In London, on Easter Monday and Tuesday, the _Spital Sermons_ are
preached. “On Easter Monday, the boys of Christ’s Hospital walk in
procession, accompanied by the masters and steward, to the Royal
Exchange, from whence they proceed to the Mansion-house, where they are
joined by the lord mayor, the lady mayoress, the sheriffs, aldermen,
recorder, chamberlain, town clerk, and other city officers, with their
ladies. From thence the cavalcade proceeds to Christ church, where the
_Spital Sermon_ is preached, always by one of the bishops, and an anthem
sung by the children. His lordship afterwards returns to the
Mansion-house, where a grand civic entertainment is prepared, which is
followed by an elegant ball in the evening.
On Easter Tuesday, the boys again walk in procession to the
Mansion-house, but, instead of the masters, they are accompanied by the
matron and nurses. On Monday, they walk in the order of the schools,
each master being at the head of the school over which he presides; and
the boys in the mathematical school carry their various instruments. On
Tuesday, they walk in the order of the different wards, the nurses
walking at the head of the boys under her immediate care. On their
arrival at the Mansion-house, they have the honour of being presented
individually to the lord mayor, who gives to each boy a new sixpence, a
glass of wine, and two buns. His lordship afterwards accompanies them to
Christ church, where the service is the same as on Monday. The sermon is
on Tuesday usually preached by his lordship’s chaplain.”[79]
The most celebrated _Spital Sermon_ of our times, was that preached by
the late Dr. Samuel Parr, upon Easter Tuesday, 1800, against “the eager
desire of paradox; the habit of contemplating a favourite topic in one
distinct and vivid point of view, while it is disregarded under all
others; a fondness for simplicity on subjects too complicated in their
inward structure on their external relations, to be reduced to any
single and uniform principle;” and against certain speculations on “the
motives by which we are impelled to do good to our fellow creatures, and
adjusting the extent to which we are capable of doing it.” This sermon
induced great controversy, and much misrepresentation. Few of those who
condemned it, read it; and many justified their ignorance of what they
detracted, by pretending they could not waste their time upon a volume
of theology. This excuse was in reference to its having been printed in
quarto, though the sermon itself consists of only about four and twenty
pages. The notes are illustrations of a discourse more highly
intellectual than most of those who live have heard or read.[80]
The _Spital Sermon_ derives its name from the priory and hospital of
“our blessed Lady, St. Mary _Spital_,” situated on the east side of
Bishopsgate-street, with fields in the rear, which now form the suburb,
called Spitalfields. This hospital, founded in 1197, had a large
churchyard with a pulpit cross, from whence it was an ancient custom on
Easter Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, for sermons to be preached on the
Resurrection before the lord mayor, aldermen, sheriffs, and others who
sat in a house of two stories for that purpose; the bishop of London and
other prelates being above them. In 1594, the pulpit was taken down and
a new one set up, and a large house for the governors and children of
Christ’s Hospital to sit in.[81] In April 1559, queen Elizabeth came in
great state from St. Mary Spital, attended by a thousand men in harness,
with shirts of mail and croslets, and morris pikes, and ten great pieces
carried through London unto the court, with drums, flutes, and trumpets
sounding, and two morris dancers, _and two white bears in a cart_.[82]
On Easter Monday, 1617, king James I. having gone to Scotland, the
archbishop of Canterbury, the lord keeper Bacon, the bishop of London,
and certain other lords of the court and privy counsellors attended the
Spital Sermon, with sir John Lemman, the lord mayor, and aldermen; and
afterwards rode home and dined with the lord mayor at his house near
Billingsgate.[83] The hospital itself was dissolved under Henry VIII.;
the pulpit was broken down during the troubles of Charles I.; and after
the restoration, the sermons denominated Spital Sermons were preached at
St. Bride’s church, Fleet-street, on the three usual days. A writer of
the last century[84] speaks of “a room being crammed as full of company,
as St. Bride’s church upon the singing a Spittle psalm at Easter, or an
anthem on Cicelia’s day,” but within the last thirty years the Spital
Sermons have been removed to Christ church, Newgate-street, where they
are attended by the lord mayor, the aldermen, and the governors of
Christ’s, St. Bartholomew’s, St. Thomas’s, Bridewell, and Bethlem
Hospitals; after the sermon, it is the usage to read a report of the
number of children, and other persons maintained and relieved in these
establishments. In 1825, the Spital Sermon on Easter Monday was preached
by the bishop of Gloucester, and the psalm sung by the children of
Christ’s Hospital was composed by the rev. Arthur William Trollope, D.
D., head classical master. It is customary for the prelate on this
occasion, to dine with the lord mayor, sheriffs, and aldermen at the
Mansion-house. Hereafter there will be mention of similar invitations to
the dignified clergy, when they discourse before the civic authorities.
In 1766, bishop Warburton having preached before the corporation, dined
with the lord mayor, and was somewhat facetious: “Whether,” says
Warburton, “I made them wiser than ordinary at Bow (church,) I cannot
tell. I certainly made them merrier than ordinary at the Mansion-house;
where we were magnificently treated. The lord mayor told me--‘The
_common council_ were much obliged to me, for that this was the first
time he ever heard them prayed for;’ I said, ‘I considered them as a
body who much needed the prayers of the church.’”[85]
_An Easter Tale._
Under this title a provincial paper gives the following detail:--In
Roman catholic countries it is a very ancient custom for the preacher to
divert his congregation in due season with what is termed a _Fabula
Paschalis_, an _Easter Tale_, which was becomingly received by the
auditors with peals of _Easter laughter_. During Lent the good people
had mortified themselves, and prayed so much, that at length they began
to be rather discontented and ill-tempered; so that the clergy deemed it
necessary to make a little fun from the pulpit for them, and thus give
as it were the first impulse towards the revival of mirth and
cheerfulness. This practice lasted till the 17th and in many places till
the 18th century. Here follows a specimen of one of these _tales_,
extracted from a truly curious volume, the title of which may be thus
rendered:--_Moral and Religious Journey to Bethlem: consisting of
various Sermons for the safe guidance of all strayed, converted, and
misled souls, by the Rev. Father_ ATTANASY, _of Dilling_. “Christ our
Lord was journeying with St. Peter, and had passed through many
countries. One day he came to a place where there was no inn, and
entered the house of a blacksmith. This man had a wife, who paid the
utmost respect to strangers, and treated them with the best that her
house would afford. When they were about to depart, our Lord and St.
Peter wished her all that was good, and heaven into the bargain. Said
the woman, ‘Ah! if I do but go to heaven, I care for nothing
else.’--‘Doubt not,’ said St. Peter, ‘for it would be contrary to
scripture if thou shouldest not go to heaven. Let what will happen, thou
must go thither. Open thy mouth. Did I not say so? Why, thou canst not
be sent to hell, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth, for thou
hast not a tooth left in thy head. Thou art safe enough; be of good
cheer.’ Who was so overjoyed as the good woman? Without doubt, she took
another cup on the strength of this assurance. But our Lord was desirous
to testify his thanks to the man also, and promised to grant him four
wishes. ‘Well,’ said the smith, ‘I am heartily obliged to you, and wish
that if any one climbs up the pear-tree behind my house, he may not be
able to get down again without my leave.’ This grieved St. Peter not a
little, for he thought that the smith ought rather to have wished for
the kingdom of heaven; but our Lord, with his wonted kindness, granted
his petition. The smith’s next wish was, that if any one sat down upon
his anvil, he might not be able to rise without his permission; and the
third, that if any one crept into his old flue, he might not have power
to get out without his consent. St. Peter said, ‘Friend smith, beware
what thou dost. These are all wishes that can bring thee no advantage;
be wise, and let the remaining one be for everlasting life with the
blessed in heaven.’ The smith was not to be put out of his way, and
thus proceeded: ‘My fourth wish is, that my green cap may belong to me
for ever and that whenever I sit down upon it, no power or force may be
able to drive me away.’ This also received the _fiat_. Thereupon our
Lord went his way with Peter, and the smith lived some years longer with
his old woman. At the end of this time grim death appeared, and summoned
him to the other world. ‘Stop a moment,’ said the smith; ‘let me just
put on a clean shirt, meanwhile you may pick some of the pears on yonder
tree.’ Death climbed up the tree; but he could not get down again; he
was forced to submit to the smith’s terms and promised him a respite of
twenty years before he returned. When the twenty years were expired, he
again appeared, and commanded him in the name of the Lord and St. Peter
to go along with him. Said the smith, ‘I know Peter too. Sit down a
little on my anvil, for thou must be tired; I will just drink a cup to
cheer me, and take leave of my old woman, and be with thee presently.’
But death could not rise again from his seat, and was obliged to promise
the smith another delay of twenty years. When these had elapsed, the
devil came, and would fain have dragged the smith away by force. ‘Holla,
fellow!’ said the latter; ‘that won’t do. I have other letters, and
whiter than thou, with thy black _carta-bianca_. But if thou art such a
conjuror as to imagine that thou hast any power over me, let us see if
thou canst get into this old rusty flue.’ No sooner said than the devil
slipped into the flue. The smith and his men put the flue into the fire,
then carried it to the anvil, and hammered away at the old-one most
unmercifully. He howled, and begged and prayed; and at last promised
that he would have nothing to do with the smith to all eternity, if he
would but let him go. At length the smith’s guardian-angel made his
appearance. The business was now serious. He was obliged to go; the
angel conducted him to hell. The devil, whom he had so terribly
belaboured, was just then attending the gate; he looked out at the
little window, but quickly shut it again, and would have nothing to do
with the smith. The angel then conducted him to the gate of heaven. St.
Peter refused to admit him. ‘Let me just peep in,’ said the smith, ‘that
I may see how it looks within there.’ No sooner was the wicket opened
than the smith threw in his cap, and said, ‘Thou knowest it is my
property, I must go and fetch it.’ Then slipping past, he clapped
himself down upon it, and said, ‘Now I am sitting on my own property; I
should like to see who dares drive me away from it.’ So the smith got
into heaven at last.”[86]
[Illustration: ~Silenus.~]
There is a remarkable notice by Dr. E. D. Clarke, the traveller,
respecting a custom in the Greek islands. He says, “A circumstance
occurs annually at Rhodes which deserves the attention of the literary
traveller: it is the ceremony of carrying _Silenus_ in procession at
Easter. A troop of boys, crowned with garlands, draw along, in a car, a
fat old man, attended with great pomp. I unfortunately missed bearing
testimony to this remarkable example, among many others which I have
witnessed, of the existence of pagan rites in popular superstitions. I
was informed of the fact by Mr. Spurring, a naval architect, who resided
at Rhodes, and Mr. Cope, a commissary belonging to the British army;
both of whom had seen the procession. The same ceremony also takes place
in the island of Scio.” It is only necessary here to mention the custom,
without adverting to its probable origin. According to ancient fable,
Silenus was son to Pan, the god of shepherds and huntsmen; other
accounts represent him as the son of Mercury, and foster-father of
Bacchus. He is usually described as a tipsey old wine-bibber; and one
story of him is, that having lost his way in his cups, and being found
by some peasants, they brought him to king Midas, who restored him “to
the jolly god” Bacchus, and that Bacchus, grateful for the favour,
conferred on Midas the power of turning whatever he touched into gold.
Others say that Silenus was a grave philosopher, and Bacchus an
enterprising young hero, a sort of Telemachus, who took Silenus for his
Mentor, and adopted his wise counsels. The engraving is after an etching
by Worlidge, from a sardonyx gem in the possession of the duke of
Devonshire.
[67] Communicated to the _Every-Day Book_ by Mr. T. A----.
[68] Mr. J. B----, a native of Maryport in Cumberland, who obligingly
communicates the above information respecting _pasch eggs_ in that
county, has ensured the adoption of his letter by subscribing his name
and address.
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