hours, that is to
say, from five to nine of the clock in the forenoon, and from twelve
o’clock till two in the afternoon, on that day of the said month whereon
it shall be my lot to depart this life, every year and for ever;
otherwise this gift of ten pounds per annum shall determine and be
void.”
This custom is annually observed, but not to the extent above intended,
the tolling of the bell being limited to two hours instead of six. It
begins to toll at six o’clock and continues till seven in the morning,
when six men, who toll the bell for church service, repair to the
mansion of the present earl Digby, with two large stone jars, which are
there filled with some of his lordship’s strong beer, and, with a
quantity of bread and cheese, taken to the church by the tollers and
equally divided amongst them, together with a small remuneration in
money paid by the churchwardens as a compensation for their labour. At
twelve o’clock the bell is again tolled till one, and in the evening
divine service is performed at the church, and a lecture suited to the
occasion delivered from the pulpit; for which lecture or sermon the
vicar is paid thirty pounds, provided by the will of the above donor.
R. T.
BOW BELLS.
Who has not heard of “Bow Bells?” Who that has heard them does not feel
an interest in their sounds, or in the recollection of them? The editor
is preparing an article on “Bow Bells,” and for that purpose
particularly desires communications. Accounts relative to their present
or former state, or any facts or anecdotes respecting them at any time,
are earnestly solicited from every reader as soon as possible.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 56·02.
~September 24.~
A GOOD TENANT.
In the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for September, 1775, Mr. Clayton, a
wealthy farmer of Berkshire, is related to have died at the
extraordinary age of a hundred and fifteen years, and retained his
faculties to the last; he is further remarkable, for having rented one
farm ninety years. An occupancy of so great duration, by one individual,
is perhaps unequalled in the history of landlord and tenant.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 55·40.
~September 25.~
SEA SIDE SPORTS.
There is an exhilarating effect in the sea-air and coast scenery, which
inland views or atmosphere, however fine, fail to communicate.
On the 25th of September, 1825, a gentleman and lady came out of one of
the hotels near the Steyne, and after taking a fair start, set off
running round the Steyne. They both ran very swiftly, but the young lady
bounded forward with the agility of the chamois and the fleetness of the
deer, and returned to the spot from whence they started a considerable
distance before the gentleman. She appeared much pleased with her
victory. There were but few persons on the Steyne at the time, but those
who were there, expressed their admiration at the swiftness of this
second Atalanta.[349]
BRIGHTON.
In Mr. Hazlitt’s “Notes of a Journey through France and Italy,” he
mentions the place from whence he sailed for the continent:--
“Brighton stands facing the sea, on the bare cliffs, with glazed windows
to reflect the glaring sun, and black pitchy bricks shining like the
scales of fishes. The town is however gay with the influx of London
visiters--happy as the conscious abode of its sovereign! Every thing
here appears in motion--coming or going. People at a watering-place may
be compared to the flies of a summer; or to fashionable dresses, or
suits of clothes, walking about the streets. The only idea you gain is,
of finery and motion. The road between London and Brighton, presents
some very charming scenery; Reigate is a prettier English country-town
than is to be found anywhere--out of England! As we entered Brighton in
the evening, a Frenchman was playing and singing to a guitar.--The
genius of the south had come out to meet us.”
When Mr. Hazlitt arrived at Brighton, it was in the full season. He
says, “A lad offered to conduct us to an inn. ‘Did he think there was
room?’ He was sure of it. ‘Did he belong to the inn?’ ‘No,’ he was from
London. In fact, he was a young gentleman from town, who had been
stopping some time at the White-horse hotel, and who wished to employ
his spare time (when he was not riding out on a blood-horse) in serving
the house, and relieving the perplexities of his fellow-travellers. No
one but a Londoner would volunteer his assistance in this way. Amiable
land of _Cockayne_, happy in itself, and in making others happy! Blest
exuberance of self-satisfaction, that overflows upon others! Delightful
impertinence, that is forward to oblige them!”
* * * * *
It is here both in place and season, to quote a passage of remarkably
fine thought:--
“There is something in being near the sea, like the confines of
eternity. It is a new element, a pure abstraction. The mind loves to
hover on that which is endless, and for ever the same. People wonder at
a steam-boat, the invention of man, managed by man, that makes its
liquid path like an iron railway through the sea--I wonder at the sea
itself, that vast Leviathan, rolled round the earth, smiling in its
sleep, waked into fury, fathomless, boundless, a huge world of
water-drops.--Whence is it, whither goes it, is it of eternity or of
nothing? Strange ponderous riddle, that we can neither penetrate nor
grasp in our comprehension, ebbing and flowing like human life, and
swallowing it up in thy remorseless womb,--what art thou? What is there
in common between thy life and ours, who gaze at thee? Blind, deaf and
old, thou seest not, hearest not, understandest not; neither do we
understand, who behold and listen to thee! Great as thou art,
unconscious of thy greatness, unwieldy, enormous, preposterous
twin-birth of matter, rest in thy dark, unfathomed cave of mystery,
mocking human pride and weakness. Still is it given to the mind of man
to wonder at thee, to confess its ignorance, and to stand in awe of thy
stupendous might and majesty, and of its own being, that can question
thine!”[350]
* * * * *
In Mr. Hazlitt’s “Journey through France and Italy,” there are
“thoughts that breathe and words that burn.” His conceptions of beauty
and grandeur, are at all times simple and vast. His works are pervaded
by the results of profound thinking. His sentences have the power of
elevating things that are deemed little remarkable, and of lowering
those which successive submissions to over praise, have preposterously
magnified. Many of the remarks on works of art, in his “Notes of a
Journey through France and Italy,” will be wholly new to persons who
never reflected on the subjects of his criticism, and will not be openly
assented to by others thinking as _he_ does, who, for the first time,
has ventured to publicly dissent from received notions. If any of his
opinions be deemed incorrect, the difference can easily be arbitrated.
Taking the originals, whether corporeal or imaginary existences, as the
standard, our pure sight and feeling may be relied on as unerring judges
of the imitations.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 54·27.
[349] Brighton paper.
[350] Mr. Hazlitt’s Journey.
~September 26.~
ST. CYPRIAN. OLD HOLY ROOD.
For these remembrances in the church of England calendar and almanacs,
see vol. i. p. 1324.
* * * * *
Communications of local customs are always received and inserted with
satisfaction. It is with peculiar pleasure that the editor submits the
following, from a gentleman with respect to whom he has nothing to
regret, but that he is not permitted to honour the work, by annexing the
name of the respectable writer to the letter.
PAISLEY HALLOW-EVE FIRES.
SHEFFIELD SCOTLAND FEAST.
_Paisley, September 21, 1826._
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,--Having been a subscriber to your _Every-Day Book_ from its first
appearance in this town, up to the present time, I reproach myself with
neglect, in not having sent you before now, an account of a rather
singular custom prevalent here, and, as it should seem, of ancient date.
The river White Cart, on which Paisley stands, although affected by the
tide, and navigable to the town for vessels not exceeding fifty tons’
burden, is often remarkably shallow at low water. This is especially the
case between the highest and the lowest of three stone bridges, by which
the old town or burgh is connected with the new town. In this shallow
part of the stream, parties of boys construct, on _Hallow-eve_,--the
night when varied superstitions engross most of old Scotia’s
peasantry,--circular raised hearths, if I may so term them, of earth or
clay; bordered by a low round wall composed of loose stones, sods, &c.
Within these enclosures, the boys kindle on their hearths, bonfires,
often of considerable size. From the bridges, the appearance of these
bonfires, after nightfall, is singular; and attracts, as spectators,
many of the grown-up inhabitants of the place. The number and glare of
the fires, their tremulous reflection in the surrounding water, the dark
moving figures of the boys that group around them, and the shouts and
screams set up by the youthful urchins in testimony of enjoyment, might
almost make one fancy that the rites and incantations of magic, or of
wizardry, were taking place before one’s very eyes. What is the origin
of this custom, or how long it has prevailed, I do not know.
Ere I relinquish my pen, allow me to describe to you another singular
custom, which obtains in the largest town of England, north of the
Trent.[351] No one is better acquainted than, Mr. Hone, are you, with
the existence of the wake or feast, still held annually in some of the
towns, and nearly all the parochial villages of the midland and northern
counties. In many of the larger towns, the traces of the ancient wake
are, indeed, nearly worn out, and this is pretty much the case with that
particular town, to which reference has just been made, namely,
Sheffield; our great national emporium for cutlery, files, edge-tools,
and the better kinds of plated goods. Only in a few ancient and
primitive families, do roast beef, plum-pudding, and an extra allowance
of Yorkshire stingo, gracing, on _Trinity Sunday_, a large table, begirt
with some dozen of happy, and happy-faced town and country cousins,
show, that the venerable head of the family, and his antique dame, have
not forgotten Sheffield feast-day. But if the observance of Sheffield
feast itself be thus partial, and verging towards disuse, amends is made
for the circumstance, in the establishment, and pretty vigorous keeping
up of sundry local feasts, held on different days, within the town, or
in its suburbs. Besides those of the Wicker and little Sheffield, which
are suburban, Broad-lane and Scotland-street, in the town itself, have
their respective feasts too. At Little Sheffield and in Broad-lane, the
zest of the annual festivity is often heightened by ass-races;
foot-races, masculine, for a hat; foot-races, feminine, for a chemise;
grinning-matches; and, though less frequently, the humours and rattle of
a mountebank and his merry andrew. Occasionally too changes, in
imitation of those on the church bells, are rung, by striking with a
hammer, or a short piece of steel, on six, eight, or ten long bars each
suspended by twine from the roof of a workshop, and the entire set
chosen so as to resemble pretty nearly, a ring of bells, both in
diversity and in sequence of tone.[352]
_Scotland feast_, however, in point of interest, bears away the bell
from all the other district revels of Sheffield. It is so called from
Scotland-street, already mentioned; a long, hilly, and very populous
one, situated in the northern part of the town. On the eve of the feast,
which is yearly held on the 29th of May, the anniversary of the
restoration of our second Charles, parties of the inhabitants repair
into the neighbouring country; whence, chiefly however from
Walkley-bank, celebrated as Sheffield schoolboys too well know for birch
trees, they bring home, at dead of night, or morning’s earliest dawn,
from sixteen to twenty well-sized trees, besides a profusion of
branches. The trees they instantly plant in two rows; one on each side
of the street, just without the kirbstone of the flagged pavement. With
the branches, they decorate the doors and windows of houses, the
sign-boards of drinking-shops, and so on. By five or six in the morning
Scotland-street, which is not very wide, has the appearance of a grove.
And soon, from ropes stretched across it, three, four, or five, superb
_garlands_ delight the eyes, and dance over the heads of the feast-folk.
These garlands are composed of hoops, wreathed round with foliage and
flowers, fluttering with variously coloured ribands, rustling with
asidew,[353] and gay with silver tankards, pints, watches, &c. Before
the door of the principal alehouse, the largest tree is always planted.
The sign of this house is, if memory do not deceive me, the royal
oak.[354] But be this as it may, certain it is, that duly ensconced
among the branches of the said tree, may always be seen the effigy, in
small, of king Charles the Second: to commemorate indeed the happy
concealment and remarkable escape of the merry monarch, at Boscobel,
should seem to be the object of creating a _sylvan_ scene at “Scotland
feast;” while that of holding the feast itself on the anniversary of his
restoration is, there can be little doubt, to celebrate with honour the
principal event in the life of him, after whose ancient and peculiar
kingdom the street itself is named. To the particulars already given, it
needs scarcely be added, that dancing, drinking, and other merry-making
are, as a Scotsman would say, _rife_,[355] at the annual commemoration
thus briefly described.
Thanking you for much instruction, as well as entertainment, already
derived from your book, and wishing you success from its publication, I
remain, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
GULIELMUS.
_Asidew._
In vol. i. col. 1213, _arsedine_ is noticed as having been in use at
Bartholomew fair, and Mr. Archdeacon Nares’s supposition is mentioned,
that _arsedine_, _arsadine_, or _orsden_, as it was variously called,
was a corruption of _arsenic_, or orpiment. The editor then ventured to
hazard a different suggestion, and show that the word might be saxon,
and expressive of “pigments obtained from minerals and metals.” Since
then, a note in Mr. Sharp’s remarkably interesting “Dissertation on the
Country Mysteries,” seems to favour the notion.
Mr. Sharp says, “At the end of Gent’s ‘History of York, 1730,’ is an
advertisement of _numerous_ articles, sold by Hammond, a bookseller of
that city, and amongst the rest occurs ‘Assidue or horse-gold,’ the very
next article to which, is ‘hobby-horse-bells.’--A dealer in Dutch metal,
Michael Oppenheim, 27, Mansell-street, Goodman’s-fields, thus described
himself in 1816--‘Importer of bronze powder, Dutch metal, and OR-SEDEW,’
and upon inquiry respecting the last article, it proved to be that thin
yellow metal, generally known by the name of _tinsel_, much used for
ornamenting children’s dolls, hobby-horses, and some toys, as well as
manufactured into various showy articles of dress. The word orsedew is
evidently a corruption of _oripeau_ _i. e._ leaf (or skin) _gold_,
afterwards _brass_. The Spaniards call it oropoel, gold-skin, and the
Germans flitter-gold.”[356]
Through Mr. Sharp we have, at length, attained to a knowledge of this
substance as the true _arsedine_ of our forefathers, and the _asidew_ of
the Sheffield merry-makers at present.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 55·57.
[351] I speak advisedly. As a town, Sheffield, the place here referred
to, is larger and more populous than Leeds. In 1821 it contained with
its suburbs, but without including either out-hamlets, or the country
part of the parish, at least 58,000 inhabitants;--Leeds no more than
48,000.
[352] When the period for which an apprentice is bound (seven years)
expires, his “loosing” is held by himself, and shopmates. Then are
these steel bells made to jangle all day. At night the loosing is
farther celebrated by a supper and booze. The parochial ringers
frequently attend festivities with a set of hand-bells, which, in the
estimation of their auditors, they make “discourse most eloquent
music.”
[353] Asidew. The orthography of this word may be wrong. I never, to
my knowledge, saw it written. It is used in Sheffield to express a
thin, very thin brass leaf, of a high gold colour.
[354] In my boyish days, one Ludlam kept it. Was it he to whom
belonged the dog which gave occasion to this proverbial saying? “As
idle as Ludlam’s dog, that lay down to bark?”
[355] Abundant.
[356] Mr. Sharp’s Dissertation, p. 29.
~September 27.~
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 27th of September, 1772, died at Turnhurst, in Staffordshire,
James Brindley, a man celebrated for extraordinary mechanical genius and
skilful labours in inland navigation. He was born at Tunsted, in the
parish of Wormhill, Derbyshire, in 1716, where he contributed to support
his parents’ family till he was nearly seventeen years of age, when he
bound himself apprentice to a wheelwright named Bennet, near
Macclesfield, in Cheshire. In the early period of his apprenticeship, he
performed several parts of the business without instruction, and so
satisfied the millers, that he was always consulted in preference to his
master, and before the expiration of his servitude, when Mr. Bennet, by
his age and infirmities, became unable to work, he carried on the
business, and provided a comfortable subsistence for the old man and his
family.
About this time Bennet was employed in constructing an engine
paper-mill, the first of the kind that had been attempted in these
parts; but, as he was likely to fail in the execution of it, Mr.
Brindley, without communicating his design, set out on Saturday evening
after the business of the day was finished, and having inspected the
work, returned home on Monday morning, after a journey of fifty miles,
informed his master of its defects, and completed the engine to the
entire satisfaction of the proprietors. He afterwards engaged in the
mill-wright business on his own account. The fame of his inventions in a
little while spread far beyond his own neighbourhood. In 1752, he was
employed to erect a curious water-engine at Clifton, in Lancashire, for
the purpose of draining coal-mines, which had before been performed at
an enormous expense. The water for the use of this engine was conveyed
from the river Irwell by a subterraneous channel, nearly six hundred
yards long, which passed through a rock; and the wheel was fixed thirty
feet below the surface of the ground.
In 1755, he constructed a new silk-mill at Congleton, in Cheshire,
according to the plan proposed by the proprietors, after the execution
of it by the original undertaker had failed; and in the completion of it
he added many new and useful improvements. He introduced one contrivance
for winding the silk upon the bobbins equally, and not in wreaths; and
another for stopping, in an instant, not only the whole of this
extensive system, in all its various movements, but any individual part
of it at pleasure. He likewise invented machines for cutting the tooth
and pinion wheels of the different engines, in a manner that produced a
great saving of time, labour, and expense. He also introduced into the
mills, used at the potteries in Staffordshire for grinding flintstones,
several valuable additions, which greatly facilitated the operation.
In 1756, he constructed a steam-engine at Newcastle-under-Line, upon a
new plan. The boiler was made with brick and stone, instead of iron
plates, and the water was heated by fire-places, so constructed as to
save the consumption of fuel. He also introduced cylinders of wood
instead of those of iron, and substituted wood for iron in the chains
which worked at the end of the beam. But from these and similar
contrivances for the improvement of this useful engine, his attention
was diverted by the great national object of “inland navigation.” In
planning and executing canals his mechanical genius found ample scope
for exercise, and formed a sort of distinguishing era in the history of
our country.
Envy and prejudice raised a variety of obstacles to the accomplishment
of his designs and undertakings; and if he had not been liberally and
powerfully protected by the duke of Bridgwater, his triumph over the
opposition with which he encountered must have been considerably
obstructed. The duke possessed an estate at Worsley, about seven miles
from Manchester, rich in mines of coal, from which he derived little or
no advantage, on account of the expense attending the conveyance by land
carriage to a suitable market. A canal from Worsley to Manchester, Mr.
Brindley declared to be practicable. His grace obtained an act for that
purpose; and Brindley was employed in the conduct and execution of this,
the first undertaking of the kind ever attempted in England, with
navigable subterraneous tunnels and elevated aqueducts. At the
commencement of the business it was determined, that the level of the
water should be preserved without the usual obstruction of locks, and to
carry the canal over rivers and deep vallies. It was not easy to obtain
a sufficient supply of water for completing the navigation, but
Brindley, furnished with ample resources, persevered, and conquered all
the embarrassments, occasioned by the nature of the undertaking, and by
the passions and prejudices of individuals. Having completed the canal
as far as Barton, where the river Irwell is navigable for large vessels,
he proposed to carry it over that river by an aqueduct thirty-nine feet
above the surface of the water. This was considered as a chimerical and
extravagant project; and an eminent engineer said, “I have often heard
of castles in the air, but never before was shown where any of them were
to be erected.” The duke of Bridgwater, confiding in the judgment of
Brindley, empowered him to prosecute the work; and in about ten months
the aqueduct was completed. This astonishing work commenced in
September, 1760, and the first boat sailed over it the 17th of July,
1761. The canal was then extended to Manchester, where Mr. Brindley’s
ingenuity in diminishing labour by mechanical contrivances, was
exhibited in a machine for landing coals upon the top of a hill.
The duke of Bridgwater extended his views to Liverpool; and obtained, in
1762, an act of parliament for branching his canal to the tide-way in
the Mersey. This part is carried over the river Mersey and Bollan, and
over many wide and deep vallies. Over the vallies it is conducted
without a single lock; and across the valley at Stretford, through which
the Mersey runs, a mound of earth, raised for preserving the water,
extends for nearly a mile. In the execution of every part of the
navigation, Mr. Brindley displayed singular skill and ingenuity; and in
order to facilitate his purpose, he produced many valuable machines. His
economy and forecast are peculiarly discernible in the stops, or
flood-gates, fixed in the canal, where it is above the level of the
land. They are so constructed, that if any of the banks should give way
and occasion a current, the adjoining gates will rise merely by that
motion, and prevent any other part of the water from escaping than that
which is near the breach between the two gates.
Encouraged by the success of the duke of Bridgwater’s undertakings, a
subscription was entered into by a number of gentlemen and manufacturers
in Staffordshire, for constructing a canal through that county. In 1766,
this canal, “The Grand Trunk Navigation,” was begun; and it was
conducted with spirit and success, under the direction of Brindley, as
long as he lived.
After this, Brindley constructed a canal from the Grand Trunk, near
Haywood, in Staffordshire, to the river Severn near Bewdley, connecting
Bristol with Liverpool and Hull. This canal, about forty-six miles in
length, was completed in 1772. His next undertaking was a canal from
Birmingham, which should unite with the Staffordshire and Worcestershire
canal near Wolverhampton. It is twenty six miles in length, and was
finished in about three years. To avoid the inconvenience of locks, and
for the more effectual supply of the canal with water, he advised a
tunnel at Smethwick; his advice was disregarded; and the managers were
afterwards under the necessity of erecting two steam engines. He
executed the canal from Droitwich to the Severn, for the conveyance of
salt and coals; and planned the Coventry navigation, which was for some
time under his direction; but a dispute arising, he resigned his office.
Some short time before his death, he began the Oxfordshire canal, which,
uniting with the Coventry canal, serves as a continuation of the Grand
Trunk navigation to Oxford, and thence by the Thames to London.
Mr. Brindley’s last undertaking was the canal from Chesterfield to the
river Trent at Stockwith. He surveyed and planned the whole, and
executed some miles of the navigation, which was finished five years
after his death by his brother-in-law, Mr. Henshall, in 1777. Such was
Mr. Brindley’s established reputation, that few works of this kind were
undertaken without his advice. They are too numerous to be
particularized, but it may be added that he gave the corporation of
Liverpool a plan for clearing their docks of mud, which has been
practised with success; and proposed a method, which has also succeeded,
of building walls against the sea without mortar. The last of his
inventions was an improved machine for drawing water out of mines, by a
losing and gaining bucket, which he afterwards employed with advantage
in raising coals.
When difficulties occurred in the execution of any of Mr. Brindley’s
works, he had no recourse to books, or to the labours of other persons.
All his resources were in his own inventive mind. He generally retired
to bed, and lay there one, two, or three days, till he had devised the
expedients which he needed for the accomplishment of his objects; he
then got up, and executed his design without any drawing or model, which
he never used, except for the satisfaction of his employers. His memory
was so tenacious, that he could remember and execute all the parts of
the most complex machine, provided he had time, in his previous survey,
to settle, in his mind, the several departments, and their relations to
each other. In his calculations of the powers of any machine, he
performed the requisite operation by a mental process, in a manner which
none knew but himself, and which, perhaps, he was not able to
communicate to others. After certain intervals of consideration, he
noted down the result in figures; and then proceeded to operate upon
that result, until at length the complete solution was obtained, which
was generally right. His want of literature, indeed, compelled him to
cultivate, in an extraordinary degree, the art of memory; and in order
to facilitate the revival, in his mind, of those visible objects and
their properties, to which his attention was chiefly directed, he
secluded himself from the external impressions of other objects, in the
solitude of his bed.
Incessant attention to important and interesting objects, precluded Mr.
Brindley from any of the ordinary amusements of life, and indeed,
prevented his deriving from them any pleasure. He was once prevailed
upon by his friends in London to see a play, but he found his ideas so
much disturbed, and his mind rendered so unfit for business, as to
induce him to declare, that he would not on any account go to another.
It is not improbable, however, that by indulging an occasional
relaxation, remitting his application, and varying his pursuits, his
life might have been prolonged. The multiplicity of his engagements, and
the constant attention which he bestowed on them, brought on a hectic
fever, which continued, with little or no intermission, for some years,
and at last terminated his useful and honourable career, in the 56th
year of age. He was buried at New Chapel, in the same county.
Such was the enthusiasm with which this extraordinary man engaged in all
schemes of inland navigation, that he seemed to regard all rivers with
contempt, when compared with canals. It is said, that in an examination
before the house of commons, when he was asked for what purpose he
apprehended rivers were created, he replied, after some deliberation,
“to feed navigable canals.” Those who knew him well, highly respected
him “for the uniform and unshaken integrity of his conduct; for his
steady attachment to the interest of the community; for the vast compass
of his understanding, which seemed to have a natural affinity with all
grand objects; and, likewise, for many noble and beneficial designs,
constantly generating in his mind, and which the multiplicity of his
engagements, and the shortness of his life, prevented him from bringing
to maturity.”[357]
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 55·50.
[357] Rees’s Cyclopædia. Biog. Brit.
~September 28.~
MADAME GENEVA LYING IN STATE.
On the 28th of September, 1736, when the “Gin Act,” which was passed to
prevent the retailing of spirituous liquors in small quantities was
about to be enforced, it was deemed necessary to send a detachment of
sixty soldiers from Kensington to protect the house of sir Joseph Jekyl,
the master of the rolls in Chancery-lane, from the violence threatened
by the populace against that eminent lawyer for his endeavours in
procuring the obnoxious statute.
The keepers of the gin-shops testified their feelings by a parade of
mock ceremonies for “_Madame Geneva lying-in-state_,” which created a
mob about their shops, and the justices thought proper to commit some of
the chief mourners to prison. On this occasion, the signs of the
punch-houses were put in mourning; and lest others should express the
bitterness of their hearts by committing violences, the horse and
foot-guards and trained bands were ordered to be properly stationed.
Many of the distillers, instead of spending their time in empty
lamentations, betook themselves to other branches of industry. Some to
the brewing trade, which raised the price of barley and hops; some took
taverns in the universities, which nobody could do before the “Gin Act,”
without leave of the vice-chancellor; others set up apothecaries’ shops.
The only persons who took out fifty pound licenses were one Gordon, Mr.
Ashley of the London punch-house, and one more. Gordon, a punch-seller
in the Strand, devised a new punch made of strong Madeira wine, and
called _Sangre_.[358]
COUNTY CUSTOMS.
It may be hoped that our readers who live in the apple districts will
communicate the usages of their neighbourhoods to the _Every-Day Book_.
For the present we must thank “an old correspondent.”
GRIGGLING.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Dear Sir,--The more I read of your _Every-Day Book_, the stronger my
recollection returns to my boyhood days. There is not a season wherein I
felt greater delight than during the gathering in of the orchards’
produce. The cider barrels cleaned and aired from the cellar--the
cider-mill ready--the baskets and press, the vats, the horse-hair
cloths, and the loft, fitted for the process and completion of making
cider--the busy people according to Philips, seek--
The pippin, burnish’d o’er with gold,
Of sweetest honey’d taste, the fair permain,
Temper’d like comeliest nymph, with white and red.
* * * * *
Let every tree in every garden own,
The redstreak as supreme, whose pulpous fruit,
With gold irradiate, and vermillion shines.
Hail Herefordian plant! that dost disdain
All other fields.
The Herefordshire cider is so exquisite, that when the earl of
Manchester was ambassador in France, he is said frequently to have
passed this beverage on their nobility for a delicious wine.
Leasing in the corn-fields after the sheaves are borne to the garner, is
performed by villagers of all ages, that are justly entitled to glean,
like ants, the little store against a rainy day. But after the orchard
is cleared, (and how delightful a shower--the shaking the Newton
instructing apples down,) the village (not chimney-sweepers) climbing
boys collect in a possé, and with poles and bags, go into the orchard
and commence _griggling_.
The small apples are called _griggles_. These, the farmers leave pretty
abundantly on the trees, with an understanding that the urchins will
have mercy on the boughs, which, if left entirely bare, would suffer.
Suspended like monkeys, the best climbers are the ring-leaders; and less
boys pick up and point out where an apple still remains. After the trees
are cleared, a loud huzza crowns the exertion; and though a little
bickering as to the quality and quantity ensues, they separate with
their portion, praising or blaming the owner, proportionate to their
success. If he requests it, which is often the case before they depart,
the head boy stands before the house, and uncovered, he recites the
well-known fable in the “Universal Spelling Book”--“A rude boy
_stealing_ apples.”--Then the hostess, or her daughter, brings a large
jug of cider and a slice of bread and cheese, or twopence, to the great
pleasure of the laughing recipients of such generous bounty.
Down to the present month the custom of _griggling_ is continued with
variation in the western hamlets, though innovation, which is the abuse
of privilege, has prevented many orchard-owners allowing the boys their
_griggling_ perambulations.
With much respect, I am, &c.
P.---- _T.----_
*, *, P.
_September 20, 1826._
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 53·37.
[358] Gentleman’s Magazine.
~September 29.~
ST. MICHAEL.
In the former volume, there are particulars of St. Michael, at col. 500,
629, and 1325. To the latter article, there is a print of this
archangel, with six others of his order: on the present page he appears
with other characteristics.
[Illustration: ~St Michael.~]
This print from a large engraving on copper, by one of the Caracci
family in 1582, after a picture by Lorenzo Sabbatini of Bologna,
represents the holy family, and St. John, and St. Michael standing on
the devil, and presenting souls to the infant Jesus from a pair of
scales. The artist has adopted this mode to convey a notion of the
archangel, in quality of his office, as chief of the guardian angels,
and judge of the claims of departed spirits. In vol. i. p. 630, there
are notices relative to St. Michael in this capacity.
* * * * *
The church of Notre Dame, at Paris, rebuilt by “devout king Robert,” was
conspicuously honoured by a statue of the chief of the angelic
hierarchy, _with his scales_. “On the top, and pinnacle before the said
church,” says Favine, “is yet to be seene the image of the arch-angell
_St. Michael_, the tutelaric angell, and guardian of the most christian
monarchie of France, ensculptured after the antique forme, holding a
_ballance_ in the one hand, and a crosse in the other; on his head, and
toppe of his wings, are fixed and cramponned strong pikes of iron to
keepe the birds from pearching thereon.”
Favine proceeds to mention a popular error concerning these “pikes of
iron,” to defend the statue from the birds. “The ignorant vulgar
conceived that this was a crowne of eares of corne, and thought it to be
the idole of the goddesse _Ceres_.” He says this is “a matter wherein
they are much deceived; for Isis and Ceres being but one and the same,
her temple was at S. Ceour and S. Germain des Prez.”[359]
Louis XI. instituted an order in honour of St. Michael, the arch-angel,
on occasion of an alleged apparition of the saint on the bridge at
Orleans, when that city was besieged by the English in 1428.
ST. GEORGE.
It has been intimated in vol. i., col. 500, that there are grounds to
imagine “that St. George and the dragon are neither more nor less than
St. Michael contending with the devil.” The reader who desires further
light on this head, will derive it from a dissertation by Dr.
Pettingall, expressly on the point. It may here, perhaps, be opportune
to introduce the usual representation of St. George and the dragon, by
an impression from an original wood-block, obligingly presented to this
work by Mr. Horace Rodd.
[Illustration: ~St. George and the Dragon.~]
To-morrow morning we shall have you look,
For all your great words, like St. George at Kingston,
Running a footback from the furious dragon,
That with her angrie tail belabours him
For being lazie.
_Woman’s Prize._
So say Beaumont and Fletcher, from whence we learn that the prowess of
“St. George for England,” was ludicrously travestied.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 55·27.
[359] Theater of Honour, Lond. 1623, fol.
~September 30.~
THE SEASON.
It is noted under the present day in the “Perennial Calendar,” that at
this time the heat of the middle of the days is still sufficient to warm
the earth, and cause a large ascent of vapour: that the chilling frosty
nights, which are also generally very calm, condense into mists;
differing from clouds only in remaining on the surface of the ground.
Now by the cool declining year condensed,
Descend the copious exhalations, check’d
As up the middle sky unseen they stole,
And roll the doubling fogs around the hill.
. . . . . . Thence expanding far,
The huge dusk gradual swallows up the plain
Vanish the woods; the dimseen river seems
Sullen and slow to roll the misty wave.
Even in the height of noon oppressed, the sun
Sheds weak and blunt his wide refracted ray;
Whence glaring oft, with many a broadened orb,
He frights the nations. Indistinct on earth,
Seen through the turbid air, beyond the life
Objects appear, and wildered o’er the waste,
The shepherd stalks gigantic.
“EXTRAORDINARY NEWS!”
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,--The character and manners of a people may be often correctly
ascertained by an attentive examination of their familiar customs and
sayings. The investigation of these peculiarities, as they tend to
enlarge the knowledge of human nature, and illustrate national history,
as well as to mark the fluctuation of language, and to explain the
usages of antiquity, is, therefore, deserving of high commendation; and,
though occasionally, in the course of those inquiries, some whimsical
stories are related, and some very homely phrases and authorities cited,
they are the occurrences of every day, and no way seem to disqualify the
position in which several amusing and popular customs are brought
forward to general view. Under this impression, it will not be
derogatory to the _Every-Day Book_, to observe that by such
communications, it will become an assemblage of anecdotes, fragments,
remarks, and vestiges, collected and recollected:--
------------Various,--that the mind
Of desultory man, studious of change,
And pleas’d with novelty, may be indulged.
_Cowper._
Should the following extract, from a volume of Miscellaneous Poems,
edited by Elijah Fenton, and printed by Bernard Lintot, without date,
but anterior to 1720, in octavo, be deemed by you, from the foregoing
observations, deserving of notice, it is at your service.
Old Bennet was an eccentric person, at the early part of the last
century, who appears to have excited much noise in London.
_On the Death of_ OLD BENNET, _the News Cryer_.
“One evening, when the sun was just gone down,
As I was walking thro’ the noisy town,
A sudden silence through each street was spread,
As if the soul of London had been fled.
Much I inquired the cause, but could not hear, }
Till fame, so frightened, that she did not dare }
To raise her voice, thus whisper’d in my ear: }
Bennet, the prince of hawkers, is no more,
Bennet, my Herald on the British shore;
Bennet, by whom, I own myself outdone,
Tho’ I a hundred mouths, he had but one.
He, when the list’ning town he would amuse,
Made echo tremble with his ‘_bloody news_.’
No more shall Echo, now his voice return,
Echo for ever must in silence mourn.--
Lament, ye heroes, who frequent the wars,
The great proclaimer of your dreadful scars.
Thus wept the conqueror, who the world o’ercame,
Homer was wanting to enlarge his fame
Homer, the first of hawkers that is known,
Great news from Troy, cried up and down the town.
None like him has there been for ages past,
Till our stentorian Bennet came at last.
Homer and Bennet were in this agreed,
Homer was blind, and Bennet could not read.”
“Bloody News!” “Great Victory!” or more frequently “Extraordinary
Gazette!” were, till recently, the usual loud bellowings of fellows,
with stentorian lungs, accompanied by a loud blast of a long tin-horn,
which announced to the delighted populace of London, the martial
achievements of the modern Marlborough. These itinerants, for the most
part, were the link-men at the entrances to the theatres; and
costermongers, or porters, assisting in various menial offices during
the day. A copy of the “Gazette,” or newspaper they were crying, was
generally affixed under the hatband, in front, and their demand for a
newspaper generally one shilling.
Those newscriers are spoken of in the past sense, as the further use of
the horn is prohibited by the magistracy, subject to a penalty of ten
shillings for a first offence, and twenty shillings on the conviction of
repeating so heinous a crime. “Oh, dear!” as Crockery says, I think in
these times of “modern improvement,” every thing is changing, and in
many instances, much for the worse.
I suspect that you, Mr. Editor, possess a fellow-feeling on the subject,
and shall no further trespass on your time, or on the reader’s
patience, than by expressing a wish that many alterations were actuated
by manly and humane intentions, and that less of over-legislation and
selfishness were evinced in these pretended endeavours to promote the
good of society.
I am, &c.
J. H. B.
* * * * *
The present month can scarcely be better closed than with some exquisite
stanzas from the delightful introduction to the “_Forest Minstrel_ and
other Poems, by William and Mary Howitt.” Mr. Howitt speaks of his
“lightly caroll’d lays,” as--
------ never, surely, otherwise esteem’d
Than a bird’s song, that, fill’d with sweet amaze
At the bright opening of the young, green spring,
Pours out its simple joy in instant warbling.
For never yet was mine the proud intent
To give the olden harp a thrilling sound,
Like those great spirits who of late have sent
Their wizard tones abroad, and all around
This wond’rous world have wander’d; and have spent,
In court and camp, on bann’d and holy ground,
Their gleaning glances; and, in hall and bower,
Have learn’d of mortal life the passions and the power:
Eyeing the masters of this busy earth,
In all the changes of ambition’s toil,
From the first struggles of their glory’s birth,
Till robed in power--till wearied with the spoil
Of slaughter’d realms, and dealing woe and dearth
To miserable men--and then the foil
To this great scene, the vengeance, and the frown
With which some mightier hand has pull’d those troublers down:
Eyeing the passages of gentler life,
And different persons, of far different scenes;
The boy, the beau--the damsel, and the wife--
Life’s lowly loves--the loves of kings and queens;
Each thing that binds us, and each thing that weans
Us from this state, with pains and pleasures rife;
The wooings, winnings, weddings, and disdainings
Of changeful men, their fondness and their feignings:
And then have brought us home strange sights and sounds
From distant lands, of dark and awful deeds;
And fair and dreadful spirits; and gay rounds
Of mirth and music; and then mourning weeds;
And tale of hapless love that sweetly wounds
The gentle heart, and its deep fondness feeds;
Lapping it up in dreams of sad delight
From its own weary thoughts, in visions wild and bright:--
Oh! never yet to me the power or will
To match these mighty sorcerers of the soul
Was given; but on the bosom, lone and still,
Of nature cast, I early wont to stroll
Through wood and wild, o’er forest, rock, and hill,
Companionless; without a wish or goal,
Save to discover every shape and voice
Of living thing that there did fearlessly rejoice.
And every day that boyish fancy grew;
And every day those lonely scenes became
Dearer and dearer, and with objects new,
All sweet and peaceful, fed the young spirit’s flame
Then rose each silent woodland to the view,
A glorious theatre of joy! then came
Each sound a burst of music on the air,
That sank into the soul to live for ever there!
Oh, days of glory! when the young soul drank
Delicious wonderment through every sense!
And every tone and tint of beauty sank
Into a heart that ask’d not how, or whence
Came the dear influence; from the dreary blank
Of nothingness sprang forth to an existence
Thrilling and wond’rous; to enjoy--enjoy
The new and glorious blessing--was its sole employ.
To roam abroad amidst the mists, and dews,
And brightness of the early morning sky,
When rose and hawthorn leaves wore tenderest hues:
To watch the mother linnet’s stedfast eye,
Seated upon her nest; or wondering muse
On her eggs’s spots, and bright and delicate dye;
To peep into the magpie’s thorny hall,
Or wren’s green cone in some hoar mossy wall;
To hear of pealing bells the distant charm,
As slow I wended down some lonely dale,
Past many a bleating flock, and many a farm
And solitary hall; and in the vale
To meet of eager hinds a hurrying swarm,
With staves and terriers hastening to assail
Polecat, or badger, in their secret dens,
Or otter lurking in the deep and reedy fens
To pass through villages, and catch the hum
Forth bursting from some antiquated school,
Endow’d long since by some old knight, whose tomb
Stood in the church just by; to mark the dool
Of light-hair’d lads that inly rued their doom,
Prison’d in that old place, that with the tool,
Stick-knife or nail, of many a sly offender,
Was carved and figured over, wall, and desk, and window;
To meet in green lanes happy infant bands,
Full of health’s luxury, sauntering and singing,
A childish, wordless melody; with hands
Cowslips, and wind-flowers, and green brook-lime bringing;
Or weaving caps of rushes; or with wands
Guiding their mimic teams; or gaily swinging
On some low sweeping bough, and clinging all
One to the other fast, till, laughing, down they fall;
To sit down by some solitary man,
Hoary with years, and with a sage’s look,
In some wild dell where purest waters ran,
And see him draw forth his black-letter book,
Wond’ring, and wond’ring more, as he began,
On it, and then on many an herb to look,
That he had wander’d wearily and wide,
To pluck from jutting rocks, and woods, and mountain side;
And then, as he would wash his healing roots
In the clear stream, that ever went singing on,
Through banks o’erhung with herbs and flowery shoots,
Leaning as if they loved its gentle tune,
To hear him tell of many a plant that suits
Fresh wound, or fever’d frame; and of the moon
Shedding o’er weed and wort her healing power,
For gifted wights to cull in her ascendant hour;
To lie abroad on nature’s lonely breast,
Amidst the music of a summer’s sky,
Where tall, dark pines the northern bank invest
Of a still lake; and see the long pikes lie
Basking upon the shallows; with dark crest,
And threat’ning pomp, the swan go sailing by;
And many a wild fowl on its breast that shone,
Flickering like liquid silver, in the joyous sun:
The duck, deep poring with his downward head,
Like a buoy floating on the ocean wave;
The Spanish goose, like drops of crystal, shed
The water o’er him, his rich plumes to lave;
The beautiful widgeon, springing upward, spread
His clapping wings; the heron, stalking grave,
Into the stream; the coot and water-hen
Vanish into the flood, then, far off, rise again;
And when warm summer’s holiday was o’er,
And the bright acorns patter’d from the trees
When fires were made, and closed was every door,
And winds were loud, or else a chilling breeze
Came comfortless, driving cold fogs before:
On dismal, shivering evenings, such as these,
To pass by cottage windows, and to see,
Round a bright hearth, sweet faces shining happily;
These were the days of boyhood! Oh! such days
Shall never, never more return again--
When the fresh heart, all witless of the ways,
The sickening, sordid, selfish ways of men,
Danced in creation’s pure and placid blaze,
Making an Eden of the loneliest glen!
Darkness has follow’d fast, and few have been
The rays of sunlight cast upon life’s dreary scene.
For years of lonely thought, in morning-tide
Of life, will make a spirit all unfit
To brook of men the waywardness and pride;
Too proud itself to woo, or to submit;
Scorning, as vile, what all adore beside,
And deeming only glorious the soul lit
With the pure flame of knowledge, and the eye
Filled with the gentle love of the bright earth and sky.
Fancy’s spoil’d child will ever surely be
A thing of nothing in the worldly throng:
Wrapp’d up in dreams that they can never see;
Listening to fairy harp, or spirit’s song,
Where all to them is stillest vacancy:
For ever seeking, as he glides along,
Some kindred heart, that feels as he has felt,
And can read each thought that with him long has dwelt.
But place him midst creation!--let him stand
Where wave and mountain revel in his sight,
Then shall his soul triumphantly expand,
With gathering power, and majesty, and light!
The world beneath him is the temple plann’d
For him to worship in; and, pure and bright,
Heaven’s vault above, the proud eternal dome
Of his Almighty Sire, and his own future home!
With such inspiring fancies, mortal pride
Shrinks into nothing; and all mortal things
He casts, as weeds cast by the ocean tide,
From its embraces; the world’s scorn he flings
Back on itself, disdaining to divide,
With its low cares, that sensitive spirit that brings
Home to his breast all nature’s light and glee,
Holding with sunshine, clouds, and gales, unearthly revelry.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 54·17.
[Illustration: OCTOBER.]
Then, for “October Month,” they put
A rude illuminated cut--
Reaching ripe grapes from off the vine,
Or pressing them, or tunning wine;
Or, something to denote that there
Was vintage at this time of year.
We have “hopes and fears” for the year at all seasons, as we have for
ourselves “in infancy” and throughout life. After the joyousness of
summer comes the season of foreboding, for “the year has reached its
grand climacteric, and is fast falling ‘into the sere, the yellow leaf.’
Every day a flower drops from out the wreath that binds its brow--not to
be renewed. Every hour the sun looks more and more askance upon it, and
the winds, those summer flatterers, come to it less fawningly. Every
breath shakes down showers of its leafy attire, leaving it gradually
barer and barer, for the blasts of winter to blow through it. Every
morning and evening takes away from it a portion of that light which
gives beauty to its life, and chills it more and more into that torpor
which at length constitutes its temporary death. And yet October is
beautiful still, no less ‘for what it gives than what it takes away;’
and even for what it gives during the very act of taking away.--The
whole year cannot produce a sight fraught with more rich and harmonious
beauty than that which the woods and groves present during this month,
notwithstanding, or rather in consequence of, the daily decay of their
summer attire; and at no other season can any given spot of landscape be
seen to much advantage as a mere picture.--An extensive plantation of
forest trees presents a variety of colours and of tints that would
scarcely be considered as _natural_ in a picture, any more than many of
the sunsets of September would. Among those trees which retain their
green hues, the fir tribe are the principal; and these, spiring up among
the deciduous ones, now differ from them no less in colour than they do
in form. The alders, too, and the poplars, limes, and horse-chestnuts,
are still green,--the hues of their leaves not undergoing much change as
long as they remain on the branches. Most of the other forest trees have
put on each its peculiar livery; the planes and sycamores presenting
every variety of tinge, from bright yellow to brilliant red; the elms
being, for the most part, of a rich sunny umber, varying according to
the age of the tree and the circumstances of its soil, &c.; the beeches
having deepened into a warm glowing brown, which the young ones will
retain all the winter, and till the new spring leaves push the present
ones off; the oaks varying from a dull dusky green to a deep russet,
according to their ages; and the Spanish chestnuts, with their noble
embowering heads, glowing like clouds of gold.--As for the hedge-rows,
though they have lost nearly all their flowers, the various fruits that
are spread out upon them for the winter food of the birds, make them
little less gay than they were in spring and summer. The most
conspicuous of these are the red hips of the wild rose; the dark purple
bunches of the luxuriant blackberry; the brilliant scarlet and green
berries of the nightshade; the wintry-looking fruit of the hawthorn; the
blue sloes, covered with their soft tempting-looking bloom; the dull
bunches of the woodbine; and the sparkling holly-berries.--We may also
still, by seeking for them, find a few flowers scattered about beneath
the hedge-rows, and the dry banks that skirt the woods, and even in the
woods themselves, peeping up meekly from among the crowds of newly
fallen leaves. The prettiest of these is the primrose, which now blows a
second time. But two or three of the persicaria tribe are still in
flower, and also some of the goosefoots. And even the elegant and
fragile heathbell, or harebell, has not yet quite disappeared; while
some of the ground flowers that have passed away have left in their
place strange evidences of their late presence; in particular, the
singular flower (if it can be called one) of the arums, or lords and
ladies, has changed into an upright bunch, or long cluster, of red
berries, starting up from out the ground on a single stiff stem, and
looking almost like the flower of a hyacinth.--The open fields during
this month, though they are bereaved of much of their actual beauty and
variety, present sights that are as agreeable to the eye, and even more
stirring to the imagination, than those which have passed away. The
husbandman is now ploughing up the arable land, and putting into it the
seeds that are to produce the next year’s crops; and there are not,
among rural occupations, two more pleasant to look upon than these: the
latter, in particular, is one that, while it gives perfect satisfaction
to the eye as a mere picture, awakens and fills the imagination with the
prospective views which it opens.--It is not till this month that we
usually experience the equinoxial gales, those fatal visitations which
may now be looked upon as the immediate heralds of the coming on of
winter; as in the spring they were the sure signs of its having passed
away. Bitter-sweet is it, now, to lie awake at night, and listen
wilfully (as if we would not let them escape us) to the fierce howlings
of the winds, each accession of which gives new vividness to the vision
of some tall ship, illumined by every flash of lightning--illumined, but
not rendered _visible_--for there are no eyes within a hundred leagues
to look upon it; and crowded with human beings--(not ‘souls’ only, as
the sea-phrase is, for then it were pastime--but _bodies_) every one of
which sees, in imagination, its own grave a thousand fathom deep beneath
the dark waters that roar around, and feels itself beforehand.”[360]
* * * * *
THE WIND.
The wind has a language, I would I could learn!
Sometimes ’tis soothing, and sometimes ’tis stern,
--Sometimes it comes like a low sweet song,
And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along,
And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain,
And slumber sinks down on the wandering main,
And its crystal arms are folded in rest,
And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.
Sometimes when autumn grows yellow and sere,
And the sad clouds weep for the dying year,
It comes like a wizard, and mutters its spell,
--I would that the magical tones I might tell--
And it beckons the leaves with its viewless hand,
And they leap from their branches at its command,
And follow its footsteps with wheeling feet,
Like fairies that dance in the moonlight sweet.
Sometimes it comes in the wintry night,
And I hear the flap of its pinions of might,
And I see the flash of its withering eye,
As it looks from the thunder-cloud sailing on high,
And pauses to gather its fearful breath,
And lifts up its voice like the angel of death--
And the billows leap up when the summons they hear
And the ship flies away, as if winged with fear,
And the uncouth creatures that dwell in the deep,
Start up at the sound from their floating sleep,
And career through the water, like clouds through the night,
To share in the tumult their joy and delight,
And when the moon rises, the ship is no more,
Its joys and its sorrows are vanish’d and o’er,
And the fierce storm that slew it has faded away,
Like the dark dream that flies from the light of the day.
_The Improvisatrice._
[360] Mirror of the Months.
~October 1.~
LAWLESS COURT.
This is the season of holding a remarkable court, which we are
pleasantly introduced to by the relation of a good old writer.[361]
“Ryding from Ralegh towards Rochford, I happened to haue the good
companie of a gentleman of this countrey, who, by the way, shewed me a
little hill, which he called the Kings Hill; and told me of a strange
customarie court, and of long continuance, there yearely kept, the next
Wednesday after Michaelmas day in the night, upon the first cock crowing
without any kinde of light, saue such as the heavens will affoard: The
steward of the court writes onely with coales, and calleth all such as
are bound to appeare, with as low a voice as possiblie he may, giuing no
notice when he goeth to execute his office. Howsoever, he that gives not
answer is deeply amerced; which servile attendance (saith he) was
imposed at the first vpon certaine tenants of divers mannors hereabouts,
for conspiring in this place, at such an vnseasonable time, to raise a
commotion. The title of the entrie of the court hee had in memory, and
writ it downe for me when we came to Rochford.” Fuller speaks of its
running “in obscure barbarous rimes,” which he inserts nearly in the
words of the legal authorities who give the following account:--
“~Lawless Court.~ On _Kingshill_ at _Rochford_ in _Essex_, on Wednesday
morning next, after _Michaelmas_ day, at _Cocks-crowing_, Is held a
Court, vulgarly called ‘_The Lawless Court_.’ They whisper and have no
Candle, nor any Pen and Ink but a Coal; and he that ows Suit or Service,
and appears not, forfeits double his rent every hour he is missing. This
Court belongs to the Honor of _Ralegh_, and to the Earl of _Warwick_;
and is called ‘_Lawless_,’ because held at an unlawful or lawless hour,
or _Quia dicta sine lege_. The Title of it in the Court Rolls, runs
thus,--
Kingshi _in_ } ss. =C=_Vria de Domino Rege,_
Rochford. } _Dicta sine Lege._
_Tenta est ibidem
Per ejusdem consuetudinem,
Ante ortum solis,
Luceat nisi polus,
Senescallus solus
Nil scribit nisi colis,
Toties voluerit,
Gallus ut cantaverit,
Per cujus soli sonitus,
Curia est summonita,
Clamat clam pro Rege,
In Curia sine Lege,
Et nisi cito venerint,
Citiùs pænituerint,
Et nisi clam accedant,
Curia non attendat,
Qui venerit cum lumine,
Errat in regimine:
Et dum sunt sine lumine,
Capti sunt in crimine:
Curia sine cura,
Jurati de injuria,_
_Tenta ibidem die Mercurii (ante Diem)
proximi post Festum Sancti_ Michaelis
Arch-angeli, _Anno regni
Regis,” &c._
This Court is mentioned in _Cam. Britan_, though imperfectly; who says
this servile attendance was imposed on the Tenants, for conspiring at
the like unseasonable time to raise a Commotion.[362]
ORDER OF FOOLS.
We are already acquainted with so many whimsies of our forefathers, that
any thing related of their doings ceases to surprise; we might otherwise
be astonished by the fact, that Folly had an order of merit, and held
its great court every year on the first Sunday after Michaelmas-day.
An inquiring antiquary gives some particulars of this institution, with
a translation of the document for its foundation, which is preserved in
Von Buggenhagen’s “Account of the Roman and National Antiquities”
discovered at Cleves. He relates of it as follows:--
To this document are affixed thirty-six seals, all imprinted on green
wax, with the exception of that of the founder, which is on red wax, and
in the centre of the rest; having on its right the seal of the count de
Meurs, and on its left that of Diedrich van Eyl. The insignium borne by
the knights of this order on the left side of their mantles consisted of
a fool embroidered in a red and silver vest, with a cap on his head,
intersected harlequin-wise with red and yellow divisions, and gold bells
attached, with yellow stockings and black shoes; in his right hand was a
cup filled with fruits, and in his left a gold key, symbolic of the
affection subsisting between the different members.
It is uncertain when this order ceased, although it appears to have been
in existence at the commencement of the sixteenth century, when,
however, its pristine spirit had become totally extinct. The latest
mention that has hitherto been found of it occurs in some verses
prefixed by Onofrius Brand to the German translation of his father
Sebastian Brand’s celebrated “_Navis Stultifera Mortalium_,” by the
learned Dr. Geiler von Kaisersberg, which was published at Strasburg in
the year 1520.
Two-fold was the purpose of the noble founders of this order; to relieve
the wants and alleviate the miseries of their suffering
fellow-creatures; and to banish ennui during the numerous festivals
observed in those ages, when the unceasing routine of disports and
recreations, which modern refinement has invented in the present, were
unknown. During the period of its meeting, which took place annually,
and lasted seven days, all distinctions of rank were laid aside, and the
most cordial equality reigned throughout. Each had his particular part
allotted to him on those occasions, and those who supported their
characters in the ablest manner, contributed most to the conviviality
and gaiety of the meeting. Indeed we cannot but be strongly prepossessed
in its favour, when we recur to the excellent regulations which
accompanied its institution, and were admirably calculated to preserve
it, at least for a great length of time, from degenerating into
absurdity and extravagance.
We must not confound this laudable establishment with the vulgar and
absurd practices which, till of late years, existed in many places under
the names of feasts of fools and of the ass, &c. These were only
national festivals, intended for the occasional diversion, or, as in
those days they were termed, rites to promote the pious edification of
the lower classes, which, “not unfrequently introduced by a superstition
of the lowest and most illiberal species,” soon became objects of
depravity and unbridled licentiousness. Of a totally different nature
also, and analagous only in quaintness of appellation, were the
societies established by men of letters in various parts of Italy, such
as the society of the “Insensáte,” at Perugia, of the “Stravaganti,” at
Pisa, and the “Eteróclyti,” at Pesaro. Nor can I allow myself to pass
over in silence on the present occasion the order or society of Fools,
otherwise denominated “Respublica Binepsis,” which was founded towards
the middle of the fourteenth century by some Polish noblemen, and took
its name from the estate of one Psomka, the principal instigator, near
Leublin. Its form was modelled after that of the constitution of Poland;
like this, too, it had its king, its council, its chamberlain, its
master of the hunt, and various other offices. Whoever made himself
ridiculous by any singular and foolish propensity, on him was conferred
an appointment befitting it. Thus he, who carried his partiality to the
canine species to a ridiculous extreme, was created master of the hunt;
whilst another, who constantly boasted of his valorous achievements, was
raised to the dignity of field marshal. No one dared to refuse the
acceptance of such a vocation, unless he wished to become a still
greater object of ridicule and animadversion than before. This order
soon experienced so rapid an increase of numbers that there were few at
court who were not members of it. At the same time it was expressly
forbidden that any lampooner should be introduced amongst them. The
avowed object of this institution was to prevent the rising generation
from the adoption of bad habits and licentious manners; and ridiculous
as was its outward form, is not its design at least entitled to our
esteem and veneration?
_Patent of Creation of the Order of Fools._
“We all, who have hereunto affixed our seals, make known unto all men,
and declare, that after full and mature consideration, both on our own
behalf and on account of the singular goodwill and friendship which we
all bear, and will continue to bear towards one another, we have
instituted a society of fools, according to the form and manner hereunto
subjoined:--
“Be it therefore known, that each member shall wear a fool, either made
of silver, or embroidered, on his coat. And such member as shall not
daily wear this fool, him shall and may any one of us, as often as he
shall see it, punish with a mulct of three old great tournois, (livres
tournois, about four-pence halfpenny,) which three tournois shall be
appropriated to the relief of the poor in the Lord!
“Further, will we fools yearly meet, and hold a conventicle and court,
and assemble ourselves, to wit at Cleves, every year on the Sunday after
Michaelmas-day; and no one of us shall depart out of the city, nor mount
his horse to quit the place where we may be met together, without
previous notice, and his having defrayed that part of the expenses of
the court which he is bound to bear. And none of us shall remain away on
any pretence or for any other reason whatsoever than this, namely, that
he is labouring under very great infirmity; excepting moreover those
only who may be in a foreign country, and at six days’ journey from
their customary place of residence. If it should happen that any one of
the society is at enmity with another, then must the whole society use
their utmost endeavours to adjust their differences and reconcile them;
and such members and all their abettors shall be excluded from appearing
at the court on the Friday morning when it commences its sitting at
sun-rise, until it breaks up on the same Friday at sun-set.
“And, we will further, at the royal court yearly elect one of the
members to be king of our society, and six to be counsellors; which king
with his six counsellors shall regulate and settle all the concerns of
the society, and in particular appoint and fix the court of the ensuing
year; they shall also procure, and cause to be procured, all things
necessary for the said court, of which they shall keep an exact account.
These expenses shall be alike both to knights and squires, and a third
part more shall fall upon the lords than upon the knights and squires;
but the counts shall be subject to a third part more than the lords.
“And early on the Tuesday morning (during the period of the court’s
sitting) all of us members shall go to the church of the Holy Virgin at
Cleves, to pray for the repose of all those of the society who may have
died; and there shall each bring his separate offering.
“And each of us has mutually pledged his good faith, and solemnly
engaged to fulfil faithfully, undeviatingly, and inviolably, all things
which are above enumerated, &c.
“Done at Cleves, 1381, on the day of St. Cunibert.”
H. W. S.[363]
STAGE ACCIDENT.
On the evening of Friday the 1st of October, 1736, during the
performance of an entertainment called _Dr. Faustus_, at Covent-garden
theatre, one James Todd who represented the miller’s man, fell from the
upper stage, in a flying machine, by the breaking of the wires. He
fractured his scull, and died miserably; three others were much hurt,
but recovered. Some of the audience swooned, and the whole were in great
confusion upon this sad accident.[364]
MOUNTEBANKS AND MR. MERRIMAN.