Blue Bottle. _Centauria montana._
Dedicated to _St. Cyril_.
[153] Hume.
[154] Stukeley, Itiner. Curios. 1724.
[155] Shepherd.
[156] Lysons in Brand.
[157] Hone on Ancient Mysteries.
~May 30.~
_St. Felix_ I., Pope, A. D. 274. _St. Walstan_, Confessor, A. D. 1016.
_St. Ferdinand_ III., Confessor, King of Castile and Leon, A. D. 1252.
_St. Maguil_, in Latin, _Madelgisilus_, Recluse in Picardy, about A.
D. 685.
~Trinity Monday.~
_Deptford Fair._
Of late years a fair has been held at Deptford on this day. It
originated in trifling pastimes for persons who assembled to see the
master and brethren of the Trinity-house, on their annual visit to the
Trinity-house, at Deptford. First there were jingling matches; then came
a booth or two; afterwards a few shows; and, in 1825, it was a very
considerable fair. There were Richardson’s, and other dramatic
exhibitions; the Crown and Anchor booth, with a variety of dancing and
drinking booths, as at Greenwich fair this year, before described,
besides shows in abundance.
_Brethren of the Trinity-house._
This maritime corporation, according to their charter, meet annually on
Trinity Monday, in their hospital for decayed sea-commanders and their
widows at Deptford, to choose and swear in a master, wardens, and other
officers, for the year ensuing. The importance of this institution to
the naval interests of the country, and the active duties required of
its members, are of great magnitude, and hence the master has usually
been a nobleman of distinguished rank and statesman-like qualities, and
his associates are always experienced naval officers: of late years lord
Liverpool has been master. The ceremony in 1825 was thus conducted. The
outer gates of the hospital were closed against strangers, and kept by a
party of the hospital inhabitants; no person being allowed entrance
without express permission. By this means the large and pleasant
court-yard formed by the quadrangle, afforded ample accommodation to
ladies and other respectable persons. In the mean time, the hall on the
east side was under preparation within, and the door strictly guarded by
constables stationed without; an assemblage of well-dressed females and
their friends, agreeably diversified the lawn. From eleven until twelve
o’clock, parties of two or three were so fortunate as to find favour in
the eyes of Mr. Snaggs, the gentleman who conducted the arrangements,
and gained entrance. The hall is a spacious handsome room, wherein
divine service is performed twice a-week, and public business, as on
this occasion, transacted within a space somewhat elevated, and railed
off by balustrades. On getting within the doors, the eye was struck by
the unexpected appearance of the boarded floor; it was strewed with
green rushes, the use of which by our ancestors, who lived before floors
were in existence, is well known. The reason for continuing the practice
here, was not so apparent as the look itself was pleasant, by bringing
the simple manners of other times to recollection. At about one o’clock,
the sound of music having announced that lord Liverpool and his
associate brethren had arrived within the outer gate, the hall doors
were thrown open, and the procession entered. His lordship wore the star
of the garter on a plain blue coat, with scarlet collar and cuffs, which
dress, being the Windsor uniform, was also worn by the other gentlemen.
They were preceded by the rev. Dr. Spry, late of Birmingham, now of
Langham church, Portland-place, in full canonicals. After taking their
seats at the great table within the balustrades, it was proclaimed, that
this being Trinity Monday, and therefore, according to the charter, the
day for electing the master, deputy-master, and elder brethren of the
holy and undivided Trinity, the brethren were required to proceed to the
election. Lord Liverpool, being thereupon nominated master, was elected
by a show of hands, as were his coadjutors in like manner. The election
concluded, large silver and silver-gilt cups, richly embossed and
chased, filled with cool drink, were handed round; and the doors being
thrown open, and the anxious expectants outside allowed to enter, the
hall was presently filled, and a merry scene ensued. Large baskets
filled with biscuits were laid on the table before the brethren; Lord
Liverpool then rose, and throwing a biscuit into the middle of the hall,
his example was followed by the rest of the brethren. Shouts of laughter
arose, and a general scramble took place. This scene continued about ten
minutes, successive baskets being brought in and thrown among the
assembly, until such as chose to join in the scramble were supplied; the
banner-bearers of the Trinity-house, in their rich scarlet dresses and
badges, who had accompanied the procession into the hall, increased the
merriment by their superior activity. A procession was afterwards
formed, as before, to Deptford old church, where divine service was
performed, and Dr. Spry being appointed to preach before the brethren,
he delivered a sermon from Psalm cxlv. 9. “The Lord is good to all, and
his tender mercies are over all his works.” The discourse being ended,
the master and brethren returned in procession to their state barges,
which lay at the stairs of Messrs. Gordon & Co., anchor-smiths. They
were then rowed back to the Tower, where they had embarked, in order to
return to the Trinity-house from whence they had set out. Most of the
vessels in the river hoisted their colours in honour of the corporation,
and salutes were fired from different parts on shore. The Trinity-yacht,
which lay off St. George’s, near Deptford, was completely hung with the
colours of all nations, and presented a beautiful appearance. Indeed the
whole scene was very delightful, and created high feelings in those who
recollected that to the brethren of the Trinity are confided some of the
highest functions that are exercised for the protection of life and
property on our coasts and seas.
* * * * *
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Dear Sir,
Though I have not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance, I know enough
to persuade me that you are no _every-day_ body. The love of nature
seems to form so prominent a trait in your character, that I, who am
also one of her votaries, can rest no longer without communicating with
you on the subject. I like, too, the sober and solitary feeling with
which you ruminate over by-gone pleasures, and scenes wherein your youth
delighted: for, though I am but young myself, I have witnessed by far
too many changes, and have had cause to indulge too frequently in such
cogitations.
I am a “Surrey-man,” as the worthy author of the “Athenæ Oxon.” would
say: and though born with a desire to ramble, and a mind set on change,
I have never till lately had an opportunity of strolling so far
northward as “ould Iselton,” or “merry Islington:”--you may take which
reading you please, but I prefer the first. But from the circumstance of
your “walk out of London” having been directed that way, and having led
you into so pleasant a mood, I am induced to look for similar enjoyment
in my rambling excursions through its “town-like” and dim atmosphere. I
am not ashamed to declare, that my taste in these matters differs widely
from that of the “great and good” Johnson; who, though entitled, as a
constellation of no ordinary “brilliance,” to the high sounding name of
“the Great Bear,” (which I am not the first to appropriate to him,)
seems to have set his whole soul on “bookes olde,” and “modern authors”
of every other description, while the book of nature, which was
schooling the negro-wanderer of the desert, proffered nothing to arrest
his attention! Day unto day was uttering speech, and night unto night
showing knowledge; the sun was going forth in glory, and the placid moon
“walking in brightness;” and could he close his ears, and revert his
gaze?--“De gustibus nil disputandum” I cannot say, for I do most
heartily protest against his taste in such matters.
“The time of the singing of birds is come,” but, what is the worst of
it, all these “songsters” are not “feathered.” There is a noted “Dickey”
bird, who took it into his head, so long ago as the 25th of December
last, to “sing through the heavens,”[158]--but I will have nothing to do
with the “Christemasse Caroles” of modern day. Give me the “musical
pyping” and “pleasaunte songes” of olden tyme, and I care not whether
any more “ditees” of the kind are concocted till doomsday.
But I must not leave the singing of birds where I found it: I love to
hear the nightingales emulating each other, and forming, by their “sweet
jug jug,” a means of communication from one skirt of the wood to the
other, while every tree seems joying in the sun’s first rays. There is
such a wildness and variety in the note, that I could listen to it,
unwearied, for hours. The dew still lies on the ground, and there is a
breezy freshness about us: as our walk is continued, a “birde of songe,
and mynstrell of the woode,” holds the _tenor_ of its way across the
path:--but it is no “_noiseless_ tenor.” “Sweet jug, jug, jug,” says the
olde balade:--
“Sweet jug, jug, jug,
The nightingale doth sing,
From morning until evening,
As they are hay-making.”
Was this “songe” put into their throats “aforen y^{t} this balade
ywritten was?” I doubt it, but in later day Wordsworth and Conder have
made use of it; but they are both poets of nature, and might have
fancied it in the song itself.
I look to my schoolboy days as the happiest I ever spent: but I was
never a genius, and laboured under habitual laziness, and love of ease:
“the which,” as Andrew Borde says, “doth much comber young persones.” I
often rose _for_ a “lark,” but seldom _with_ it, though I have more than
once “cribbed out” betimes, and always found enough to reward me for it.
But these days are gone by, and you will find below all I have to say of
the matter “collected into English metre:”--
Years of my boyhood! have you passed away?
Days of my youth and have you fled for ever?
Can I but joy when o’er my fancy stray
Scenes of young hope, which time has failed to sever
From this fond heart:--for, tho’ all else decay,
The memory of those times will perish never.--
Time cannot blight it, nor the tooth of care
Those wayward dreams of joyousness impair.
Still, with the bright May-dew, the grass is wet;
No human step the slumbering earth has prest:
Cheering as hope, the sun looks forth; and yet
There is a weight of sorrow on my breast:
Lite, light, and joy, his smiling beams beget,
But yield they aught, to soothe a mind distrest;
Can the heart, cross’d with cares, and born to sorrow,
From Nature’s smiles one ray of comfort borrow!
But I must sympathize with you in your reflections, amid those haunts
which are endeared by many a tie, on the decay wrought by time and
events. An old house is an old friend; a dingy “tenement” is a poor
relation, who has seen better days; “it looks, as it would look its
last,” on the surrounding innovations, and wakes feelings in _my_ bosom
which have no vent in words. Its “imbowed windows,” projecting each
story beyond the other, go to disprove Bacon’s notion, that “houses are
made to live in, and not to look _on_:” they give it a _brow-beating_
air, though its days of “pomp and circumstance” are gone by, and have
left us cheerlessly to muse and mourn over its ruins:--
Oh! I can gaze, and think it quite a treat,
So they be ~old~, on buildings grim and shabby;
I love within the church’s walls to greet
Some “olde man” kneeling, bearded like a rabbi,
Who never prayed himself, but has a whim
That you’ll “~orate~,” that is--“~praye~” for him.
But this has introduced me to another and an equally pleasing employ;
that of traversing the aisles of our country churches, and “meditating
among the tombs.” I dare not go farther, for I am such an enthusiast,
that I shall soon write down your patience.
You expressed a wish for my name and address, on the cover of your third
part; I enclose them: but I desire to be known to the public by no other
designation than my old one.