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  Transcriber’s Notes

  Text printed in italics, bold, small capitals and blackletter in the
  original work have been transcibed as _text_, =text=, TEXT and ~text~
  respectively. ^{text} represents superscript text.

  More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.


[Illustration: ~Bona Dea--The Earth.~

See Page 1655.]




  THE
  EVERY-DAY BOOK,
  AND
  TABLE BOOK;

  OR,

  EVERLASTING CALENDAR OF POPULAR AMUSEMENTS,
  SPORTS, PASTIMES, CEREMONIES, MANNERS,
  CUSTOMS, AND EVENTS,

  INCIDENT TO
  ~Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days,~
  IN PAST AND PRESENT TIMES;

  FORMING A
  COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE YEAR, MONTHS, AND SEASONS,

  AND A

  PERPETUAL KEY TO THE ALMANAC;

  INCLUDING

  ACCOUNTS OF THE WEATHER, RULES FOR HEALTH AND CONDUCT, REMARKABLE AND
  IMPORTANT ANECDOTES, FACTS, AND NOTICES, IN CHRONOLOGY, ANTIQUITIES,
  TOPOGRAPHY, BIOGRAPHY, NATURAL HISTORY, ART, SCIENCE, AND GENERAL
  LITERATURE, DERIVED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND VALUABLE
  ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS, WITH POETICAL ELUCIDATIONS, FOR DAILY USE AND
  DIVERSION.

  BY WILLIAM HONE.

    I tell of festivals, and fairs, and plays,
    Of merriment, and mirth, and bonfire blaze;
    I tell of Christmas-mummings, new year’s day,
    Of twelfth-night king and queen, and children’s play;
    I tell of valentines, and true-love’s-knots,
    Of omens, cunning men, and drawing lots:

    I tell of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers,
    Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
    I tell of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
    Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes;
    I tell of groves, of twilights, and I sing
    The court of Mab, and of the fairy king.

  HERRICK.

  WITH FOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIX ENGRAVINGS.

  IN THREE VOLUMES.

  VOL. I.

  LONDON:
  PRINTED FOR WILLIAM TEGG AND Co., 73, CHEAPSIDE;
  R. GRIFFIN AND CO., GLASGOW; CUMMING AND FERGUSON, DUBLIN.




  J. HADDON, PRINTER, CASTLE STREET, FINSBURY.




  TO
  CHARLES LAMB, ESQ.


  DEAR L----,

  Your letter to me, within the first two months from the commencement
  of the present work, approving my notice of St. Chad’s Well, and your
  afterwards daring to publish me your “friend,” with your “proper name”
  annexed, I shall never forget. Nor can I forget your and Miss Lamb’s
  sympathy and kindness when glooms outmastered me; and that your pen
  spontaneously sparkled in the book, when my mind was in clouds and
  darkness. These “trifles,” as each of you would call them, are
  benefits scored upon my heart; and

  I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME,

  TO YOU AND MISS LAMB,

  WITH AFFECTIONATE RESPECT,

  W. HONE

  _May 5, 1826._




PREFACE.


This volume is a specimen of a work undertaken for the purpose of
forming a collection of the manners and customs of ancient and modern
times, with descriptive accounts of the several seasons of popular
pastime.

Each of the three hundred and sixty-five days in the year is
distinguished by occurrences or other particulars relating to the day,
and by the methods of celebrating every holyday; the work is therefore
what its title purports, THE EVERY-DAY BOOK.

It is an EVERLASTING CALENDAR--because its collection of facts
concerning the origin and usages of every remarkable day, including
movable feasts and fasts, constitute a calendar for _every_ year.

It is a HISTORY OF THE YEAR--because it traces the commencement and
progress of the year from the first day to the last.

It is a HISTORY OF THE MONTHS--because it describes the appearances that
distinguish each month from the other months.

It is a HISTORY OF THE SEASONS--because it describes the influences and
character of the four quarters into which the year is divided, and the
most remarkable objects in natural history peculiar to each season.

It is a PERPETUAL KEY TO THE ALMANACK--because it explains the
signification of every name and term in the almanack.

Its antiquarian and historical notices are calculated to engage the
attention of almost every class of readers, and to gratify several who
would scarcely expect such particulars in such a miscellany. The
perplexities attending the discovery of certain facts, and the labour of
reducing all into order, will be appreciated by the few who have engaged
in similar pursuits. Some curious matters are now, for the first time,
submitted to the public; and others are so rare as to seem altogether
new.

As regards the engravings, to such as are from old masters, notices of
their prints are always annexed. The designs for the allegorical and
other illustrations, have originated with myself; and the drawings been
accommodated, and the engravings executed, according to my own sense of
subject and style. In numerous instances they have been as satisfactory
to me as to my readers; many of whom, however, are less difficult to
please than I am, and have favourably received some things which I have
been obliged to tolerate, because the exigency of publication left me no
time to supply their place. I know what art can accomplish, and am
therefore dissatisfied when artists fail to accomplish.

I may now avow that I have other aims than I deemed it expedient to
mention in the prospectus:--to communicate in an agreeable manner, the
greatest possible variety of important and diverting facts, without a
single sentence to excite an uneasy sensation, or an embarrassing
inquiry; and, by not seeming to teach, to cultivate a high moral
feeling, and the best affections of the heart:--to open a storehouse,
from whence manhood may derive daily instruction and amusement, and
youth and innocence be informed, and retain their innocency.

To these intentions I have accommodated my materials under such
difficulties as I hope may never be experienced by any one engaged in
such a labour. To what extent less embarrassed and more enlarged
faculties could have better executed the task I cannot determine; but I
have always kept my main object in view, the promotion of social and
benevolent feelings, and I am persuaded this prevailing disposition is
obvious throughout. The poetical illustrations, whether “solemn
thinkings,” or light dispersions, are particularly directed to that end.

I may now be permitted to refer to the copious indexes for the
multifarious contents of the volume, and to urge the friends to the
undertaking for assistance towards its completion. There is scarcely any
one who has not said--“Ah! this is _something_ that will do for the
_Every-Day Book_:” I crave to be favoured with that “something.” Others
have observed--“I expected _something_ about so and so in the _Every-Day
Book_.” It is not possible, however, that I should know _every_ thing;
but if each will communicate “something,” the work will gratify every
one, and my own most sanguine wishes.

And here I beg leave to offer my respectful thanks to several
correspondents who have already furnished me with accounts of customs,
&c. which appear under different signatures. Were I permitted to
disclose their real names, it would be seen that several of these
communications are from distinguished characters. As a precaution
against imposition, articles of that nature have not been, nor can they
be, inserted, without the name and address of the writer being confided
to myself. Accounts, so subscribed, will be printed with any initials or
mark, the writers may please to suggest.

From the publication of the present volume, a correct judgment may be
formed of the nature and tendency of the work, which incidentally
embraces almost every topic of inquiry or remark connected with the
ancient and present state of manners and literature. Scarcely an
individual is without a scrap-book, or a portfolio, or a collection of
some sort; and whatever a kind-hearted reader may deem curious or
interesting, and can conveniently spare, I earnestly hope and solicit to
be favoured with, addressed to me at Messrs. Hunt and Clarke’s,
Tavistock-street, who receive communications for the work, and publish
it in weekly sheets, and monthly parts, as usual.

  W. HONE.

  _May, 1826._




  THE
  EVERY-DAY BOOK




[Illustration: JANUARY.]


This is the first and the coldest month of the year. Its zodiacal sign
is Aquarius or the Waterbearer. It derives its name from Janus, a deity
represented by the Romans with two faces, because he was acquainted with
past and future events. Cotton introduces him into a poem on the new
year--

    Hark, the cock crows, and yon bright star
    Tells us, the day himself’s not far;
    And see where, breaking from the night,
    He gilds the western hills with light.
    With him old Janus doth appear,
    Peeping into the future year,
    With such a look as seems to say,
    The prospect is not good that way.
    Thus do we rise ill sights to see,
    And ’gainst ourselves to prophesy;
    When the prophetic fear of things
    A more tormenting mischief brings,
    More full of soul-tormenting gall
    Than direst mischiefs can befall.
    But stay! but stay! Methinks my sight,
    Better inform’d by clearer light,
    Discerns sereneness in that brow,
    That all contracted seem’d but now.
    His revers’d face may show distaste,
    And frown upon the ills are past;
    But that which this way looks is clear,
    And smiles upon the new-born year.

According to the ancient mythology, Janus was the god of gates and
avenues, and in that character held a key in his right hand, and a rod
in his left, to symbolize his opening and ruling the year: sometimes he
bore the number 300 in one hand, and 65 in the other, the number of its
days. At other times he was represented with four heads, and placed in a
temple of four equal sides, with a door and three windows in each side,
as emblems of the four seasons and the twelve months over which he
presided.

According to Verstegan (Restitution of Decayed Intelligence, 4to. 1628,
p. 59) the Saxons called this month “Wolf-monat,” or Wolf-month, because
the wolves of our ancient forests, impelled by hunger at this season,
were wont to prowl and attack man himself; the inferior animals, on whom
they usually preyed, having retired or perished from the inclemency of
the weather. The Saxons also called this month “Aefter-yula,” or After
Christmas. In illuminated calendars prefixed to catholic missals, or
service books, January was frequently depicted as a man with fagots or a
woodman’s axe, shivering and blowing his fingers. Spenser introduces
this month in his Faerie Queene:

    Then came old January, wrapped well
    In many weeds to keep the cold away;
    Yet did he quake and quiver like to quell;
    And blow his nayles to warme them if he may;
    For they were numb’d with holding all the day
    An hatchet keene, with which he felled wood,
    And from the trees did lop the needlesse spray.


~January 1.~

                  { A close holiday at all public
  _Circumcision._ { offices except the Excise, Customs,
                  { and Stamps.

This festival stands in the calendar of the church of England, as well
as in that of the Roman catholic church. It is said to have been
instituted about 487; it first appeared in the reformed English liturgy
in 1550.

  Without noticing every saint to whom each day is dedicated in the
  Roman catholic calendars, the names of saints will be given day by
  day, as they stand under each day in the last edition of their
  “Lives,” by the Rev. Alban Butler, in 12 vols. 8vo. On the authority
  of that work the periods will be mentioned when the saints most noted
  for their miracles flourished, and some of those miracles be stated.
  Other miracles will be given: First, from “The Golden Legend,” a black
  letter folio volume, printed by W. de Worde.--Secondly, from “The
  Church History of Britain,” by the Benedictine father, S. Cressy,
  dedicated by him to the queen consort of Charles II., a folio, printed
  in 1668.--Thirdly, from the catholic translation of the “Lives of the
  Saints,” by the Rev. Father Peter Ribadeneira, priest of the society
  of Jesus, second edition, London, 1730, 2 vols. folio; and Fourthly,
  from other sources which will be named. By this means the reader will
  be acquainted with legends that rendered the saints and the
  celebration of their festivals popular. For example, the saints in
  Butler’s Lives on this day occur in the following order:

_St. Fulgentius; St. Odilo, or Olou; St. Almachus, or Telemachus; St.
Eugendus, or Oyend; St. Fanchea, or Faine; St. Mochua, or Moncain, alias
Claunus; St. Mochua, alias Cronan, of Balla_.

_Sts. Mochua._ According to Butler, these were Irish saints. One founded
the monastery, now the town of Balla, in Connaught. The other is said to
have founded 120 cells, and thirty churches, in one of which he passed
thirty years, and died about the sixth century. Bishop Patrick, in his
“Reflexions upon the Devotions of the Roman Church,” 1674, 8vo. cites of
St. Mochua, that while walking and praying, and seeing a company of
lambs running hastily to suck their mothers, he drew a line upon the
ground which none of the hungry lambs durst pass. Patrick again cites,
that St. Mochua having been visited by St. Kyenanus and fifteen of his
clergy, they came to an impetuous and impassable river on their return,
and wanted a boat; whereupon St. Mochua spread his mantle on the water,
and Kyenanus with his fifteen priests were carried safely over upon the
mantle, which floated back again to St. Mochua without wrinkle or
wetting.

_St. Fanchea_, or _Faine_, is said by Butler to have been an Irish saint
of the sixth century. Patrick quotes that St. Endeus desiring to become
a monk, his companions approached to dissuade him; but, upon the prayers
of St. Faine, and her making the sign of the cross, their feet stuck to
the earth like immovable stones, until by repentance they were loosed
and went their way.

_St. Fulgentius_, according to Butler, died on the 1st of January, 533,
sometimes went barefoot, never undressed to take rest, nor ate flesh
meat, but chiefly lived on pulse and herbs, though when old he admitted
the use of a little oil. He preached, explained mysteries, controverted
with heretics, and built monasteries. Butler concludes by relating, that
after his death, a bishop named Pontian was assured in a vision of
Fulgentius’s immortality; that his relics were translated to Bourges,
where they are venerated; and that the saint’s head is in the church of
the archbishop’s seminary.

NEW YEAR’S DAY.

    The King of Light, father of aged Time,
    Hath brought about that day, which is the prime
    To the slow gliding months, when every eye
    Wears symptoms of a sober jollity;
    And every hand is ready to present
    Some service in a real compliment.
    Whilst some in golden letters write their love,
    Some speak affection by a ring or glove,
    Or pins and points (for ev’n the peasant may
    After his ruder fashion, be as gay
    As the brisk courtly sir,) and thinks that he
    Cannot, without a gross absurdity,
    Be this day frugal, and not spare his friend
    Some gift, to show his love finds not an end
    With the deceased year.

  POOLES’S ENG. PARNASSUS.

In the volume of “ELIA,” an excellent paper begins with “Every man hath
two birthdays: two days, at least, in every year, which set him upon
revolving the lapse of time, as it affects his mortal duration. The one
is that which in an especial manner he termeth _his_. In the gradual
desuetude of old observances, this custom of solemnizing our proper
birthday hath nearly passed away, or is left to children, who reflect
nothing at all about the matter, nor understand any thing beyond the
cake and orange. But the birth of a new year is of an interest too wide
to be pretermitted by king or cobbler. No one ever regarded the First of
January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time,
and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.

“Of all sound of all bells--(bells, the music nighest bordering upon
heaven)--most solemn and touching is the peal which rings out the old
year. I never hear it without a gathering-up of my mind to a
concentration of all the images that have been diffused over the past
twelvemonth; all I have done or suffered, performed, or neglected--in
that regretted time. I begin to know its worth as when a person dies. It
takes a personal colour; nor was it a poetical flight in a contemporary,
when he exclaimed,

    ‘I saw the skirts of the departing year.’

“The elders with whom I was brought up, were of a character not likely
to let slip the sacred observance of any old institution; and the
ringing out of the old year was kept by them with circumstances of
peculiar ceremony. In those days the sound of those midnight chimes,
though it seemed to raise hilarity in all around me, never failed to
bring a train of pensive imagery into my fancy. Yet I then scarce
conceived what it meant, or thought of it as a reckoning that concerned
me. Not childhood alone, but the young man till thirty, never feels
practically that he is mortal.”

Ringing out the old and ringing in the new year, with “a merry new year!
a happy new year to you!” on new year’s day, were greetings that moved
sceptred pride, and humble labour, to smiles and kind feelings in
former times; and why should they be unfashionable in our own?

Dr. Drake observes, in “Shakspeare and his Times,” that the ushering in
of the new year, or new year’s tide, with rejoicings, presents, and good
wishes, was a custom observed, during the 16th century, with great
regularity and parade, and was as cordially celebrated in the court of
the prince as in the cottage of the peasant.

The Rev. T. D. Fosbroke, in his valuable “Encyclopedia of Antiquities,”
adduces various authorities to show that congratulations, presents, and
visits were made by the Romans on this day. The origin, he says, is
ascribed to Romulus and Tatius, and that the usual presents were figs
and dates, covered with leaf-gold, and sent by clients to patrons,
accompanied with a piece of money, which was expended to purchase the
statues of deities. He mentions an amphora (a jar) which still exists,
with an inscription denoting that it was a new year’s present from the
potters to their patroness. He also instances from Count Caylus a piece
of Roman pottery, with an inscription wishing “a happy new year to you;”
another, where a person wishes it to himself and his son; and three
medallions, with the laurel leaf, fig, and date; one, of Commodus;
another, of Victory; and a third, Janus, standing in a temple, with an
inscription, wishing a happy new year to the emperor. New year’s gifts
were continued under the Roman emperors until they were prohibited by
Claudius. Yet in the early ages of the church the Christian emperors
received them; nor did they wholly cease, although condemned by
ecclesiastical councils on account of the pagan ceremonies at their
presentation.

The Druids were accustomed on certain days to cut the sacred misletoe
with a golden knife, in a forest dedicated to the gods, and to
distribute its branches with much ceremony as new year’s gifts among the
people.

The late Rev. John Brand, in his “Popular Antiquities” edited by Mr.
Ellis observes from Bishop Stillingfleet, that among the Saxons of the
North, the festival of the new year was observed with more than ordinary
jollity and feasting, and by sending new year’s gifts to one another.
Mr. Fosbroke notices the continuation of the Roman practice during the
middle ages; and that our kings, and the nobility especially,
interchanged presents. Mr. Ellis quotes Matthew Paris, who appears to
show that Henry III _extorted_ new year’s gifts; and he cites from a
MS. of the public revenue, anno 5, Edward VI. an entry of “rewards given
on new year’s day to the king’s officers and servants in ordinary
155_l._ 5_s._, and to their servants that present the king’s majestie
with new year’s gifts.” An orange stuck with cloves seems, by reference
to Mr. Fosbroke and our early authors, to have been a popular new year’s
gift. Mr. Ellis suggests, that the use of this present may be
ascertained from a remark by old Lupton, that the flavour of wine is
improved, and the wine itself preserved from mouldiness, by an orange or
lemon stuck with cloves being hung within the vessel so as not to touch
the liquor.

Thomas Naogeorgus, in “The Popish Kingdome,” a Latin poem written in
1553, and Englished by Barnabe Googe, after remarking on days of the old
year, urges this recollection:

    The next to this is Newe yeares day whereon to every frende,
    They costly presents in do bring, and Newe yeares giftes do sende,
    These giftes the husband gives his wife, and father eke the childe,
    And maister on his men bestowes the like, with favour milde.

Honest old Latimer, instead of presenting Henry VIII. with a purse of
gold, as was customary, for a new year’s gift, put into the king’s hand
a New Testament, with a leaf conspicuously doubled down at Hebrews xiii.
4, which, on reference, will be found to have been worthy of all
acceptation, though not perhaps well accepted. Dr. Drake is of opinion
that the wardrobe and jewellery of queen Elizabeth were principally
supported by these annual contributions on new year’s day. He cites
lists of the new year’s gifts presented to her, from the original rolls
published in her Progresses by Mr. Nichols; and from these it appears
that the greatest part, if not all the peers and peeresses of the realm,
all the bishops, the chief officers of state, and several of the queen’s
household servants, even down to her apothecaries, master cook, serjeant
of the pastry, &c. gave new year’s gifts to her majesty; consisting, in
general, either of a sum of money, or jewels, trinkets, wearing apparel,
&c. The largest sum given by any of the temporal lords was 20_l._; but
the archbishop of Canterbury gave 40_l._, the archbishop of York 30_l._,
and the other spiritual lords 20_l._ and 10_l._; many of the temporal
lords and great officers, and most of the peeresses, gave rich gowns,
petticoats, shifts, silk stockings, garters, sweet-bags, doublets,
mantles embroidered with precious stones, looking-glasses, fans,
bracelets, caskets studded with jewels, and other costly trinkets. Sir
Gilbert Dethick, garter king at arms, gave a book of the States in
William the Conqueror’s time; Absolon, the master of the Savoy, gave a
Bible covered with cloth of gold, garnished with silver gilt, and plates
of the royal arms; the queen’s physician presented her with a box of
foreign sweetmeats; another physician presented a pot of green ginger,
and a pot of orange flowers; her apothecaries gave her a box of
lozenges, a box of ginger candy, a box of green ginger, and pots of
other conserves. Mrs. Blanch a Parry gave her majesty a little gold
comfit-box and spoon; Mrs. Morgan gave a box of cherries, and one of
apricots. The queen’s master cook and her serjeant of the pastry,
presented her with various confectionary and preserves. Putrino, an
Italian, gave her two pictures; Ambrose Lupo gave her a box of lute
strings, and a glass of sweet water, each of three other Italians
presented her with a pair of sweet gloves; a cutler gave her a meat
knife having a fan haft of bone, with a conceit in it; Jeromy Bassano
gave two drinking glasses; and Smyth, the dustman, presented her majesty
with two bolts of cambrick. Some of these gifts to Elizabeth call to
recollection the tempting articles which Autolycus, in the “Winter’s
Tale,” invites the country girls to buy: he enters singing,

    Lawn, as white as driven snow;
    Cypress, black as e’er was crow;
    Gloves, as sweet as damask roses
    Masks for faces, and for noses;
    Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber,
    Perfume for a lady’s chamber;
    Golden quoifs, and stomachers,
    For my lads to give their dears;
    Pins, and poking-sticks of steel,
    What maids lack from head to heel:
    Come, buy of me, come: come buy, come buy;
    Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry,
    Come, buy, &c.

Dr. Drake says, that though Elizabeth made returns to the new year’s
gifts, in plate and other articles, yet she took sufficient care that
the balance should be in her own favour.

No. 4982, in the Catalogue for 1824, of Mr. Rodd, of Great
Newport-street, is a roll of vellum, ten feet long, containing the new
year’s gifts from king James I. to the persons whose names are therein
mentioned on the 1st of January 1605, with the new year’s gifts that his
majesty received the same day; the roll is signed by James himself and
certain officers of his household.

In a “Banquet of Jests, 1634,” 12mo. there is a pleasant story of
Archee, the king’s jester, who, having fooled many, was fooled himself.
Coming to a nobleman, upon new year’s day, to bid him good-morrow,
Archee received twenty pieces of gold; but, covetously desiring more, he
shook them in his hand, and said they were too light. The donor
answered: “I prithee, Archee, let me see them again, for there is one
amongst them I would be loth to part with:” Archee, expecting the sum to
be increased, returned the pieces to his lordship; who put them in his
pocket with this remark, “I once gave money into a fool’s hand, who had
not the wit to keep it.”

Pins were acceptable new year’s gifts to the ladies, instead of the
wooden skewers which they used till the end of the fifteenth century.
Sometimes they received a composition in money: and hence allowances for
their separate use is still denominated “pin-money.”

Gloves were customary new year’s gifts. They were more expensive than in
our times, and occasionally a money present was tendered instead: this
was called “glove-money.” Sir Thomas More, as lord chancellor, decreed
in favour of a Mrs. Croaker against the lord Arundel. On the following
new year’s day, in token of her gratitude, she presented sir Thomas with
a pair of gloves, containing forty angels. “It would be against good
manners,” said the chancellor, “to forsake a gentlewoman’s new year’s
gift, and I accept the gloves; their _lining_ you will be pleased
otherwise to bestow.”

Mr. Brand relates from a curious MS. in the British Museum, of the date
of 1560, that the boys of Eton school used on this day to play for
little new year’s gifts before and after supper; and also to make
verses, which they presented to the provost and masters, and to each
other: new year’s gifts of verses, however, were not peculiar to
schoolboys. A poet, the beauties of whose poetry are justly remarked to
be “of a kind which time has a tendency rather to hallow than to
injure,” Robert Herrick, presents us, in his Hesperides, with “a New
Year’s Gift sent to Sir Simon Steward.” He commences it merrily, and
goes on to call it

     ------------------------------- a jolly
    Verse, crown’d with ivy and with holly;
    That tells of winter’s tales and mirth,
    That milk-maids make about the hearth;
    Of Christmas’ sports, the wassail bowl,
    That tost-up after fox-i’ th’ hole;
    Of blind-man-buff, and of the care
    That young men have to shoe the mare;
    Of twelfth-tide cakes, of pease and beans,
    Wherewith ye make those merry scenes:
    Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds
    A plenteous harvest to your grounds
    Of those, and such like things, for shift,
    We send, _instead of New Year’s Gift_.
    Read then, and when your faces shine
    With buxom meat and cap’ring wine
    Remember us in cups full crown’d
    And let our city-health go round.
    Then, as ye sit about your embers,
    Call not to mind the fled Decembers
    But think on these, that are t’appear
    As daughters to the instant year;
    And to the bagpipes all address
    Till sleep take place of weariness.
    And thus throughout, with Christmas plays,
    Frolick the full twelve holidays.

Mr. Ellis, in a note on Brand, introduces a poetical new year’s gift in
Latin, from the stern Buchanan to the unhappy Mary of Scotland.

“New year’s gifts,” says Dr. Drake, “were given and received, with the
mutual expression of good wishes, and particularly that of a happy new
year. The compliment was sometimes paid at each other’s doors in the
form of a song; but more generally, especially in the north of England
and in Scotland, the house was entered very early in the morning, by
some young men and maidens selected for the purpose, who presented the
spiced bowl, and hailed you with the gratulations of the season.” To
this may be added, that it was formerly the custom in Scotland to _send_
new year’s gifts on new year’s eve; and on new year’s day to wish each
other a happy new year, and _ask_ for a new year’s gift. There is a
citation in Brand, from the “Statistical Account of Scotland,”
concerning new year’s gifts to servant maids by their masters; and it
mentions that “there is a large stone, about nine or ten feet high, and
four broad, placed upright in a plain, in the (Orkney) isle of North
Ronaldshay; but no tradition is preserved concerning it, whether erected
in memory of any signal event, or for the purpose of administering
justice, or for religious worship. The writer of this (the parish
priest) has seen fifty of the inhabitants assembled there, on the first
day of the year, dancing by moonlight, with no other music than their
own singing.”

In Mr. Stewart’s “Popular Superstitions of the Highlands,” there is some
account of the Candlemas bull, on new year’s eve, as introductory to the
new year. The term Candlemas, applied to this season, is supposed to
have originated in some old religious ceremonies performed by
candlelight. The Bull is a passing cloud, which Highland imagination
perverts into the form of that animal; as it rises or falls or takes
peculiar directions, of great significancy to the seers, so does it
prognosticate good or bad weather. The more northern nations anciently
assigned portentous qualities to the winds of new year’s eve. One of
their old legends in Brand may be thus versified--the last line eking
out the verse:

    If New Year’s eve night-wind blow _south_,
    It betokeneth warmth and growth;
    If _west_, much milk, and fish in the sea;
    If _north_, much cold, and storms there will be;
    If _east_, the trees will bear much fruit
    If _north-east_, flee it man and brute.

Mr. Stewart says, that as soon as night sets in it is the signal with
the Strathdown highlander for the suspension of his usual employment,
and he directs his attention to more agreeable callings. The men form
into bands with tethers and axes, and, shaping their course to the
juniper bushes, they return home laden with mighty loads, which are
arranged round the fire to-day till morning. A certain discreet person
is despatched to the _dead and living ford_ to draw a pitcher of water
in profound silence, without the vessel touching the ground, lest its
virtue should be destroyed, and on his return all retire to rest. Early
on new year’s morning the _Usque-Cashrichd_, or water from _the dead and
living ford_, is drank, as a potent charm, until next new year’s day,
against the spells of witchcraft, the malignity of evil eyes, and the
activity of all infernal agency. The qualified highlander then takes a
large brush, with which he profusely asperses the occupants of all beds;
from whom it is not unusual for him to receive ungrateful remonstrances
against ablution. This ended, and the doors and windows being thoroughly
closed, and all crevices stopped, he kindles piles of the collected
juniper, in the different apartments, till the vapour from the burning
branches condenses into opaque clouds, and coughing, sneezing, wheezing,
gasping, and other demonstrations of suffocation ensue. The operator,
aware that the more intense the “smuchdan,” the more propitious the
solemnity, disregards these indications, and continues, with streaming
eyes and averted head, to increase the fumigation, until in his own
defence he admits the air to recover the exhausted household and
himself. He then treats the horses, cattle, and other bestial stock in
the town with the same smothering, to keep them from harm throughout the
year. When the gude-wife gets up, and having ceased from coughing, has
gained sufficient strength to reach the bottle _dhu_, she administers
its comfort to the relief of the sufferers: laughter takes place of
complaint, all the family get up, wash their faces, and receive the
visits of their neighbours, who arrive full of gratulations peculiar to
the day. _Mu nase choil orst_, “My Candlemas bond upon you” is the
customary salutation, and means, in plain words, “You owe me a new
year’s gift.” A point of great emulation is, who shall salute the other
first; because the one who does so is entitled to a gift from the person
saluted. Breakfast, consisting of all procurable luxuries, is then
served, the neighbours not engaged are invited to partake, and the day
ends in festivity.

_Riding stang_, a custom that will be observed on hereafter, prevails in
some parts of England on new year’s day to the present hour. The “stang”
is a cowl-staff; the cowl is a water-vessel, borne by two persons on the
cowl-staff, which is a stout pole whereon the vessel hangs. “Where’s the
cowl-staff?” cries Ford’s wife, when she purposes to get Falstaff into a
large buck-basket, with two handles; the cowl-staff, or “stang,” is
produced, and, being passed through the handles, the fat knight is borne
off by two of Ford’s men. A writer in the Gentleman’s Magazine, 1791,
says, that in Westmoreland and Cumberland, on the 1st of January,
multitudes assemble early in the morning with baskets and “stangs,” and
whoever does not join them, whether inhabitant or stranger, is
immediately mounted across the “stang,” and carried, shoulder height, to
the next public-house, where sixpence liberates the prisoner. Women are
seized in this way, and carried in baskets--the sex being privileged
from riding “stang,” in compliment, perhaps, to the use of side-saddles.
In the same part of the country, no one is allowed to work on new year’s
day, however industrious. Mr. Ellis shows that it was a new year’s day
custom in ancient Rome for tradesmen to work a little only, for luck’s
sake, that they might have constant business all the year after.

A communication in an English journal of January 1824 relates, that in
Paris on new year’s day, which is called _le jour d’étrennes_, parents
bestow portions on their children, brothers on their sisters, and
husbands make presents to their wives. Carriages may be seen rolling
through the streets with cargoes of _bon-bons_, _souvenirs_, and the
variety of _et cæteras_ with which little children and grown-up children
are bribed into good humour; and here and there pastrycooks are to be
met with, carrying upon boards enormous temples, pagodas, churches, and
playhouses, made of fine flour and sugar, and the embellishments which
render French pastry so inviting. But there is one street in Paris to
which a new year’s day is a whole year’s fortune--this is the _Rue des
Lombards_, where the wholesale confectioners reside; for in Paris every
trade and profession has its peculiar quarter. For several days
preceding the 1st of January, this street is completely blocked up by
carts and waggons laden with cases of sweetmeats for the provinces.
These are of every form and description which the most singular fancy
could imagine; bunches of carrots, green peas, boots and shoes, lobsters
and crabs, hats, books, musical instruments, gridirons, frying-pans, and
saucepans; all made of sugar, and  to imitate reality, and all
made with a hollow within to hold the _bon-bons_. The most prevailing
device is what is called a _cornet_, that is, a little cone ornamented
in different ways with a bag to draw over the large end, and close it
up. In these things, the prices of which vary from one franc (tenpence)
to fifty, the _bon-bons_ are presented by those who choose to be at the
expense of them, and by those who do not, they are only wrapped in a
piece of paper; but _bon-bons_ in some way or other must be presented.
It would not, perhaps, be an exaggeration to state that the amount
expended for presents on new year’s day in Paris, for sweetmeats alone,
exceeds 500,000 francs, or 20,000_l._ sterling. Jewellery is also sold
to a very large amount, and the fancy articles exported in the first
week in the year to England and other countries, is computed at
one-fourth of the sale during the twelve months. In Paris it is by no
means uncommon for a man of 8,000 or 10,000 francs a year to make
presents on new year’s day which cost him a fifteenth part of his
income. No person able to give must on this day pay a visit
empty-handed. Every body accepts, and every man gives according to the
means which he possesses. Females alone are excepted from the charge of
giving. A pretty woman, respectably connected, may reckon her new year’s
presents at something considerable. Gowns, jewellery, gloves, stockings,
and artificial flowers, fill her drawing-room; for in Paris it is a
custom to display all the gifts, in order to excite emulation, and to
obtain as much as possible. At the palace the new year’s day is a
complete _jour de fête_. Every branch of the royal family is then
expected to make handsome presents to the king. For the six months
preceding January 1824, the female branches were busily occupied in
preparing presents of their own manufacture, which would fill at least
two common-sized waggons. The duchess de Berri painted an entire room of
japanned pannels, to be set up in the palace; and the duchess of Orleans
prepared an elegant screen. An English gentleman who was admitted
suddenly into the presence of the duchess de Berri two months before,
found her, and three of her maids of honour, lying on the carpet,
painting the legs of a set of chairs, which were intended for the king.
The day commences with the Parisians, at an early hour, by the
interchange of their visits and _bon-bons_. The nearest relations are
visited first, until the furthest in blood have had their calls; then
friends and acquaintances. The conflict to anticipate each other’s
calls, occasions the most agreeable and whimsical scenes among these
proficients in polite attentions. In these visits, and in gossiping at
the confectioners’ shops, which are the great lounge for the occasion,
the morning of new year’s day is passed; a dinner is given by some
member of the family to all the rest, and the evening concludes, like
Christmas day, with cards, dancing, or any other amusement that may be
preferred. One of the chief attractions to a foreigner in Paris is the
exhibition, which opens there on new year’s day, of the finest specimens
of the Sevres china manufactured at the royal establishment in the
neighbourhood of Versailles during the preceding year.

Undoubtedly, new year’s gifts originated in heathen observances, and
were grossly abused in after ages; yet latterly they became a rational
and pleasant mode of conveying our gentle dispositions towards those we
esteem. Mr. Audley, in his compendious and useful “Companion to the
Almanack,” says, with truth, that they are innocent, if not
praiseworthy; and he quotes this amiable sentiment from Bourne: “If I
send a new year’s gift to my friend, it shall be a token of my
friendship; if to my benefactor, a token of my gratitude; if to the
poor, which at this season must never be forgot, it shall be to make
their hearts sing for joy, and give praise and adoration to the Giver of
all good gifts.” The Jews on the first day of their new year give
sumptuous entertainments, and joyfully wish each other “a happy new
year.” This salutation is not yet obsolete even with us; but the new
year’s gift seldom arrives, except to honest rustics from their equals;
it is scarcely remembered with a view to its use but by young persons,
who, “unvexed with all the cares of gain,” have read or heard tell of
such things, and who, with innocent hearts, feeling the kindness of the
sentiment, keep up the good old custom among one another, till mixture
with the world, and “long experience, makes them sage,” and sordid.

New year’s day in London is not observed by any public festivity; but
little social dining parties are frequently formed amongst friends; and
convivial persons may be found at taverns, and in publicans’ parlours,
regaling on the occasion. Dr Forster relates, in his “Perennial
Calendar,” that many people make a point to wear some new clothes on
this day, and esteem the omission as unlucky: the practice, however,
from such motives, must obviously be confined to the uninformed. The
only open demonstration of joy in the metropolis, is the ringing of
merry peals from the belfries of the numerous steeples, late on the eve
of the new year, and until after the chimes of the clock have sounded
its last hour.

On new year’s day the man of business opens new account-books. “A good
beginning makes a good ending.” Let every man open an account to
himself; and to begin the new year that he may expect to say at its
termination--it has been a _good_ year. In the hilarity of the season
let him not forget that to the needy it is a season of discomfort.

    There is a satisfaction
    In doing a good action:

and he who devises liberal things will find his liberality return to him
in a full tide of happiness. An economist can afford to be generous.
“Give me neither poverty nor riches,” prayed the wise man. To him who is
neither encumbered by wealth, nor dispirited by indigence, the stores of
enjoyment are unlocked.

    He who holds fast the _Golden Mean_,
    And lives contentedly between
      The little and the great,
    Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
    Nor plagues that haunt the rich man’s door,
      Embitt’ring all his state.

    The tallest pines feel most the pow’r
    Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tow’r
      Comes heaviest to the ground;
    The bolts that spare the mountain’s side
    His cloud-capt eminence divide,
      And spread the ruin round.

    The well-inform’d philosopher
    Rejoices with a wholesome fear,
      And hopes, in spite of pain;
    If Winter bellow from the North,
    Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing
      And Nature laughs again.

    If hindrances obstruct thy way,
    Thy magnanimity display,
      And let thy strength be seen;
    But oh! if fortune fill thy sail
    With more than a propitious gale,
      Take half thy canvass in.

  _Cowper._


CHRONOLOGY.

1308. On the 1st of January in this year, William Tell, the Swiss
patriot, associated himself on this day with a band of his countrymen,
against the tyranny of their oppressors. For upwards of three centuries
the opposition was carried on, and terminated by the treaty of
Westphalia in 1648, declaring the independence of Switzerland.

1651. On the 1st of January Charles II. was crowned at Scone king of the
Scots. Charles, when a child, was weak in the legs, and ordered to wear
_steel-boots_. Their weight so annoyed him that he pined till recreation
became labour. An old rocker took off the _steel-boots_, and concealed
them; promising the countess of Dorset, who was Charles’s governess,
that she would take any blame for the act on herself. Soon afterwards
the king, Charles I., coming into the nursery, and seeing his boy’s legs
without the boots, angrily demanded who had done it? “It was I, sir,”
said the rocker, “who had the honour, some thirty years since, to attend
on your highness, in _your_ infancy, when _you_ had the same infirmity
wherewith now the prince, your very own son is troubled; and then the
lady Cary, (afterwards countess of Monmouth) commanded _your
steel-boots_ to be taken off, who, blessed be God, since have gathered
strength, and arrived at a good stature.” Clare, chaplain to Charles
II., at the time the affair happened, related this anecdote to old
Fuller, who in 1660, contemplating “the restoration,” tells the story,
and quaintly exclaims, “the nation is too noble, when his majesty shall
return from foreign parts, to impose any other _steel-boots_ upon him,
than the observing the laws of the land, which are his own _stockings_,
that so with joy and comfort he may enter on what was his own
inheritance.” The nation forgot the “steel-boots,” and Charles forgot
the “stockings.”

1801. January 1. The Union of Great Britain with Ireland commenced
according to act of parliament, and the event was solemnized by the
hoisting of a new royal flag on the Tower of London, accompanied by the
firing of guns there and in St. James’s Park. On the 3d the king
received the great seal of Great Britain from the lord chancellor, and
causing it to be defaced, presented to him a new great seal for the
United Kingdom. On the same day, January 1st, 1801, Piazzi, the
astronomer at Palermo, discovered a new primary planet, making an
eleventh of that order: he called it Ceres, from the goddess of that
name, who was highly esteemed by the ancients of Sicily.

       *       *       *       *       *

Usually at this period the rigour of cold is severely felt. The
indisposition of _lie-a-beds_ to face its severity is pleasantly
pictured by Mr. Leigh Hunt, in a paper in the Indicator. He imagines one
of those persons to express himself in these terms:

“On opening my eyes, the first thing that meets them is my own breath
rolling forth, as if in the open air, like smoke out of a
cottage-chimney. Think of this symptom. Then I turn my eyes sideways and
see the window all frozen over. Think of that. Then the servant comes
in. ‘It is very cold this morning, is it not?’--‘Very cold, sir.’--‘Very
cold indeed, isn’t it?’--‘Very cold indeed, sir.’--‘More than usually
so, isn’t it, even for this weather?’ (Here the servant’s wit and good
nature are put to a considerable test, and the inquirer lies on thorns
for the answer.) ‘Why, Sir..... I think it _is_.’ (Good creature! There
is not a better, or more truth-telling servant going.) ‘I must rise,
however--Get me some warm water.’--Here comes a fine interval between
the departure of the servant and the arrival of the hot water; during
which, of course, it is of ‘no use’ to get up. The hot water comes. ‘Is
it quite hot?’--‘Yes, sir.’--‘Perhaps too hot for shaving: I must wait a
little?’--‘No, sir; it will just do,’ (There is an over-nice propriety
sometimes, an officious zeal of virtue, a little troublesome.) ‘Oh--the
shirt--you must air my clean shirt:--linen gets very damp this
weather.’--‘Yes, sir.’ Here another delicious five minutes. A knock at
the door. ‘Oh, the shirt--very well. My stockings--I think the stockings
had better be aired too.’--‘Very well, sir.’--Here another interval. At
length every thing is ready, except myself. I now cannot help thinking a
good deal--who can?--upon the unnecessary and villainous custom of
shaving; it is a thing so unmanly (here I nestle closer)--so effeminate,
(here I recoil from an unlucky step into the colder part of the
bed.)--No wonder, that the queen of France took part with the rebels
against that degenerate king, her husband, who first affronted her
smooth visage with a face like her own. The emperor Julian never showed
the luxuriancy of his genius to better advantage than in reviving the
flowing beard. Look at cardinal Bembo’s picture--at Michael Angelo’s--at
Titian’s--at Shakspeare’s--at Fletcher’s--at Spenser’s--at Chaucer’s--at
Alfred’s--at Plato’s. I could name a great man for every tick of my
watch. Look at the Turks, a grave and otiose people--Think of Haroun Al
Raschid and Bed-ridden Hassan--Think of Wortley Montague, the worthy son
of his mother, a man above the prejudice of his time--Look at the
Persian gentlemen, whom one is ashamed of meeting about the suburbs,
their dress and appearance are so much finer than our own--Lastly, think
of the razor itself--how totally opposed to every sensation of bed--how
cold, how edgy, how hard! how utterly different from any thing like the
warm and circling amplitude, which

            Sweetly recommends itself
    Unto our gentle senses.

Add to this, benumbed fingers, which may help you to cut yourself, a
quivering body, a frozen towel, and an ewer full of ice; and he that
says there is nothing to oppose in all this, only shows, at any rate
that he has no merit in opposing it.”

[Illustration: ~Gymnastics for Youth.~]

This engraving represents simple methods by which, at this season
especially, the health of young persons may be maintained, and the
constitution invigorated. Two round parallel bars at two feet distance
from each other, on round standards three or four feet high, firmly
fixed in the ground, will afford boys the means of actively exerting
their limbs and muscles: and if the ends of a pole be let into opposite
walls or fastened to trees, the boys may be taught to climb single
ropes, and hold on while swinging by them. The engraving is placed
before the eyes of parents and teachers with the hope of directing their
attention to gymnastic exercises, as diversions for youth, and they are
referred to a practical treatise on the subject by Mr. Clias, that may
be safely used. His judicious reasoning must convince every reader of
their importance to the rising generation, and that it is within the
means of all classes of persons to let boys acquire a knowledge of the
feats represented in the plates to his work, for teaching which his
explanations are numerous and clear.

       *       *       *       *       *

_An unseasonable occurrence_ in the cellar of the late sir Joseph Banks
may be acceptable in the mention, and excite particular sympathy in
persons who recreate with the juice of the vine: as a fact, it may tend
to elucidate the origin and nature of vegetable fungi, particularly of
that species termed mushroom. The worthy baronet had a cask of wine
rather too sweet for immediate use; he therefore directed that it should
be placed in a cellar, in order that the saccharine matter it contained
might be more perfectly decomposed by age. At the end of three years, he
directed his butler to ascertain the state of the wine, when, on
attempting to open the cellar door, he could not effect it, in
consequence of some powerful obstacle. The door was cut down, and the
cellar found to be completely filled with a firm fungous vegetable
production--so firm that it was necessary to use the axe for its
removal. This appeared to have grown from, or have been nourished by,
the decomposed particles of the wine: the cask was empty, and carried up
to the ceiling, where it was supported by the surface of the fungus.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the close of this day he who can reflect with satisfaction on the
past, may anticipate with calm delight the entrance of the new year,
and lift his eyes to the living lustres of the firmament with grateful
feelings. They shine out their prismatic colours through the cold thin
air, keeping watch while man slumbers, or cheering him, who contemplates
their fires, to purposes of virtue. In this season

    -------------- The night comes calmly forth,
    Bringing sweet rest upon the wings of even:
    The golden wain rolls round the silent north,
    And earth is slumbering ’neath the smiles of heaven.

  BOWRING.


~January 2.~

  _St. Macarius_; _St. Concordius_; _St. Adalard or Alard_.

_St. Macarius._ A. D. 394. Alban Butler says he was a confectioner of
Alexandria, who, in the flower of his age, spent upwards of sixty years
in the deserts in labour, penance, and contemplation. “Our saint,” says
Butler, “happened one day inadvertently to kill a gnat, that was biting
him in his cell; reflecting that he had lost the opportunity of
suffering that mortification, he hastened from his cell for the marshes
of Scetè, which abound with great flies, whose stings pierce even wild
boars. There he continued six months, exposed to those ravaging insects;
and to such a degree was his whole body disfigured by them, with sores
and swellings, that when he returned he was only to be known by his
voice.” The Golden Legend relates of him, that he took a dead pagan out
of his sepulchre, and put him under his head for a pillow; whereupon
certain devils came to affright the saint, and called the dead pagan to
go with them; but the body under the saint said he could not, because a
pilgrim lay upon him, so that he could not move; then Macarius, nothing
afraid, beat the body with his fist, and told him to go if he would,
which caused the devils to declare that Macarius had vanquished them.
Another time the devil came with a great scythe on his shoulder, to
smite the saint, but he could not prevail against him, on account of his
virtues. Macarius, at another time, being tempted, filled a sack with
stones, and bore it many journies through the desert. Seeing a devil
before him in the shape of a man, dressed like “a herawde,” with his
clothing full of holes, and in every hole a phial, he demanded of this
devil whither he went; and why he had so many phials? the devil
answered, to give drink to the hermits; and that the phials contained a
variety of liquors, that they might have a choice, and so fall into
temptation. On the devil’s return, the saint inquired how he had sped;
and the devil answered very evil, for they were so holy that only one
Theodistus would drink: on this information Macarius found Theodistus
under the influences of the phial, and recovered him. Macarius found the
head of a pagan, and asked where the soul of its body was: in hell, said
the head: he asked the head if hell was deep;--the head said deeper than
from heaven to earth: he demanded again, if there were any there lower
than his own soul--the head said the Jews were lower than he was: the
saint inquired if there were any lower than the Jews--the head answered,
the false Christian-men were lower than the Jews, and more tormented:
there the dialogue between the saint and the head appears to have ended.
Macarius seems, by the Golden Legend, to have been much annoyed by the
devil. In a nine days’ journey through a desert, at the end of every
mile he set up a reed in the earth, to mark his track against he
returned; but the devil pulled them all up, made a bundle of them, and
placed them at Macarius’s head, while he lay asleep, so that the saint
with great difficulty found his way home again.

_St. Adalard_, according to Butler, was grandson of Charles Martel,
brother to king Pepin, and cousin-german to Charlemagne, who created him
a count: he left his court in 773, became a monk at Corbie in Picardy,
died in 827, aged seventy-three, and wrought miracles, which procured
his body to be enshrined with great pomp in 1010, a history of which
solemnity is written by St. Gerard, who composed an office in St.
Adalard’s honour, because through his intercession he had been cured of
a violent head-ache.--The same St. Gerard relates seven other miracles
by St. Adalard of the same nature. Butler says, his relics are still at
Corbie, in a rich shrine, and two smaller cases, except a small portion
given to the abbey of Chelles.

       *       *       *       *       *

The first Monday after new year’s day is called Handsel Monday in some
parts of Scotland, and is observed by merry-making. In sir J. Sinclair’s
“Statistical Account,” it is related of one William Hunter, a collier,
that he was cured in the year 1758 of an inveterate rheumatism or gout,
by drinking freely of new ale, full of barm or yeast. “The poor man had
been confined to his bed for a year and a half, having almost entirely
lost the use of his limbs. On the evening of Handsel Monday, as it is
called, some of his neighbours came _to make merry_ with him. Though he
could not rise, yet he always took his share of the ale, as it passed
round the company; and, in the end, became much intoxicated. The
consequence was, that he had the use of his limbs the next morning, and
was able to walk about. He lived more than twenty years after this, and
never had the smallest return of his old complaint.” This is a fact
worth remembering, as connected with chronical complaints.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 2d of January, A. D. 17, Ovid the celebrated Roman poet died; he
was born at Sulmo on the 20th of March, forty-three years before the
Christian era. His father designed him for the bar, and he became
eminently eloquent, but every thing he wrote was expressed in poetical
numbers; and though reminded by his father, that even Homer lived and
died in poverty, he preferred the pleasures of imagination to forensic
disputation. He gained great admiration from the learned. Virgil,
Horace, Tibullus, and Propertius, were his friends, and Augustus became
his liberal patron, till he banished him for some unknown cause. In his
exile he was cowardly, and prostituted his pen to flatter baseness; and
though he desired the death of the emperor, he fawned upon him in his
writings to meanness. He died at Tomos on the Euxine sea, the place of
his banishment, under the reign of Tiberius, who had succeeded Augustus,
and was deaf to the poet’s entreaties for permission to return to Rome.
Whatever subject Ovid wrote on, he exhausted; he painted nature with a
masterly hand, and his genius imparted elegance to vulgarity; but he
defiled the sweetness of his numbers by impurity, and though he ranks
among the splendid ornaments of ancient literature, he sullied his fame
by the grossest immorality in some of his finest productions.

Livy, the Roman historian, died at Padua on the same day and in the same
year with Ovid. His history of the Roman Empire was in one hundred and
forty books, of which only thirty-five are extant. Five of these were
discovered at Worms in 1431, and some fragments are said to have been
lately discovered at Herculanæum. Few particulars of his life are known,
but his fame was great even while he lived, and his history has rendered
him immortal. He wrote some philosophical treatises and dialogues, with
a letter to his son on the merit of authors, which Dr. Lempriere says,
ought to be read by young men.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the Literary Pocket Book there are some _seasonable_ facts which may
be transplanted with advantage to the reader, and, it is hoped, without
disadvantage to the writer of the articles. He says that a man is
infinitely mistaken, who thinks there is nothing worth seeing in
winter-time out of doors, because the sun is not warm, and the streets
are muddy. “Let him get, by dint of good exercise, out of the streets,
and he shall find enough. In the warm neighbourhood of towns he may
still watch the field-fares, thrushes, and blackbirds; the titmouse
seeking its food through the straw-thatch; the red-wings, field-fares,
sky-larks, and tit-larks, upon the same errand, over wet meadows; the
sparrows and yellow-hammers, and chaffinches, still beautiful though
mute, gleaning from the straw and chaff in farmyards; and the ring-dove,
always poetical, coming for her meal to the ivy-berries. About rapid
streams he may see the various habits and movements of herons,
wood-cocks, wild-ducks, and other water-fowl, who are obliged to quit
the frozen marshes to seek their food there. The red-breast comes to the
windows, and often into the house itself, to be rewarded for its song,
and for its far-famed ‘painful’ obsequies to the Children in the Wood.”


~January 3.~

  _St. Genevieve._ _St. Anterus, Pope._ _St. Gordius._ _St. Peter
  Balsam._


_St. Genevieve, Patroness of Paris._

Alban Butler affirms that she was born in 422, at Nanterre, four miles
from Paris, near the present Calvary there, and that she died a virgin
on this day in 512, and was buried in 545, near the steps of the high
altar in a magnificent church, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul,
began by Clovis, where he also was interred. Her relics were afterwards
taken up and put into a costly shrine about 630. Of course they worked
miracles. Her shrine of gold and silver, covered with precious stones,
the presents of kings and queens, and with a cluster of diamonds on the
top, presented by the intriguing Mary de Medicis, is, on calamitous
occasions, carried about Paris in procession, accompanied by shrines
equally miraculous, and by the canons of St. Genevieve walking
bare-foot.

The _miracles_ of St. Genevieve, as related in the Golden Legend, were
equally numerous and equally credible. It relates that when she was a
child, St. Germaine said to her mother, “Know ye for certain that on the
day of Genevieve’s nativity the angels sung with joy and gladness,” and
looking on the ground he saw a penny signed with the cross, which came
there by the will of God; he took it up, and gave it to Genevieve,
requiring her to bear in mind that she was the spouse of Christ. She
promised him accordingly, and often went to the minster, that she might
be worthy of her espousals. “Then,” says the Legend, “the mother was
angry, and smote her on the cheek--God avenged the child, so that the
mother became blind,” and so remained for one and twenty months, when
Genevieve fetched her some holy water, signed her with the sign of the
cross, washed her eyes, and she recovered her sight. It further relates,
that by the Holy Ghost she showed many people their secret thoughts, and
that from fifteen years to fifty she fasted every day except Sunday and
Thursday, when she ate beans, and barley-bread of three weeks old.
Desiring to build a church, and dedicate it to St. Denis and other
martyrs, she required materials of the priests for that purpose. “Dame,”
answered the priests, “we would; but we can get no chalk nor lime.” She
desired them to go to the bridge of Paris and bring what they found
there. They did so till two swineherds came by, one of whom said to the
other, “I went yesterday after one of my sows and found a bed of lime;”
the other replied that he had also found one under the root of a tree
that the wind had blown down. St. Genevieve’s priests of course inquired
where these discoveries were made, and bearing the tidings to Genevieve
the church of St. Denis was began. During its progress the workmen
wanted drink, whereupon Genevieve called for a vessel, prayed over it,
signed it with the cross, and the vessel was immediately filled; “so,”
says the Legend, “the workmen drank their belly full,” and the vessel
continued to be supplied in the same way with “drink” for the workmen
till the church was finished. At another time a woman stole St.
Genevieve’s shoes, but as soon as she got home lost her sight for the
theft, and remained blind, till, having restored the shoes, St.
Genevieve restored the woman’s sight. Desiring the liberation of certain
prisoners condemned to death at Paris, she went thither and found the
city gates were shut against her, but they opened without any other key
than her own presence. She prayed over twelve men in that city possessed
with devils, till the men were suspended in the air, and the devils were
expelled. A child of four years old fell in a pit and was killed. St.
Genevieve only covered her with her mantle and prayed over her, and the
child came to life and was baptized at Easter. On a voyage to Spain she
arrived at a port “where, as of custom, ships were wont to perish.” Her
own vessel was likely to strike on a tree in the water, which seems to
have caused the wrecks; she commanded the tree to be cut down, and began
to pray; when lo, just as the tree began to fall, “two wild heads, grey
and horrible, issued thereout, which stank so sore, that the people that
were there were envenomed by the space of two hours, and never after
perished ship there; thanks be to God and this holy saint.”

At Meaux, a master not forgiving his servant his faults though St.
Genevieve prayed him, she prayed against him. He was immediately seized
with a hot ague; “on the morrow he came to the holy virgin, running with
open mouth like a German bear, his tongue hanging out like a boar, and
requiring pardon.” She then blessed him, the fever left him, and the
servant was pardoned. A girl going by with a bottle, St. Genevieve
called to her, and asked what she carried, she answered oil, which she
had bought; but St. Genevieve seeing the devil sitting on the bottle,
blew upon it, and the bottle broke, but the saint blessed the oil, and
caused her to bear it home safely notwithstanding. The Golden Legend
says, that the people who saw this, marvelled that the saint could see
the devil, and were greatly edified.

It was to be expected that a saint of such miraculous powers in her
lifetime should possess them after her death, and accordingly the
reputation of her relics is very high.

       *       *       *       *       *

Several stories of St. Genevieve’s miraculous faculties, represent them
as very convenient in vexatious cases of ordinary occurrence; one of
these will serve as a specimen. On a dark wet night she was going to
church with her maidens, with a candle borne before her, which the wind
and rain put out; the saint merely called for the candle, and as soon as
she took it in her hand it was lighted again, “without any fire of this
world.”

Other stories of her lighting candles in this way, call to mind a
candle, greatly venerated by E. Worsley in a “Discourse of Miracles
wrought in the Roman Catholic Church, or, a full Refutation of Dr.
Stillingfleet’s unjust Exceptions against Miracles,” octavo, 1676. At p.
64, he says, “that the _miraculous wax candle_, yet seen at Arras, the
chief city of Artois, may give the reader entertainment, being most
certain, _and never doubted of by any_. In 1105, that is, much above 569
years ago, (of so great antiquity the candle is,) a merciless plague
reigned in Arras. The whole city, ever devout to the Mother of God,
experienced her, in this their necessity, to be a true mother of mercy:
the manner was thus. The Virgin Mary appeared to two men, and enjoined
them to tell the bishop of Arras, that on the next Saturday towards
morning she would appear in the great church, and put into his hands a
wax candle burning; from whence drops of wax should fall into a vessel
of water prepared by the bishop. She said, moreover, that all the
diseased that drank of this water, should forthwith be cured. _This
truly promised, truly happened._ Our blessed Lady appeared all
beautiful, having in her hands a wax candle burning, which diffused
light over the whole church; this she presented to the bishop; he,
blessing it with the sign of the cross, set it in the urn of water; when
drops of wax plentifully fell down into the vessel. The diseased drank
of it, all were cured, the contagion ceased, and the candle to this day
preserved with great veneration, spends itself, yet loses nothing; and
therefore remains still of the same length and greatness it did 500
years ago. A vast quantity of wax, made up of the many drops which fall
into the water upon those festival days, when the candle burns, may be
justly called a standing, indeficient miracle.”

This candle story, though gravely related by a catholic writer, as “not
doubted of by any,” and as therefore not to be doubted, miraculously
failed in convincing the protestant Stillingfleet, that “miracles
wrought in the Roman catholic church,” ought to be believed.


CHRONOLOGY.

1639. A manuscript entitled “Commentaries of the Civil Wars, from 1638
to 1648,” written by Sir Henry Slingsby, bart., a royalist, intimates
the struggle, then approaching, between Charles I. and the nation. He
says, “The 3d of January, 1639, I went to Bramham-house, out of
curiosity, to see the training of the light-horse, for which service I
had sent two horses, by commandment of the lieutenant and sir Joseph
Ashley, who is lately come down, with special commission from the king
to train and exercise them. These are strange spectacles to this nation
in this age, that has lived thus long peaceably, without noise of drum
or of shot, and after we have stood neuter, and in peace, when all the
world besides hath been in arms.” The “training” was preparatory to the
war with the Scots, the resistance of the commons in parliament, and its
levies of troops to oppose the royal will.

    “The armourers ---------
     With busy hammers closing rivets up
     Gave dreadful note of preparation.”

The conflict ended in the death of Charles on the scaffold, the
interregnum, the restoration, and the final expulsion of the Stuart
race.


~January 4.~

  _St. Titus_, disciple of St. Paul. _St. Gregory_, bishop of Langres.
  _St. Rigobert_ or _Robert_. _St. Rumon._


_St. Rumon._

Alban Butler informs us, from William of Malmsbury, that he was a
bishop, though of what nation or see is unknown, and that his name is in
the English martyrology. Cressy says, that his body was buried at
Tavistock, where, about 960, Ordgar, count of Devonshire, father to
Elfrida, the second wife of king Edgar, built a monastery “very
agreeable and pleasant, by reason of the great variety of woods,
pastures, and rivers abounding with fish.” St. Rumon consecrated the
church. About thirty years afterwards, the monastery was destroyed and
burnt by the Danes. It is memorable, that Edulf, a son of Ordgar, buried
in that monastery, was a man of gigantic stature, and of such wonderful
strength, that going to Exeter, and finding the gates shut and barred,
he broke the outer iron bars with his hands, burst open the gates with
his foot, tore the locks and bolts asunder, and broke down part of the
wall.


CHRONOLOGY.

1568. On the 4th of January Roger Ascham died, and was buried at St.
Sepulchre’s church, London. He was born in Yorkshire about 1515, and is
celebrated for his learning, for having been tutor and Latin secretary
to queen Elizabeth, and for having written “the Scholemaster.” This work
originated from mention having been made at dinner that some Eton
scholars “had run away from school for fear of beating.” Ascham
expressed his opinion that “young children were sooner allured by love,
than driven by beating, to attain good learning.” He then retired up
stairs “to read with the queen’s majesty: we read then together that
noble oration of Demosthenes against Æschines, for his false dealing in
his embassy to king Philip of Macedon; sir Richard Sackville came up
soon after.” Sackville took Ascham aside, “A fond (silly) schoolmaster,”
said sir Richard, “before I was fully fourteen years old, drove me so,
with fear of beating, from all love of learning, as now, when I know
what difference it is to have learning, and to have little, or none at
all, I feel it my greatest grief, and find it my greatest hurt, that
ever came to me, that it was so my ill chance, to light upon so lewd
(ignorant) a schoolmaster.” The whole conversation was very interesting,
and so impressed Ascham with its importance, that he says, he “thought
to prepare some little treatise for a new-year’s gift that Christmas,”
but it grew beneath his hands and became his “Scholemaster, showing a
plain and perfect way of teaching the learned languages.” The best
edition of this work, which Ascham did not live to publish, is that
edited by the Rev. James Upton, 1743, octavo. The book was first printed
by Ascham’s widow, whom with her children he left in distress. It was
eminently serviceable to the advancement of teachers and pupils, at a
period when it was the fashion to flog. Its most remarkable feature is
the frowning down of this brutal practice, which, to the disgrace of our
own times, is still heard of in certain seminaries, both public and
private. The good old man says, “Beat a child if he dance not well, and
cherish him though he learn not well, ye shall have him unwilling to go
to dance, and glad to go to his book: knock him always when he draweth
his shaft ill, and favour him again though he fault at his book, ye
shall have him very loth to be in the field, and very willing to go to
school.” He observes, “If ever the nature of man be given at any time,
more than another, to receive goodness, it is in innocency of young
years before that experience of evil have taken root in him. For the
pure, clean wit of a sweet young babe, is like the newest wax, most able
to receive the best and fairest printing; and like a new bright silver
dish never occupied, to receive and keep clean any good thing that is
put into it. Therefore, to love or to hate, to like or contemn, to ply
this way or that way, to good or to bad, ye shall have as ye use a child
in his youth.” He exemplifies this by a delightful anecdote of the
young, beautiful, and accomplished lady Jane Grey, who shortly
afterwards perished by the axe of the executioner. Ascham, before he
went into Germany, visited Broadgate in Leicestershire, to take leave of
her. “Her parents, the duke and duchess, with all the household,
gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I found _her_,”
says Ascham, “in her chamber, reading Phædo Platonis in Greek, and that
with as much delight, as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in
Boccace. After salutation, and duty done, with some other talk, I asked
her, why she would lose such pastime in the park? Smiling, she answered
me:

“‘I wist, all their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure
that I find in Plato. Alas! good-folk, they never felt what true
pleasure meant.’

“‘And how came you, madam,’ quoth I, ‘to this deep knowledge of
pleasure? And what did chiefly allure you unto it, seeing not many
women, but very few men, have attained thereunto?’

“‘I will tell you,’ quoth she, ‘and tell you a truth, which perchance
you will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that ever God gave me,
is, that he sent me so sharp and severe parents, and so gentle a
schoolmaster. For when I am in presence either of father or mother,
whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry,
or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing any thing else, I must do
it, as it were, in such weight, measure, and number, even so perfectly,
as God made the world; or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly
threatened, yea presently sometimes with pinches, nips, and bobs, and
other ways (which I will not name for the honour I bear them) so
without measure misordered, that I think myself in hell, till time come
that I must go to Mr. Elmer; who teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly,
with such fair allurements to learning, that I think all the time
nothing, while I am with him: and when I am called from him, I fall on
weeping, because whatsoever I do else, but learning, is full of grief,
trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me: and thus my book hath been
so much my pleasure and bringeth daily to me more pleasure and more,
that in respect of it, all other pleasures in very deed, be but trifles
and troubles unto me.’”

Surely this innocent creature’s confession, that she was won to the love
of learning and her teacher by his gentleness, and the disclosure of her
affliction under the severe discipline of her parents, are positive
testimony to the fact, that our children are to be governed and taught
by the law of kindness: nor let it detract from the force of the remark,
that in connection with her artless feelings and blameless deportment,
if her hard fate call forth a versified effusion.

INSCRIBED BENEATH A PORTRAIT OF LADY JANE GREY.

_Original._

    Young, beautiful, and learned Jane, intent
      On knowledge, found it peace; her vast acquirement
    Of goodness was her fall; she was content
      With dulcet pleasures, such as calm retirement

    Yields to the wise alone;--her only vice
      Was virtue: in obedience to her sire
    And lord she died, with them, a sacrifice
      To their ambition: her own mild desire

    Was rather to be happy than be great;
      For though at their request she claimed the crown,
    That they, through her, might rise to rule the state,
      Yet, the bright diadem, and gorgeous throne,

    She view’d as cares, dimming the dignity
    Of her unsullied mind, and pure benignity.

  *

1815. On the 4th of January, died Alexander Macdonald, Esq., who is no
other way remarkable, than for a chivalrous devotion to the family of
Stuart. He raised a monument in the vale of Glenfinnyn, at the head of
Lochshiel, in the county of Inverness, with a Latin, Gaelic, and English
inscription, to commemorate the last open efforts of that family, for
the recovery of a crown they had forfeited by innumerable breaches of
the laws, and whose aggressions on life and property being suffered,
till

    “_Non-resistance_ could no further go,”

they were excluded from the throne of the people, by the aristocracy and
commonalty of England in parliament assembled. As evidence of the spirit
that dictated such a memorial, and of the proper feeling which permits
that spirit to be expressed, in spite of its hostility to the principles
that deposited and continued the diadem of the commonwealth in the
custody of the house of Hanover, the inscription on the monument is
placed in the next column. It stands in English in these words:

  On the spot where
  PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD
  First raised his Standard,
  On the 19th day of August, MDCCXLV,
  When he made the daring and romantic attempt
  To recover a Throne lost by the imprudence of his
  Ancestors,
  This Column was erected by
  ALEXANDER MACDONALD, Esq., of
  Glenaladale,
  To commemorate the generous zeal,
  Undaunted bravery, and the inviolable fidelity,
  Of his forefathers, and the rest of those
  Who fought and bled in that
  Arduous and unfortunate enterprise.
  This Pillar is now,
  Alas!
  Also become the Monument
  Of its amiable and accomplished Founder,
  Who,
  Before it was finished,
  Died in Edinburgh on the 4th day of January,
  MDCCCXV.

The “right line” of the Stuart race terminated in the late cardinal
York. He was the second son of “the Pretender,” and was born at Rome on
the 26th of March 1725; where he was baptized by the name of Henry
Benedict Maria Clemens: he died there in 1807, in the 83d year of his
age. In 1745 he went to France to head an army of fifteen thousand men,
assembled at Dunkirk for the invasion of England. The battle of Culloden
settled “the arduous and unfortunate enterprise,” which the “amiable and
accomplished founder” of the monument commemorates, and not a single
transport left Dunkirk roads. As soon as Henry Benedict heard of the
affair at Culloden, he returned to Rome, entered into priest’s orders,
and in 1747 was made a cardinal by pope Benedict XIV. It was taunted by
a former pope upon James II. that he “lost his kingdom for a mass;” and
it is certain that Henry Benedict was better qualified to take a red-hat
and pull on and off red stockings, than to attempt the conquest of a
free protestant nation.

After the expulsion of pope Pius VI. from “the chair of St. Peter,” by
the French, he fled from his splendid residences at Rome and Frascati to
Venice, infirm in health, distressed in circumstances, and at the age of
seventy-five. He subsisted for awhile on the produce of some silver
plate, which he had saved from the ruin of his property. By the friendly
interference of sir John Cox Hippisley, the cardinal’s situation was
made known to his late majesty, and lord Minto had orders to remit him a
present of 2000_l._, which he received in February 1800, with an
intimation that he might draw for the same amount in the July following;
and sir J. C. Hippisley communicated to him, that an annuity of 4000_l._
would be at his service, so long as his circumstances might require it.
This liberality was received and acknowledged by the cardinal in terms
of gratitude, and made a considerable impression on the reigning pope
and his court. These facts are extracted from the Gentleman’s Magazine,
(vols. 74 and 77,) which also observes, that “from the time he devoted
himself to ecclesiastical functions he seemed to have laid aside all
worldly views, till his father’s death in 1788, when he had medals
struck, bearing on their face his head, with ‘HENRICUS NONUS ANGLIÆ
REX;’ on the reverse, a city, with ‘GRATIA DEI, SED NON VOLUNTATE
HOMINUM:’ if we are not misinformed, our sovereign has one of these
medals.” From one in the possession of the compiler of this work, he is
enabled to present an engraving of it to his readers.

[Illustration: HENRY IX. KING OF ENGLAND.]

[Illustration: ST. SIMEON STYLITES, HERMIT OF THE PILLAR]


~January 5.~

  _St. Simeon Stylites._ _St. Telesphorus._ _St. Syncletia._


_St. Simeon Stylites._

Alban Butler declares, that St. Simeon astonished the whole Roman empire
by his mortifications. In the monastery of Heliodorus, a man sixty-five
years of age, who had spent sixty-two years so abstracted from the
world, that he was ignorant of the most obvious things in it; the monks
ate but once a day: Simeon joined the community, and ate but once a
week. Heliodorus required Simeon to be more private in his
mortifications; “with this view,” says Butler, “judging the rough rope
of the well, made of twisted palm-tree leaves, a proper instrument of
penance, Simeon tied it close about his naked body, where it remained
unknown both to the community and his superior, till such time as it
having ate into his flesh, what he had privately done was discovered by
the effluvia proceeding from the wound.” Butler says, that it took three
days to disengage the saint’s clothes, and that “the incisions of the
physician, to cut the cord out of his body, were attended with such
anguish and pain, that he lay for some time as dead.” After this he
determined to pass the whole forty days of Lent in total abstinence, and
retired to a hermitage for that purpose. Bassus, an abbot, left with him
ten loaves and water, and coming to visit him at the end of the forty
days, found both loaves and water untouched, and the saint stretched on
the ground without signs of life. Bassus dipped a sponge in water,
moistened his lips, gave him the eucharist, and Simeon by degrees
swallowed a few lettuce leaves and other herbs. He passed twenty-six
Lents in the same manner. In the first part of a Lent he prayed
standing; growing weaker he prayed sitting; and towards the end, being
almost exhausted, he prayed lying on the ground. At the end of three
years he left his hermitage for the top of a mountain, made an enclosure
of loose stones, without a roof, and having resolved to live exposed to
the inclemencies of the weather, he fixed his resolution by fastening
his right leg to a rock with a great iron chain. Multitudes thronged to
the mountain to receive his benediction, and many of the sick recovered
their health; but as some were not satisfied unless they touched him in
his enclosure, and Simeon desired retirement from the daily concourse,
he projected a new and unprecedented manner of life. He erected a pillar
six cubits high, (each cubit being eighteen inches,) and dwelt on it
four years; on a second of twelve cubits high he lived three years; on a
third of twenty-two cubits high ten years; and on a fourth of forty
cubits, or sixty feet high, which the people built for him, he spent the
last twenty years of his life. This occasioned him to be called
_stylites_, from the Greek word _stylos_, a pillar. This pillar did not
exceed three feet in diameter at the top, so that he could not lie
extended on it: he had no seat with him; he only stooped or leaned to
take a little rest, and bowed his body in prayer so often, that a
certain person who counted these positions, found that he made one
thousand two hundred and forty-four reverences in one day, which if he
began at four o’clock in the morning and finished at eight o’clock at
night, gives a bow to every three-quarters of a minute; besides which he
exhorted the people twice a day. His garments were the skins of beasts,
he wore an iron collar round his neck, and had a horrible ulcer in his
foot. During his forty days’ abstinence throughout Lent, he tied himself
to a pole. He treated himself as the outcast of the world and the worst
of sinners, worked miracles, delivered prophecies, had the sacrament
delivered to him on the pillar, and died bowing upon it, in the
sixty-ninth of his age, after having lived upon pillars for six and
thirty years. His corpse was carried to Antioch attended by the bishops
and the whole country, and worked miracles on its way. So far this
account is from Alban Butler.

Without mentioning circumstances and miracles in the Golden Legend,
which are too numerous, and some not fit to be related, it may be
observed that it is there affirmed of him, that after his residence on
the pillars, one of his thighs rotted a whole year, during which time he
stood on one leg only. Near Simeon’s pillar was the dwelling of a
dragon, so very venomous, that nothing grew near his cave. This dragon
met with an accident; he had a stake in his eye, and coming all blind to
the saint’s pillar, and placing his eye upon it for three days without
doing harm to any one, Simeon ordered earth and water to be placed on
the dragon’s eye, which being done, out came the stake, a cubit in
length; when the people saw this miracle, they glorified God, and ran
away for fear of the dragon, who arose and adored for two hours, and
returned to his cave. A woman swallowed a little serpent, which
tormented her for many years, till she came to Simeon, who causing earth
and water to be laid on her mouth, the little serpent came out four feet
and a half long. It is affirmed by the Golden Legend, that when Simeon
died, Anthony smelt a precious odour proceeding from his body; that the
birds cried so much, that both men and beasts cried; that an angel came
down in a cloud that the patriarch of Antioch taking Simeon’s beard to
put among his relics, his hand withered, and remained so till multitudes
of prayers were said for him, and it was healed: and that more miracles
were worked at and after Simeon’s sepulture, than he had wrought all his
life.


LONGEVITY.

1724. Jan. 5. An extraordinary instance of longevity is contained in a
letter dated the 29th of January, 1724, from M. Hamelbranix, the Dutch
envoy at Vienna, to their high mightinesses the states general, and
published in a Dutch dictionary, “Het Algemeen historisch, geographisch
en genealogisch Woordenboek,” by Luiscius. It relates to an individual
who had attained the extraordinary age of _one hundred and eighty-five_
years.

“Czartan Petrarch, by religion a Greek, was born in the year 1539, and
died on the 5th of January, 1724, at Kofrosch, a village four miles from
Temeswar, on the road leading to Karansebes. He had lived, therefore, a
hundred and eighty-five years. At the time when the Turks took Temeswar
from the Christians, he was employed in keeping his father’s cattle. A
few days before his death he had walked, with the help of a stick, to
the post-house at Kofrosch, to ask charity from the travellers. His eyes
were much inflamed, but he still enjoyed a little sight. His hair and
beard were of a greenish, white colour, like mouldy bread; and he had a
few of his teeth remaining. His son, who was ninety-seven years of age,
declared his father had once been the head taller; that at a great age
he married for the third time; and that he was born in this last
marriage. He was accustomed, agreeably to the rules of his religion, to
observe fast days with great strictness, and never to use any other food
than milk, and certain cakes, called by the Hungarians _kollatschen_,
together with a good glass of brandy, such as is made in the country. He
had descendants in the fifth generation, with whom he sometimes sported,
carrying them in his arms. His son, though ninety-seven, was still fresh
and vigorous. When field marshal count Wallis, the commandant of
Temeswar, heard that this old man was taken sick, he caused a portrait
of him to be painted, and when it was almost finished he expired.”

1808. Early in January, this year, the shaft of death supplied another
case of longevity. At the advanced age of 110 years, died Dennis
Hampson, the blind bard of Maggiligan, of whom an interesting account
has been given by lady Morgan, in “The Wild Irish Girl.” The “Athenæum,”
from whence this notice is extracted, relates, that only a few hours
before his decease he tuned his harp, that he might have it in readiness
to entertain sir H. Bruce’s family, who were expected to pass that way
in a few days, and who were in the habit of stopping to hear his music;
suddenly, however, he felt the approach of death, and calling his family
around him resigned his breath without a struggle, and in perfect
possession of his faculties to the last moment. A kindred spirit
produced the following tribute to the memory of this “aged son of song.”
He was the oldest of the Irish bards.

    The fame of the brave shall no longer be sounded,
      The last of our bards now sleeps cold in his grave;
    Maggiligan rocks, where his lays have resounded,
      Frown dark at the ocean, and spurn at the wave.

    For, Hampson, no more shall thy soul-touching finger
      Steal sweet o’er the strings, and wild melody pour;
    No more near thy hut shall the villagers linger,
      While strains from thy harp warble soft round the shore.

    No more thy harp swells with enraptured emotion,
      Thy wild gleams of fancy for ever are fled,
    No longer thy minstrelsy charms this rude ocean,
      That rolls near the green turf that pillows thy head.

    Yet vigour and youth with bright visions had fired thee,
      And rose-buds of health have blown deep on thy cheek;
    The songs of the sweet bards of Erin inspired thee,
      And urged thee to wander like laurels to seek.

    Yes, oft hast thou sung of our kings crown’d with glory,
      Or, sighing, repeated the lover’s fond lay;
    And oft hast thou sung of the bards famed in story,
      Whose wild notes of rapture have long past away.

    Thy grave shall be screen’d from the blast and the billow,
      Around it a fence shall posterity raise;
    Erin’s children shall wet with their tears thy cold pillow,
      Her youths shall lament thee, and carol thy praise.

       *       *       *       *       *

This is the eve of the Epiphany, or Twelfth-night eve, and is a night
of preparation in some parts of England for the merriments which, to the
present hour, distinguish Twelfth-day. Dr. Drake mentions that it was a
practice formerly for itinerant minstrels to bear a bowl of spiced-wine
to the houses of the gentry and others, from whom they expected a
hospitable reception, and, calling their bowl a wassail-bowl, to drink
wassail to their entertainers. These merry sounds of mirth and music are
not extinct. There are still places wherein the wandering blower of a
clarionet, and the poor scraper of as poor a fiddle, will this evening
strain their instruments, to charm forth the rustic from his dwelling,
and drink to him from a jug of warm ale, spiced with a race of ginger,
in the hope of a pittance for their melody, and their wish of wassail.
Of the wassail-bowl, much will appear before the reader in the after
pages of this work.

In certain parts of Devonshire, the farmer, attended by his workmen,
with a large pitcher of cider, goes to the orchard this evening; and
there, encircling one of the best bearing trees, they drink the
following toast three times:

            “Here’s to thee, old apple-tree, hence thou mayst bud, and
                  whence thou mayst blow!
    And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!
            Hats full! caps full!
            Bushel--bushel--sacks full,
            And my pockets full too! Huzza!”

This done, they return to the house, the doors of which they are sure to
find bolted by the females, who, be the weather what it may, are
inexorable to all entreaties to open them till some one has guessed at
what is on the spit, which is generally some nice little thing,
difficult to be hit on, and is the reward of him who first names it. The
doors are then thrown open, and the lucky clodpole receives the tit-bit
as his recompense. Some are so superstitious as to believe, that if they
neglect this custom, the trees will bear no apples that year. To the
preceding particulars, which are related in the Gentleman’s Magazine for
1791, may be added that Brand, on the authority of a Cornishman, relates
it as a custom with the Devonshire people to go after supper into the
orchard, with a large milk-pan full of cider, having roasted apples
pressed into it. “Out of this each person in company takes, what is
called a clayen cup, that is an earthenware cup full of liquor, and
standing under each of the more fruitful apple-trees, passing by those
that are not good bearers, he addresses it in the following words:

    ‘Health to thee, good apple-tree,
    Well to bear, pocket-fulls, hat-fulls,
    Peck-fulls, bushel-bag-fulls!’

And then drinking up part of the contents, he throws the rest, with the
fragments of the roasted apples, at the tree. At each cup the company
set up a shout.”

Pennant, in his tour in Scotland, says respecting this custom, that
after they have drank a cheerful glass to their master’s health, with
success to the future harvests, and expressed their good wishes in the
same way, they feast off cakes made of caraways and other seeds soaked
in cider, which they claim as a reward for their past labours in sowing
the grain. “This,” says Pennant, “seems to resemble a custom of the
ancient Danes, who, in their addresses to their rural deities emptied,
on every invocation, a cup in honour of them.”

So also Brand tells us that, in Herefordshire, “at the approach of
evening on the vigil of the twelfth day, the farmers, with their friends
and servants, meet together, and about six o’clock walk out to a field
where wheat is growing. In the highest part of the ground, twelve small
fires and one large one are lighted up. The attendants, headed by the
master of the family, pledge the company in old cider, which circulates
freely on these occasions. A circle is formed round the large fire, when
a general shout and hallooing takes place, which you hear answered from
all the adjacent villages and fields. Sometimes fifty or sixty of these
fires may be all seen at once. This being finished, the company return
home, where the good housewife and her maids are preparing a good
supper. A large cake is always provided, with a hole in the middle.
After supper, the company all attend the bailiff (or head of the oxen)
to the wain-house, where the following particulars are observed. The
master, at the head of his friends, fills the cup, (generally of strong
ale,) and stands opposite the first or finest of the oxen. He then
pledges him in a curious toast: the company follow his example with all
the other oxen, addressing each by his name. This being finished, the
large cake is produced, and, with much ceremony, put on the horn of the
first ox, through the hole above-mentioned. The ox is then tickled, to
make him toss his head: if he throw the cake behind, then it is the
mistress’s perquisite; if before, (in what is termed the boosy,) the
bailiff himself claims the prize. The company then return to the house,
the doors of which they find locked, nor will they be opened till some
joyous songs are sung. On their gaining admittance, a scene of mirth and
jollity ensues, and which lasts the greatest part of the night.”

Mr. Beckwith relates in the Gentleman’s Magazine, 1784, that “near
Leeds, in Yorkshire, when he was a boy, it was customary for many
families, on the twelfth eve of Christmas, to invite their relations,
friends, and neighbours, to their houses, to play at cards, and to
partake of a supper, of which minced pies were an indispensable
ingredient; and after supper was brought in, the wassail cup or wassail
bowl, of which every one partook, by taking with a spoon, out of the
ale, a roasted apple, and eating it, and then drinking the healths of
the company out of the bowl, wishing them a merry Christmas and a happy
new year. (The festival of Christmas used in this part of the country
to hold for twenty days, and some persons extended it to Candlemas.) The
ingredients put into the bowl, viz. ale, sugar, nutmeg, and roasted
apples, were usually called lambs’-wool, and the night on which it is
used to be drunk (generally on the twelfth eve) was commonly called
Wassil eve.” The glossary to the Exmore dialect has “Watsail--a drinking
song on twelfth-day eve, throwing toast to the apple-trees, in order to
have a fruitful year, which seems to be a relic of the heathen sacrifice
to Pomona.”

Brand found it observed in the ancient calendar of the Romish church,
that on the fifth day of January, the eve or vigil of the Epiphany,
there were “kings created or elected by beans;” that the sixth of the
month is called “The Festival of Kings;” and “that this ceremony of
electing kings was continued with feasting for many days.”

Twelfth-night eve or the vigil of the Epiphany is no way observed in
London. There Twelfth-day itself comes with little of the pleasure that
it offered to our forefathers. Such observances have rapidly
disappeared, and the few that remain are still more rapidly declining.
To those who are unacquainted with their origin they afford no
associations to connect the present with former ages; and without such
feelings, the few occasions which enable us to show a hospitable
disposition, or from whence we can obtain unconstrained cheerfulness,
will pass away, and be remembered only as having been.


~January 6.~

  _Epiphany._ {Close holiday at all Public offices
              {except Stamp, Customs, and Excise.

  _St. Melanius._ _St. Peter._ _St. Nilammon._

_St. Peter_ was a disciple of Gregory the Great, the first abbot of St.
Augustine’s monastery at Canterbury, and drowned in 608 while proceeding
on a voyage to France. According to Cressy, the inhabitants buried his
body without knowing any thing about him, till “a heavenly light
appeared every night over his sepulture,” when they held an inquest, and
a count Fumert buried him in the church of Boulogne. From a quotation in
Patrick, it appears that a weasel who gnawed his robe was found dead
upon it for his sauciness.


EPIPHANY.

The Rev Thomas Dudley Fosbroke, M. A. F. A. S., &c. whose “Encyclopædia
of Antiquities” has been already cited from, is the author of “British
Monachism, or, Manners and Customs of the Monks and Nuns of England,”
4to. 1817; a most erudite work, wherein he gives an account, from Du
Cange, of the _Feast of the Star_, or _Office of the Three Kings_, a
catholic service performed on this day. “Three priests, clothed as
kings, with their servants carrying offerings, met from different
directions of the church before the altar. The middle one, who came from
the east, pointed with his staff to a star: a dialogue then ensued; and
after kissing each other, they began to sing, ‘Let us go and inquire;’
after which the precentor began a responsory, ‘Let the Magi come.’ A
procession then commenced, and as soon as it began to enter the nave, a
crown like a star, hanging before the cross, was lighted up, and pointed
out to the Magi, with ‘Behold the star in the east.’ This being
concluded, two priests, standing at each side of the altar, answered,
meekly, ‘We are those whom you seek,’ and drawing a curtain showed them
a child, whom, falling down, they worshipped. Then the servants made the
offerings of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, which were divided among the
priests. The Magi in the mean while continued praying till they dropped
asleep; when a boy clothed in an alb, like an angel, addressed them
with, ‘All things which the prophets said are fulfilled.’ The festival
concluded with chanting services, &c.”

Mr. Fosbroke adds, that at Soissons a rope was let down from the roof of
the church, to which was annexed an iron circle, having seven tapers,
intended to represent Lucifer, or the morning _star_.

The three persons honoured by this service, and called kings, were the
three wise men who, in catholic works, are usually denominated the
_Three Kings of Cologne_. Cressy tells us, that the empress Helena, who
died about the year 328, brought their bodies from the east to
Constantinople; from whence they were transferred to Milan, and
afterwards, in 1164, on Milan being taken by the emperor Frederick,
presented by him to the archbishop of Cologne, who put them in the
principal church of that city, “in which place,” says Cressy, “they are
to this day celebrated with great veneration.” Patrick quotes a prayer
to them from the Romish service, beginning “O, king Jaspar, king
Melchior, king Balthasar;” and he says that the Salisbury Missal states
their offerings to have been disposed of in this way:--“Joseph kept of
the gold as much as him needed, to pay his tribute to the emperor, and
also to keep our lady with while she lay in childbed, and the rest he
gave to the poor. The incense he burnt to take off the stench of the
stable there as she lay in; and with the myrrh, our lady anointed her
child, to keep him from worms and disease.” Patrick makes several
observations on the service to these three kings of Cologne, and as to
the credibility of their story; and he inquires what good this prayer
will do to Jaspar, Melchior, and Balthasar, when another tradition says
their names were Apellius, Amerus, and Damascus; a third, that they were
Magalath, Galgalath, and Sarasin; and a fourth, Ator, Sator, and
Peratoras; which last, Patrick says, he should choose in this
uncertainty to call them by, as having the more kingly sound, if it had
not been that Casaubon represents these three, “together with Misael,
Achael, Cyriacus, and Stephanus, (the names of the four shepherds that
came to visit our Lord in Bethlehem,) had been used (and he tells how)
for a charm to cure the biting of serpents and other venomous beasts.”
Patrick gives other prayers to these three kings, one of them from the
“Hours of the Virgin,” and also quotes this miraculous anecdote; that
one John Aprilius, when he was hanged, implored the patronage of the
three kings of Cologne; the consequence of which seems to have been,
that after he had been hung three days and was cut down, he was found
alive; whereupon he came to Cologne half naked, with his halter about
his neck, and returned thanks to his deliverers.


[Illustration: TWELFTH-DAY.]

    Such are the scenes, that, at the front and side
      Of the Twelfth-cake-shops, scatter wild dismay;
    As up the slipp’ry curb, or pavement wide,
      We seek the pastrycooks, to keep Twelfth-day;
    While ladies stand aghast, in speechless trance,
    Look round--dare not go back--and yet dare not advance.

In London, with every pastrycook in the city, and at the west end of the
town, it is “high change” on Twelfth-day. From the taking down of the
shutters in the morning, he, and his men, with additional assistants,
male and female, are fully occupied by attending to the dressing out of
the window, executing orders of the day before, receiving fresh ones, or
supplying the wants of chance customers. Before dusk the important
arrangement of the window is completed. Then the gas is turned on, with
supernumerary argand-lamps and manifold wax-lights, to illuminate
countless cakes of all prices and dimensions, that stand in rows and
piles on the counters and sideboards, and in the windows. The richest in
flavour and heaviest in weight and price are placed on large and massy
salvers; one, enormously superior to the rest in size, is the chief
object of curiosity; and all are decorated with all imaginable images of
things animate and inanimate. Stars, castles, kings, cottages, dragons,
trees, fish, palaces, cats, dogs, churches, lions, milkmaids, knights,
serpents, and innumerable other forms in snow-white confectionary,
painted with variegated colours, glitter by “excess of light” from
mirrors against the walls festooned with artificial “wonders of Flora.”
This “paradise of dainty devices,” is crowded by successive and
successful desirers of the seasonable delicacies, while alternate
tapping of hammers and peals of laughter, from the throng surrounding
the house, excite smiles from the inmates.

The cause of these sounds may be inferred from something like this
passing outside.

_Constable._ Make way, make way! Clear the way! You _boys_ stand aside!

_Countryman._ What _is_ all _this_; Is any body _ill_ in the shop?

_1st Boy._ Nobody, sir; it’s _only_ Twelfth day!

_2d Boy._ This is a _pastrycook’s_, sir; look at the window! _There_
they stand! _What_ cakes!

_3d Boy._ What pretty ones _these_ are!

_4th Boy._ Only see _that_!

_5th Boy._ Why it’s as _large_ as the hind-wheel of a coach, and how
_thick_!

_6th Boy._ Ah! it’s too big to come out at the door, unless they _roll_
it out.

_7th Boy._ What _elegant_ figures, and what _lots_ of sweetmeats!

_8th Boy._ See the _flowers_; they look almost like _real_ ones.

_Countryman._ What a crowd _inside_!

_9th Boy._ How the people of the house _are_ packing up _all_ the good
things!

_Countryman._ What a _beautiful_ lady that _is_ behind the counter!

_10th Boy._ Which?

_Countryman._ Why the _young_ one!

_10th Boy._ What _her_? oh, _she’s_ the pastrycook’s daughter, and the
other’s her mother.

_Countryman._ No, no; not _her_; I mean _her_, there.

_10th Boy._ Oh, _her_; _she’s_ the shopwoman; _all_ the pastrycooks
always try to get _handsome ladies_ to serve in the shop!

_11th Boy._ I say, I say! halloo! here’s a piece of work! Look at _this_
gentleman--next to me--his coat-tail’s nailed to the window! Look,
_look_!

_Countryman._ Aye, what?

_All the boys._ Ah! ah! ah! Huzza.

_Countryman._ Who nailed _my_ coat-tail? Constable!

_12th Boy._ That’s the boy that’s got _the hammer_!

_2d Boy._ What, _me?_ why _that’s_ the boy--_there_; and there’s
_another_ boy hammering! and there’s a _man_ with a hammer!

_1st Boy._ Who pinned that _woman_ to the gentleman? Why there’s a
_dozen_ pinned together.

_Countryman._ Constable! constable!

_2nd Boy._ Here comes the constable. _Hark_ at him!

_Const._ Clear away from the doors! Let the _customers_ go in! Make way!
Let the _cakes_ come out! Go back, boy!

_13th Boy._ If you please, Mr. Constable, I’m going to buy a cake!

_Const._ Go _forward_, then!

_Man with cakes._ By your leave! by your leave.

_Const._ Clear the way!

_All the Boys._ Huzza! huzza! _More_ people pinned--and _plenty_ nailed
up!----

To explain, to those who may be ignorant of the practice. On
Twelfth-night in London, boys assemble round the inviting shops of the
pastrycooks, and dexterously nail the coat-tails of spectators, who
venture near enough, to the bottoms of the window frames; or pin them
together strongly by their clothes. Sometimes eight or ten persons find
themselves thus connected. The dexterity and force of the nail driving
is so quick and sure, that a single blow seldom fails of doing the
business effectually. Withdrawal of the nail without a proper instrument
is out of the question; and, consequently, the person nailed must either
leave part of his coat, as a cognizance of his attachment, or quit the
spot with a hole in it. At every nailing and pinning shouts of laughter
arise from the perpetrators and the spectators. Yet it often happens to
one who turns and smiles at the duress of another, that he also finds
himself nailed. Efforts at extrication increase mirth, nor is the
presence of a constable, who is usually employed to attend and preserve
free “ingress, egress, and regress,” sufficiently awful to deter the
offenders.

Scarcely a shop in London that offers a halfpenny plain bun to the
purchase of a hungry boy, is without Twelfth-cakes and finery in the
windows on Twelfth-day, The gingerbread-bakers--there are not many,
compared with their number when the writer was a consumer of their
manufactured _goods_,--even the reduced gingerbread-bakers periwig a few
plum-buns with sugar-frost to-day, and coaxingly interpolate them among
their new made sixes, bath-cakes, parliament, and ladies’ fingers.
Their staple-ware has leaves of untarnished dutch-gilt stuck on; their
upright cylinder-shaped show-glasses, containing peppermint-drops,
elecampane, sugar-sticks, hard-bake, brandy-balls, and bulls’-eyes, are
carefully polished; their lolly-pops are fresh encased, and look as
white as the stems of tobacco-pipes; and their candlesticks are
ornamented with fillets and bosses of writing paper; or, if the candles
rise from the bottom of inverted glass cones, they shine more sparkling
for the thorough cleaning of their receivers in the morning.

How to _eat_ Twelfth-cake requires no recipe; but how to provide it, and
draw the characters, on the authority of Rachel Revel’s “Winter Evening
Pastimes,” may be acceptable. First, buy your cake. Then, before your
visitors arrive, buy your characters, each of which should have a
pleasant verse beneath. Next look at your invitation list, and count the
number of ladies you expect; and afterwards the number of gentlemen.
Then, take as many female characters as you have invited ladies; fold
them up, exactly of the same size, and number each on the back; taking
care to make the king No. 1, and the queen No. 2. Then prepare and
number the gentlemen’s characters. Cause tea and coffee to be handed to
your visitors as they drop in. When all are assembled and tea over, put
as many ladies’ characters in a reticule as there are ladies present;
next put the gentlemen’s characters in a hat. Then call on a gentleman
to carry the reticule to the ladies as they sit, from which each lady is
to draw one ticket, and to preserve it unopened. Select a lady to bear
the hat to the gentlemen for the same purpose. There will be one ticket
left in the reticule, and another in the hat, which the lady and
gentleman who carried each is to interchange, as having fallen to each.
Next, arrange your visitors according to their numbers; the king No. 1,
the queen No. 2, and so on. The king is then to recite the verse on his
ticket; then the queen the verse on hers; and so the characters are to
proceed in numerical order. This done, let the cake and refreshments go
round, and hey! for merriment!

    They come! they come! each blue-eyed sport,
    The Twelfth-night king and all his court--
      ’Tis Mirth fresh crown’d with mistletoe!
    Music with her merry fiddles,
      Joy “on light fantastic toe,”
    Wit with all his jests and riddles,
      Singing and dancing as they go.
    And Love, young Love, among the rest,
    A welcome--nor unbidden guest.

Twelfth-day is now only commemorated by the custom of choosing king and
queen. “I went,” says a correspondent in the Universal Magazine for
1774, “to a friend’s house in the country to partake of some of those
innocent pleasures that constitute a merry Christmas. I did not return
till I had been present at drawing king and queen, and eaten a slice of
the Twelfth-cake, made by the fair hands of my good friend’s consort.
After tea yesterday, a noble cake was produced, and two bowls,
containing the fortunate chances for the different sexes. Our host
filled up the tickets; the whole company, except the king and queen,
were to be ministers of state, maids of honour, or ladies of the
bed-chamber. Our kind host and hostess, whether by design or accident,
became king and queen. According to Twelfth-day law, each party is to
support their character till midnight.” The maintenance of character is
essential to the drawing. Within the personal observation of the writer
of these sheets, character has never been preserved. It must be
admitted, however, that the Twelfth-night characters sold by the
pastrycooks, are either commonplace or gross--when genteel they are
inane; when humorous, they are vulgar.

Young folks anticipate Twelfth-night as a full source of innocent glee
to their light little hearts. Where, and what is he who would negative
hopes of happiness for a few short hours in the day-spring of life? A
gentle spirit in the London Magazine beautifully sketches a scene of
juvenile enjoyment this evening: “I love to see an acre of cake spread
out--the sweet frost covering the rich earth below--studded all over
with glittering flowers, like ice-plants, and red and green knots of
sweetmeat, and hollow yellow crusted crowns, and kings and queens, and
their paraphernalia. I delight to see a score of happy children sitting
huddled all round the dainty fare, eyeing the cake and each other, with
faces sunny enough to thaw the white snow. I like to see the gazing
silence which is kept so religiously while the large knife goes its
round, and the glistening eyes which feed beforehand on the huge slices,
dark with citron and plums, and heavy as gold. And then, when the
“Characters” are drawn, is it nothing to watch the peeping delight which
escapes from their little eyes? One is proud, as king; another stately,
as queen; then there are two whispering grotesque secrets which they
cannot contain (those are sir Gregory Goose and sir Tunbelly Clumsy.)
The boys laugh out at their own misfortunes; but the little girls
(almost ashamed of their prizes) sit blushing and silent. It is not
until the lady of the house goes round, that some of the more
extravagant fictions are revealed. And then, what a roar of mirth! Ha,
ha! The ceiling shakes, and the air is torn. They bound from their seats
like kids, and insist on seeing Miss Thompson’s card. Ah! what merry
spite is proclaimed--what ostentatious pity! The little girl is almost
in tears; but the large lump of allotted cake is placed seasonably in
her hands, and the glass of sweet wine ‘all round’ drowns the shrill
urchin laughter, and a gentler delight prevails.” Does not this make a
charming picture?

       *       *       *       *       *

There is some difficulty in collecting accounts of the manner wherein
Twelfth-night is celebrated in the country. In “Time’s Telescope,” an
useful and entertaining annual volume, there is a short reference to the
usage in Cumberland, and other northern parts of England. It seems that
on Twelfth-night, which finishes their Christmas holidays, the rustics
meet in a large room. They begin dancing at seven o’clock, and finish at
twelve, when they sit down to lobscouse, and ponsondie; the former is
made of beef, potatoes, and onions fried together; and in ponsondie we
recognise the wassail or waes-hael of ale, boiled with sugar and nutmeg,
into which are put roasted apples,--the anciently admired lambs’-wool.
The feast is paid for by subscription: two women are chosen, who with
two wooden bowls placed one within the other, so as to leave an opening
and a space between them, go round to the female part of the society in
succession, and what one puts into the uppermost bowl the attendant
collectress slips into the bowl beneath it. All are expected to
contribute something, but not more than a shilling, and they are best
esteemed who give most. The men choose two from themselves, and follow
the same custom, except that as the gentlemen are not supposed to be
altogether so fair in their dealings as the ladies, one of the
collectors is furnished with pen, ink, and paper, to set down the
subscriptions as soon as received.

If a satirical prophecy in “Vox Graculi,” 4to. 1623, may be relied on as
authority, it bears testimony to the popularity of Twelfth-night at that
period. On the 6th of January the author declares, that “this day, about
the houres of 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10, yea, in some places till midnight
well nigh, will be such a massacre of spice-bread, that, ere the next
day at noon, a two-penny browne loafe will set twenty poore folkes teeth
on edge. Which hungry humour will hold so violent, that a number of good
fellowes will not refuse to give a statute-marchant of all the lands and
goods they enjoy, for half-a-crown’s worth of two-penny pasties.” He
further affirms, that there will be “on this night much masking in the
Strand, Cheapside, Holbourne, or Fleet-street.”

“The twelve days of Christmas,” as the extent of its holidays, were
proverbial; but among labourers, in some parts, the Christmas
festivities did not end till Candlemas. Old Tusser, in his “Five Hundred
Points of good Husbandry,” would have the merriments end in six days; he
begins January with this advice to the countryman:

    When Christmas is ended, bid feasting adue,
    Goe play the good husband, thy stock to renue:
    Be mindful of rearing, in hope of a gaine,
    Dame Profit shall give thee reward for thy paine.

This was the recommendation of prudence tempered by kindness; a desire
for diligence in the husbandman, with an allowance of reasonable pastime
to sweeten his labour.

From Naogeorgus, in “The Popish Kingdome,” a poem before quoted, and
which will be frequently referred to for its lore regarding our ancient
customs, it is to be gathered, that the king of Twelfth-night, after
the manner of royalty, appointed his officers. He himself attained his
dignity thus:

    Then also every householder, to his abilitie,
    Doth make a mightie cake, that may suffice his companie:
    Herein a pennie doth he put, before it come to fire,
    This he divides according as his householde doth require,
    And every peece distributeth, as round about they stand,
    Which in their names unto the poore is given out of hand.
    But who so chaunceth on the peece wherein the money lies,
    Is counted king amongst them all, and is with showtes and cries
    Exalted to the heavens up.

Mr. Fosbroke notices, that “the cake was full of plums, with a bean in
it for the king, and a pea for the queen, so as to determine them by the
slices. Sometimes a penny was put in the cake, and the person who
obtained it, becoming king, crossed all the beams and rafters of the
house against devils. A chafing-dish with burning frankincense was also
lit, and the odour snuffed up by the whole family, to keep off disease
for the year. After this, the master and mistress went round the house
with the pan, a taper, and a loaf, against witchcraft.”

So far Mr. Fosbroke abridges Naogeorgus’s account, which goes on to say,
that

        --in these dayes beside,
    They judge what weather all the yeare shall happen and betide:
    Ascribing to each day a month, and at this present time,
    The youth in every place doe flocke, and all apparel’d fine,
    With pypars through the streetes they runne, and singe at every
         dore.

           *       *       *       *       *

    There cities are, where boyes and gyrles, together still do runne,
    About the streete with like, as soone as night beginnes to come,
    And bring abrode their wassel bowles, who well rewarded bee,
    With cakes and cheese, and great good cheare, and money
         plenteouslee.

Queen Elizabeth’s Progresses by Mr. Nichols, contain an entertainment to
her at Sudley, wherein were Melibæus, the King of the Bean, and Nisa,
the queen of the Pea.

“_Mel._ Cut the cake: who hath the _beane_, shall be King; and where
the _peaze_ is, she shall be Queene.

“_Nis._ I have the _peaze_, and must be Queene.

“_Mel._ I have the _beane_, and King; I must commande.”

Pinkerton’s “Ancient Scotish Poems,” contain a letter from sir Thomas
Randolph, queen Elizabeth’s chamberlain of the Exchequer, to Dudley lord
Leicester, dated from Edinburgh on the 15th January, 1563, wherein he
mentions, that Lady Flemyng was “Queen of the _Beene_” on Twelfth-day in
that year: and in Ben Jonson’s Masque of Christmas, Baby-cake, one of
the characters, is attended by “an Usher, bearing a great cake with a
bean, and a pease.” Herrick, the poet of our festivals, has several
allusions to the celebration of this day by our ancestors: the poem here
subjoined, recognises its customs with strict adherence to truth, and in
pleasant strains of joyousness.

TWELFE-NIGHT, OR KING AND QUEENE.

        Now, now the mirth comes
        With the cake full of plums,
    Where beane’s the king of the sport here,
        Beside, we must know,
        The pea also
    Must revell, as queene in the court here.

        Begin then to chuse,
        This night as ye use,
    Who shall for the present delight here,
        Be a king by the lot,
        And who shall not
    Be Twelfe-day queene for the night here.

        Which knowne, let us make
        Joy-sops with the cake;
    And let not a man then be seen here,
        Who unurg’d will not drinke,
        To the base from the brink,
    A health to the king and the queene here.

        Next crowne the bowle ful.
        With gentle lambs-wooll;
    Adde sugar, nutmeg, and ginger,
        With store of ale, too;
        And thus ye must doe
    To make the wassaile a swinger.

        Give them to the king
        And queene wassailing;
    And though with ale ye be whet here;
        Yet part ye from hence,
        As free from offence,
    As when ye innocent met here.

A citation by Brand represents the ancient Twelfth-night-cake to have
been composed of flour, honey, ginger, and pepper. The maker thrust in,
at random, a small coin as she was kneading it. When baked, it was
divided into as many parts as there were persons in the family, and
each had his share. Portions of it were also assigned to Christ, the
Virgin, and the three Magi, and were given in alms.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Twelfth-day the people of Germany and the students of its academies
chose a king with great ceremony and sumptuous feastings.

In France, the Twelfth-cake is plain, with a bean; the drawer of the
slice containing the bean is king or queen. All drink to her or his
majesty, who reigns, and receives homage from all, during the evening.
There is no other drawing, and consequently the sovereign is the only
distinguished character. In Normandy they place a child under the table,
which is so covered with a cloth that he cannot see; and when the cake
is divided, one of the company taking up the first piece, cries out,
“Fabe Domini pour qui?” The child answers, “Pour le bon Dieu:” and in
this manner the pieces are allotted to the company. If the bean be found
in the piece for the “bon Dieu,” the king is chosen by drawing long or
short straws. Whoever gets the bean chooses the king or queen, according
as it happens to be a man or woman. According to Brand, under the old
order of things, the Epiphany was kept at the French court by one of the
courtiers being chosen king, and the other nobles attended an
entertainment on the occasion; but, in 1792, during the revolution, _La
Fête de Rois_ was abolished; Twelfth-day was ordered to be called _La
Fête de Sans-Culottes_; the old feast was declared anti-civic; and any
priest keeping it was deemed a royalist. The Literary Pocket Book
affirms, that at _La Fête de Rois_ the French monarch and his nobles
waited on the Twelfth-night king, and that the custom was not revived on
the return of the Bourbons, but that instead of it the royal family
washed the feet of some people and gave them alms.

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a difference of opinion as to the _origin_ of Twelfth-day.
Brand says, “that though its customs vary in different countries, yet
they concur in the same end, that is, to do honour to the Eastern Magi.”
He afterwards observes, “that the practice of choosing ‘king,’ on
Twelfth-day, is similar to a custom that existed among the ancient
Greeks and Romans, who, on the festival days of Saturn, about this
season of the year, drew lots for kingdoms and like kings exercised
their temporary authority.” Indeed, it appears, that the question is
almost at rest. Mr. Fosbroke affirms that “the king of Saturnalia was
elected by beans, and that from thence came our king and queen on this
day.” The coincidence of the election by _beans_ having been common to
both customs, leaves scarcely the possibility of doubt that ours is a
continuation of the heathen practice under another name. Yet “some of
the observances on this day are the remains of Druidical, and other
superstitious ceremonies.” On these points, if Mr. Fosbroke’s Dictionary
of Antiquities be consulted by the curious inquirer, he will there find
the authorities, and be in other respects gratified.

       *       *       *       *       *

The _Epiphany_ is called _Twelfth-day_, because it falls on the twelfth
day after Christmas-day. _Epiphany_ signifies manifestation, and is
applied to this day because it is the day whereon Christ was manifested
to the Gentiles. Bourne in his Vulgar Antiquities, which is the
substructure of Brand’s Popular Antiquities, remarks that this is the
greatest of the twelve holidays, and is therefore more jovially
observed, by the visiting of friends and Christmas gambols, than any
other.

Finally, on observances of this festival not connected with the
Twelfth-night king and queen. It is a custom in many parishes in
Gloucestershire on this day to light up twelve small fires and one large
one; this is mentioned by Brand: and Mr. Fosbroke relates, that in some
countries twelve fires of straw are made in the fields “to burn the old
witch,” and that the people sing, drink, and dance around it, and
practise other ceremonies in continuance. He takes “the old witch” to be
the Druidical God of Death. It is stated by sir Henry Piers, in genl.
Vallancey’s “Collectanea,” that, at Westmeath, “on Twelve-eve in
Christmas, they used to set up as high as they can a sieve of oats, and
in it a dozen of candles set round, and in the centre one larger, all
lighted; this in memory of our saviour and his apostles, lights of the
world.” Sir Henry’s inference may reasonably be doubted; the custom is
probably of higher antiquity than he seems to have suspected.

A very singular merriment in the Isle of Man is mentioned by Waldron, in
his history of that place. He says, that “during the whole twelve days
of Christmas, there is not a barn unoccupied, and that every parish
hires fiddlers at the public charge. On Twelfth-day, the fiddler lays
his head in some one of the girls’ laps, and a third person asks, who
such a maid, or such a maid shall marry, naming the girls then present
one after another; to which he answers according to his own whim, or
agreeable to the intimacies he has taken notice of during this time of
merriment. But whatever he says is as absolutely depended on as an
oracle; and if he happens to couple two people who have an aversion to
each other, tears and vexation succeed the mirth. This they call cutting
off the fiddler’s head; for, after this, he is dead for the whole year.”

It appears from the Gentleman’s Magazine, that on Twelfth-day 1731, the
king and the prince at the chapel royal, St. James’s, made their
offerings at the altar, of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, according to
custom, and that at night their majesties, &c. played at hazard for the
benefit of the groom-porter. These offerings which clearly originate
from the Roman church, and are not analogous to any ceremony of the
church of England, continue to be annually made; with this difference,
however, that the king is represented by proxy in the person of some
distinguished officer of the household. In other respects the
proceedings are conducted with the usual state.


THE SEASON.

[Illustration]

Midwinter is over. According to astronomical reckoning, we have just
passed that point in the earth’s orbit, where the north pole is turned
most from the sun. This position is represented in the diagram above, by
the direction of the terminator, or boundary line of light and darkness,
which is seen to divide the globe into two equal parts; the north pole,
which is the upper pole in the figure, and all parts within 32½ degrees,
being enveloped in constant darkness. We now trace the sun among the
stars of the constellation Capricorn or sea-goat, and it is winter in
the whole northern hemisphere. At the beginning of January the earth is
at its _least_ distance from the sun, which is proved by measuring the
apparent magnitude of that luminary by means of an instrument called a
micrometer, his disc being now about 32 minutes of a degree; whereas at
the opposite season, or at the beginning of July, near our Midsummer,
his apparent diameter is only about 31 minutes. The coldness of winter
therefore does not depend on the distance of the earth from the sun, but
on the very oblique or slanting direction of his rays; less heat falling
on any given part of the earth, than when the rays fall more direct.
From the slanting direction of his rays they pass through a more dense
region of the atmosphere, and are somewhat intercepted; while another
cause of the cold is the shortness of our days and the length of our
nights; the sun continuing only about seven hours and a half above the
horizon, while he is absent for about sixteen hours and a half.

This position of the earth relatively to the sun is exemplified in the
Popular Lectures on Astronomy, now delivering at the Assembly-room,
Paul’s Head, Cateaton-street, by Mr. John Wallis, on _Tuesday_ and
_Thursday_ evenings. His explanations of this noble science are
familiarly and beautifully illustrated, by an original and splendid
apparatus devised and constructed by his own hands. It consists of
extensive mechanism and numerous brilliant transparencies. Mr. Wallis’s
lectures on _Tuesday_ and _Thursday_ next, the 18th and 20th of January,
1825, are under the patronage of the Lord Mayor. Here is a sure mode of
acquiring astronomical knowledge, accompanied by the delightful
gratification of witnessing a display of the heavens more bewitching
than the mind can conceive. Ladies, and young persons especially, have a
delightful opportunity of being agreeably entertained by the novelty and
beauty of the exhibition and the eloquent descriptions of the
enlightened lecturer.

       *       *       *       *       *

The holly with its red berries, and the “fond ivy,” still stick about
our houses to maintain the recollection of the seasonable festivities.
Let us hope that we may congratulate each other on having, while we kept
them, kept ourselves within compass. Merriment without discretion is an
abuse for which nature is sure to punish us. She may suffer our
violence for a while in silence; but she is certain to resume her rights
at the expense of our health, and put us to heavy charges to maintain
existence.


~January 7.~

  _St. Lucian._ _St. Cedd._ _St. Kentigerna._ _St. Aldric._ _St.
  Thillo._ _St. Canut._


_St. Lucian._

This saint is in the calendar of the church of England on the following
day, 8th of January. He was a learned Syrian. According to Butler, he
corrected the Hebrew version of the Scriptures for the inhabitants of
Palestine, during some years was separated from the Romish church,
afterwards conformed to it, and died after nine years imprisonment,
either by famine or the sword, on this day, in the year 312. It further
appears from Butler, that the Arians affirmed of St. Lucian, that to him
Arius was indebted for his distinguishing doctrine, which Butler however
denies.


ST. DISTAFF’S DAY, OR ROCK-DAY.

The day after Twelfth-day was so called because it was celebrated in
honour of the _rock_, which is a _distaff_ held in the hand, from whence
wool is spun by twirling a ball below. It seems that the burning of the
flax and tow belonging to the women, was the men’s diversion in the
evening of the first day of labour after the twelve days of Christmas,
and that the women repaid the interruption to their industry by sluicing
the mischief-makers. Herrick tells us of the custom in his Hesperides:--

_St. Distaff’s day, or the morrow after Twelfth-day._

    Partly work, and partly play,
    Ye must on S. Distaff’s day:
    From the plough soone free your teame,
    Then come home and fother them.
    If the maides a spinning goe,
    Burne the flax, and fire the tow;

           *       *       *       *       *

    Bring in pailes of water then,
    Let the maides bewash the men:
    Give S. Distaffe all the right,
    Then bid Christmas sport good-night.
    And next morrow, every one
    To his owne vocation.

In elder times, when boisterous diversions were better suited to the
simplicity of rustic life than to the comparative refinement of our
own, this contest between fire and water must have afforded great
amusement.


CHRONOLOGY.

  1772. “An authentic, _candid, and circumstancial_ narrative _of the_
  astonishing transactions _at_ Stockwell, _in the county of Surry, on
  Monday and Tuesday, the 6th and 7th days of_ January, 1772,
  _containing a series of the most surprising and unaccountable_ events
  _that ever happened; which continued from first to last upwards of
  twenty hours, and at different places. Published with the consent and
  approbation of the family, and other parties concerned, to
  authenticate which, the original Copy is signed by them._”

This is the title of an octavo tract published in “London, printed for
J. Marks, bookseller, in St. Martin’s-lane, 1772.” It describes Mrs.
Golding, an elderly lady, at Stockwell, in whose house the transactions
happened, as a woman of unblemished honour and character; her niece,
Mrs. Pain, as the wife of a farmer at Brixton-causeway, the mother of
several children, and well known and respected in the parish; Mary
Martin as an elderly woman, servant to Mr. and Mrs. Pain, with whom she
had lived two years, having previously lived four years with Mrs.
Golding, from whom she went into Mrs. Pain’s service; and Richard Fowler
and Sarah, his wife, as an honest, industrious, and sober couple, who
lived about opposite to Mr. Pain, at the Brick-pound. These were the
subscribing witnesses to many of the surprising transactions, which were
likewise witnessed by some others. Another person who bore a principal
part in these scenes was Ann Robinson, aged about twenty years, who had
lived servant with Mrs. Golding but one week and three days. The
“astonishing transactions” in Mrs. Golding’s house were these:

On Twelfth-day 1772, about ten o’clock in the forenoon, as Mrs. Golding
was in her parlour, she heard the china and glasses in the back kitchen
tumble down and break; her maid came to her and told her the stone
plates were falling from the shelf; Mrs. Golding went into the kitchen
and saw them broke. Presently after, a row of plates from the next shelf
fell down likewise, while she was there, and nobody near them; this
astonished her much, and while she was thinking about it, other things
in different places began to tumble about, some of them breaking,
attended with violent noises all over the house; a clock tumbled down
and the case broke; a lantern that hung on the staircase was thrown down
and the glass broke to pieces; an earthen pan of salted beef broke to
pieces and the beef fell about; all this increased her surprise, and
brought several persons about her, among whom was Mr. Rowlidge, a
carpenter, who gave it as his opinion that the foundation was giving way
and that the house was tumbling down, occasioned by the too great weight
of an additional room erected above: “so ready,” says the narrative,
“are we to discover natural causes for every thing!”

Mrs. Golding ran into Mr. Gresham’s house, next door to her, where she
fainted, and in the interim, Mr. Rowlidge, and other persons, were
removing Mrs. Golding’s effects from her house, for fear of the
consequences prognosticated. At this time all was quiet; Mrs. Golding’s
maid remaining in her house, was gone up stairs, and when called upon
several times to come down, for fear of the dangerous situation she was
thought to be in, she answered very coolly, and after some time came
down deliberately, without any seeming fearful apprehensions.

Mrs. Pain was sent for from Brixton-causeway, and desired to come
directly, as her aunt was supposed to be dead;--this was the message to
_her_. When Mrs. Pain came, Mrs. Golding was come to herself, but very
faint from terror.

Among the persons who were present, was Mr. Gardner, a surgeon, of
Clapham, whom Mrs. Pain desired to bleed her aunt, which he did; Mrs.
Pain asked him if the blood should be thrown away; he desired it might
not, as he would examine it when cold. These minute particulars would
not be taken notice of, but as a chain to what follows. For the next
circumstance is of a more astonishing nature than any thing that had
preceded it; the blood that was just congealed, sprung out of the basin
upon the floor, and presently after the basin broke to pieces; this
china basin was the only thing broke belonging to Mr. Gresham; a bottle
of rum that stood by it broke at the same time.

Among the things that were removed to Mr. Gresham’s was a tray full of
china, &c., a japan bread-basket, some mahogany waiters, with some
bottles of liquors, jars of pickles, &c. and a pier glass, which was
taken down by Mr. Saville, (a neighbour of Mrs. Golding’s;) he gave it
to one Robert Hames, who laid it on the grass-plat at Mr. Gresham’s; but
before he could put it out of his hands, some parts of the frame on each
side flew off; it raining at that time, Mrs. Golding desired it might be
brought into the parlour, where it was put under a side-board, and a
dressing-glass along with it; it had not been there long before the
glasses and china which stood on the side-board, began to tumble about
and fall down, and broke both the glasses to pieces. Mr. Saville and
others being asked to drink a glass of wine or rum, both the bottles
broke in pieces before they were uncorked.

Mrs. Golding’s surprise and fear increasing, she did not know what to do
or where to go; wherever she and her maid were, these strange,
destructive circumstances followed her, and how to help or free herself
from them, was not in her power or any other person’s present: her mind
was one confused chaos, lost to herself and every thing about her, drove
from her own home, and afraid there would be none other to receive her,
she at last left Mr. Gresham’s, and went to Mr. Mayling’s, a gentleman
at the next door, here she staid about three quarters of an hour, during
which time nothing happened. Her maid staid at Mr. Gresham’s, to help
put up what few things remained unbroken of her mistress’s, in a back
apartment, when a jar of pickles that stood upon a table, turned upside
down, then a jar of raspberry jam broke to pieces.

Mrs. Pain, not choosing her aunt should stay too long at Mr. Mayling’s,
for fear of being troublesome, persuaded her to go to her house at Rush
Common, near Brixton-causeway, where she would endeavour to make her as
happy as she could, hoping by this time all was over, as nothing had
happened at that gentleman’s house while she was there. This was about
two o’clock in the afternoon.

Mr. and Miss Gresham were at Mr. Pain’s house, when Mrs. Pain, Mrs.
Golding, and her maid went there. It being about dinner time they all
dined together; in the interim Mrs. Golding’s servant was sent to her
house to see how things remained. When she returned, she told them
nothing had happened since they left it. Sometime after Mr. and Miss
Gresham went home, every thing remaining quiet at Mr. Pain’s: but about
eight o’clock in the evening a fresh scene began; the first thing that
happened was, a whole row of pewter dishes, except one, fell from off a
shelf to the middle of the floor, rolled about a little while, then
settled, and as soon as they were quiet, turned upside down; they were
then put on the dresser, and went through the same a second time: next
fell a whole row of pewter plates from off the second shelf over the
dresser to the ground, and being taken up and put on the dresser one in
another, they were thrown down again. Two eggs were upon one of the
pewter shelves, one of them flew off, crossed the kitchen, struck a cat
on the head, and then broke to pieces.

Next Mary Martin, Mrs. Pain’s servant, went to stir the kitchen fire,
she got to the right hand side of it, being a large chimney as is usual
in farm houses, a pestle and mortar that stood nearer the left hand end
of the chimney shelf, jumped about six feet on the floor. Then went
candlesticks and other brasses: scarce any thing remaining in its place.
After this the glasses and china were put down on the floor for fear of
undergoing the same fate.

A glass tumbler that was put on the floor jumped about two feet and then
broke. Another that stood by it jumped about at the same time, but did
not break till some hours after, when it jumped again and then broke. A
china bowl that stood in the parlour jumped from the floor, to behind a
table that stood there. This was most astonishing, as the distance from
where it stood was between seven and eight feet, but was not broke. It
was put back by Richard Fowler, to its place, where it remained some
time, and then flew to pieces.

The next thing that followed was a mustard-pot, that jumped out of a
closet and was broke. A single cup that stood upon the table (almost the
only thing remaining) jumped up, flew across the kitchen, ringing like a
bell, and then was dashed to pieces against the dresser. A tumbler with
rum and water in it, that stood upon a waiter upon a table in the
parlour, jumped about ten feet and was broke. The table then fell down,
and along with it a silver tankard belonging to Mrs. Golding, the waiter
in which had stood the tumbler, and a candlestick. A case bottle then
flew to pieces.

The next circumstance was, a ham, that hung on one side of the kitchen
chimney, raised itself from the hook and fell down to the ground. Some
time after, another ham, that hung on the other side of the chimney,
likewise underwent the same fate. Then a flitch of bacon, which hung up
in the same chimney, fell down.

All the family were eye-witnesses to these circumstances as well as
other persons, some of whom were so alarmed and shocked, that they could
not bear to stay.

At all the times of action, Mrs. Golding’s servant was walking backwards
and forwards, either in the kitchen or parlour, or wherever some of the
family happened to be. Nor could they get her to sit down five minutes
together, except at one time for about half an hour towards the morning,
when the family were at prayers in the parlour; then all was quiet; but,
in the midst of the greatest confusion, she was as much composed as at
any other time, and with uncommon coolness of temper advised her
mistress not to be alarmed or uneasy, as she said these things could not
be helped.

“This advice,” it is observed in the narrative, surprised and startled
her mistress, almost as much as the circumstances that occasioned it.
“For how can we suppose,” says the narrator, “that a girl of about
twenty years old, (an age when female timidity is too often assisted by
superstition,) could remain in the midst of such calamitous
circumstances, (except they proceeded from causes best known to
herself,) and not be struck with the same terror as every other person
was who was present. These reflections led Mr. Pain, and at the end of
the transactions, likewise Mrs. Golding, to think that she was not
altogether so unconcerned as she appeared to be.”

About ten o’clock at night, they sent over the way to Richard Fowler, to
desire he would come and stay with them. He came and continued till one
in the morning, when he was so terrified, that he could remain no
longer.

As Mrs. Golding could not be persuaded to go to bed, Mrs. Pain, at one
o’clock, made an excuse to go up stairs to her youngest child, under
pretence of getting it to sleep; but she really acknowledged it was
through fear, as she declared she could not sit up to see such strange
things going on, as every thing one after another was broken, till there
was not above two or three cups and saucers remaining out of a
considerable quantity of china, &c., which was destroyed to the amount
of some pounds.

About five o’clock on Tuesday morning, the 7th, Mrs. Golding went up to
her niece, and desired her to get up, as the noises and destruction were
so great she could continue in the house no longer. Mrs. Golding and her
maid went over the way to Richard Fowler’s: when Mrs. Golding’s maid had
seen her safe to Richard Fowler’s, she came back to Mrs. Pain, to help
her to dress the children in the barn, where she had carried them for
fear of the house falling. At this time all was quiet: they then went to
Fowler’s, and then began the same scene as had happened at the other
places. All was quiet here as well as elsewhere, till the maid returned.

When they got to Mr. Fowler’s, he began to light a fire in his back
room. When done, he put the candle and candlestick upon a table in the
fore room. This apartment Mrs. Golding and her maid had passed through.
Another candlestick with a tin lamp in it that stood by it, were both
dashed together, and fell to the ground. At last the basket of coals
tumbled over, and the coals rolling about the room, the maid desired
Richard Fowler not to let her mistress remain there, as she said,
wherever she was, the same things would follow. In consequence of this
advice, and fearing greater losses to himself, he desired Mrs. Golding
would quit his house; but first begged her to consider within herself,
for her own and the public sake, whether or not she had not been guilty
of some atrocious crime, for which Providence was determined to pursue
her on this side the grave. Mrs. Golding told him she would not stay in
his house, or any other person’s, as her conscience was quite clear, and
she could as well wait the will of Providence in her own house as in any
other place whatever; upon which she and her maid went home, and Mrs.
Pain went with them.

After they had got to Mrs. Golding’s, a pail of water, that stood on the
floor, boiled like a pot; a box of candles fell from a shelf in the
kitchen to the floor, and they rolled out, but none were broken, and the
table in the parlour fell over.

Mr. Pain then desired Mrs. Golding to send her maid for his wife to come
to them, and when she was gone all was quiet; upon her return she was
immediately discharged, and no disturbances happened afterwards; this
was between six and seven o’clock on Tuesday morning. At Mrs. Golding’s
were broken the quantity of three pails full of glass, china, &c. Mrs.
Pain’s filled two pails.

The accounts here related are in the words of the “narrative,” which
bears the attestation of the witnesses before mentioned. The affair is
still remembered by many persons: it is usually denominated the
“Stockwell Ghost,” and deemed inexplicable. It must be recollected,
however, that the mysterious movements were never made but when Ann
Robinson, Mrs. Golding’s maid-servant, was present, and that they wholly
ceased when she was dismissed. Though these two circumstances tend to
prove that this girl was the cause of the disturbances, scarcely any one
who lived at that time listened patiently to the presumption, or without
attributing the whole to witchcraft. One lady, whom the editor of the
_Every-Day Book_ conversed with several times on the subject, firmly
believed in the witchcraft, because she had been eye-witness to the
animation of the inanimate crockery and furniture, which she said could
not have been effected by human means--it was impossible. He derived,
however, a solution of these “impossibilities” from the late Mr. J.
B------, at his residence in Southampton-street, Camberwell, towards the
close of the year 1817. Mr. B------ said, all London was in an uproar
about the “Stockwell Ghost” for a long time, and it would have made more
noise than the “Cock-lane Ghost,” if it had lasted longer; but attention
to it gradually died away, and most people believed it was supernatural.
Mr. B------, in continuation, observed, that some years after it
happened, he became acquainted with this very Ann Robinson, without
knowing for a long time that she had been the servant-maid to Mrs.
Golding. He learned it by accident, and told her what he had heard. She
admitted it was true, and in due season, he says, he got all the story
out. She had fixed long horse hairs to some of the crockery, and put
wires under others; on pulling these, the “movables” of course fell.
Mrs. Golding was terribly frightened, and so were all who saw any thing
tumble. Ann Robinson herself, dexterously threw many of the things down,
which the persons present, when they turned round and saw them in motion
or broken, attributed to unseen agency. These spectators were all too
much alarmed by their own dread of infernal power to examine any thing.
They kept at an awful distance, and sometimes would not look at the
utensils, lest they might face fresh horrors; of these tempting
opportunities she availed herself. She put the eggs in motion, and after
one only fell down, threw the other at the cat. Their terrors at the
time, and their subsequent conversations magnified many of the
circumstances beyond the facts. She took advantage of absences to loosen
the hams and bacon, and attach them by the skins; in short, she effected
all the mischief. She caused the water in the pail to appear as if it
boiled, by slipping in a paper of chemical powders as she passed, and
afterwards it bubbled. “Indeed,” said Mr. B------, “there was a love
story connected with the case, and when I have time, I will write out
the whole, as I got it by degrees from the woman herself. When she saw
the effect of her first feats, she was tempted to exercise the dexterity
beyond her original purpose for mere amusement. She was astonished at
the astonishment she caused, and so went on from one thing to another;
and being quick in her motions and shrewd, she puzzled all the simple
old people, and nearly frightened them to death.” Mr. B------ chuckled
mightily over his recollections; he was fond of a practical joke, and
enjoyed the tricks of Ann Robinson with all his heart. By his acuteness,
curiosity, and love of drollery, he drew from her the entire confession;
and “as the matter was all over years ago, and no more harm could be
done,” said Mr. B., “I never talked about it much, for her sake; but of
this I can assure you, that the only magic in the thing was, her
dexterity and the people’s simplicity.” Mr. B. promised to put down the
whole on paper; but he was ailing and infirm, and accident prevented the
writer from caring much for a “full, true, and particular account,”
which he could have had at any time, till Mr. Brayfield’s death rendered
it unattainable.


THE SEASON.

Mr. Arthur Aikin, in his “Calendar of Nature,” presents us with a
variety of acceptable information concerning the operations of nature
throughout the year. “The plants at this season,” he says, “are provided
by nature with a sort of winter-quarters, which secure them from the
effects of cold. Those called _herbaceous_, which die down to the root
every autumn, are now safely concealed under-ground, preparing their new
shoots to burst forth when the earth is softened in spring. Shrubs and
trees, which are exposed to the open air, have all their soft and tender
parts closely wrapt up in buds, which by their firmness resist all the
power of frost; the larger kinds of buds, and those which are almost
ready to expand, are further guarded by a covering of resin or gum, such
as the horse-chestnut, the sycamore, and the lime. Their external
covering, however, and the closeness of their internal texture, are of
themselves by no means adequate to resist the intense cold of a winter’s
night: a bud _detached_ from its stem, enclosed in glass, and thus
protected from all access of external air, if suspended from a tree
during a sharp frost, will be entirely penetrated, and its parts
deranged by the cold, while the buds on the same tree will not have
sustained the slightest injury; we must therefore attribute to the
_living principle_ in vegetables, as well as animals, the power of
resisting cold to a very considerable degree: in animals, we know, this
power is generated from the decomposition of air by means of the lungs,
and disengagement of heat; how vegetables acquire this property remains
for future observations to discover. If one of these buds be carefully
opened, it is found to consist of young leaves rolled together, within
which are even all the blossoms in miniature that are afterwards to
adorn the spring.”

During the mild weather of winter, slugs are in constant motion preying
on plants and green wheat. Their covering of slime prevent the escape of
animal heat, and hence they are enabled to ravage when their brethren of
the shell, who are more sensible of cold, lie dormant. Earthworms
likewise appear about this time; but let the man of nice order, with a
little garden, discriminate between the destroyer, and the innocent and
useful inhabitant. One summer evening, the worms from beneath a small
grass plat, lay half out of their holes, or were dragging “their slow
length” upon the surface. They were all carefully taken up, and
preserved as a breakfast for the ducks. In the following year, the
grass-plat, which had flourished annually with its worms, vegetated
unwillingly. They were the under-gardeners that loosened the sub-soil,
and let the warm air through their entrances to nourish the roots of the
herbage.

    “Their calm desires that asked but little room,”

were unheeded, and their usefulness was unknown, until their absence was
felt.


[Illustration: ~Plough Monday~]

The first _Monday_ after Twelfth-day is called _Plough_ Monday, and
appears to have received that name because it was the first day after
Christmas that husbandmen resumed the _plough_. In some parts of the
country, and especially in the north, they draw the plough in procession
to the doors of the villagers and townspeople. Long ropes are attached
to it, and thirty or forty men, stripped to their clean white shirts,
but protected from the weather by waistcoats beneath, drag it along.
Their arms and shoulders are decorated with gay- ribbons, tied
in large knots and bows, and their hats are smartened in the same way.
They are usually accompanied by an old woman, or a boy dressed up to
represent one; she is gaily bedizened, and called the _Bessy_. Sometimes
the sport is assisted by a humorous countryman to represent a _fool_. He
is covered with ribbons, and attired in skins, with a depending tail,
and carries a box to collect money from the spectators. They are
attended by music, and Morris-dancers when they can be got; but there is
always a sportive dance with a few lasses in all their finery, and a
superabundance of ribbons. When this merriment is well managed, it is
very pleasing. The money collected is spent at night in conviviality. It
must not be supposed, however, that in these times, the twelve days of
Christmas are devoted to pastime, although the custom remains. Formerly,
indeed, little was done in the field at this season, and according to
“Tusser Redivivus,” during the Christmas holidays, gentlemen feasted the
farmers, and every farmer feasted his servants and taskmen. Then _Plough
Monday_ reminded them of their business, and on the morning of that day,
the men and maids strove who should show their readiness to commence the
labours of the year, by rising the earliest. If the ploughman could get
his whip, his plough-staff, hatchet, or any field implement, by the
fireside, before the maid could get her kettle on, she lost her
Shrove-tide cock to the men. Thus did our forefathers strive to allure
youth to their duty, and provided them innocent mirth as well as labour.
On Plough Monday night the farmer gave them a good supper and strong
ale. In some places, where the ploughman went to work on Plough Monday,
if, on his return at night, he came with his whip to the kitchen-hatch,
and cried “Cock in pot,” before the maid could cry “Cock on the
dunghill,” he gained a cock for Shrove Tuesday.

Blomefield’s History of Norfolk tends to clear the origin of the annual
processions on Plough Monday. Anciently, a light called the
_Plough-light_, was maintained by old and young persons who were
husbandmen, before images in some churches, and on Plough Monday they
had a feast, and went about with a plough and dancers to get money to
support the _Plough-light_. The Reformation put out these lights; but
the practice of going about with the plough begging for money remains,
and the “money for _light_” increases the income of the village
alehouse. Let the sons of toil make glad their hearts with
“Barley-wine;” let them also remember to “be merry and wise.” Their old
acquaintance, “Sir John Barleycorn,” has had heavy complaints against
him. There is “_The Arraigning and Indicting of_ SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN,
_knt._ printed for Timothy Tosspot.” This whimsical little tract
describes him as of “noble blood, well beloved in England, a great
support to the crown, and a maintainer of both rich and poor.” It
formally places him upon his trial, at the sign of the _Three
Loggerheads_, before “_Oliver_ and _Old Nick_ his holy father,” as
judges. The witnesses for the prosecution were cited under the hands and
seals of the said judges, sitting “at the sign of the _Three merry
Companions in Bedlam_; that is to say, Poor Robin, Merry Tom, and Jack
Lackwit.” At the trial, the prisoner, sir John Barleycorn, pleaded not
guilty.

_Lawyer Noisy._--May it please your lordship, and gentlemen of the jury,
I am counsel for the king against the prisoner at the bar, who stands
indicted of many heinous and wicked crimes, in that the said prisoner,
with malice propense and several wicked ways, has conspired and brought
about the death of several of his majesty’s loving subjects, to the
great loss of several poor families, who by this means have been brought
to ruin and beggary, which, before the wicked designs and contrivances
of the prisoner, lived in a flourishing and reputable way, but now are
reduced to low circumstances and great misery, to the great loss of
their own families and the nation in general. We shall call our
evidence; and if we make the facts appear, I do not doubt but you will
find him guilty, and your lordships will award such punishment as the
nature of his crimes deserve.

_Vulcan, the Blacksmith._--My lords, sir John has been a great enemy to
me, and many of my friends. Many a time, when I have been busy at my
work, not thinking any harm to any man, having a fire-spark in my
throat, I, going over to the sign of the Cup and Can for one pennyworth
of ale, there I found sir John, and thinking no hurt to any man, civilly
sat me down to spend my twopence; but in the end, sir John began to pick
a quarrel with me. Then I started up, thinking to go away; but sir John
had got me by the top of the head, that I had no power to help myself,
and so by his strength and power he threw me down, broke my head, my
face, and almost all my bones, that I was not able to work for three
days; nay, more than this, he picked my purse, and left me never a
penny, so that I had not wherewithal to support my family, and my head
ached to such a degree, that I was not able to work for three or four
days; and this set my wife a scolding, so that I not only lost the good
opinion my neighbours had of me, but likewise raised such a storm in my
family, that I was forced to call in the parson of the parish to quiet
the raging of my wife’s temper.

_Will, the Weaver._--I am but a poor man, and have a wife and a charge
of children: yet this knowing sir John will never let me alone; he is
always enticing me from my work, and will not be quiet till he hath got
me to the alehouse; and then he quarrels with me, and abuses me most
basely; and sometimes he binds me hand and foot, and throws me in the
ditch, and there stays with me all night, and next morning leaves me but
one penny in my pocket. About a week ago, we had not been together above
an hour, before he began to give me cross words: at our first meeting,
he seemed to have a pleasant countenance, and often smiled in my face,
and would make me sing a merry catch or two; but in a little time, he
grew very churlish, and kicked up my heels, set my head where my heels
should be, and put my shoulder out, so that I have not been able to use
my shuttle ever since, which has been a great detriment to my family,
and great misery to myself.

_Stitch, the Tailor_, deposed to the same effect.

_Mr. Wheatly._--The inconveniencies I have received from the prisoner
are without number, and the trouble he occasions in the neighbourhood is
not to be expressed. I am sure I have been oftentimes very highly
esteemed both with lords, knights, and squires, and none could please
them so well as James Wheatly, the baker; but now the case is altered;
sir John Barleycorn is the man that is highly esteemed in every place. I
am now but poor James Wheatly, and he is _sir_ John Barleycorn at every
word; and that word hath undone many an honest man in England; for I can
prove it to be true, that he has caused many an honest man to waste and
consume all that he hath.

The prisoner, sir John Barleycorn, being called on for his defence,
urged, that to his accusers he was a friend, until they abused him; and
said, if any one is to be blamed, it is my brother _Malt_. My brother is
now in court, and if your lordships please, may be examined to all those
facts which are now laid to my charge.

_Court._--Call Mr. Malt.

_Malt_ appears.

_Court._--Mr. Malt, you have (as you have been in court) heard the
indictment that is laid against your brother, sir John Barleycorn, who
says, if any one ought to be accused, it should be you; but as sir John
and you are so nearly related to each other, and have lived so long
together, the court is of opinion he cannot be acquitted, unless you can
likewise prove _yourself_ innocent of the crimes which are laid to his
charge.

_Malt._--My lords, I thank you for the liberty you now indulge me with,
and think it a great happiness, since I am so strongly accused, that I
have such learned judges to determine these complaints. As for my part,
I will put the matter to the bench. First, I pray you consider with
yourselves, all tradesmen would live; and although Master Malt does make
sometimes a cup of good liquor, and many men come to taste it, yet the
fault is neither in me nor my brother John, but in such as those who
make this complaint against us, as I shall make it appear to you all.

In the first place, which of you all can say but Master Malt can make a
cup of good liquor, with the help of a good brewer; and when it is made,
it will be sold. I pray which of you all can live without it? But when
such as these, who complain of us, find it to be good, then they have
such a greedy mind, that they think they never have enough, and this
overcharge brings on the inconveniences complained of, makes them
quarrelsome with one another, and abusive to their very friends, so that
we are forced to lay them down to sleep. From hence it appears it is
from their own greedy desires all these troubles arise, and not from
wicked designs of our own.

_Court._--Truly, we cannot see that you are in the fault. Sir John
Barleycorn, we will show you so much favour, that if you can bring any
person of reputation to speak to your character, the court is disposed
to acquit you. Bring in your evidence, and let us hear what they can say
in your behalf.

_Thomas, the Ploughman._--May I be allowed to speak my thoughts freely,
since I shall offer nothing but the truth.

_Court._--Yes, thou mayest be bold to speak the truth, and no more, for
that is the cause we sit here for; therefore speak boldly, that we may
understand thee.

_Ploughman._--Gentlemen, sir John is of an ancient house, and is come of
a noble race; there is neither lord, knight, nor squire, but they love
his company, and he theirs; as long as they don’t abuse him, he will
abuse no man, but doth a great deal of good. In the first place, few
ploughmen can live without him; for if it were not for him, we should
not pay our landlords their rent; and then what would such men as you do
for money and clothes? Nay, your gay ladies would care but little for
you, if you had not your rents coming in to maintain them; and we could
never pay, but that sir John Barleycorn feeds us with money; and yet
would you seek to take away his life! For shame, let your malice cease,
and pardon his life, or else we are all undone.

_Bunch, the Brewer._--Gentlemen, I beseech you, hear me. My name is
Bunch, a brewer; and I believe few of you can live without a cup of good
liquor, no more than I can without the help of sir John Barleycorn. As
for my own part, I maintain a great charge, and keep a great many men at
work; I pay taxes forty pounds a year to his majesty, God bless him, and
all this is maintained by the help of sir John; then how can any man for
shame seek to take away his life.

_Mistress Hostess._--To give evidence in behalf of sir John Barleycorn,
gives me pleasure, since I have an opportunity of doing justice to so
honourable a person. Through him the administration receives large
supplies; he likewise greatly supports the labourer, and enlivens the
conversation. What pleasure could there be at a sheep-clipping without
his company, or what joy at a feast without his assistance? I know him
to be an honest man, and he never abused any man, if they abused not
him. If you put him to death, all England is undone, for there is not
another in the land can do as he can do, and hath done; for he can make
a <DW36> go, the coward fight, and a soldier neither feel hunger nor
cold. I beseech you, gentlemen, let him live, or else we are all undone;
the nation likewise will be distressed, the labourer impoverished, and
the husbandman ruined.

_Court._--Gentlemen of the jury, you have now heard what has been
offered against sir John Barleycorn, and the evidence that has been
produced in his defence. If you are of opinion he is guilty of those
wicked crimes laid to his charge, and has with malice propense conspired
and brought about the death of several of his majesty’s loving subjects,
you are then to find him guilty; but if, on the contrary, you are of
opinion that he had no real intention of wickedness, and was not the
immediate, but only the accidental, cause of these evils laid to his
charge, then, according to the statute law of this kingdom, you ought to
acquit him.

  _Verdict_, NOT GUILTY.

From this facetious little narrative may be learned the folly of excess,
and the injustice of charging a cheering beverage, with the evil
consequences of a man taking a cup more of it than will do him good.


~January 8.~

  _St. Lucian_--Holiday at the Exchequer.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _St. Appollinaris._ _St. Severinus._ _St. Pega._ _St. Vulsin._ _St.
  Gudula._ _St. Nathalan._


_St. Lucian._

The _St. Lucian_ of the Romish church on this day was from Rome, and
preached in Gaul, where he suffered death about 290, according to
Butler, who affirms that he is the St. Lucian in the English Protestant
calendar. There is reason to suppose, however, that the St. Lucian of
the church of England was the saint of that name mentioned yesterday.


_St. Gudula_

Is the patroness of Brussels, and is said to have died about 712. She
suffered the misfortune of having her candle blown out, and possessed
the miraculous power of praying it a-light again, at least, so says
Butler; “whence,” he affirms, “she is usually represented in pictures
with a lantern.” He particularizes no other miracle she performed.
Surius however relates, that as she was praying in a church without
shoes, the priest compassionately put his gloves under her feet; but she
threw them away, and they miraculously hung in the air for the space of
an hour--whether in compliment to the saint or the priest does not
appear.


CHRONOLOGY.

1821. A newspaper of January 8, mentions an extraordinary feat by Mr.
Huddy, the postmaster of Lismore, in the 97th year of his age. He
travelled, for a wager, from that town to Fermoy in a Dungarvon
oyster-tub, drawn by a pig, a badger, two cats, a goose, and a hedgehog;
with a large red nightcap on his head, a pig-driver’s whip in one hand,
and in the other a common cow’s-horn, which he blew to encourage his
team, and give notice of this new mode of posting.

       *       *       *       *       *

Let us turn away for a moment from the credulity and eccentricity of
man’s feebleness and folly, to the contemplation of “the firstling of
the year” from the bosom of our common mother. The Snow-drop is
described in the “Flora Domestica” as “the earliest flower of all our
wild flowers, and will even show her head above the snow, as if to prove
her rivalry in whiteness;” as if

    --Flora’s breath, by some transforming power,
    Had chang’d an icicle into a flower.

  _Mrs. Barbauld._

One of its greatest charms is its “coming in a wintry season, when few
others visit us: we look upon it as a friend in adversity; sure to come
when most needed.”

    Like pendent flakes of vegetating snow,
      The early herald of the infant year,
    Ere yet the adventurous crocus dares to blow,
      Beneath the orchard-boughs, thy buds appear.

    While still the cold north-east ungenial lowers,
      And scarce the hazel in the leafless copse,
    Or sallows, show their downy powder’d flowers,
      The grass is spangled with thy silver drops.

  _Charlotte Smith._


~January 9.~

  _St. Peter of Sebaste._ _St. Julian and Basilissa._ _St. Marciana._
  _St. Brithwald._ _St. Felan._ _St. Adrian._ _St. Vaneng._

Of the seven Romish saints of this day scarcely an anecdote is worth
mentioning.


CHRONOLOGY.

1766. On the 9th of January died Dr. Thomas Birch, a valuable
contributor to history and biography. He was born on the 23d of
November, 1705, of Quaker parents. His father was a coffee-mill maker,
and designed Thomas for the same trade; but the son “took to reading,”
and being put to school, obtained successive usherships; removing each
time into a better school, that he might improve his studies; and
stealing hours from sleep to increase his knowledge. He succeeded in
qualifying himself for the church of England, without going to the
university; obtained orders from bishop Hoadley in 1731, and several
preferments from the lord chancellor Hardwicke and earl Hardwicke;
became a member of the Royal Society before he was thirty years of age,
and of the Antiquarian Society about the same time; was created a doctor
of divinity, and made a trustee of the British Museum; and at his death,
left his books and MSS. to the national library there. Enumeration of
his many useful labours would occupy several of these pages. His
industry was amazing. His correspondence was extensive; his
communications to the Royal Society were various and numerous, and his
personal application may be inferred from there being among his MSS. no
less than twenty-four quarto volumes of Anthony Bacon’s papers
transcribed by his own hand. He edited Thurloes’ State Papers in 7 vols.
folio; wrote the Lives of Illustrious Persons of Great Britain, and a
History of the Royal Society; published miscellaneous pieces of Lord
Bacon, before unprinted, and produced a large number of other works. The
first undertaking wherein he engaged, with other learned men, was the
“General Dictionary, Historical and Critical,”--a most useful labour,
containing the whole of Bayle’s Dictionary newly translated, and several
thousand additional lives. He was enabled to complete his great
undertakings by being a very early riser, and by usually executing the
business of the morning before most persons had commenced it.

WINTER.

_From_ “Poetic Vigils,” _by_ BERNARD BARTON

    The flowret’s bloom is faded,
      Its glossy leaf grown sere;
    The landscape round is shaded
      By Winter’s frown austere.

    The dew, once sparkling lightly
      On grass of freshest green,
    In heavier drops unsightly
      On matted weeds is seen.

    No songs of joy, to gladden,
      From leafy woods emerge;
    But winds, in tones that sadden,
      Breathe Nature’s mournful dirge.

    All sights and sounds appealing,
      Through merely outward sense,
    To joyful thought and feeling,
      Seem now departed hence.

    But not with such is banished
      The bliss that life can lend;
    Nor with such things hath vanished
      Its truest, noblest end.

    The toys that charm, and leave us,
      Are fancy’s fleeting elves;
    All that should glad, or grieve us,
      Exists within ourselves.

    Enjoyment’s gentle essence
      Is virtue’s godlike dower;
    Its most triumphant presence
      Illumes the darkest hour.


~January 10.~

  _St. William._ _St. Agatho, Pope._ _St. Martian._


_St. William._

This saint, who died in 1207, was archbishop of Bourges, always wore a
hair shirt, never ate flesh meat, when he found himself dying caused his
body to be laid on ashes in his hair shirt, worked miracles after his
death, and had his relics venerated till 1562, when the Hugonots burnt
them without their manifesting miracles at that important crisis. A bone
of his arm is still at Chaalis, and one of his ribs at Paris; so says
Butler, who does not state that either of these remains worked miracles
since the French revolution.

       *       *       *       *       *

1820. The journals of January relate some particulars of a gentleman
remarkable for the cultivation of an useful quality to an extraordinary
extent. He drew from actual memory, in twenty-two hours, at two
sittings, in the presence of two well-known gentlemen, a correct plan of
the parish of St. James, Westminster, with parts of the parishes of St.
Mary-le-bone, St. Ann, and St. Martin; which plan contained every
square, street, lane, court, alley, market, church, chapel, and all
public buildings, with all stable and other yards, also every
public-house in the parish, and the corners of all streets, with every
minutiæ, as pumps, posts, trees, houses that project and inject,
bow-windows, Carlton-house, St. James’s palace, and the interior of the
markets, without scale or reference to any plan, book, or paper
whatever. He did the same with respect to the parish of St. Andrew,
Holborn, in the presence of four gentlemen, from eight to twelve, one
evening at a tavern; and he also undertook to draw the plan of St.
Giles-in-the-fields, St. Paul’s, Covent-garden, St. Mary-le-strand, St.
Clement’s, and three-fourths of Mary-le-bone, or St. George’s. The plans
before alluded to were drawn in the presence of John Willock, Esq.
Golden-square; Mr. Robinson, of Surrey-road; William Montague, Esq. of
Guildhall; Mr. Allen, vestry clerk of St. Ann’s; John Dawson, Esq. of
Burlington-street; N. Walker, Holborn; and two other gentlemen. He can
tell the corner of any great and leading thoroughfare-street from Hyde
Park-corner, or Oxford-street, to St. Paul’s; or from the New-road to
Westminster abbey; and the trade or profession carried on at such corner
house. He can tell every public shop of business in Piccadilly, which
consists of two hundred and forty-one houses, allowing him only
twenty-four mistakes; he accomplished this in the presence of four
gentlemen, after five o’clock, and proved it before seven in the same
evening. A house being named in any public street, he will name the
trade of the shop, either on the right or left hand of the same, and
whether the door of such house so named is in the centre, or on the
right or left. He can take an inventory, from memory only, of a
gentleman’s house, from the attic to the groundfloor, and afterwards
write it out. He did this at lord Nelson’s, at Merton, and likewise at
the duke of Kent’s, in the presence of two noblemen. He is known by the
appellation of “Memory-corner Thompson.” The plan of his house, called
Priory Frognall, Hampstead, he designed, and built it externally and
internally, without any working-drawing, but carried it up by the eye
only. Yet, though his memory is so accurate in the retention of objects
submitted to the eye, he has little power of recollecting what he
hears. The dialogue of a comedy heard once, or even twice, would, after
an interval of a few days, be entirely new to him.


~January 11.~

  _St. Theodosius._ _St. Hyginus._ _St. Egwin._ _St. Salvius._


_St. Theodosius_

This saint visited St. Simeon Stylites on his pillar and had his fortune
told. He ate coarse pulse and wild herbs, never tasted bread for thirty
years, founded a monastery for an unlimited number of monks, dug one
grave large enough to hold the whole community, when he received
strangers, and had not food enough, he prayed for its miraculous
increase and had it multiplied accordingly, prophesied while he was
dying, died in 529, and had his hair shirt begged by a count, who won a
victory with it. He was buried according to Butler, who relates these
particulars, in the cave wherein the three kings of Cologne were said to
have lodged on their way to Bethlehem.


FISH IN WINTER

In hard frosts holes must be broken in the ice that forms upon fish
ponds, or the fish will die. It is pleasing to watch the finny tenants
rising half torpid beneath a new-formed hole for the benefit of the air.
Ice holes should be kept open during the frost: one hole to a pond is
sufficient.

       *       *       *       *       *

At Logan or Port Nessock in Wigtownshire, North Britain, a large
_saltwater_ pond was formed for Cod in 1800. It is a basin of 30 feet in
depth, and 160 feet in circumference, hewn out from the solid rock, and
communicating with the sea by one of those fissures which are common to
bold and precipitous coasts. Attached to it is a neat Gothic cottage for
the accommodation of the fisherman, and the rock is surmounted all round
by a substantial stone wall at least 300 feet in circumference. In every
state of the wind or tide, winter and summer, when not a single boat
dare venture to sea, Colonel M‘Dowal can command a supply of the finest
fish, and study at his leisure the instincts and habits of the “finny
nations,” with at least all the accuracy of those sage naturalists, who
rarely travel farther than Exeter ’Change. From the inner or back door
of the lodge, a winding stair-way conducts to the usual halting place--a
large flat stone projecting into the water, and commanding a view of
every part of the aquatic prison. When the tide is out, this stone is
left completely dry, and here a stranger perceives with surprise, a
hundred mouths simultaneously opened to greet his arrival.

The moment the fisherman crosses his threshold, the pond is agitated by
the action of some hundred fins, and otherwise thrown into a state of
anarchy and confusion. Darting from this, that, and the other corner,
the whole population move as it were to a common centre, elevate their
snouts, lash their tails, and jostle one another with such violence,
that on a first view they actually seem to be menacing an attack on the
poor fisherman, in place of the creel full of limpets he carries. Many
of the fish are so tame, that they will feed greedily from the hand, and
bite your fingers into the bargain, if you are foolish enough to allow
them; while others again are so shy, that the fisherman discourses of
their _different tempers_, as a thing quite as palpable as the gills
they breathe, or the fins they move by. One gigantic cod, which seems to
answer to the name of “Tom,” and may well be described as the patriarch
of the pond, forcibly arrests attention. This unfortunate, who passed
his youth in the open sea, was taken prisoner at the age of five, and
has since sojourned at Port Nessock, for the long period of twelve
years, during all which time he has gradually increased in bulk and
weight. He is now wholly blind from age or disease, and he has no chance
whatever in the general scramble. The fisherman, however, is very kind
to him, and it is affecting as well as curious, to see the huge animal
raise himself in the water; and then resting his head on the flat stone,
allow it to be gently patted or stroked, gaping all the while to implore
that food which he has no other means of obtaining. In this pond, cod
appears to be the prevailing species; there are also blochin or glassin,
haddocks, flounders, and various other kinds. Salmon, which at spawning
time visit the highest rivers, could not of course obey their instincts
here, and accordingly there is only one specimen of this favourite fish
in the pond at present. As the fisherman remarked, “he is far _soupler_
than any o’ the rest,” and by virtue of this one quality, chases, bites,
and otherwise annoys a whole battalion of gigantic cod, that have only,
one would think, to open their mouths and swallow him. To supply them
with food is an important part of the fisherman’s duty; and with this
view, he must ply the net, and heave the line, during two or three days
of every week. He has also to renew the stock, when the pond appears to
be getting thin, from the contributions levied on it by the cook.

       *       *       *       *       *

A letter from Cairo, in a journal of January 1824, contains a whimsical
exemplification of Turkish manners in the provinces, and the absurdity
of attempting to honour distant authorities, by the distinctions of
civil society. A diploma of honorary member of the Society of Frankfort
was presented to the Pacha, at the divan (or council.) The Pacha, who
can neither read nor write, thought it was a _firman_ (despatch) from
the Porte. He was much surprised and alarmed; but the interpreter
explained to him that it was written in the _Nemptchee_ (German)
language, contained the thanks of the _ulemas_ (scholars) of a German
city named Frankfort, for his kindness to two _Nemptchee_ travelling in
Egypt.

But the most difficult part was yet to come; it was to explain to him
that he had been appointed a _member_ of their society; and the Turkish
language having no word for this purely European idea, the interpreter,
after many hesitations and circumlocutions, at last succeeded in
explaining, “that as a mark of respect and gratitude, the society had
made him one of their _partners_.” At these words the eyes of the Pacha
flashed with anger, and with a voice of thunder he roared that he would
never again be the _partner_ of any firm; that his _partnership_ with
Messrs. Briggs and Co. in the Indian trade, cost him nearly 500,000 hard
piasters; that the association for the manufactory of sugar and rum paid
him nothing at all; and, in short, that he was completely tired of his
connections with Frank merchants, who were indebted to him 23,000,000 of
piasters, which he considered as completely lost. In his rage, he even
threatened to have the interpreter drowned in the Nile, for having
presumed to make offer of a mercantile connection, against his positive
orders.

The poor interpreter was confounded, and unable to utter a word in his
defence. At this critical moment, however, Messrs. Fernandez, Pambonc,
and others who have access to the Pacha, interposed; and it was some
time before they could reduce his Highness to reason; his passion had
thrown him into an hysterical hiccup. When his Highness was a little
recovered, Mr. Fernandez endeavoured to explain to him that there was no
question about business: that the _ulemas_ of Frankfort were possessed
of no stock but _books_, and had no capital. “So much the worse,”
replied the Pacha; “then they are _sahhaftehi_, (booksellers,) who carry
on their business without money, like the Franks at Cairo and
Alexandria.” “Oh, no, they are no _sahhaftehi_, but _ulemas_, _kiatibs_,
(authors,) physicians, _philoussoufs_, &c., who are only engaged in
science.” “Well,” said he, “and what am I then to do in their society;
I, a Pacha of three horse tails?” “Nothing at all, your Highness, like
perhaps most of the members of their society, but by receiving you into
their society, these gentlemen intended to show you their respect and
gratitude.” “That is a strange custom, indeed,” cried the Pacha, “to
show respect to a person by telling or writing to him in funny
letters--_you are worthy of being one of us_.” “But this _is_ the
custom,” added Divan Effendi (his Secretary.) “Your _Happiness_ knows
that the _friends_ (Franks) have many customs different from ours, and
often such as are very ridiculous. For instance, if they wish to salute
a person, they bare their heads, and scrape with their right foot
backwards; instead of sitting down comfortably on a sofa to rest
themselves, they sit on little wooden chairs, as if they were about to
be shaved: they eat the _pillao_ with spoons, and the meat with
_pincers_; but what seems most laughable is, that they humbly kiss the
hands of their women, who, instead of the _yashmak_, (veil,) carry straw
baskets on their heads; and that they mix sugar and milk with their
coffee.” This last sally set the whole assembly (his Highness excepted)
in a roar of laughter. Among those who stood near the fountain in the
middle of the hall, several exclaimed with respect to the coffee with
sugar and milk, _Kiafirler_! (Ah, ye infidels!)

In the end the Pacha was pacified, and “All’s well that ends well;” but
it had been better, it seems, if, according to the customs of the east,
the society of Frankfort had sent the Pacha the unquestionable civility
of a present, that he could have applied to some use.


ST. BRIDE’S CHURCH.

On the 11th of January, 1825, a sketch of this church was taken from a
second-floor window in the house No. 115, Fleet-street, which stands on
the opposite side of the way to that whereon the opening was made by the
late fire; and the subjoined engraving from the sketch is designed to
perpetuate the appearance through that opening. Till then, it had been
concealed from the view of passengers through Fleet-street by the houses
destroyed, and the conflagration has been rightly deemed a favourable
opportunity for endeavouring to secure a space of sufficient extent to
render the church a public ornament to the city. To at least one person,
professionally unskilled, the spire of St. Bride’s appears more chaste
and effective than the spire of Bow. In 1805, it was 234 feet high,
which is thirty-two feet higher than the Monument, but having been
struck by lightning in that year, it was lowered to its present
standard.

[Illustration: ~St. Bride’s Church, London, as it appeared Jan. 11,
1825.~

_From the opening in Fleet-street made by the Fire of Sunday, November
14, 1824._]

St. Bride’s church was built by sir Christopher Wren, and completed in
1680. It has been repeatedly beautified: its last internal decorations
were effected in 1824. In it are interred Thomas Flatman the poet,
Samuel Richardson the novelist, and William Bingley, a bookseller,
remarkable for his determined and successful resistance to
interrogatories by the court of King’s Bench--a practice which that
resistance abated for ever: his latter years were employed, or rather
were supported, by the kindness of the venerable and venerated John
Nichols, Esq. F. S. A. whose family tablet of brass is also in this
church. As an ecclesiastical edifice, St. Bride’s is confessedly one of
the most elegant in the metropolis: an unobstructed view of it is
indispensable therefore to the national character. Appeals which will
enable the committee to purchase the interests of individuals on the
requisite site are now in progress, and can scarcely be unheeded by
those whom wealth, taste, and liberality dispose to assist in works of
public improvement. The engraved sketch does not claim to be more than
such a representation as may give a distant reader some grounds for
determining whether a vigorous effort to save a building of that
appearance from enclosure a second time ought not now to be made. The
proceedings for that purpose are in this month, and are entitled to a
place in this sheet.


[Illustration: ~Card-playing.~]

This diversion, resorted to at visitings during the twelve days of
Christmas, as of ancient custom, continues without abatement during the
prolongation of friendly meetings at this season. Persons who are
opposed to this recreation from religious scruples, do not seem to
distinguish between its use and its abuse. Mr. Archdeacon Butler refers
to the “harmless mirth and innocent amusements of society,” in his
sermon on “Christian Liberty,” before the duke of Gloucester, and the
university of Cambridge, on his royal highness’s installation as
chancellor, June 30, 1811. The archdeacon quotes, as a note on that
point in his sermon, a remarkable passage from Jeremy Taylor, who says,
“that _cards_, &c. are of themselves lawful, I do not know any reason to
doubt. He can never be suspected, in any criminal sense, to tempt the
Divine Providence, who by contingent things recreates his labour. As for
the evil appendages, they are all separable from these games, and they
may be separated by these advices, &c.” On the citation, which is here
abridged, the archdeacon remarks, “Such are the sentiments of one of the
most truly pious and most profoundly learned prelates that ever adorned
any age or country; nor do I think that the most rigid of our
disciplinarians can produce the authority of a wiser or a better man
than bishop Jeremy Taylor.” Certainly not; and therefore an objector to
this pastime will do well to read the reasoning of the whole passage as
it stands at the end of the archdeacon’s printed sermon: if he desire
further, let him peruse Jeremy Taylor’s “advices.”

Cards are not here introduced with a view of seducing parents to rear
their sons as gamblers and blacklegs, or their daughters to

    “a life of scandal, an old age of cards;”

but to impress upon them the importance of “not morosely refusing to
participate in” what the archdeacon refers to, as of the “harmless mirth
and innocent amusements of society.” Persons who are wholly debarred
from such amusements in their infancy, frequently abuse a pleasure they
have been wholly restrained from, by excessive indulgence in it on the
first opportunity. This is human nature: let the string be suddenly
withdrawn from the overstrained bow, and the relaxation of the bow is
violent.

Look at a juvenile card-party--not at that which the reader sees
represented in the engraving, which is somewhat varied from a design by
Stella, who grouped boys almost as finely as Fiamingo modelled their
forms--but imagine a juvenile party closely seated round a large table,
with a Pope Joan board in the middle; each well supplied with
mother-o’-pearl fish and counters, in little Chinese ornamented red and
gold trays; their faces and the candles lighting up the room; their
bright eyes sparkling after the cards, watching the turn-up, or peeping
into the pool to see how rich it is; their growing anxiety to the
rounds, till the lucky card decides the richest stake; then the shout
out of “Rose has got it!” “It’s Rose’s!” “Here, Rose, here they
are--take ’em all; here’s a _lot_!” Emma, and John, and Alfred, and
William’s hands thrust forth to help her to the prize; Sarah and Fanny,
the elders of the party, laughing at their eagerness; the more sage
Matilda checking it, and counting how many fish Rose has won; Rose,
amazed at her sudden wealth, talks the least; little Samuel, who is too
young to play, but has been allowed a place, with some of the “pretty
fish” before him, claps his hands and halloos, and throws his playthings
to increase Rose’s treasure; and baby Ellen sits in “mother’s” lap, mute
from surprise at the “uproar wild,” till a loud crow, and the quick
motion of her legs, proclaim her delight at the general joy, which she
suddenly suspends in astonishment at the many fingers pointed towards
her, with “Look at baby! look at baby!” and gets smothered with kisses,
from which “mother” vainly endeavours to protect her. And so they go on,
till called by Matilda to a new game, and “mother” bids them to “go and
sit down, and be good children, and not make so much noise:” whereupon
they disperse to their chairs; two or three of the least help up Samuel,
who is least of all, and “mother” desires them to “take care, and mind
he does not fall.” Matilda then gives him his pretty fish “to keep him
quiet;” begins to dress the board for a new game; and once more they are
“as merry as grigs.”

In contrast to the jocund pleasure of children at a round game, take the
picture of “old Sarah Battle,” the whist-player. “A clear fire, a clean
hearth, and the rigour of the game,” was her celebrated wish. “She was
none of your lukewarm gamesters, your half-and-half players, who have no
objection to take a hand, if you want one to make up a rubber; who
affirm that they have no pleasure in winning; that they like to win one
game, and lose another; that they can wile away an hour very agreeably
at a card-table, but are indifferent whether they play or no; and will
desire an adversary, who has slipt a wrong card, to take it up and play
another. Of such it may be said that they do not play at cards, but only
play at playing at them. Sarah Battle was none of that breed; she
detested them from her heart and soul; and would not, save upon a
striking emergency, willingly seat herself at the same table with them.
She loved a thorough-paced partner, a determined enemy. She took and
gave no concessions; she hated favours; she never made a revoke, nor
ever passed it over in her adversary, without exacting the utmost
forfeiture. She sat bolt upright, and neither showed you her cards, nor
desired to see yours. All people have their blind side--their
superstitions; and I have heard her declare, under the rose, that Hearts
was her favourite suit. I never in my life (and I knew Sarah Battle many
of the best years of it) saw her take out her snuffbox when it was her
turn to play, or snuff a candle in the middle of a game, or ring for a
servant till it was fairly over. She never introduced, or connived at,
miscellaneous conversation during its process: as, she emphatically
observed, cards were cards. A grave simplicity was what she chiefly
admired in her favourite game. There was nothing silly in it, like the
nob in cribbage--nothing superfluous. To confess a truth, she was never
greatly taken with cribbage. It was an essentially vulgar game, I have
heard her say,--disputing with her uncle, who was very partial to it.
She could never heartily bring her mouth to pronounce ‘go,’ or ‘that’s a
go.’ She called it an ungrammatical game. The pegging teased her. I once
knew her to forfeit a rubber, because she would not take advantage of
the turn-up knave, which would have given it her, but which she must
have claimed by the disgraceful tenure of declaring ‘two for his heels.’
Sarah Battle was a gentlewoman born.” These, omitting a few delicate
touches, are her features by the hand of _Elia_. “No inducement,” he
says, “could ever prevail upon her to play at _her favourite_ game for
nothing.” And then he adds, “With great deference to the old lady’s
judgment on these matters, I think I have experienced some moments in my
life when playing at cards _for nothing_ has even been agreeable. When I
am in sickness, or not in the best spirits, I sometimes call for the
cards, and play a game at piquet _for love_ with my cousin
Bridget--Bridget Elia.” Cousin Bridget and the gentle Elia seem beings
of that age wherein lived Pamela, whom, with “old Sarah Battle,” we may
imagine entering their room, and sitting down with them to a _square_
game. Yet Bridget and Elia live in our own times: she, full of kindness
to all, and of soothings to Elia especially;--he, no less kind and
consoling to Bridget, in all simplicity holding converse with the world,
and, ever and anon, giving us scenes that Metzu and De Foe would admire,
and portraits that Denner and Hogarth would rise from their graves to
paint.


~January 12.~

  _St. Arcadius._ _St. Benedict Biscop, or Bennet._ _St. Ælred,
  Tygrius._


_St. Benedict Biscop, or Bennet._

Butler says he was in the service of Oswi, king of the Northumbrians;
that at twenty-five years old he made a pilgrimage to Rome, returned and
carried Alcfrid, the son of Oswi, back to the shrines of the apostles
there, became a monk, received the abbacy of Sts. Peter and Paul,
Canterbury, resigned it, pilgrimaged again to Rome, brought home books,
relics, and religious pictures, founded the monastery of Weremouth, went
to France for masons to build a church to it, obtained glaziers from
thence to glaze it, pilgrimaged to Rome for more books, relics, and
pictures, built another monastery at Jarrow on the Tine, adorned his
churches with pictures, instructed his monks in the Gregorian chant and
Roman ceremonies, and died on this day in 690. He appears to have had a
love for literature and the arts, and, with a knowledge superior to the
general attainment of the religious in that early age, to have rendered
his knowledge subservient to the Romish church.


CHRONOLOGY

1807. The 12th of January in that year is rendered remarkable by a fatal
accident at Leyden, in Holland. A vessel loaded with gunpowder entered
one of the largest canals in the Rapenburg, a street inhabited chiefly
by the most respectable families, and moored to a tree in front of the
house of professor Rau, of the university. In Holland, almost every
street has a canal in the middle, faced with a brick wall up to the
level of the street, and with lime trees planted on both sides, which
produce a beautiful effect, and form a delightful shade in hot weather.
Vessels of all kinds are frequently moored to these trees, but Leyden
being an inland town, the greater part of those which happened to be in
the Rapenburg were country vessels. Several yachts, belonging to parties
of pleasure from the Hague and other places, were lying close to the
newly arrived vessel, and no person was aware of the destructive cargo
it contained.

A student of the university, who, at about a quarter past four o’clock
in the afternoon, was passing through a street from which there was a
view of the Rapenburg, with the canal and vessels, related the following
particulars to the editor of the _Monthly Magazine_:--

“At that moment, when every thing was perfectly tranquil, and most of
the respectable families were sitting down to dinner in perfect
security, at that instant, I saw the vessel torn from its moorings: a
stream of fire burst from it in all directions, a thick, black cloud
enveloped all the surrounding parts and darkened the heavens, whilst a
burst, louder and more dreadful than the loudest thunder, instantly
followed, and vibrated through the air to a great distance, burying
houses and churches in one common ruin. For some moments horror and
consternation deprived every one of his recollection, but an universal
exclamation followed, of “O God, what is it?” Hundreds of people might
be seen rushing out of their falling houses, and running along the
streets, not knowing what direction to take; many falling down on their
knees in the streets, persuaded that the last day was come; others
supposed they had been struck by lightning, and but few seemed to
conjecture the real cause. In the midst of this awful uncertainty, the
cry of “O God, what is it?” again sounded mournfully through the air,
but it seemed as if none could answer the dreadful question. One
conjecture followed another, but at last, when the black thick cloud
which had enveloped the whole city had cleared away a little, the awful
truth was revealed, and soon all the inhabitants of the city were seen
rushing to the ruins to assist the sufferers. There were five large
schools on the Rapenburg, and all at the time full of children. The
horror of the parents and relations of these youthful victims is not to
be described or even imagined; and though many of them were saved
almost miraculously, yet no one dared to hope to see his child drawn
alive from under a heap of smoking ruins.

“Flames soon broke out from four different parts of the ruins, and
threatened destruction to the remaining part of Leyden. The multitude
seemed as it were animated with one common soul in extricating the
sufferers, and stopping the progress of the flames. None withdrew from
the awful task, and the multitude increased every moment by people
coming from the surrounding country, the explosion having been heard at
the distance of fifty miles. Night set in, the darkness of which, added
to the horrors of falling houses, the smothered smoke, the raging of the
flames, and the roaring of the winds on a tempestuous winter night,
produced a scene neither to be described nor imagined; while the
heart-rending cries of the sufferers, or the lamentations of those whose
friends or children were under the ruins, broke upon the ear at
intervals. Many were so entirely overcome with fear and astonishment,
that they stared about them without taking notice of any thing, while
others seemed full of activity, but incapable of directing their efforts
to any particular object.”

In the middle of the night, Louis Bonaparte, then king of Holland,
arrived from the palace of Loo, having set out as soon as the express
reached him with the dreadful tidings. Louis was much beloved by his
subjects, and his name is still mentioned by them with great respect. On
this occasion his presence was very useful. He encouraged the active and
comforted the sufferers, and did not leave the place till he had
established good order, and promised every assistance in restoring both
public and private losses. He immediately gave a large sum of money to
the city, and granted it many valuable privileges, besides exemption
from imposts and taxes for a number of years.

Some degree of order having been restored, the inhabitants were divided
into classes, not according to their rank, but the way in which they
were employed about the ruins. These classes were distinguished by bands
of different colours tied round their arms. The widely extended ruins
now assumed the appearance of hills and valleys, covered with multitudes
of workmen, producing to the eye an ever-varying scene of different
occupations. The keel of the vessel in which the catastrophe commenced,
was found buried deep in the earth at a considerable distance, together
with the remains of a yacht from the Hague with a party of pleasure,
which lay close to it. The anchor of the powder vessel was found in a
field without the city, and a very heavy piece of lead at the foot of
the mast was thrown into a street at a great distance.

One of the most affecting incidents was the fate of the pupils of the
different schools on the Rapenburg. At the destructive moment, the wife
of the principal of the largest of them was standing at the door with
her child in her arms; she was instantly covered with the falling beams
and bricks, the child was blown to atoms, and she was thrown under a
tree at some distance. Part of the floor of the school-room sunk into
the cellar, and twelve children were killed instantly; the rest,
miserably wounded, shrieked for help, and one was heard to call, “Help
me, help me, I will give my watch to my deliverer.” Fathers and mothers
rushed from all parts of the city to seek their children, but after
digging five hours they found their labour fruitless; and some were even
obliged to leave the spot in dreadful suspense, to attend to other near
relations dug out in other quarters. They at last succeeded, by
incredible efforts, in bringing up some of the children, but in such a
state that many of their parents could not recognise them, and not a few
were committed to the grave without its being known who they were. Many
of these children, both among the dead and those who recovered, bled
profusely, while no wound could be discovered in any part of their
bodies. Others were preserved in a wonderful manner, and without the
least hurt. Forty children were killed. In some houses large companies
were assembled, and in one, a newly married couple, from a distance, had
met a numerous party of their friends. One person who was writing in a
small room, was driven through a window above the door, into the
staircase, and fell to the bottom without receiving much hurt. Many were
preserved by the falling of the beams or rafters in a particular
direction, which protected them, and they remained for many hours, some
for a whole day and night. A remarkable fact of this kind happened,
when the city of Delft was destroyed by an explosion of gunpowder in
1654; a child, a year old, was found two days afterwards sucking an
apple, and sitting under a beam, with just space left for its body. Two
others at a little distance were in their cradles quite safe. At that
time almost the whole of Delft was destroyed.

Leyden is as large a city, but not so populous, as Rotterdam, the second
city in Holland. Upwards of two hundred houses were overthrown on this
occasion, besides churches and public buildings; the Stadt, or
town-house, was among the latter.

_One hundred and fifty-one_ dead bodies were taken from the ruins,
besides many that died after. Upwards of _two thousand_ were wounded
more or less dangerously. It is remarkable that none of the students of
the university were either killed or wounded, though they all lodge in
different parts of the city, or wherever they please. Contributions were
immediately began, and large sums raised. The king of Holland gave
30,000 gilders, and the queen 10,000; a very large sum was collected in
London.

Leyden suffered dreadfully by siege in 1573, and by the plague in 1624
and 1635, in which year 15,000 of the inhabitants were carried off
within six months. In 1415 a convent was burnt, and most of the nuns
perished in the flames. An explosion of gunpowder, in 1481, destroyed
the council-chamber when full of people, and killed most of the
magistrates.

The misfortunes of this city have become proverbial, and its very name
has given rise to a pun. “_Leyden_” is “_Lijden_;” _Leyden_, the name of
the city, and _Lijden_, (to suffer,) have the same pronunciation in the
Dutch language.

       *       *       *       *       *

The chirp of the crickets from the kitchen chimney breaks the silence of
still evenings in the winter. They come from the crevices, when the
house is quiet, to the warm hearth, and utter their shrill monotonous
notes, to the discomfiture of the nervous, and the pleasure of those who
have sound minds in sound bodies. This insect and the grasshopper are
agreeably coupled in a pleasing sonnet. The “summoning brass” it speaks
of, our country readers well know, as an allusion to the sounds usually
produced from some kitchen utensil of metal to assist in swarming the
bees:--

_To the Grasshopper and the Cricket._

    Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
      Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
      Sole voice that’s heard amidst the lazy noon,
    When ev’n the bees lag at the summoning brass;
    And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
      With those who think the candles come too soon,
      Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
    Nick the glad silent moments as they pass;
    Oh, sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
      One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
    Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong
      At your clear hearts; and both were sent on earth
    To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song,--
      In doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.

  _L. Hunt._


~January 13.~

  CAMBRIDGE LENT TERM _begins_.

  _St. Veronica of Milan._ _St. Kentigern._


_St. Hilary._

The festival of St. Hilary is not, at this time, observed by the Romish
church until to-morrow, but it stands in old calendars, and in Randle
Holmes’s Heraldry, on this day, whereon it is also placed in the English
calendar. Butler says, he was born at Poictiers, became bishop of that
city, was a commentator on Scripture, an orator, a poet, wrote against
the Arians, was banished for his orthodoxy, but returned to his see,
worked miracles, and died on the 13th of January, 368. Ribadeneira says,
that in a certain island, uninhabitable by reason of venemous serpents,
they fled from his holiness; that he put up a stake as a boundary,
commanding them not to pass it, and they obeyed; that he raised a dead
child to life, prayed his daughter to death, and did other astonishing
things; especially after his decease, when two merchants, at their own
cost and by way of venture, offered an image at his shrine, but as one
begrudged the cost of his share, St. Hilary caused the image to divide
from top to bottom, while being offered, keeping the one half, and
rejecting the niggard’s moiety. The Golden Legend says, that St. Hilary
also obtained his wife’s death by his prayers; and that pope Leo, who
was an Arian, said to him, “Thou art Hilary the cock, and not the son of
a hen;” whereat Hilary said, “I am no cock, but a bishop in France;”
then said the pope, “Thou art Hilary _Gallus_ (signifying a cock) and I
am Leo, judge of the papal see;” whereupon Hilary replied, “If thou be
Leo, thou art not (a lion) of the tribe of Juda.” After this railing the
pope died, and Hilary was comforted.


_St. Veronica._

She was a nun, with a desire to live always on bread and water, died in
1497, and was canonized, after her claim to sanctity was established to
the satisfaction of his holiness pope Leo X.


_St. Kentigern._

He was bishop of Glasgow, with jurisdiction in Wales, and, according to
Butler, “favoured with a wonderful gift of miracles.” Bishop Patrick, in
his “Devotions of the Romish Church,” says, “St. Kentigern had a
singular way of kindling fire, which _I_ could never have hit upon.”
Being in haste to light candles for vigils, and some, who bore a spite
to him, having put out all the fire in the monastery, he snatched the
green bough of an hazel, blessed it, blew upon it, the bough produced a
great flame, and he lighted his candles: “whence we may conjecture,”
says Patrick, “that tinder-boxes are of a later invention than St.
Kentigern’s days.”


THE LAW TERMS.

_Term_ is derived from _Terminus_, the heathen god of boundaries,
landmarks, and limits of time. In the early ages of Christianity the
whole year was one continued term for hearing and deciding causes; but
after the establishment of the Romish church, the daily dispensation of
justice was prohibited by canonical authority, that the festivals might
be kept holy.

Advent and Christmas occasioned the winter vacation; Lent and Easter the
spring; Pentecost the third; and hay-time and harvest, the long
vacation between Midsummer and Michaelmas.

Each term is denominated from the festival day immediately preceding its
commencement; hence we have the terms of St. Hilary, Easter, the Holy
Trinity, and St. Michael.

There are in each term stated days called _dies in banco_, (days in
bank,) that is, days of appearance in the court of common bench. They
are usually about a week from each other, and have reference to some
Romish festival. All original writs are returnable on these days, and
they are therefore called the return days.

The first return in every term is, properly speaking, the first day of
the term. For instance, the octave of St. Hilary, or the eighth day,
inclusive, after the saint’s feast, falls on the 20th of January,
because his feast is on the 13th of January. On the 20th, then, the
court sits to take _essoigns_, or excuses for non-appearance to the
writ; “but,” says Blackstone, “as our ancestors held it beneath the
condition of a freeman to appear or to do any thing at the precise time
appointed,” the person summoned has three days of grace beyond the day
named in the writ, and if he appear on the fourth day inclusive it is
sufficient. Therefore at the beginning of each term the court does not
sit for despatch of business till the fourth, or the appearance day,
which is in Hilary term, for instance, on the 23d of January. In Trinity
term it does not sit till the fifth day; because the fourth falls on the
great Roman catholic festival of _Corpus Christi_. The first
_appearance_ day therefore in each term is called the first day of the
term; and the court sits till the _quarto die post_, or appearance day
of the last return, or end of the term.

In each term there is one day whereon the courts do not transact
business; namely, on Candlemas day, in Hilary term; on Ascension day, in
Easter term; on Midsummer day, in Trinity term; and on All Saints’ day,
in Michaelmas term. These are termed _Grand_ days in the inns of court;
and _Gaudy_ days at the two universities; they are observed as _Collar_
days at the king’s court of St. James’s, for on these days, knights wear
the collars of their respective orders.

       *       *       *       *       *

An old January journal contains a remarkable anecdote relative to the
decease of a M. Foscue, one of the farmers-general of the province of
Languedoc. He had amassed considerable wealth by means which rendered
him an object of universal detestation. One day he was ordered by the
government to raise a considerable sum: as an excuse for not complying
with the demand, he pleaded extreme poverty; and resolved on hiding his
treasure in such a manner as to escape detection. He dug a kind of a
cave in his wine-cellar, which he made so large and deep, that he used
to go down to it with a ladder; at the entrance of it was a door with a
spring lock on it, which on shutting would fasten of itself. He was
suddenly missed, and diligent search made after him; ponds were drawn,
and every suggestion adopted that could reasonably lead to his
discovery, dead or alive. In a short time after, his house was sold; and
the purchaser beginning to make some alterations, the workmen discovered
a door in the wine-cellar with a key in the lock. On going down they
found Foscue lying dead on the ground, with a candlestick near him, but
no candle in it. On searching farther, they found the vast wealth that
he had amassed. It is supposed, that, when he had entered his cave, the
door had by some accident shut after him; and thus being out of the call
of any person, he perished for want of food, in the midst of his
treasure.

SIGNS OF FOUL WEATHER.

    The _hollow winds_ begin to blow;
    The _clouds look black_, the _glass is low_;
    The _soot falls down_, the _spaniels sleep_;
    And _spiders_ from their _cobwebs peep_.
    Last night the _sun_ went _pale to bed_;
    The _moon_ in _halos_ hid her head.
    The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
    For, see, a _rainbow_ spans the sky.
    The _walls are damp_, the _ditches smell_,
    _Clos’d_ is the pink-ey’d _pimpernel_.
    Hark! how the _chairs_ and _tables_ crack,
    _Old Betty’s joints_ are on the rack:
    Her _corns_ with _shooting pains_ torment her,
    And to her bed untimely send her.
    Loud _quack the ducks_, the _sea fowl cry_,
    The _distant hills_ are _looking nigh_.
    How restless are the _snorting swine_!
    The _busy flies_ disturb the _kine_.
    _Low_ o’er the _grass_ the _swallow wings_
    The _cricket_ too, how _sharp he sings_!
    _Puss_ on the hearth, with _velvet paws_,
    Sits _wiping_ o’er her _whisker’d jaws_.
    The _smoke_ from _chimneys right ascends_
    Then spreading, _back to earth it bends_.
    The _wind_ unsteady _veers around_,
    Or settling in the _South is found_.
    Through the clear stream the _fishes rise_,
    And _nimbly catch_ the incautious _flies_.
    The _glow-worms_ num’rous, clear and bright,
    _Illum’d_ the _dewy hill_ last night.
    At dusk the squalid _toad_ was seen,
    Like _quadruped_, stalk o’er the green.
    The _whirling wind_ the dust obeys,
    And in the _rapid eddy_ plays.
    The _frog_ has chang’d his _yellow vest_,
    And in a _russet coat_ is drest.
    The _sky is green_, the air is still.
    The _mellow_ blackbird’s voice is shrill.
    The _dog_, so alter’d is his taste,
    Quits mutton-bones, on _grass_ to feast.
    Behold the _rooks_, how odd their flight
    They imitate the _gliding kite_,
    And seem _precipitate to fall_,
    As if they felt the piercing ball.
    The _tender colts on back do lie_,
    Nor heed the traveller passing by.
    In _fiery red_ the _sun_ doth _rise_,
    Then _wades through clouds_ to mount the skies.
    ’Twill _surely rain_, we see’t with sorrow,
    No _working in the fields to-morrow_.

  _Darwin._


~January 14.~

  OXFORD LENT TERM _begins_.

  _St. Hilary._ _St. Felix._ _Sts. Isaias and Sabbas._ _St.
  Barbasceminus_, _&c._

St. Felix of Nola, an exorcist, and afterwards a priest, was, according
to Butler and Ribadeneira, a great miraculist. He lived under Decius, in
250; being fettered and dungeoned in a cell, covered with potsherds and
broken glass, a resplendent angel, seen by the saint alone, because to
him only was he sent, freed him of his chains and guided him to a
mountain, where bishop Maximus, aged and frozen, lay for dead, whom
Felix recovered by praying; for, straightway, he saw a bramble bear a
bunch of grapes, with the juice whereof he recovered the bishop, and
taking him on his back carried him home to his diocese. Being pursued by
pagans, he fled to some ruins and crept through a hole in the wall,
which spiders closed with their webs before the pagans got up to it, and
there lay for six months miraculously supported. According to the
Legend, his body, for ages after his death, distilled a liquor that
cured diseases.


CHRONOLOGY.

In January, 1784, died suddenly in Macclesfield-street, Soho, aged 79,
Sam. Crisp, esq., a relation of the celebrated sir Nicholas Crisp.
There was a remarkable singularity in the character of this gentleman.
He was a bachelor, had been formerly a broker in ’Change-alley, and many
years since had retired from business, with an easy competency. His
daily amusement, for fourteen years before, was going from London to
Greenwich, and immediately returning from thence, in the stage; for
which he paid regularly £27 a year. He was a good-humoured, obliging,
and facetious companion, always paying a particular attention, and a
profusion of compliments, to the ladies, especially to those who were
agreeable. He was perpetually projecting some little schemes for the
benefit of the public, or, to use his own favourite maxim, pro bono
publico; he was the institutor of the Lactarium in St. George’s Fields,
and selected the Latin mottoes for the facetious Mrs. Henniver, who got
a little fortune there. He projected the mile and half stones round
London; and teased the printers of newspapers into the plan of
letter-boxes. He was remarkably humane and benevolent, and, without the
least ostentation, performed many generous and charitable actions, which
would have dignified a more ample fortune.

THE WINTER ROBIN.

    A suppliant to your window comes,
      Who trusts your faith, and fears no guile:
    He claims admittance for your crumbs,
      And reads his passport in your smile.

    For cold and cheerless is the day,
      And he has sought the hedges round;
    No berry hangs upon the spray,
      Nor worm, nor ant-egg, can be found.

    Secure his suit will be preferred,
      No fears his slender feet deter;
    For sacred is the household bird
      That wears the scarlet stomacher.

  _Charlotte Smith._


~January 15.~

  _St. Paul_, the first Hermit. _St. Maurus._ _St. Main._ _St. John_,
  Calybite. _St. Isidore._ _St. Bonitus._ _St. Ita_, or _Mida._ _St.
  Paul_, A. D. 342.

The life of St. Paul, the first hermit, is said, by Butler, to have been
written by St. Jerome in 365, who received an account of it from St.
Anthony and others. According to him, when twenty-two years old, St.
Paul fled from the persecution of Decius to a cavern, near which grew a
palm-tree, that supplied him with leaves for clothing, and fruit for
food, till he was forty-three years of age; after which he was daily fed
by a raven till he was ninety, and then died. St. Anthony, in his old
age, being tempted by vanity, imagined himself the first hermit, till
the contrary was revealed to him in a dream, wherefore, the next
morning, he set out in search of St. Paul. “St. Jerome relates from his
authors,” says Butler, “that he met a centaur, or creature, not with the
nature and properties, but with something of the mixt shape of man and
horse; and that this monster, or phantom of the devil, (St. Jerome
pretends not to determine which it was,) upon his making the sign of the
cross, fled away, after pointing out the way to the saint. Our author
(St. Jerome) adds, that St. Anthony soon after met a satyr, who gave him
to understand that he was an inhabitant of those deserts, and one of the
sort whom the deluded gentiles adored for gods.” Ribadeneira describes
this satyr as with writhed nostrils, two little horns on his forehead,
and the feet of a goat. After two days’ search, St. Anthony found St.
Paul, and a raven brought a loaf, whereupon they took their corporal
refection. The next morning, St. Paul told him he was going to die, and
bid him fetch a cloak given to St. Anthony by St. Athanasius, and wrap
his body in it. St. Anthony then knew, that St. Paul must have been
informed of the cloak by revelation, and went forth from the desert to
fetch it; but before his return, St. Paul had died, and St. Anthony
found two lions digging his grave with their claws, wherein he buried
St. Paul, first wrapping him in St. Athanasius’s cloak, and preserving,
as a great treasure, St. Paul’s garment, made of palm-tree leaves,
stitched together. How St. Jerome, in his conclusion of St. Paul’s life,
praises this garment, may be seen in Ribadeneira.


FLOWERS.

A writer, who signs himself “Crito” in the “Truth Teller,” No. 15,
introduces us to an honest enthusiast, discoursing to his hearers on the
_snow-drop_ of the season, and other offerings from Flora, to the
rolling year. “Picture to your imagination, a poor, ‘dirty’ mendicant,
of the order of St. Francis, who had long prayed and fasted in his
sanctuary, and long laboured in his garden, issuing out on the morning
of his first pilgrimage, without money and without provisions, clad in
his mantle and hood, ‘like a sad votarist in palmer’s weeds;’ and thus,
and in these words, taking leave of the poor flock who lived round his
gothic habitation.--‘Fellow-men, I owe you nothing, and I give you all;
you neither paid me tithe nor rent, yet I have bestowed on you food and
clothing in poverty, medicine in sickness, and spiritual counsel in
adversity. That I might do all these things, I have devoted my life in
the seclusion of those venerable walls. There I have consulted the
sacred books of our church for your spiritual instruction and the good
of your souls; to clothe you, I have sold the embroidered garment, and
have put on the habit of mendicity. In the intercalary moments of my
canonical hours of prayer, I have collected together the treasures of
Flora, and gathered from her plants the useful arts of physic, by which
you have been benefited. Ever mindful of the useful object of the labour
to which I had condemned myself, I have brought together into the garden
of this priory, the lily of the valley and the gentian of the mountain,
the nymphæa of the lake, and the cliver of the arid bank; in short, I
have collected the pilewort, the throatwort, the liverwort, and every
other vegetable specific which the kind hand of nature has spread over
the globe, and which I have designated by their qualities, and have
converted to your use and benefit. Mindful also of the pious festivals
which our church prescribes, I have sought to make these charming
objects of floral nature, the timepieces of my religious calendar, and
the mementos of the hastening period of my mortality. Thus I can light
the taper to our Virgin Mother on the blowing of the white snowdrop,
which opens its floweret at the time of Candlemas; the lady’s smock and
the daffodil remind me of the Annunciation; the blue harebell, of the
festival of St. George; the ranunculus, of the Invention of the Cross;
the scarlet lychnis, of St. John the Baptist’s day; the white lily, of
the Visitation of our Lady; and the virgin’s bower, of her Assumption;
and Michaelmas, Martinmas, Holy Rood, and Christmas, have all their
appropriate monitors. I learn the time of day from the shutting of the
blossoms of the star of Jerusalem and the dandelion, and the hour of the
night by the stars.”’

From kind feelings to the benevolence of the Franciscan mendicant’s
address, which we may suppose ourselves to have just heard, we
illustrate something of his purpose, by annexing the rose, the tulip,
and the passion-flower, after an engraving by a catholic artist, who has
impressed them with devotional monograms, and symbols of his faith.

[Illustration]

RURAL MUSINGS.

    _Margaret._--What sports do you use in the forest?--

       _Simon._--Not many; some few, as thus:--
                 To see the sun to bed, and to arise,
                 Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes,
                 Bursting the lazy bands of sleep that bound him,
                 With all his fires and travelling glories round him.
                 Sometimes the moon on soft night clouds to rest,
                 Like beauty nestling in a young man’s breast,
                 And all the winking stars, her handmaids, keep
                 Admiring silence, while those lovers sleep,
                 Sometimes outstretcht, in very idleness,
                 Naught doing, saying little, thinking less,
                 To view the leaves thin dancers upon air,
                 Go in eddy ground; and small birds, how they fare,
                 When mother Autumn fills their beaks with corn,
                 Filch’d from the careless Amalthea’s horn;
                 And how the woods berries and worms provide
                 Without their pains, when earth has naught beside
                 To answer their small wants.

  C. LAMB.


~January 16.~

  _St Marcellus_, Pope. _St. Macarius the elder_, of Egypt. _St.
  Honoratus._ _St. Fursey._ _St. Henry_, Hermit, &c.


_St. Marcellus_, Pope.

According to Butler, he was so strict in penance, that the Christians
disliked him; he was banished by Maxentius, “for his severity against a
certain apostate;” and died pope in 310.


WINTER RAINBOW _in Ireland_.

In the first of the “Letters from the Irish Islands,” in 1823, the
writer addresses to his friend, a description of the rainbow on the
hills at this season of the year. He says, “I could wish (provided I
could ensure you one fine day in the course of the week) that you were
here, to enjoy, in rapid succession, and, with all its wild
magnificence, the whirlwind, the tempest, the ocean’s swell, and, as
Burns beautifully expresses it,

    Some gleams of sunshine, ’mid renewing storms.

To-day there have been fine bright intervals, and, while returning from
a hasty ride, I have been greatly delighted with the appearance of a
rainbow, gradually advancing before the lowering clouds, sweeping with
majestic stride across the troubled ocean, then, as it gained the beach,
and seemed almost within my grasp, vanishing amid the storm, of which it
had been the lovely, but treacherous, forerunner. It is, I suppose, a
consequence of our situation, and the close connection between sea and
mountain, that the rainbows here are so frequent, and so peculiarly
beautiful. Of an amazing breadth, and with colours vivid beyond
description, I know not whether most to admire this aerial phenomenon,
when, suspended in the western sky, one end of the bow sinks behind the
island of Boffin, while, at the distance of several leagues, the other
rests upon the misty hills of Ennis Turc; or when, at a later hour of
the day, it has appeared stretched across the ample sides of Mülbrea,
penetrating far into the deep blue waters that flow at its base. With
feelings of grateful recollection too, we may hail the repeated visits
of this heavenly messenger, occasionally, as often as five or six times
in the course of the same day, in a country exposed to such
astonishing, and, at times, almost incessant floods of rain.”

    Behold yon bright, ethereal bow,
    With evanescent beauties glow;
    The spacious arch streams through the sky,
    Deck’d with each tint of nature’s dye,
    Refracted sunbeams, through the shower,
    A humid radiance from it pour;
    Whilst colour into colour fades,
    With blended lights and softening shades.

  ATHENÆUM

“It is a happy effect of extreme mildness and moisture of climate, that
most of our hills (in Ireland) are covered with grass to a considerable
height, and afford good pasturage both in summer and winter. The grasses
most abundant are the dogstail, (cynosurus cristatus,) several species
of the meadow grass, (poa,) the fescue, (festuca duriuscula and
pratensis,) and particularly the sweet-scented vernal grass,
(anthoxanthum odoratum,) which abounds in the dry pastures, and mountain
sides; where its withered blossoms, which it is remarkable that the
cattle do not eat, give a yellowish brown tint to the whole pasture. Our
bog lands are overrun with the couch, or fiorin grass, (agrostis
stolonifera,) several other species of the agrostis, and the aira. This
is, indeed, the country for a botanist; and one so indefatigable as
yourself, would not hesitate to venture with us across the rushy bog,
where you would be so well rewarded for the labour of springing from one
knot of rushes to another, by meeting with the fringed blossoms of the
bog-bean, (menyanthes trifoliata,) the yellow asphodel, (narthecium
ossifragum,) the pale bog violet, (viola palustris,) both species of the
pinguicula, and of the beautiful drosera, the English fly-trap,
spreading its dewy leaves glistening in the sun. I could also point out
to you, almost hid in the moist recesses of some dripping rock, the
pretty miniature fern, (trichomanes Tunbridgensis,) which you may
remember showing me for the first time at Tunbridge Wells: the osmunda
lunaria and regalis are also to be found, with other ferns, mosses, and
lichens, which it is far beyond my botanical skill to distinguish.--The
man of science, to whatever branch of natural history his attention is
directed, will indeed find never-failing sources of gratification, in
exploring paths, hitherto almost untrodden, in our wild country.
Scarcely a county in England is without its peculiar Flora, almost every
hill and every valley have been subject to repeated, scientific
examination; while the productions of nature, so bountifully accorded to
poor Ireland, are either unknown or disregarded.”


A SEASONABLE DIVERSION.

From the many games of forfeits that are played in parlours during
in-door weather, one is presented to the perusal of youthful readers
from “Winter Evening Pastimes.”


_Aunty’s Garden._

“The company being all seated in a circle, the person who is to conduct
the game proposes to the party to repeat, in turns, the speech he is
about to make; and it is agreed that those who commit any mistake, or
substitute one word for another, shall pay a forfeit. The player then
commences by saying, distinctly, ‘I am just come from my aunt Deborah’s
garden. Bless me! what a fine garden is my aunt’s garden! In my aunt’s
garden there are four corners.’ The one seated to the player’s right is
to repeat this, word for word: if his memory fails he pays a forfeit,
and gives up his turn to his next right-hand neighbour, not being
permitted to correct his mistake. When this has gone all round, the
conductor repeats the first speech, and adds the following:

    ‘In the first corner stands a superb alaternus,
    Whose shade, in the dog-days, won’t let the sun burn us.’

“This couplet having been sent round as before, he then adds the
following:

    ‘In the second corner grows
    A bush which bears a yellow rose:
    Would I might my love disclose!’

“This passes round in like manner:

    ‘In the third corner Jane show’d me much London pride;
    Let your mouth to your next neighbour’s ear be applied,
    And quick to his keeping a secret confide.’

“At this period of the game every one must tell his right-hand neighbour
some secret.

“In the fourth round, after repeating the whole of the former, he
concludes thus:

    ‘In the fourth corner doth appear
      Of amaranths a crowd;
    Each secret whisper’d in the ear
      Must now be told aloud.’

“Those who are unacquainted with this game occasionally feel not a
little embarrassed at this conclusion, as the secrets revealed by their
neighbour may be such as they would not like to be published to the
whole party. Those who are aware of this finesse take care to make their
secrets witty, comic, or complimentary.”

WINTER.

    This is the eldest of the seasons: he
      Moves not like Spring with gradual step, nor grows
      From bud to beauty, but with all his snows
    Comes down at once in hoar antiquity.
    No rains nor loud proclaiming tempests flee
      Before him, nor unto his time belong
      The suns of summer, nor the charms of song,
    That with May’s gentle smiles so well agree.
    But he, made perfect in his birthday cloud,
      Starts into sudden life with scarce a sound,
      And with a tender footstep prints the ground,
    As tho’ to cheat man’s ear; yet while he stays
    He seems as ’twere to prompt our merriest lays,
    And bid the dance and joke be long and loud.

  _Literary Pocket Book, 1820._


~January 17.~

  _St. Anthony_, Patriarch of Monks. _Sts. Speusippus, Eleusippus, and
  Meleusippus_. _Sts. Sulpicius I. and II._, Abps. of Bourges. _St.
  Milgithe._ _St. Nennius, or Nennidhius._


_St. Anthony, Patriarch of Monks._

The memoirs of St. Anthony make a distinguished figure in the lives of
the saints by Alban Butler, who states the particulars to have been
extracted from “The Life of St. Anthony,” compiled by the great St.
Athanasius; “a work,” says Butler, “much commended by St. Gregory
Nazianzen, St. Jerom, St. Austin,” &c. This statement by Butler, whose
biographical labours are estimated by catholics as of the highest order,
and the extraordinary temptations which render the life of St. Anthony
eminently remarkable, require at least so much notice of him, as may
enable the general reader to determine upon the qualities attributed to
him, and the reputation his name has attained in consequence.

According to Butler, St. Anthony was born in 251, at Coma near Heraclea
in Egypt, and in that neighbourhood commenced the life of a hermit: he
was continually assailed by the devil. His only food was bread with a
little salt, he drank nothing but water, never ate before sunset,
sometimes only once in two or four days, and lay on a rush mat or on the
bare floor. For further solitude he left Coma, and hid himself in an old
sepulchre, till, in 285, he withdrew into the deserts of the mountains,
from whence, in 305, he descended and founded his first monastery. His
under garment was sackcloth, with a white sheepskin coat and girdle.
Butler says that he “was taught to apply himself to manual labour by an
angel, who appeared, platting mats of palm-tree leaves, then rising to
pray, and after some time sitting down again to work; and who at length
said to him, ‘Do this, and thou shalt be saved.’ The life, attributed by
Butler to St. Athanasius, informs us that our saint continued in some
degree to pray whilst he was at work; that he detested the Arians; that
he would not speak to a heretic unless to exhort him to the true faith;
and that he drove all such from his mountain, calling them venomous
serpents. He was very anxious that after his decease he should not be
embalmed, and being one hundred and five years old, died in 356, having
bequeathed one of his sheepskins, with the coat in which he lay, to St.
Athanasius.” So far Butler.

[Illustration]

St. Athanasius, or rather the life of St. Anthony before alluded to,
which, notwithstanding Butler’s authorities, may be doubted as the
product of Athanasius; but, however that may be, that memoir of St.
Anthony is very particular in its account of St. Anthony’s warfare with
the infernal powers. It says that hostilities commenced when the saint
first determined on hermitizing; “in short, the devil raised a great
deal of dust in his thoughts, that by bemudding and disordering his
intellects he might make St. Anthony let go his design.” In his first
conflict with the devil he was victorious, although satan appeared to
him in an alluring shape. Next he came in the form of a black boy, and
was again defeated. After that Anthony got into a tomb and shut down the
top, but the devil found him out, and, with a great company of other
devils, so beat and bruised him, that in the morning he was discovered
by the person who brought his bread, lying like a dead man on the
ground; whereupon he took him up and carried him to the town church,
where many of his friends sat by him until midnight. Anthony then coming
to himself and seeing all asleep, caused the person who brought him
thither to carry him back privately, and again got into the tomb,
shutting down the tomb-top as before. Upon this, the devils being very
much exasperated, one night, made a noise so dreadful, that the walls
shook. “They transformed themselves into the shapes of all sorts of
beasts, lions, bears, leopards, bulls, serpents, asps, scorpions and
wolves; every one of which moved and acted agreeably to the creatures
which they represented; the lion roaring and seeming to make towards
him, the bull to butt, the serpent to creep, and the wolf to run at him,
and so in short all the rest; so that Anthony was tortured and mangled
by them so grievously that his bodily pain was greater than before.”
But, as it were laughingly, he taunted them, and the devils gnashed
their teeth. This continued till the roof of his cell opened, a beam of
light shot down, the devils became speechless, Anthony’s pain ceased,
and the roof closed again. At one time the devil laid the semblance of a
large piece of plate in his way, but Anthony, perceiving the devil in
the dish, chid it, and the plate disappeared. At another time he saw a
quantity of real gold on the ground, and to show the devil “that he did
not value money, he leaped over it as a man in a fright over a fire.”
Having secluded himself in an empty castle, some of his acquaintance
came often to see him, but in vain; he would not let them enter, and
they remained whole days and nights listening to a tumultuous rout of
devils bawling and wailing within. He lived in that state for twenty
years, never seeing or being seen by any one, till his friends broke
open the door, and “the spectators were in amazement to see his body
that had been so belaboured by devils, in the same shape in which it was
before his retirement.” By way of a caution to others he related the
practices of the devils, and how they appeared. He said that, “to scare
us, they will represent themselves so tall as to touch the ceiling,
and proportionably broad; they often pretend to sing psalms and cite the
scriptures, and sometimes while we are reading they echo what we read;
sometimes they stamp, sometimes they laugh, and sometimes they hiss: but
when one regards them not, then they weep and lament, as vanquished.
Once, when they came threatening and surrounding me like soldiers,
accoutred and horsed, and again when they filled the place with wild
beasts and creeping things, I sung Psalm xix. 8., and they were
presently routed. Another time, when they appeared with a light in the
dark, and said, ‘We are come, Anthony, to lend thee our light,’ I
prayed, shutting my eyes, because I disdained to behold their light, and
presently their light was put out. After this they came and hissed and
danced, but as I prayed, and lay along singing, they presently began to
wail and weep as though they were spent. Once there came a devil very
tall in appearance, that dared to say, ‘What wouldst thou have me bestow
upon thee?’ but I spat upon him and endeavoured to beat him, and, great
as he was, he disappeared with the rest of the devils. Once one of them
knocked at the door of my cell, and when I opened it I saw a tall
figure; and when I asked him, ‘Who art thou?’ he answered, ‘I am satan;
Why do the monks blame and curse me? I have no longer a place or a city,
and now the desert is filled with monks; let them not curse one to no
purpose.’ I said to him, ‘Thou art a liar,’ &c. and he disappeared.” A
deal more than this he is related to have said by his biographer, who
affirms that Anthony, “having been prevailed upon to go into a vessel
and pray with the monks, he, and he only, perceived a wretched and
terrible stink; the company said there was some salt fish in the vessel,
but he perceived another kind of scent, and while he was speaking, a
young man that had a devil, and who had entered before them and hid
himself, cried out, and the devil was rebuked by St Anthony and came out
of him, and then they all knew that it was the devil that
stunk.”--“Wonderful as these things are, there are stranger things yet;
for once, as he was going to pray, he was in a rapture, and (which is a
paradox) as soon as he stood up, he saw himself without himself, as it
were in the air, and some bitter and terrible beings standing by him in
the air too, but the angels, his guardians, withstood them,”--“He had
also another particular favour, for as he was sitting on the mount in a
praying posture, and perhaps gravelled with some doubt relating to
himself, in the night-time, one called to him, and said, ‘Anthony,
arise, go forth and look;’ so he went out and saw a certain terrible,
deformed personage standing, and reaching to the clouds, and winged
creatures, and him stretching out his hands; and some of them he saw
were stopped by him, and others were flying beyond him; whereupon the
tall one gnashed his teeth, and Anthony perceived that it was the enemy
of souls, who seizes on those who are accountable to him, but cannot
reach those who are not persuadable by him.” His biographer declares
that the devils fled at his word, as fast as from a whip.

It appears from lady Morgan, that at the confectioners’ in Rome, on
twelfth-day, “saints melt in the mouth, and the temptations of St.
Anthony are easily digested.”

Alban Butler says that there is an extant sermon of St. Anthony’s
wherein he extols the efficacy of the sign of the cross for chasing the
devil, and lays down rules for the discernment of spirits. There is
reason to believe that he could not read; St. Austin thinks that he did
not know the alphabet. He wore his habit to his dying day, neither
washing the dirt off his body, nor so much as his feet, unless they were
wet by chance when he waded through water on a journey. The jesuit
Ribadeneira affirms, that “all the world relented and bemoaned his death
for afterwards there fell no rain from heaven for three years.”

The _Engraving of_ ST. ANTHONY _conflicting with the_ DEVIL, in the
present sheet, is after Salvator Rosa.

       *       *       *       *       *

Saints’ bodies appear, from the Romish writers, to have waited
undecomposed in their graves till their odour of sanctity rendered it
necessary that their remains should be sought out; and their bodies were
sure to be found, after a few centuries of burial, as fresh as if they
had been interred a few weeks. Hence it is, that though two centuries
elapsed before Anthony’s was looked for, yet his grave was not only
discovered, but his body was in the customary preservation. It was
brought to Europe through a miracle. One Joceline, who had neglected a
pilgrimage to Jerusalem, was, therefore, sorely wounded in battle, and
carried for dead into a chapel dedicated to St. Anthony. When he began
to revive, a multitude of devils appeared to drag him to hell and one
devil cast a halter about his neck to strangle him, wherefore St.
Anthony appeared; the devils flew from _him_ of course, and he commanded
Joceline to perform his pilgrimage, and to convey his body from the
east; whereupon Joceline obeyed, and carried it to France. When Patrick
wrote, the saint’s beard was shown at Cologne, with a part of his hand,
and another piece of him was shown at Tournay; two of his relics were
at Antwerp; a church dedicated to him at Rome was famous for his
sackcloth, and part of his palm coat; the other part of it was exhibited
at Vienna, and the rest of his body was so multiplied about, that there
were limb-bones enough for the remains of half a dozen uncanonized
persons. The Romish church has not made saints of late years.


BLESSING OF BEASTS.

On St. Anthony’s day, the beasts at Rome are blessed, and sprinkled with
holy water. Dr. Forster, in his “Perennial Calendar,” remarks, that “the
early Catholics regarded no beasts, birds, or fish, as hateful.” He
says, that “St. Anthony was particularly solicitous about animals, to
which a whimsical picture by Salvator Rosa represents him as preaching;”
and he suggests, that “from his practices, perhaps, arose the custom of
blessings passed on animals still practised at Rome; he regarded all
God’s creatures as worthy of protection”--except heretics, the doctor
might have added; unless, indeed, which seems to have been the case,
Anthony regarded _them_ as “creatures” of the devil, between whom, and
this saint, we have seen that the Rev. Alban Butler takes especial care
we should not be ignorant of the miraculous conflicts just related.

Lady Morgan says, that the annual benediction of the beasts at Rome, in
a church there dedicated to St. Anthony, lasts for some days: “for not
only every Roman from the pope to the peasant, who has a horse, a mule,
or an ass, sends his cattle to be blessed at St. Anthony’s shrine, but
all the English go with their job horses and favourite dogs; and for the
small offering of a couple of _paoli_, get them sprinkled, sanctified,
and placed under the protection of this saint. Coach after coach draws
up, strings of mules mix with carts and barouches, horses kick, mules
are restive, and dogs snarl, while the officiating priest comes forward
from his little chapel, dips a brush into a vase of holy water,
sprinkles and prays over the beasts, pockets the fee, and retires.”

Dr. Conyers Middleton says, that when he was at Rome, he had his own
horses blest for eighteen-pence, as well to satisfy his curiosity, as to
humour his coachman, who was persuaded that some mischance would befall
them in the year, if they had not the benefit of the benediction.

Lady Morgan describes a picture in the Borghese palace at Rome,
representing St. Anthony preaching to the fishes: “The salmon look at
the preacher with an edified face, and a cod, with his upturned eyes,
seems anxiously seeking for the new light. The saint’s sermon is to be
had in many of the shops at Rome. St. Anthony addresses the fish,
‘Dearly beloved fish;’ and the legend adds, that at the conclusion of
the discourse, ‘the fish bowed to him with profound humility, and a
grave and religious countenance.’ The saint then gave the fish his
blessing, who scudded away to make new conversions,--the missionaries of
the main.

“The church of St. Anthony at Rome is painted in curious old frescos,
with the temptations of the saint. In one picture he is drawn blessing
the devil, disguised in a cowl; probably at that time

    ‘When the devil was sick, and the devil a monk would be;’

“the next picture shows, that

    ‘When the devil was well, the devil a monk was he;’

“for St. Anthony, having laid down in his coffin to meditate the more
securely, a parcel of malicious little imps are peeping, with all sorts
of whimsical and terrific faces, over its edges, and parodying Hogarth’s
enraged musician. One abominable wretch blows a post-horn close to the
saint’s ear, and seems as much delighted with his own music as a boy
with a Jew’s-harp, or a solo-player with his first _ad libitum_.”

St. Anthony’s sermon to the fish is given in some of our angling books.
If this saint was not the preacher to the fish, but St. Anthony of
Padua, the latter has lost the credit of his miraculous exhortation,
from the stupendous reputation of his namesake and predecessor. Not to
risk the displeasure of him of Padua, by the possibility of mistake,
without an attempt to propitiate him if it be a mistake, let it be
recorded here, that St. Anthony of Padua’s protection of a Portuguese
regiment, which enlisted him into its ranks seven hundred years after
his death, procured him the honour of being promoted to the rank of
captain, by the king of Portugal, as will appear by reference to his
military certificate set forth at large in “Ancient Mysteries
described.”


ST. ANTHONY’S FIRE.

St. Anthony’s fire is an inflammatory disease which, in the eleventh
century, raged violently in various parts. According to the legend, the
intercession of St. Anthony was prayed for, when it miraculously ceased;
and therefore, from that time, the complaint has been called St.
Anthony’s fire.


ST. ANTHONY’S PIG.

Bishop Patrick, from the Salisbury missal and other Romish
service-books, cites the supplications to St. Anthony for relief from
this disease. Catholic writers affirm it to have been cured by the
saint’s relics dipped in wine, which proved a present remedy. “Neither,”
says Patrick, who quotes the Romish writers, “did this benefit by the
intercession of St. Anthony accrue only to men, but to cattle also; and
from hence we are told the custom arose of picturing this saint with a
hog at his feet, because, the same author (Aymerus) says, on this animal
God wrought miracles by his servant.” Patrick goes on to say, that in
honour of St. Anthony’s power of curing pigs, “they used in several
places to tie a bell about the neck of a pig, and maintain it at the
common charge of the parish,” from whence came our English proverb of
“_Tantony pig_,” or t’Antony, an abridgement of the Anthony pig.

“I remember,” says Stow, “that the officers charged with the oversight
of the markets in this city did divers times take from the market
people, pigs starved, or otherwise unwholesome for man’s sustenance;
these they did slit in the ear. One of the proctors for St. Anthony’s
(Hospital) tied a bell about the neck, (of one of them,) and let it feed
on the dunghills: no man would hurt or take it up; but if any gave to
them bread, or other feeding, such they (the pigs) would know, watch
for, and daily follow, whining till they had somewhat given them:
whereupon was raised a proverb, ‘_Such an one will follow such an one,
and whine as it were_ (like) _an Anthony pig_.’” If such a pig grew to
be fat, and came to good liking, (as oftentimes they did,) then the
proctor would take him up to the use of the hospital.

St. Anthony’s school in London, now gone to decay, was anciently
celebrated for the proficiency of its pupils. Stow relates, that, in his
youth, he annually saw, on the eve of St. Bartholomew, the scholars of
the different grammar-schools assembled in the churchyard of St.
Bartholomew, Smithfield, and then St. Anthony’s scholars commonly were
the best, and carried the prizes; and that when the boys of St. Paul’s
school met with those of St. Anthony’s, “they would call them St.
Anthony’s pigs, and they again would call the others pigeons of Paul’s;
because many pigeons were bred in Paul’s church, and St. Anthony was
always figured with a pig following him.”

The seal of St. Anthony’s Hospital in London was about the size of a
half-crown; it represented the saint preaching to a numerous
congregation, with his pig beneath him. The Rev. Mr. Orton, rector of
Raseby in Leicestershire, was supposed to have been its possessor by the
late Mr. S. Ayscough, who adds (in the Gent. Mag.) that the hospital of
St. Anthony had a grant of all the stray pigs which were not owned. He
presumes that, from thence, originated the emblem of the saint’s pig. In
this he seems to have been mistaken; it clearly did not originate in
England. Patrick’s solution of it is more probable, and very likely to
be correct.

St. Anthony is always represented by the old painters with a pig by his
side. He is so accompanied in the wood-cut to his life in the Golden
Legend. There are many prints of him, by early masters, in this way.
Rubens painted a fine picture of the Death of St. Anthony, with his pig,
or rather a large bacon hog, lying under the saint’s bed: there is a
good engraving from this picture by Clouwet.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the British Museum there is a MS. with a remarkable anecdote that
would form an appendix to St. Anthony’s day. The names of the parties
are forgotten; but the particulars, recollected from accidental perusal,
are these:

A tailor was met out of doors by a person who requested to be measured
for a suit of clothes, to be ready on that spot by that day week; and
the stranger gave him a piece of cloth to make them with. From certain
circumstances, the tailor suspected his new customer to be the devil,
and communicated his conjectures to a clergyman, who advised him to
execute the order, but carefully to save every piece, even the minutest
shred he cut from the cloth, and put the whole into a wrapper with the
clothes; he further promised the tailor to go with him on the appointed
day to the place where they were delivered. When all was ready and the
day arrived, they both went thither, and the person waiting justified
the tailor’s suspicions; for he abused the tailor because he brought a
divine, and immediately vanished in their presence, leaving the clothes
and pieces of cloth in the possession of the tailor, who could not sell
the devil’s cloth to pay himself for the making, for fear of the
consequences:

    And here ends the history
    Of this wonderful mystery;

from which may be drawn, by way of moral, that a tailor ought not to
take an order from a stranger without a reference.


~January 18.~

  _St. Peter’s Chair at Rome._ _St. Paul and Thirty-six Companions in
  Egypt._ _St. Prisca._ _St. Deicolus._ _St. Ulfrid._

The _Feast_ of St. Peter’s chair is kept by the Romish church on this
day. Lady Morgan says that it is one of the very few functions as they
are called (funzioni) celebrated in the cathedral of St. Peter, at Rome.
She briefly describes this celebration, and says something respecting
St. Peter’s chair. “The splendidly dressed troops that line the nave of
the cathedral, the variety and richness of vestments which clothe the
various church and lay dignitaries, abbots, priests, canons, prelates,
cardinals, doctors, dragoons, senators, and grenadiers, which march in
procession, complete, as they proceed up the vast space of this wondrous
temple, a spectacle nowhere to be equalled within the pale of European
civilisation. In the midst of swords and crosiers, of halberds and
crucifixes, surrounded by banners, and bending under the glittering
tiara of threefold power, appears the aged, feeble, and worn-out pope,
borne aloft on men’s shoulders, in a chair of crimson and gold, and
environed by slaves, (for such they look,) who waft, from plumes of
ostrich feathers mounted on ivory wands, a cooling gale, to refresh his
exhausted frame, too frail for the weight of such honours. All fall
prostrate, as he passes up the church to a small choir and throne,
temporarily erected beneath the chair of St. Peter. A solemn service is
then performed, hosannas arise, and royal votarists and diplomatic
devotees parade the church, with guards of honour and running footmen,
while English gentlemen and ladies mob and scramble, and crowd and
bribe, and fight their way to the best place they can obtain.

“At the extremity of the great nave behind the altar, and mounted upon a
tribune designed or ornamented by Michael Angelo, stands a sort of
throne, composed of precious materials, and supported by four gigantic
figures. A glory of seraphim, with groups of angels, sheds a brilliant
light upon its splendours. This throne enshrines the real, plain,
worm-eaten, wooden chair, on which St. Peter, the prince of the
apostles, is said to have pontificated; more precious than all the
bronze, gold, and gems, with which it is hidden, not only from impious,
but from holy eyes, and which once only, in the flight of ages, was
profaned by mortal inspection.

“The sacrilegious curiosity of the French broke through all obstacles to
their seeing the chair of St. Peter. They actually removed its superb
casket, and discovered the relic. Upon its mouldering and dusty surface
were traced carvings, which bore the appearance of letters. The chair
was quickly brought into a better light, the dust and cobwebs removed,
and the inscription (for an inscription it was) faithfully copied. The
writing is in Arabic characters, and is the well-known confession of
Mahometan faith,--‘_There is but one_ GOD, _and_ MAHOMET _is his
prophet_!’ It is supposed that this chair had been, among the spoils of
the crusaders, offered to the church at a time when a taste for
antiquarian lore, and the deciphering of inscriptions, were not yet in
fashion. This story has been since hushed up, the chair replaced, and
none but the unhallowed remember the fact, and none but the audacious
repeat it. Yet such there are, even at Rome!”


_St. Prisca._

This saint’s festival stands in the calendar of the church of England
this day, as well as in that of the Romish church. Nothing is certainly
known of her except that she was a Roman, and martyred about 275.


POWERFUL OPTICAL ILLUSION.

In the London journals of January, 1824, the following anecdote from a
Carlow paper bears the above title:--“A young lady, who died in this
town, had been some time previous to her death attended by a gentleman
of the medical profession. On the evening of her decease, as this
gentleman was sitting in company with a friend of his, and in the act of
taking a glass of punch, he imagined he saw the lady walking into the
room where himself and his friend were sitting, and, having but a few
hours before visited her, and found her in a dying state, the shock that
his nerves experienced was so great, that the glass which held the punch
fell from his hands, and he himself dropped on the floor in a fainting
fit. After he had perfectly recovered himself, and made inquiry about
the lady, it was ascertained that a few minutes before the time the
medical gentleman imagined he had seen her in his friend’s apartment,
she had departed this life.” Perhaps this vision may be illustrated by
others.


A SPECTRE.

The Editor of the _Every-Day Book_ now relates an appearance to himself.

One winter evening, in 1821, he was writing in a back room on an upper
floor of the house No. 45, Ludgate-hill, wherein he now resides. He had
been so closely engaged in that way and in reading during several
preceding days, that he had taken every meal alone, and in that room,
nor did he usually go to bed until two or three o’clock in the morning.
In the early part of the particular evening alluded to, his attention
had become wearied. After a doze he found himself refreshed, and was
writing when the chimes of St. Paul’s clock sounded a quarter to two:
long before that dead hour all the family had retired to rest, and the
house was silent. A few minutes afterwards he moved round his chair
towards the fire-place, and opposite to a large pane of glass which let
the light from the room into a closet otherwise dark, the door of which
opened upon the landing-place. His eye turning upon the glass pane, he
was amazed by the face of a man anxiously watching him from the closet,
with knit inquiring brows. The features were prominent and haggard, and,
though the look was somewhat ferocious, it indicated intense curiosity
towards the motions of the writer, rather than any purpose of immediate
mischief to him. The face seemed somewhat to recede with a quick motion
when he first saw it, but gazing on it with great earnestness it
appeared closer to the glass, looking at him for a moment, and then with
more eager anxiety bending its eyes on the writing-table, as though it
chiefly desired to be acquainted with the books and papers that lay upon
it. The writer shut and rubbed his eyes, and again the eyes of the face
were intently upon him; watching it, he grasped the candlestick, strode
hastily towards the room door, which is about two feet from the pane,
observed the face as hastily draw back, unlatched the closet door on the
landing, was in an instant within the closet, and there to his
astonishment found nothing. It was impossible that the person could have
escaped from the closet before his own foot was at its door, yet he
examined nearly every room in the house, until reflecting that it was
folly to seek for what, he was convinced, had no bodily existence, he
returned up stairs and went to bed, pondering on the recollection of the
spectre.


ANOTHER SPECTRE.

To the preceding narrative the Editor adds an account of a subsequent
apparition, which he saw, and for greater ease he writes it in the first
person, as follows:

In January, 1824, one, whose relationship commanded my affection, was
about to leave England with his family for a distant part of the world.
The day or two preceding his departure I passed with him and his wife
and children. Our separation was especially painful; my mind was
distressed, and I got little sleep. He had sailed from Gravesend about
three days, and a letter that he had promised to write from the Downs
had not arrived. On the evening of the 29th I retired late, and being
quite wearied slept till an unusually late hour the next morning,
without a consciousness of having dreamed, or being, as I found myself,
alone. With my head on the pillow I opened my eyes to an extraordinary
appearance. Against the wall on the opposite side of the room, and level
with my sight, the person, respecting whom I had been so anxious, lay a
corpse, extended at full length, as if resting on a table. A greyish
cloth covered the entire body except the face; the eyes were closed, the
countenance was cadaverous, the mouth elongated from the falling of the
jaws, and the lips were purpled. I shut my eyes, rubbed them and gently
raising my head continued to gaze on the body, till from weariness of
the attitude and exhausted spirits, I dropped on the pillow, and
insensibly sunk to sleep, for perhaps a quarter of an hour. On again
awaking, the spectre was not there. I then arose, and having mentioned
the circumstance to some of my family, caused a memorandum to be made of
what I had seen. In the course of the forenoon a person arrived who had
gone round with the vessel to the Downs, from whence he had been put
ashore the morning before, and saw the ship in full sail. He was the
bearer of the letter I had expected from the individual aboard, whose
appearance I had witnessed only a few hours previous to its being put
into my hands; it of course relieved no apprehension that might have
been excited by the recent spectre.

“That the dead are seen no more,” said Imlac, “I will not undertake to
maintain against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages and
of all nations. There is no people, rude or learned, among whom
apparitions of the dead are not related and believed. This opinion,
which, perhaps, prevails as far as human nature is diffused, could
become universal only by its truth; those, that never heard of one
another, would never have agreed in a tale which nothing but experience
can make credible. That it is doubted by single cavillers can very
little weaken the general evidence, and some who deny it with their
tongues confess it by their fears.”

No man is privileged to impugn the knowledge of existences which others
have derived from their experience; but he who sees, without assenting
to realities, audaciously rejects positive proof to himself, where
presumptive testimony would be satisfactory to most: he daringly
falsifies what he knows to be indubitably true, and secret convictions
belie the shameless hardihood of pretended incredulity. These, it is
presumed, would be the sentiments of the great author of Rasselas, upon
the expression of disbelief in him who had witnessed spectral
appearances; and yet the writer of these pages, with a personal
knowledge upon the subject, declines to admit that knowledge as good
evidence. He would say untruly were he to affirm, that when he saw the
corpse-like form, and for some time afterwards, he had no misgivings as
to the safety of his friend. It was not until a lapse of six months that
the vessel was reported to have touched at a certain port in good
condition, and this was followed by a letter from the individual
himself, wherein he affirmed his good health; he subsequently wrote,
that he and his family were at the place of their destination. This
spectral appearance therefore at Ludgate-hill, between eight and nine
o’clock of the morning on the 30th of January, was no indication of his
death, nor would it have been had he died about that time, although the
coincidence of the apparition and his decease would have been
remarkable. The case at Carlow only differs from the case at
Ludgate-hill by the decease of the lady having been coeval with her
spectral appearance to the gentleman who was depressed by her illness.
The face which the writer saw looking at him from a closet in the dead
of night was no likeness of any one he knew, and he saw each spectre
when his faculties had been forced beyond their healthful bearing. Under
these circumstances, his eyesight was not to be trusted, and he refuses
to admit it, although the spectres were so extraordinary, and appeared
under such circumstances that probably they will never be forgotten.

       *       *       *       *       *

Coupled with the incidents just related, the death of the king of Naples
in January 1825, which was first announced in the “_News_” Sunday paper
on the 16th of the month, recalls the recollection of a singular
circumstance in the bay of Naples. The fact and the facts preceding it
are related by Dr. Southey in his “Life of Nelson.” Having spoken of
Nelson’s attachment to lady Hamilton, and his weariness of the world,
Dr. Southey proceeds thus:--

“Well had it been for Nelson if he had made no other sacrifices to this
unhappy attachment than his peace of mind; but it led to the only blot
upon his public character. While he sailed from Palermo, with the
intention of collecting his whole force, and keeping off Maretimo,
either to receive reinforcements there, if the French were bound
upwards, or to hasten to Minorca, if that should be their destination,
capt. Foote, in the Seahorse, with the Neapolitan frigates and some
small vessels under his command, was left to act with a land force
consisting of a few regular troops, of four different nations, and with
the armed rabble which cardinal Ruffo called the Christian army. His
directions were to cooperate to the utmost of his power with royalists,
at whose head Ruffo had been placed, and he had no other instructions
whatever. Ruffo advancing without any plan, but relying upon the
enemy’s want of numbers, which prevented them from attempting to act
upon the offensive, and ready to take advantage of any accident which
might occur, approached Naples. Fort St. Elmo, which commands the town,
was wholly garrisoned by the French troops; the castles of Uovo and
Nuovo, which commanded the anchorage, were chiefly defended by
Neapolitan revolutionists, the powerful men among them having taken
shelter there. If these castles were taken, the reduction of Fort St.
Elmo would be greatly expedited. They were strong places, and there was
reason to apprehend that the French fleet might arrive to relieve them.
Ruffo proposed to the garrison to capitulate, on condition that their
persons and property should be guaranteed, and that they should, at
their own option, either be sent to Toulon, or remain at Naples, without
being molested either in their persons or families. This capitulation
was accepted: it was signed by the cardinal, and the Russian and Turkish
commanders; and, lastly, by capt. Foote, as commander of the British
force. About six and thirty hours afterwards Nelson arrived in the bay,
with a force which had joined him during his cruise, consisting of
seventeen sail of the line, with 1700 troops on board, and the prince
royal of Naples in the admiral’s ship. A flag of truce was flying on the
castles, and on board the Seahorse. Nelson made a signal to annul the
treaty; declaring that he would grant rebels no other terms than those
of unconditional submission. The cardinal objected to this: nor could
all the arguments of Nelson, sir W. Hamilton, and lady Hamilton, who
took an active part in the conference, convince him that a treaty of
such a nature, solemnly concluded, could honourably be set aside. He
retired at last, silenced by Nelson’s authority, but not convinced.
Capt. Foote was sent out of the bay; and the garrisons taken out of the
castles, under pretence of carrying the treaty into effect, were
delivered over as rebels to the vengeance of the Sicilian court.--A
deplorable transaction! a stain upon the memory of Nelson, and the
honour of England! To palliate it would be in vain; to justify it would
be wicked: there is no alternative, for one who will not make himself a
participator in guilt, but to record the disgraceful story with sorrow
and with shame.

“Prince Francesco Caraccioli, a younger branch of one of the noblest
Neapolitan families, escaped from one of these castles before it
capitulated. He was at the head of the marine, and was nearly seventy
years of age, bearing a high character both for professional and
personal merit. He had accompanied the court to Sicily; but when the
revolutionary government, or Parthenopæan republic, as it was called,
issued an edict, ordering all absent Neapolitans to return, on pain of
confiscation of their property, he solicited and obtained permission of
the king to return, his estates being very great. It is said that the
king, when he granted him this permission, warned him not to take any
part in politics; expressing, at the same time, his own persuasion that
he should recover his kingdom. But neither the king, nor he himself,
ought to have imagined that, in such times, a man of such reputation
would be permitted to remain inactive; and it soon appeared that
Caraccioli was again in command of the navy, and serving under the
republic against his late sovereign. The sailors reported that he was
forced to act thus: and this was believed, till it was seen that he
directed ably the offensive operations of the revolutionists, and did
not avail himself of opportunities for escaping when they offered. When
the recovery of Naples was evidently near, he applied to cardinal Ruffo,
and to the duke of Calvirrano, for protection; expressing his hope, that
the few days during which he had been forced to obey the French, would
not outweigh forty years of faithful services:--but, perhaps, not
receiving such assurances as he wished, and knowing too well the temper
of the Sicilian court, he endeavoured to secrete himself, and a price
was set upon his head. More unfortunately for others than for himself,
he was brought in alive, having been discovered in the disguise of a
peasant, and carried one morning on board lord Nelson’s ship, with his
hands tied behind him.

“Caraccioli was well known to the British officers, and had been ever
highly esteemed by all who knew him. Capt. Hardy ordered him immediately
to be unbound, and to be treated with all those attentions which he felt
due to a man who, when last on board the Foudroyant, had been received
as an admiral and a prince. Sir William and lady Hamilton were in the
ship; but Nelson, it is affirmed, saw no one, except his own officers,
during the tragedy which ensued. His own determination was made; and he
issued an order to the Neapolitan commodore, count Thurn, to assemble a
court-martial of Neapolitan officers, on board the British flag-ship,
proceed immediately to try the prisoner, and report to him, if the
charges were proved, what punishment he ought to suffer. These
proceedings were as rapid as possible; Caraccioli was brought on board
at nine in the forenoon, and the trial began at ten. It lasted two
hours; he averred, in his defence, that he acted under compulsion,
having been compelled to serve as a common soldier, till he consented to
take command of the fleet. This, the apologists of lord Nelson say, he
failed in proving. They forget that the possibility of proving it was
not allowed him; for he was brought to trial within an hour after he was
legally in arrest; and how, in that time, was he to collect his
witnesses? He was found guilty, and sentenced to death; and Nelson gave
orders that the sentence should be carried into effect that evening, at
five o’clock, on board the Sicilian frigate La Minerva, by hanging him
at the fore-yard-arm till sunset; when the body was to be cut down, and
thrown into the sea. Caraccioli requested lieutenant Parkinson, under
whose custody he was placed, to intercede with lord Nelson for a second
trial,--for this, among other reasons, that count Thurn, who presided at
the court-martial, was notoriously his personal enemy. Nelson made
answer, that the prisoner had been fairly tried by the officers of his
own country, and he could not interfere: forgetting that, if he felt
himself justified in ordering the trial and the execution, no human
being could ever have questioned the propriety of his interfering on the
side of mercy. Caraccioli then entreated that he might be shot.--‘I am
an old man, sir,’ said he: ‘I leave no family to lament me, and
therefore cannot be supposed to be very anxious about prolonging my
life; but the disgrace of being hanged is dreadful to me.’ When this was
repeated to Nelson, he only told the lieutenant, with much agitation, to
go and attend his duty. As a last hope, Caraccioli asked the lieutenant,
if he thought, an application to lady Hamilton would be beneficial?
Parkinson went to seek her. She was not to be seen on this
occasion,--but she was present at the execution. She had the most
devoted attachment to the Neapolitan court; and the hatred which she
felt against those whom she regarded as its enemies, made her, at this
time, forget what was due to the character of her sex, as well as of her
country. Here, also, a faithful historian is called upon to pronounce a
severe and unqualified condemnation of Nelson’s conduct. Had he the
authority of his Sicilian majesty for proceeding as he did? If so, why
was not that authority produced? If not, why were the proceedings
hurried on without it? Why was the trial precipitated, so that it was
impossible for the prisoner, if he had been innocent, to provide the
witnesses who might have proved him so? Why was a second trial refused,
when the known animosity of the president of the court against the
prisoner was considered? Why was the execution hastened, so as to
preclude any appeal for mercy, and render the prerogative of mercy
useless?--Doubtless, the British admiral seemed to himself to be acting
under a rigid sense of justice; but, to all other persons, it was
obvious, that he was influenced by an infatuated attachment--a baneful
passion, which destroyed his domestic happiness, and now, in a second
instance, stained ineffaceably his public character.

“The body was carried out to a considerable distance, and sunk in the
bay, with three double-headed shot, weighing 250 pounds, tied to its
legs. Between two and three weeks afterward, when the king was on board
the Foudroyant, a Neapolitan fisherman came to the ship, and solemnly
declared, that Caraccioli had risen from the bottom of the sea, and was
coming, as fast as he could, to Naples, swimming half out of the water.
Such an account was listened to like a tale of idle credulity. The day
being fair, Nelson, to please the king, stood out to sea; but the ship
had not proceeded far before a body was distinctly seen, upright in the
water, and approaching them. It was soon recognised to be, indeed, the
corpse of Caraccioli, which had risen, and floated, while the great
weights attached to the legs kept the body in a position like that of a
living man. A fact so extraordinary astonished the king, and perhaps
excited some feeling of superstitious fear, akin to regret. He gave
permission for the body to be taken on shore, and receive christian
burial.”

The late Dr. Clarke mentions in his “Travels,” that as he was “one day
leaning out of the cabin window, by the side of an officer who was
employed in fishing, the corpse of a man, newly sewed in a hammock,
started half out of the water, and continued its course, with the
current, towards the shore. Nothing could be more horrible: its head and
shoulders were visible, turning first to one side, then to the other,
with a solemn and awful movement, as if impressed with some dreadful
secret of the deep, which, from its watery grave, it came upwards to
reveal.” Dr. Ferriar observes, that “in a certain stage of putrefaction,
the bodies of persons which have been immersed in water, rise to the
surface, and in deep water are supported in an erect posture, to the
terror of uninstructed spectators. Menacing looks and gestures, and even
words, are supplied by the affrighted imagination, with infinite
facility, and referred to the horrible apparition.” This is perfectly
natural; and it is easy to imagine the excessive terror of extreme
ignorance at such appearances.


~January 19.~

  _Sts. Martha, Maris, Audifax, and Abachum._ _St. Canutus._ _St.
  Henry._ _St. Wulstan._ _St. Blaithmaie._ _St. Lomer._


_Sts. Martha, Maris, &c._

St. Martha was married to St. Maris, and with their sons, Sts. Audifax
and Abachum, were put to death under Aurelian (A. D. 270.) Butler says,
that their relics were found at Rome, in 1590, one thousand three
hundred and twenty years afterwards.


DEDICATION OF FLOWERS.

The monks, or the observers of monkish rules, have compiled a Catalogue
of Flowers for each day in the year, and dedicated each flower to a
particular saint, on account of its flowering about the time of the
saint’s festival. Such appropriations are a _Floral Directory_
throughout the year, and will be inserted under the succeeding days.
Those which belong to this and the eighteen preceding days in January
are in the following list:--

JANUARY.

  1st. _St. Faine._ NEW YEAR’S DAY.
  Laurustine. _Viburnum Tinus._

  2d. _St. Macarius._
  Groundsel. _Senecio vulgaris._

  3d. _St. Genevieve._
  Persian Fleur-de-lis. _Iris Persica._

  4th. _St. Titus._
  Hazel. _Corylus avellana._

  5th. _St. Simeon Stylites._
  Bearsfoot. _Helleborus fœtidus._

  6th. _St. Nilammon._
  Screw Moss. _Tortula rigida._

  7th. _St. Kentigern._
  Portugal Laurel. _Prunus Lusitanica._

  8th. _St. Gudula._
  Yellow Tremella. _Tremella deliquescens._

  9th. _St. Marciana._
  Common Laurel. _Prunus Laurocerasus._

  10th. _St. William._
  Gorse. _Ulex Europæas._

  11th. _St. Theodosius._
  Early Moss. _Bryum horæum._

  12th. _St. Arcadius._
  Hygrometic Moss. _Funaria hygrometica._

  13th. _St. Veronica._
  Yew Tree. _Taxus baccata._

  14th. _St. Hilary._
  Barren Strawberry. _Fragaria sterilis._

  15th. _St. Paul the Hermit._
  Ivy. _Hedera helix._

  16th. _St. Marcellus._
  Common Dead Nettle. _Larnium purpureum._

  17th. _St. Anthony._
  Garden Anemone. _Anemone hortensis._

  18th. _St. Prisca._
  Four-toothed Moss. _Bryum pellucidum._

  19th. _St. Martha._
  White Dead Nettle. _Larnium album._


THE GARDEN.

In the “Flora Domestica” there is a beautiful quotation from Cowley, in
proof that the emperor Dioclesian preferred his garden to a throne:

      Methinks I see great Dioclesian walk
    In the Salonian garden’s noble shade,
    Which by his own imperial hands was made
      I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk
    With the ambassadors, who come in vain
    T’entice him to a throne again.
    “If I, my friends,” said he, “should to you show
    All the delights which in these gardens grow,
    ’Tis likelier far that you with me should stay,
    Than ’tis that you should carry me away;
    And trust me not, my friends, if, every day,
    I walk not here with more delight,
    Than ever, after the most happy fight,
    In triumph to the capitol I rode,
    To thank the gods, and to be thought myself almost a god.”

To the author of the “Flora Domestica,” and to the reader who may not
have seen a volume so acceptable to the cultivator of flowers, it would
be injustice to extract from its pages without remarking its usefulness,
and elegance of composition. Lamenting that “plants often meet with an
untimely death from the ignorance of their nurses,” the amiable author
“resolved to obtain and to communicate such information as should be
requisite for the rearing and preserving a _portable garden_ in
pots;--and henceforward the death of any plant, owing to the
carelessness or ignorance of its nurse, shall be brought in at the best
as _plant-slaughter_.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The cultivation of plants commences with our infancy. If estranged from
it by the pursuits of active life, yet, during a few years’ retirement
from the “great hum” of a noisy world, we naturally recur to a garden as
to an old and cheerful friend whom we had forgotten or neglected, and
verify the saying, “once a man, and twice a child.” There is not “one of
woman born” without a sense of pleasure when she sees buds bursting into
leaf; earth yielding green shoots from germs in its warm bosom; white
fruit-blossoms, tinted with rose-blushes, standing out in clumps from
slender branches; flowers courting the look by their varied loveliness,
and the smell by their delicacy; large juicy apples bowing down the
almost tendril-shoots wherefrom they miraculously spring; plants of
giant growth with multiform shrubs beyond, and holly-hocks towering like
painted pinnacles from hidden shrines:

    ------------- Can imagination boast,
    ’Mid all its gay creation, _charms_ like these?

Dr. Forster, the scientific author of a treatise on “Atmospheric
Phenomena,” and other valuable works, has included numerous useful
observations on the weather in his recently published “Perennial
Calendar,” a volume replete with instruction and entertainment. He
observes, in the latter work, that after certain atmospheric appearances
on this day in the year 1809, “a hard and freezing shower of hail and
sleet came with considerable violence from the east, and glazed every
thing on which it fell with ice; it incrusted the walls, encased the
trees and the garments of people, and even the plumage of birds, so that
many rooks and other fowls were found lying on the ground, stiff with an
encasement of ice. Such weather,” Dr. Forster observes, “has been aptly
described by Philips as occurring oftentimes during a northern
winter:--

    Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,
    Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow,
    At evening a keen eastern breeze arose,
    And the descending rain unsullied froze.
    Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
    The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view
    The face of Nature in a rich disguise,
    And brightened every object to my eyes;
    For every shrub, and every blade of grass,
    And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass,
    In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show,
    While through the ice the crimson berries glow,
    The thick-sprung reeds the watery marshes yield
    Seem polished lances in a hostile field.
    The stag in limpid currents, with surprise,
    Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise.
    The spreading oak, the beech, and tow’ring pine,
    Glaz’d over, in the freezing ether shine.
    The frighted birds the rattling branches shun,
    That wave and glitter in the distant sun.
    When, if a sudden gust of wind arise,
    The brittle forest into atoms flies;
    The cracking wood beneath the tempest bends,
    And in a spangled shower the prospect ends.

  _Philips, Lett. from Copenhagen._

“It may be observed, that in both the above descriptions of similar
phenomena, the east wind is recorded as bringing up the storm. There is
something very remarkably unwholesome in east winds and a change to that
quarter often disturbs the nervous system and digestive organs of many
persons, causing head-aches, fevers, and other disorders. Moreover, a
good astronomical observation cannot be made when the wind is east: the
star seems to oscillate or dance about in the field of the telescope.”

In the truth of these observations as regards health, he who writes this
is unhappily qualified to concur from experience; and were it in his
power, would ever shun the _north-east_ as his most fearful enemy.

    Sir, the north-east, more fierce than Russian cold,
    Pierces the very marrow in the bones,
    Presses upon the brain an arid weight,
    And superflows life’s current with a force
    That checks the heart, and soul, and mind, and strength,
    In all their purposes.----
      Up with the double window-sashes--quick!
    Close every crevice from the withering blast,
    And stop the keyhole tight--the wind-fiend comes!

  *


~January 20.~

  _St. Fabian_, Pope. _St. Sebastian._ _St. Enthymius._ _St. Fechin._


_St. Fabian._

This saint is in the church of England calendar; he was bishop of Rome,
A. D. 250: the Romish calendar calls him pope.


_St. Sebastian’s Day_

Is noted in Doblada’s Letters from Spain, as within the period that
ushers in the carnival with rompings in the streets, and vulgar mirth.

“The custom alluded to by Horace of sticking a tail, is still practised
by the boys in the streets, to the great annoyance of old ladies, who
are generally the objects of this sport. One of the ragged striplings
that wander in crowds about Seville, having tagged a piece of paper with
a hooked pin, and stolen unperceived behind some slow-paced female, as
wrapt up in her veil, she tells the beads she carries in her left hand,
fastens the paper-tail on the back of the black or walking petticoat
called Saya. The whole gang of ragamuffins, who, at a convenient
distance, have watched the dexterity of their companion, set up a loud
cry of ‘Làrgalo, làrgalo’--‘Drop it, drop it’--this makes every female
in the street look to the rear, which, they well know, is the fixed
point of attack with the merry light-troops. The alarm continues till
some friendly hand relieves the victim of sport, who, spinning and
nodding like a spent top, tries in vain to catch a glance at the
fast-pinned paper, unmindful of the physical law which forbids her head
revolving faster than the great orbit on which the ominous comet flies.”


ST. AGNES’ EVE

Formerly this was a night of great import to maidens who desired to know
who they should marry. Of such it was required, that they should not eat
on this day, and those who conformed to the rule, called it fasting St.
Agnes’ fast.

    And on sweet St. Agnes’ night
    Please you with the promis’d sight,
    Some of husbands, some of lovers,
    Which an empty dream discovers.

  BEN JONSON.

Old Aubrey has a recipe, whereby a lad or lass was to attain a sight of
the fortunate lover. “Upon St. Agnes’ night you take a row of pins, and
pull out every one, one after another, saying a Pater Noster, sticking a
pin in your sleeve, and you will dream of him or her you shall marry.”

Little is remembered of these homely methods for knowing “all about
sweethearts,” and the custom would scarcely have reached the greater
number of readers, if one of the sweetest of our modern poets had not
preserved its recollection in a delightful poem. Some stanzas are culled
from it, with the hope that they may be read by a few to whom the poetry
of Keats is unknown, and awaken a desire for further acquaintance with
his beauties:--

_The Eve of St. Agnes._

        St. Agnes’ Eve? Ah, bitter chill it was!
        The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
        The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,
        And silent was the flock in woolly fold.

           *       *       *       *       *

        They told her how, upon St. Agnes’ Eve,
        Young virgins might have visions of delight,
        And soft adorings from their loves receive
        Upon the honey’d middle of the night,
        If ceremonies due they did aright;
        As, supperless to bed they must retire,
        And couch supine their beauties, lily white;
        Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
    Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.

           *       *       *       *       *

        Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline

           *       *       *       *       *

        Out went the taper as she hurried in;
        Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:
        She clos’d the door, she panted, all akin
        To spirits of the air, and visions wide
        No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
        But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
        Paining with eloquence her balmy side;
        As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
    Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.

        A casement high and triple arch’d there was,
        All garlanded with carven imag’ries
        Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot grass,
        And diamonded with panes of quaint device
        Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,
        As are the tiger-moth’s deep damask’d wings;
        And in the midst, ’<DW41> thousand heraldries,
        And twilight saints, with dim emblazonings,
    A shielded ’scutcheon blush’d with blood of queens and kings,

        Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,
        And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast,
        As down she knelt for Heaven’s grace and boon;
        Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
        And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
        And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
        She seem’d a splendid angel, newly drest,
        Save wings, for Heaven:--

           *       *       *       *       *

        ---------------------------- Her vespers done
        Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;
        Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
        Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees
        Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees
        Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,
        Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,
        In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,
    But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.

        Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
        In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex’d she lay,
        Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress’d
        Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;
        Flown, like a thought, until the morrow day;
        Blissfully haven’d both from joy and pain;
        Clasp’d like a missal where swart Paynims pray;
        Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,
    As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

        Stol’n to this paradise, and so extranced,
        Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,
        And listened to her breathing.---------
        ------------------- Shaded was her dream
        By the dusk curtains:--’twas a midnight charm
        Impossible to melt as iced stream:--

           *       *       *       *       *

        He took her hollow lute,--
        Tumultuous,--and, in chords that tenderest be,
        He play’d an ancient ditty, long since mute,
        In Provence call’d, “La belle dame sans mercy:”
        Close to her ear touching the melody;--
        Wherewith disturb’d, she utter’d a soft moan:
        He ceas’d--she panted quick--and suddenly
        Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:
    Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.

        Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,
        Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:
        There was a painful change, that nigh expell’d
        The blisses of her dream so pure and deep,
        At which fair Madeline began to weep,
        And moan forth witless words with many a sigh,
        While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep;
        Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye,
    Fearing to move or speak, she look’d so dreamingly.

        “Ah, Porphyro!” said she, “but even now
        “Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,
        “Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;
        “And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:
        “How chang’d thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear
        “Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,
        “Those looks immortal, those complainings dear?
        “Oh, leave me not in this eternal woe,
    “For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go.”

        Beyond a mortal man impassion’d far
        At these voluptuous accents, he arose,
        Ethereal, flush’d, and like a throbbing star,
        Seen ’mid the sapphire heaven’s deep repose,
        Into her dream he melted, as the rose
        Blendeth its odour with the violet,--
        Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows
        Like Love’s alarum pattering the sharp sleet
    Against the window-panes.

           *       *       *       *       *

        “Hark! ’tis an elfin-storm from faery land,
        “Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:
        “Arise--arise! the morning is at hand;--
        “Let us away, my love, with happy speed.--”

           *       *       *       *       *

        And they are gone: ay, ages long ago
        These lovers fled away into the storm.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  _St. Fabian_
  Large Dead Nettle. _Larnium garganicum._

[Illustration]


~Aquarius,~

OR, THE WATER BEARER.

The sun enters Aquarius on this day, though he does not enter it in the
visible zodiac until the 18th of February.

Ganymede, who succeeded Hebe as cup-bearer to Jove, is fabled to have
been changed into Aquarius. Canobus of the Egyptian zodiac, who was the
Neptune of the Egyptians, with a water-vase and measure, evidently
prefigured this constellation. They worshipped him as the God of many
breasts, from whence he replenished the Nile with fertilizing streams.
Aquarius contains one hundred and eight stars, the two chief of which
are about fifteen degrees in height:

    His head, his shoulders, and his lucid breast,
    Glisten with stars; and when his urn inclines,
    Rivers of light brighten the watery track.

  _Eudosia._


~January 21.~

  _St. Agnes._ _St Fructuosus, &c._ _St. Vimin, or Vivian._ _St.
  Publius._ _St. Epiphanius._


_St. Agnes._

“She has always been looked upon,” says Butler, “as a special patroness
of purity, with the immaculate mother of God.” According to him, she
suffered martyrdom, about 304, and performed wonderful miracles before
her death, which was by beheading, when she was thirteen years old;
whereupon he enjoins females to a single life, as better than a married
one, and says, that her anniversary “was formerly a holiday for the
women in England.” Ribadeneira relates, that she was to have been
burned, and was put into the fire for that purpose, but the flames,
refusing to touch her, divided on each side, burnt some of the
bystanders, and then quenched, as if there had been none made: a
compassionate quality in fire, of which iron was not sensible, for her
head was cut off at a single blow. Her legend further relates, that
eight days after her death she came to her parents arrayed in white,
attended by virgins with garlands of pearls, and a lamb whiter than
snow; she is therefore usually represented by artists with a lamb by her
side; though not, as Mr. Brand incautiously says, “in _every_ graphic
representation.” It is further related, that a priest who officiated in
a church dedicated to St. Agnes, was very desirous of being married. He
prayed the pope’s license, who gave it him, together with an emerald
ring, and commanded him to pay his addresses to the image of St. Agnes
in his own church. Then the priest did so, and the image put forth her
finger, and he put the ring thereon; whereupon the image drew her finger
again, and kept the ring fast, and the priest was contented to remain a
bachelor; “and yet, as it is sayd, the rynge is on the fynger of the
ymage.”

       *       *       *       *       *

In a Romish Missal printed at Paris, in 1520, there is a prayer to St.
Agnes, remarkably presumptive of her powers; it is thus englished by Bp.
Patrick:

    Agnes, who art the Lamb’s chaste spouse,
      Enlighten thou our minds within;
    Not only lop the spreading boughs.
      But root out of us every sin.

    O, Lady, singularly great,
      After this state, with grief opprest
    Translate us to that quiet seat
      Above, to triumph with the blest.

       *       *       *       *       *

From Naogeorgus, we gather that in St. Agnes’ church at Rome, it was
customary on St. Agnes’ Day to bring two snow-white lambs to the altar,
upon which they were laid while the Agnus was singing by way of
offering. These consecrated animals were afterwards shorn, and palls
made from their fleeces; for each of which, it is said, the pope exacted
of the bishops from eight to ten, or thirty thousand crowns, and that
the custom originated with Limes, who succeeded the apostle Peter:
whereupon Naogeorgus inquires,

    But where was _Agnes_ at that time? who offred up, and how,
    The two white lambes? where then was Masse, as it is used now?
    Yea, where was then the Popish state, and dreadfull monarchee?
    Sure in Saint Austen’s time, there were no palles at Rome to see,
         &c.

In Jephson’s “Manners, &c. of France and Italy,” there is one dated from
Rome, February, 14, 1793. That this ceremony was then in use, is evident
from the following lines:--

_St. Agnes’ Shrine._

    Where each pretty _Ba_-lamb most gaily appears,
    With ribands stuck round on its tail and its ears;
    On gold fringed cushions they’re stretch’d out to eat,
    And piously _ba_, and to church-musick bleat;
    Yet to me they seem’d crying, alack, and alas!
    What’s all this white damask to daisies and grass?
    Then they’re brought to the Pope, and with transport they’re kiss’d,
    And receive consecration from Sanctity’s fist.


_Blessing of Sheep._

Stopford, in “Pagano-Papismus,” recites this ceremony of the Romish
church. The sheep were brought into the church, and the priest, having
blessed some salt and water, read in one corner this gospel, “To us a
child is born,” &c. with the whole office, a farthing being laid upon
the book, and taken up again; in the second corner he read this gospel,
“Ye men of Galilee,” &c. with the whole office, a farthing being laid
upon the book, and taken up again; in the third corner he read this
gospel, “I am the good shepherd,” &c. with the whole office, a farthing
being laid upon the book, and taken up again; and in the fourth corner
he read this gospel, “In these days,” &c. with the whole office, a
farthing being laid upon the book, and taken up again. After that, he
sprinkled all the sheep with holy water, saying, “Let the blessing of
God, the Father Almighty, descend and remain upon you; in the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Then he signed
all the sheep with the sign of the cross, repeated thrice some Latin
verses, with the Paternoster and Ave-Marias, sung the mass of the Holy
Ghost, and at the conclusion, an offering of fourpence was for himself,
and another of threepence was for the poor. This ceremony was adopted by
the Romish church from certain customs of the ancient Romans, in their
worship of Pales, the goddess of sheepfolds and pastures. They prayed
her to bless the sheep, and sprinkled them with water. The chief
difference between the forms seems to have consisted in this, that the
ancient Romans let the sheep remain in their folds, while the moderns
drove them into the church.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  _St. Agnes._
  Christmas Rose. _Helleborus niger flore albo._

THE CROCUS.

        Dainty young thing
    Of life!--Thou vent’rous flower,
    Who growest through the hard, cold bower
        Of wintry Spring:--

        Thou various-hued,
    Soft, voiceless bell, whose spire
    Rocks in the grassy leaves like wire
        In solitude:--

        Like Patience, thou
    Art quiet in thy earth.
    Instructing Hope that Virtue’s birth
        Is Feeling’s vow.

        Thy fancied bride!
    The delicate Snowdrop, keeps
    Her home with thee; she wakes and sleeps
        Near thy true side.

        Will Man but hear!
    A simple flower can tell
    What beauties in his mind, should dwell
        Through Passion’s sphere.

  _J. R. Prior._


CHRONOLOGY.

1793. On the 21st of January, Louis XVI. was beheaded at Paris, in the
thirty-ninth year of his age, and nineteenth of his reign, under
circumstances which are in the recollection of many, and known to most
persons. A similar instrument to the _guillotine_, the machine by which
Louis XVI. was put to death, was formerly used in England. It was first
introduced into France, during the revolution, by Dr. Guillotine, a
physician, and hence its name.


THE HALIFAX GIBBET AND GIBBET-LAW.

The History of Halifax in Yorkshire, 12mo. 1712, sets forth “a true
account of their ancient, odd, customary gibbet-law; and their
particular form of trying and executing of criminals, the like not us’d
in any other place in Great Britain.” The Halifax gibbet was in the form
of the guillotine, and its gibbet-law quite as remarkable. The work
referred to, which is more curious than rare, painfully endeavours to
prove this law wise and salutary. It prevailed only within the forest of
Hardwick, which was subject to the lord of the manor of Wakefield, a
part of the duchy of Lancaster. If a felon were taken within the liberty
of the forest with cloth, or other commodity, of the value of
thirteen-pence halfpenny, he was, after three market-days from his
apprehension and condemnation, to be carried to the gibbet, and there
have his head cut off from his body. When first taken, he was brought to
the lord’s bailiff in Halifax, who kept the town, had also the keeping
of the axe, and was the executioner at the gibbet. This officer summoned
a jury of frith-burghers to try him on the evidence of witnesses not
upon oath: if acquitted, he was set at liberty, upon payment of his
fees; if convicted, he was set in the stocks on each of the three
subsequent market-days in Halifax, with the stolen goods on his back, if
they were portable; if not, they were placed before his face. This was
for a terror to others, and to engage any who had aught against him, to
bring accusations, although after the three market-days he was sure to
be executed for the offence already proved upon him. But the convict had
the satisfaction of knowing, that after he was put to death, it was the
duty of the coroner to summon a jury, “and sometimes the same jury that
condemned him,” to inquire into the cause of his death, and that a
return thereof would be made into the Crown-office; “which gracious and
sage proceedings of the coroner in that matter ought, one would think,
to abate, in all considering minds, that edge of acrimony which hath
provoked malicious and prejudiced persons to debase this laudable and
necessary custom.” So says the book. In April, 1650, Abraham Wilkinson
and Anthony Mitchell were found guilty of stealing nine yards of cloth
and two colts, and on the 30th of the month received sentence, “to
suffer death, by having their heads severed and cut off from their
bodies at Halifax gibbet,” and they suffered accordingly. These were the
last persons executed under Halifax gibbet-law.

The execution was in this manner:--The prisoner being brought to the
scaffold by the bailiff, the axe was drawn up by a pulley, and fastened
with a pin to the side of the scaffold. “The bailiff, the jurors, and
the minister chosen by the prisoner, being always upon the scaffold with
the prisoner, in most solemn manner, after the minister had finished his
ministerial office and christian duty, if it was a horse, an ox, or cow,
&c. that was taken with the prisoner, it was thither brought along with
him to the place of execution, and fastened by a cord to the pin that
stay’d the block, so that when the time of the execution came, (which
was known by the jurors holding up one of their hands,) the bailiff, or
his servant, whipping the beast, the pin was pluck’d out, and execution
done; but if there were no beast in the case, then the bailiff, or his
servant, cut the rope.”

[Illustration: ~The Halifax Gibbet.~]

But if the felon, after his apprehension, or in his going to execution,
happened to make his escape out of the forest of Hardwick, which
liberty, on the east end of the town, doth not extend above the breadth
of a small river; on the north about six hundred paces; on the south
about a mile; but on the west about ten miles;--if such an escape were
made, then the bailiff of Halifax had no power to apprehend him out of
his liberty; but if ever the felon came again into the liberty of
Hardwick, and were taken, he was certainly executed. One Lacy, who made
his escape, and lived seven years out of the liberty, after that time
coming boldly within the liberty of Hardwick, was retaken, and executed
upon his former verdict of condemnation.

The records of executions by the Halifax gibbet, before the time of
Elizabeth, are lost; but during her reign twenty-five persons suffered
under it, and from 1623 to 1650 there were twelve executions. The
machine is destroyed. The engraving placed above, represents the
instrument, from a figure of it in an old map of Yorkshire, which is
altogether better than the print of it in the work before cited.

       *       *       *       *       *

The worthy author of the Halifax gibbet-book seems by his title to be
well assured, that the machine was limited to, and to the sole use and
behoof of, his district; but in this, as in some other particulars, he
is mistaken.

A small print by Aldegraver, one of the little German masters, in 1553,
now lying before the writer, represents the execution of Manlius, the
Roman, by the same instrument; and he has a similar print by Pens, an
early engraver of that school. There are engravings of it in books
printed so early as 1510. In Hollinshed’s Chronicle there is a cut of a
man who had attempted the life of Henry III. suffering by this
instrument. In Fox’s “Acts and Monuments,” there is another execution in
the same manner.

The “maiden” by which James, earl of Morton, the regent of Scotland, was
put to death for high treason in 1581, was of this form, and is said to
have been constructed by his order from a model of one that he had seen
in England: he was the first and last person who suffered by it in
Scotland; and it still exists in the parliament-house at Edinburgh. In
“The Cloud of Witnesses; or the last Speeches of Scottish Martyrs since
1680,” there is a print of an execution in Scotland by a similar
instrument. The construction of such a machine was in contemplation for
the beheading of lord Lovat in 1747: he approved the notion--“My neck is
very short,” he said, “and the executioner will be puzzled to find it
out with his axe: if they make the machine, I suppose they will call it
lord Lovat’s maiden.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Randle Holme in his “Armory” describes an heraldic quartering thus:--“He
beareth _gules_, a heading-block fixed between two supporters, with an
axe placed therein; on the _sinister_ side a maule, all _proper_.” This
agreeable bearing he figures as the reader sees it.

[Illustration]

Holme observes, that “this was the Jews’ and Romans’ way of beheading
offenders, as some write, though others say they used to cut off the
heads of such, with a sharp, two-handed sword: however, this way of
decollation was by laying the neck of the malefactor on the block, and
then setting the axe upon it, which lay in a rigget in the two
side-posts or supporters; the executioner with the violence of a blow
on the head of the axe, with his heavy maul, forced it through the man’s
neck into the block. I have seen the draught of the like
heading-instrument, where the weighty axe (made heavy for that purpose)
was raised up and fell down in such a riggetted frame, which being
suddenly let to fall, the weight of it was sufficient to cut off a man’s
head at one blow.”


THE SEASON.

Remarkable instances of the mildness of January, 1825, are recorded in
the provincial and London journals. In the first week a man planting a
hedge near Mansfield, in Yorkshire, found a blackbird’s nest with four
young ones in it. The Westmoreland Gazette states, that on the 13th a
fine ripe strawberry was gathered in the garden of Mr. W. Whitehead,
Storth End, near End-Moor, and about the same time a present of the same
fruit was made by Thomas Wilson, Esq. Thorns, Underbarrow, to Mr.
Alderman Smith Wilson, some of them larger in bulk than the common
hazel-nut. Indeed the forwardness of the season in the north appears
wonderful. It is stated in the Glasgow Chronicle of the 11th, that on
the 7th, bees were flying about in the garden of Rose-mount; on the 9th,
the sky was without a cloud; there was scarcely a breath of wind, the
blackbirds were singing as if welcoming the spring; pastures wore a
fine, fresh, and healthy appearance; the wheat-braird was strong, thick
in the ground, and nearly covering the soil; vegetation going on in the
gardens; the usual spring flowers making their appearance; the Christmas
rose, the snowdrop, the polyanthea, the single or border anemone, the
hepatica in its varieties, and the mazerion were in full bloom; the
Narcissus making its appearance, and the crocusses showing colour. On
the 11th, at six o’clock, the thermometer in Nelson-street, Glasgow,
indicated 44 degrees; on the 9th, the barometer gained the extraordinary
height of 31·01; on the 11th, it was at 30·8. The Sheffield Mercury
represents, that within six or seven weeks preceding the middle of the
month, the barometer had been lower and higher than had been remarked by
any living individual in that town. On the 23d of November it was so low
as 27·5; and on the 9th of January at 11 P. M. it stood at 30·65. In the
same place the following meteorological observations were made:

JANUARY, 1825.

THERMOMETER.

  TEN O’CLOCK   A. M.     DO. P. M.
  11th           42            38
  12th           43            37
  13th           44            40
  14th           44            43

BAROMETER.

  TEN O’CLOCK   A. M.     DO. P. M.
  11th          30·4          30·3
  12th          30·3          30·2
  13th          30·5          29·9
  14th          29·5          29·7

At Paris, in the latter end of 1824, the barometer was exceedingly high,
considering the bad weather that had prevailed, and the moisture of the
atmosphere. There had been almost constant and incessant rain. The few
intervals of fair weather, were when the wind got round a few points to
the west, or the northward of west: but invariably, a few hours after,
the wind again got to the southwest, and the rain commenced falling. It
appeared as if a revolution had taken place in the laws of the
barometer. The barometer in London was at 30·48 in May, 1824, and never
rose higher during the whole year.


~January 22.~

  _St. Vincent._ _St. Anastasius._

St. Vincent was a Spanish martyr, said to have been tormented by fire,
so that he died in 304. His name is in the church of England calendar.
Butler affirms that his body was “thrown in a marshy field among rushes,
but a crow defended it from wild beasts and birds of prey.” The Golden
Legend says that angels had the guardianship of the body, that the crow
attended to drive away birds and fowls greater than himself, and that
after he had chased a wolf with his bill and beak, he then turned his
head towards the body, as if he marvelled at the keeping of it by the
angels. His relics necessarily worked miracles wherever they were kept.
For their collection, separation, and how they travelled from place to
place, see Butler.

Brand, from a MS. note by Mr. Douce, referring to Scot’s “Discoverie of
Witchcraft,” cites an old injunction to observe whether the sun shines
on St. Vincent’s-day:

    “Vincenti festo si Sol radiet memor este.”

It is thus done into English by Abraham Fleming:

    Remember on St. Vincent’s day
    If that the sun his beams display

Dr. Forster, in the “Perennial Calendar,” is at a loss for the origin of
the command, but he thinks it may have been derived from a notion that
the sun would not shine unominously on the day whereon the saint was
burnt.


CHRONOLOGY.

1800.--On the 22d of January, in this year, died George Steevens, Esq.
F. R. S. F. A. S. He was born at Stepney, in 1751 or 1752, and is best
known as the editor of Shakspeare, though to the versatility and
richness of his talents there are numerous testimonials. He maintained
the greatest perseverance in every thing he undertook. He never relaxed,
but sometimes broke off favourite habits of long indulgence suddenly. In
this way he discontinued his daily visits to two booksellers. This, says
his biographer in the Gentleman’s Magazine, he did “after many years’
regular attendance, for no real cause.” It is submitted, however, that
the cause, though unknown to others may have been every way sufficing
and praiseworthy. He who has commenced a practice that has grown into a
destroyer of his time and desires to end it, must snap it in an instant.
If he strive to abate it by degrees, he will find himself relaxing by
degrees.

“Delusions strong as hell will bind him fast,” unless he achieve, not
the determination to destroy, but the act of destruction. The will and
the power are two. Steevens knew this, and though he had taken snuff all
his life, he never took one pinch after he lost his box in St. Paul’s
church-yard. Had he taken one he might have taken one more, and then
only another, and afterwards only a little bit in a paper, and then, he
would have died as he lived--a snuff-taker. No; Steevens appears to have
discovered the grand secret, that a man’s self is the great enemy of
himself, and hence his intolerance of self-indulgence even in degree.

His literary collections were remarkably curious, and as regards the
days that are gone, of great value.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  _St. Vincent._
  Early Witlow grass. _Draba verna._


~January 23.~

  HILARY TERM _begins_.

  _St. Raymund_ of Pennafort, A. D. 1275. _St. John_ the Almoner, A. D.
  619. _St. Emerentia_, A. D. 304. _St. Clement_ of Ancyra. _St.
  Agathangelus._ _St. Ildefonsus_, A. D. 667. _St. Eusebius_, Abbot.

This being the first day of term, the judges of the different courts at
Westminster, take their seats in Westminster-hall to commence business.

The engraving represents the interior of the hall at the time when the
print from whence it is taken was engraved by C. Mosley. The drawing was
by Gravelot, who died in 1773.


[Illustration: ~Westminster Hall, with its Shops.~]

The shops within the hall are remarkably curious from their situation,
and indeed the courts themselves are no less worthy of observation. It
will be recollected that the court of Chancery and the court of King’s
Bench, at the upper end were, until the coronation, enclosed from sight
and hearing; in the print they are open. This is the print alluded to in
the volume on “Ancient Mysteries,” p. 266, wherein is cited Ned Ward’s
remarks respecting the sempstresses, by whom some of these shops were
occupied.

It is of ancient custom on the first day of term for the judges to
breakfast with the lord chancellor in Lincoln’s-inn-hall, and proceed
with him in their respective carriages to Westminster-hall. Being
arrived at the hall door in Palace-yard, and having alighted with their
officers and train bearers, they formed a procession along the hall
until they came opposite to the court of Common Pleas, before which
stood the serjeants at law, who had previously arranged themselves in
their full dress wigs and gowns, and awaited the coming of the judges,
who were also in their full dress. Then the serjeants all bowed, and
their obeisance being acknowledged by the judges in like manner, the
lord chancellor, being first, approached the first serjeant in the rank,
and shook hands with him, saying, “How d’ye do, brother? I wish you a
good term;” whereupon the serjeant bowed and thanked his lordship, and
the chancellor bowing to him, the serjeant again bowed; and the
chancellor saluted and shook hands with the next serjeant in like
manner, and so he did with each serjeant present, and then proceeded
with his officers to his court. The lord chief justice of England and
each of the puisne judges of the court of King’s Bench, saluting and
shaking hands with each serjeant in the same manner, followed the
chancellor and went into their court. In the same manner also did the
chief justice and puisne judges of the court of Common Pleas, and
entered their court at the back of the serjeants. Lastly, the lord chief
baron and the puisne barons of the Exchequer, having also so saluted the
serjeants, returned back and entered the court of Exchequer, which is at
the right hand immediately on entering the hall; the entrance to the
court of Common Pleas being about midway on the same side of the hall,
whither, on the barons having retired, the serjeants withdrew to
commence business before the judges. The site of the court of Chancery
is on the same side up the steps at the end of the hall, and that of the
court of King’s Bench level with it on the left-hand side. It is to be
noted, that one judge does not salute the serjeants before the rest of
the judges begin to salute them, but each follows the other. Thus whilst
the chancellor is saluting the second serjeant the lord chief justice
salutes the first, and he salutes the second while the chancellor
salutes the third, the next judge of the King’s Bench court saluting the
first serjeant; and so the judges proceed successively, and close to
each other, till all the serjeants have been saluted. It is further
observable, that more extended greetings sometimes pass between the
judges and serjeants who are intimate.

In 1825, the 23d of January, whereon Hilary term commences, happening on
a Sunday, which is a _dies non_, or no day in law, the courts were
opened on the 24th, when the judges refreshed themselves in
Lincoln’s-inn-hall with the lord chancellor, as usual, and departed at
half-past twelve o’clock. On retiring, sir Charles Abbot, as lord chief
justice, took precedence of lord Gifford, the master of the rolls,
though he ranks as a baron of the realm, and is deputy speaker of the
house of lords. The court of Chancery in Westminster-hall being under
reparation, the chancellor remained in Lincoln’s-inn to keep his term
there. For the same reason, the serjeants did not range themselves in
the hall at Westminster, but awaited the arrival of the judges of the
Common Pleas in their own court; the carriages of the judges of the
King’s Bench turned to the right at the top of Parliament-street, and
proceeded to the new Sessions’ house, where the judges sit until the new
court of King’s Bench in Westminster-hall shall be prepared.

It is further to be remarked, that the _Side Bar_ in Westminster-hall
stood, till very lately, within a short space of the wall, and at a few
feet on the Palace-yard side of the court of Common Pleas’ steps.
Formerly, attorneys stood within this bar every morning during term, and
moved the judges for the common rules, called side-bar rules, as they
passed to their courts, and by whom they were granted them as of course.
These motions have been long discontinued; the rules are applied for and
obtained at the rule-office as rules of course; but each rule still
expresses that it has been granted upon a “side-bar” motion.

To recur to the engraving, which exhibits Westminster-hall at no distant
period, in a state very dissimilar to its more late appearance. The
original print by Mosley bears the following versified inscription:

    When fools fall out, for ev’ry flaw,
    They run horn mad to go to law,
    A hedge awry, a wrong plac’d gate,
    Will serve to spend a whole estate,
    Your case the lawyer says is good,
    And justice cannot be withstood;
    By tedious process from above
    From office they to office move;
    Thro’ pleas, demurrers, the dev’l and all,
    At length they bring it to the _hall_;
    The dreadful hall by Rufus rais’d,
    For lofty Gothick arches prais’d.
      The FIRST OF TERM, the fatal day,
    Doth various images convey;
    First from the courts with clam’rous bawl
    The _criers_ their _attorneys_ call;
    One of the gown, discreet and wise,
    By _proper_ means his witness tries;
    From _Wreathock’s_ gang--not right or laws
    H’assures his trembling client’s cause;
    _This_ gnaws his handkerchief, whilst _that_
    Gives the kind ogling nymph his hat;
    Here one in love with choiristers
    Minds singing more than law affairs.
    A _serjeant_ limping on behind
    Shews justice lame, as well as blind.
    To gain new clients some dispute,
    Others protract an ancient suit,
    Jargon and noise alone prevail,
    While sense and reason’s sure to fail;
    At _Babel_ thus _law terms_ began,
    And now at Westm----er go on.

The advocate, whose subornation of perjury is hinted at, is in the
foremost group; he is offering money to one of “Wreathock’s gang.” This
Wreathock was a villainous attorney, who received sentence of death for
his criminal practices, and was ordered to be transported for life in
1736. It is a notorious fact, that many years ago wretches sold
themselves to give any evidence, upon oath, that might be required; and
some of these openly walked Westminster-hall with a straw in the shoe to
signify that they wanted employment as witnesses; such was one of the
customs of the “good old times,” which some of us regret we were not
born in. The “choirister” in a surplice, bearing a torch, was probably
one of the choir belonging to Westminster-abbey. To his right hand is
the “limping serjeant” with a stick; his serjeantship being denoted by
the _coif_, or cap, he wears; the _coif_ is now diminished into a small
circular piece of black silk at the top of the wig, instead of the cap
represented in the engraving. The first shop, on the left, is occupied
by a bookseller; the next by a mathematical instrument maker; then there
is another bookseller; beyond him a dealer in articles of female
consumption; beyond her a bookseller again; and, last on that side, a
second female shopkeeper. Opposite to her, on the right of the hall,
stands a clock, with the hands signifying it to be about one in the
afternoon; the first shop, next from the clock, is a bookseller’s; then
comes a female, who is a map and printseller; and, lastly, the girl who
receives the barrister’s hat into her care, and whose line appears to
sustain the “turnovers” worn by the beaus of those days with “ruffles,”
which, according to Ned Ward, the sempstresses of Westminster-hall
nicely “pleated,” to the satisfaction of the “young students” learned in
the law.

Enough has, probably, been said of the engraving, to obtain regard to it
as an object worth notice.

The first day of term is occupied, in the common law courts, by the
examination of bail for persons who have been arrested, and whose
opponents will not consent to the bail justifying before a judge at his
chambers. A versified exemplification of this proceeding in the court of
King’s Bench, was written when lord Mansfield was chief, and Mr. Willes
a justice of the court; a person named Hewitt was then cryer, Mr.
Mingay, a celebrated counsel, still remembered, is represented as
opposing the bail proposed by Mr. Baldwin, another counsel:

KING’S-BENCH PRACTICE. CHAP. 10. OF JUSTIFYING BAIL.

      _Baldwin._ Hewitt, call Taylor’s bail,--for I
    Shall now proceed to justify.
      _Hewitt._ Where’s Taylor’s bail?
      _1st Bail._------------------ I can’t get in.
      _Hewitt._ Make way.
      _Lord Mansfield._---- For heaven’s sake begin.
      _Hewitt._ But where’s the other?
      _2d Bail._---------------------- Here I stand.
      _Mingay._ I must except to both.--Command
    Silence,--and if your lordship crave it,
    _Austen_ shall read our affidavit.
      _Austen._ _Will._ _Priddle_, late of Fleet-street, gent.
    Makes oath and saith, that late he went
    To Duke’s-place, as he was directed
    By notice, and he there expected
    To find both bail--but none could tell
    Where the first bail lived--
      _Mingay._ --------------- Very well.
      _Austen._ And this deponent further says,
    That, asking who the second was,
    He found he’d bankrupt been, and yet
    Had ne’er obtained certificate.
    When to his house deponent went,
    He full four stories high was sent,
    And found a lodging almost bare;
    No furniture, but half a chair,
    A table, bedstead, broken fiddle
    And a bureau.
                  (Signed) _William Priddle._
    Sworn at my chambers.
                            _Francis Buller._
      _Mingay._ No affidavit can be fuller.
    Well, friend, you’ve heard this affidavit,
    What do you say?
      _2d Bail._----Sir, by your leave, it
    Is all a lie.
      _Mingay._ Sir, have a care,
    What is your trade?
      _2d Bail._------- A scavenger.
      _Mingay._ And, pray, sir, were you never found
    Bankrupt?
      _2d Bail._ I’m worth a thousand pound.
      _Mingay._ A thousand pound, friend, boldly said--
    In what consisting?
      _2d Bail._------- Stock in trade.
      _Mingay._ And, pray, friend, tell me,--do you know
    What sum you’re bail for?
      _2d Bail._------------- Truly no.
      _Mingay._ My lords, you hear,--no oaths have check’d him:
    I hope your lordships will--
      _Willes._---------------- Reject him.
      _Mingay._ Well, friend, now tell me where _you_ dwell.
      _1st Bail._ Sir, I have liv’d in Clerkenwell
    These ten years.
      _Mingay._---- Half-a-guinea dead. (_Aside._)
    My lords, if you’ve the notice read,
    It says _Duke’s-place_. So I desire
    A little further time t’ inquire.
      _Baldwin._ Why, Mr. _Mingay_, all this vapour?
      _Willes._ Take till to morrow.
      _Lord Mansfield._------------ Call the paper.

The preceding pleasantry came from the pen of the late John Baynes, Esq.
a Yorkshire gentleman, who was born in April, 1758, educated for the law
at Trinity college, Cambridge, obtained prizes for proficiency in
philosophy and classical attainments, was admitted of Gray’s-inn,
practised in his profession, and would probably have risen to its first
honours. Mr. Nichols says “his learning was extensive; his abilities
great; his application unwearied; his integrity unimpeached. In
religious principles he was an Unitarian Christian and Protestant; in
political principles the friend of the civil liberties of mankind, and
the genuine constitution of his country. He died August 4, 1787, and was
buried on the 9th in Bunhill-fields’ burying-ground, near to the grave
of Dr. Jebb,” his tutor at college: “the classical hand of Dr. Parr”
commemorated him by an epitaph.

       *       *       *       *       *

One of the best papers in Mr. Knight’s late “Quarterly Magazine,” of
good articles, is so suitable to this day, legally considered, that any
one sufficiently interested to sympathize with “the cares and the fears”
of a young lawyer, or, indeed, any one who dares to admit that a lawyer
may have bowels, as well as an appetite, will suffer the _Confessions of
a Barrister_ to be recorded here.


MY FIRST BRIEF

“A lawyer,” says an old comedy which I once read at the British Museum,
“is an odd sort of fruit--first rotten--then green--and then ripe.”
There is too much of truth in the homely figure. The first years of a
young barrister are spent, or rather worn out, in anxious leisure. His
talents rust, his temper is injured, his little patrimony wastes away,
and not an attorney shows a sign of remorse. He endures term after term,
and circuit after circuit, that greatest of all evils--a rank above his
means of supporting it. He drives round the country in a post-chaise,
and marvels what Johnson found so exhilarating in its motion--that is,
if he paid for it himself. He eats venison, and drinks claret; but he
loses the flavour of both when he reflects that his wife (for the fool
is married, and married for love too!) has perhaps just dined for the
third time on a cold neck of mutton, and has not tasted wine since their
last party--an occurrence beyond even legal memory. He leaves the
festive board early, and takes a solitary walk--returns to his lodgings
in the twilight, and sees on his table a large white rectangular body,
which for a moment he supposes may be a brief--alas! it is only a
napkin. He is vexed, and rings to have it removed, when up comes his
clerk, who is drunk and insolent: he is about to kick him down stairs,
but stays his foot on recollecting the arrears of the fellow’s wages;
and contents himself with wondering where the fellow finds the means of
such extravagance.--Then in court many are the vexations of the
briefless.--The attorney is a cruel person to them--as cruel as a rich
coxcomb in a ball-room, who delights in exciting hopes only to
disappoint them. Indeed I have often thought the communications between
the solicitors and the bar have no slight resemblance to the flirtation
between the sexes. Barristers, like ladies, must wait to be chosen. The
slightest overture would be equally fatal to one gown as the other. The
gentlemen of the bar sit round the table in dignified composure,
thinking just as little of briefs as a young lady of marriage. An
attorney enters--not an eye moves; but somehow or other, the fact is
known to all. Calmly he draws from his pocket a _brief_: practice
enables us to see at a glance that the tormentor has left a blank for
the name of his counsel. He looks around the circle as if to choose his
man; you cannot doubt but his eye rests on you; he writes a name, but
you are too far off to read it, though you know every name on your
circuit upside down. Now he counts out the fee, and wraps it up with
slow and provoking formality. At length all being prepared, he looks
towards you to catch (as you suppose) your eye. You nod, and the brief
comes flying; you pick it up, and find on it the name of a man three
years your junior, who is sitting next you: you curse the attorney’s
impudence, and ask yourself if he meant to insult you.--“Perhaps not,”
you say, “for the dog squints.”--I received my maiden brief in London.
How well do I recollect the minutest circumstances connected with that
case! The rap at the door! I am a connoisseur in raps--there is not a
dun in London who could deceive me: I know their tricks but too well;
they have no medium between the rap _servile_, and the rap _impudent_.
This was a cheerful touch; you felt that the operator knew he should
meet with a face of welcome. My clerk, who is not much under the
influence of sweet sounds, seemed absolutely inspired, and answered the
knock with astonishing velocity. I could hear from my inner room the
murmur of inquiry and answer; and though I could not distinguish a
word,--the tones confirmed my hopes;--I was not long suffered to
doubt--my client entered, and the roll of pure white paper tied round
with the brilliant red tape, met my eye. He inquired respectfully, and
with an appearance of anxiety, which marked him to my mind for a perfect
Chesterfield, if I was already retained in ---- _v._ ----? The rogue
knew well enough that I had never had a retainer in my life. I took a
moment to consider; after making him repeat the name of his case, I
gravely assured him I was at perfect liberty to receive his brief. He
then laid the papers and my fee upon the table; asked me if the time
appointed for a consultation with the two gentlemen who were “with me”
would be convenient; and finding that the state of my engagements would
allow me to attend, made his bow and departed. That fee was sacred, and
I put it to no vulgar use. Many years have now elapsed since that case
was disposed of, and yet how fresh does it live in my memory! how
perfectly do I recollect every authority to which he referred! how I
read and re-read the leading cases that bore upon the question to be
argued! One case I so _bethumbed_ that the volume has opened at it ever
since, as inevitably as the prayer-book of a lady’s maid proffers the
service of matrimony. My brief related to an argument before the judges
of the King’s Bench, and the place of consultation was Ayles’s
coffee-house, adjoining Westminster-hall. There was I before the clock
had finished striking the hour; my brief I knew by heart. I had raised
an army of objections to the points for which we were to contend, and
had logically slain every one of them. I went prepared to discuss the
question thoroughly; and I generously determined to give my leaders the
benefit of my cogitations--though not without a slight struggle at the
thought of how much reputation I should lose by my magnanimity. I had
plenty of time to think of these things, for my leaders were engaged in
court, and the attorney and I had the room to ourselves. After we had
been waiting about an hour, the door flew open, and in strode one of my
leaders, the second in command, less in haste (as it appeared to me) to
meet his appointment, than to escape from the atmosphere of clients in
which he had been just enveloped, during his passage from the
court.--Having shaken off his tormentors, Mr. ---- walked up to the
fire--said it was cold--nodded kindly to me--and had just asked what had
been the last night’s division in the house--when the powdered head of
an usher was protruded through the half open door to announce that
“Jones and Williams was called on.” Down went the poker, and away flew
---- with streaming robes, leaving me to meditate on the loss which the
case would sustain for want of his assistance at the expected
discussion. Having waited some further space, I heard a rustling of
silks, and the great ----, our commander in chief, sailed into the room.
As he did not run foul of me, I think it possible I may not have been
invisible to him; but he furnished me with no other evidence of the
fact. He simply directed the attorney to provide certain additional
affidavits, tacked about and sailed away. And thus ended the first
consultation. I consoled myself with the thought that I had all my
materials for myself, and that from having had so much more time for
considering the subject than the others, I must infallibly make the best
speech of the three. At length the fatal day came. I never shall forget
the thrill with which I heard ---- open the case, and felt how soon it
would be my turn to speak. O, how I did pray for a long speech! I lost
all feeling of rivalry; and would gladly have given him every thing that
I intended to use myself, only to defer the dreaded moment for one
half-hour. His speech was frightfully short, yet, short as it was, it
made sad havoc with my stock of matter. The next speaker’s was even more
concise, and yet my little stock suffered again severely. I then found
how experience will stand in the place of study. These men could not,
from the multiplicity of their engagements, have spent a tithe of the
time upon the case which I had done: and yet they had seen much which
had escaped my research. At length my turn came. I was sitting among the
back rows in the old court of King’s Bench. It was on the first day of
Michaelmas term, and late in the evening. A sort of “darkness visible”
had been produced by the aid of a few candles dispersed here and there.
I arose, but I was not perceived by the judges, who had turned together
to consult, supposing the argument finished. B---- was the first to see
me, and I received from him a nod of kindness and encouragement which I
hope I shall never forget. The court was crowded, for it was a question
of some interest; it was a dreadful moment--the ushers stilled the
audience into awful silence. I began, and at the sound of an unknown
voice, every wig of the white inclined plane, at the upper end of which
I was standing, turned round; and in an instant I had the eyes of
seventy “learned friends” looking me full in the face! It is hardly to
be conceived by those who have not gone through the ordeal, how terrific
is this mute attention to the object of it. How grateful should I have
been for any thing which would have relieved me from its oppressive
weight--a buzz, a scraping of the shoes, or a fit of coughing, would
have put me under infinite obligations to the kind disturber. What I
said I know not; I knew not then; it is the only part of the transaction
of which I am ignorant; it was “a phantasma, or hideous dream.” They
told me, however, to my great surprise, that I spoke in a loud voice;
used violent gesture, and as I went along seemed to shake off my
trepidation. Whether I made a long speech or a short one I cannot tell;
for I had no power of measuring time. All I know is, that I should have
made a much longer one, had I not felt my ideas, like Bob Acre’s
courage, oozing out of my fingers’ ends. The court decided against us,
erroneously as I of course thought, for the young advocate is always on
the right side. The next morning I got up early to look at the
newspapers, which I expected to see full of our case. In an obscure
corner, and in a small type, I found a few words given as the speeches
of my leaders: and I also read that “Mr. ---- followed on the same
side.”


LEGAL GLEE.

It is affirmed of sir William Blackstone, that so often as he sat down
to the composition of his Commentaries on the Laws of England, he always
ordered a bottle of wine wherewith to moisten the dryness of his
studies; and in proof that other professional men sometimes solace their
cares by otherwise disporting themselves, there is a kind of catch, the
words of which, having reference to their art or mystery, do so
marvellously inspire them, that they chant it with more glee than
gravity, to a right merry tune:--

    A woman having settlement,
      Married a man with none;
    The question was, he being dead
      If that she _had_ was gone?

    Quoth sir John Pratt, her settlement
      _Suspended_ did remain,
    Living the husband--but, him dead,
      It doth _revive again_.

    CHORUS OF PUISNE JUDGES.
    Living the husband--but, him dead,
      It doth revive again.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Peziza. _Peziza acetabulum._


~January 24.~

  _St. Timothy_, disciple of St. Paul. _St. Babylas_, A. D. 250. _St.
  Suranus_, 7th century. _St. Macedonius._ _St. Cadoc_, of Wales.


CHRONOLOGY.

1721. On the 24th of January in this year, the two houses of parliament
ordered several of the directors of the South Sea company into the
custody of the usher of the black rod and serjeant at arms: this was in
consequence of a parliamentary inquiry into the company’s affairs, which
had been so managed as to involve persons of all ranks throughout the
kingdom in a scene of distress unparalleled by any similar circumstance
in English annals.


SOUTH SEA BUBBLE.

In 1711, the ninth year of queen Anne’s reign, a charter of
incorporation was granted to a company trading to the South Seas; and
the South Sea company’s affairs appeared so prosperous, that, in 1718,
king George I. being chosen governor, and a bill enabling him to accept
the office having passed both houses, on the 3d of February, his majesty
in person attended the house of lords, and gave the royal assent to the
act. A brief history of the company’s subsequent progress is interesting
at any time, and more especially at a period when excess of speculation
may endanger private happiness, and disturb the public welfare.

On the 27th of _January_, 1719, the South Sea company proposed a scheme
to parliament for paying off the national debt, by taking into its funds
all the debt which the nation had incurred before the year 1716, whether
redeemable or irredeemable, amounting in the whole to the sum of
31,664,551_l._ 1_s._ 1¼_d._ For this the company undertook to pay to the
use of the public the sum of 4,156,306_l._; besides four years and a
half’s purchase for all the annuities that should be subscribed into
its fund, and which, if all subscribed, would have amounted to the sum
of 3,567,503_l._; amounting, with the above-mentioned sum, to
7,723,809_l._: in case all the annuities were not subscribed, the
company agreed to pay one per cent, for such unsubscribed annuities.

To this arrangement parliament acceded, and an act was passed to ratify
this contract, and containing full powers to the company accordingly. In
_March_ following South Sea stock rose from 130 to 300, gradually
advanced to 400, declined to 330, and on the 7th of _April_ was at 340.
This so encouraged the directors, that on the 12th they opened books at
the South Sea house for taking in a subscription for a portion of their
stock to the amount of 2,250,000_l._ every 100_l._ of which they offered
at 300_l._: it was immediately subscribed for at that price, to be paid
for by nine instalments within twelve months. On the 21st, a general
court of the company resolved, that the Midsummer dividend should be 10
per cent., and that the aforesaid subscription, and all other additions
to their capital before that time, should be entitled to the said
dividend. This gave so favourable a view to the speculation, that on the
28th the directors opened a second subscription for another million of
stock, which was presently taken at 400_l._ for every 100_l._, and the
subscribers had three years allowed them for payment. On the 20th of
_May_, South Sea stock rose to 550. So amazing a price created a general
infatuation. Even the more prudent, who had laughed at the folly and
madness of others, were seized with the mania; they borrowed, mortgaged,
and sold, to raise all the money they could, in order to hold the
favourite stock; while a few quietly sold out and enriched themselves.
Prodigious numbers of people resorted daily from all parts of the
kingdom to ’Change-alley, where the assembled speculators, by their
excessive noise and hurry, seemed like so many madmen just escaped from
cells and chains. All thoughts of commerce were laid aside for the
buying and selling of estates, and traffic in South Sea stock. Some, who
had effected sales at high premiums, were willing to pay out the money
on real property, which consequently advanced beyond its actual value:
cautious landowners justly concluded that this was the time to get money
without risk, and therefore sold their property; shortly afterwards
they had an opportunity of purchasing more, at less than half the price
they had obtained for their own.

On the 2d of _June_, South Sea stock rose to 890. On the 15th, many
persons who accompanied the king on his foreign journey, sold their
stock, which suddenly fell; but the directors promising larger
dividends, it got up higher than ever. On the 18th they opened books for
a third subscription of four millions more stock, at 1000_l._ for each
100_l._, and before the end of the month it had advanced to 1100_l._,
between which and 1000_l._ it fluctuated throughout the month of _July_.
On the 3d of _August_ they proposed to receive subscriptions for all the
unsubscribed annuities, and opened books for the purpose during the
ensuing week, upon terms which greatly dissatisfied the annuitants, who,
confiding in the honour of the directors, had left their orders at the
South Sea House, without any previous contract, not doubting but they
should be allowed the same terms with the first subscribers. Finding, to
their great surprise and disappointment, that, by the directors’
arrangements, they were only to have about half what they expected, many
repaired to the South Sea House to get their orders returned; but these
being withheld, their incessant applications and reflections greatly
affected the stock, insomuch that, on the 22d of the month, at the
opening of the books, it fell to 820. The directors then came to the
desperate resolution of ordering the books to be shut; and on the 24th
they caused others to be opened for a fourth money subscription for
another million of their stock, at 1000_l._ for each 100_l._, payable by
five instalments within two years: this million was subscribed in less
than three hours, and bore a premium the same afternoon of 40 per cent.
On the 26th the stock, instead of advancing, fell below 830. The
directors then thought fit to lend their proprietors 4,000_l._ upon
every 1000_l._ stock, for six months, at 4 per cent.; but the annuitants
becoming very clamorous and uneasy, the directors resolved that 30 per
cent. in money should be the half-year’s dividend due at the next
Christmas, and that from thence, for twelve years, not less than 50 per
cent. in money should be the yearly dividend on their stock. Though this
resolution raised the stock to about 800 for the opening of the books,
it soon sunk again.

On the 8th of _September_, the stock fell to 640, on the 9th to 550, and
by the 19th it came to 400. On the 23d the Bank of England agreed with
the South Sea company to circulate their bonds, &c. and to take their
stock at 400 per cent., in lieu of 3,775,000_l._, which the company was
to pay them. When the books were opened at the Bank for taking in a
subscription for supporting the public credit, the concourse was at
first so great, that it was judged the whole subscription, which was
intended for 3,000,000_l._, would have been filled that day. But the
fall of South Sea stock, and the discredit of the company’s bonds,
occasioned a run upon the most eminent goldsmiths and bankers, some of
whom, having lent great sums upon the stock and other public securities,
were obliged to shut up their shops. The Sword-blade company also, who
had been hitherto the chief cash-keepers of the South Sea company, being
almost drawn of their ready money, were forced to stop payment. All this
occasioned a great run upon the Bank. On the 30th South Sea stock fell
to 150, and then to 86.

“It is very surprising,” says Maitland, “that this wicked scheme, of
French extraction, should have met with encouragement here, seeing that
the Mississippi scheme had just before nearly ruined that nation. It is
still more surprising, that the people of divers other countries,
notwithstanding the direful effects of this destructive scheme before
their eyes, yet, as it were, tainted with our frenzy, began to court
their destruction, by setting on foot the like projects: which gives
room to suspect,” says Maitland, “that those destructive and fatal
transactions were rather the result of an epidemical distemper, than
that of choice; seeing that the wisest and best of men were the greatest
sufferers; many of the nobility, and persons of the greatest
distinction, were undone, and obliged to walk on foot; while others, who
the year before could hardly purchase a dinner, were exalted in their
coaches and fine equipages, and possessed of enormous estates. Such a
scene of misery appeared among traders, that it was almost unfashionable
not to be a bankrupt: and the dire catastrophe was attended with such a
number of self-murders, as no age can parallel.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Hooke, the historian of Rome, was a severe sufferer by the South Sea
bubble. He thus addresses lord Oxford, in a letter dated the 17th of
October 1722: “I cannot be said at present to be in any form of life,
but rather to live _extempore_. The late epidemical (South Sea)
distemper seized me: I endeavoured to be rich, imagined for a while that
I was, and am in some measure happy to find myself at this instant but
just worth nothing. If your lordship, or any of your numerous friends,
have need of a servant, with the bare qualifications of being able to
read and write, and to be honest, I shall gladly undertake any
employments your lordship shall not think me unworthy of.”

       *       *       *       *       *

In 1720, soon after the bursting of the South Sea bubble, a gentleman
called late in the evening at the banking-house of Messrs. Hankey and
Co. He was in a coach, but refused to get out, and desired that one of
the partners of the house would come to him. Having ascertained that it
was really one of the principals, and not a clerk, who appeared, he put
into his hands a parcel, very carefully sealed up, and desired that it
might be laid on one side till he should call again, which would be in
the course of a few days. A few days passed away--a few weeks, a few
months, but the stranger never returned. At the end of the second or
third year, the partners agreed to open this mysterious parcel, in the
presence of each other. They found it to contain 30,000_l._, with a
letter, stating that it was obtained by the South Sea speculation, and
directing that it should be vested in the hands of three trustees, whose
names were mentioned, and the interest appropriated to the relief of the
poor, which was accordingly done.

It has been calculated, that the rise on the original South-sea stock of
ten millions, and the subsequent advance of the company’s four
subscriptions, inflated their capital to nearly three hundred millions.
This unnatural procedure raised bank stock from 100_l._ to 260_l._
India, from 100_l._ to 405_l._ African, from 100_l._ to 200_l._
York-buildings’ shares, from 10_l._ to 305_l._ Lustring, from 5_l._
2_s._ 6_d._ to 105_l._ English copper, from 5_l._ to 105_l._ Welch
copper, from 4_l._ 2_s._ 6_d._ to 95_l._ The Royal Exchange Assurance,
from 5_l._ 5_s._ to 250_l._ The London Assurance, from 5_l._ to 175_l._,
to the great injury of the various purchasers at such prices.

       *       *       *       *       *

The South Sea scheme terminated in the sudden downfall of the directors,
whose estates were confiscated by parliament, and the proceeds applied
to the relief of many thousands of families, who had been wholly ruined
by the speculation. These dupes of overweening folly and misplaced
confidence, were further benefited by a remission in their favour of the
national claims on certain of the South Sea company’s real assets. The
extent of these donations to the sufferers amounted to 40_l._ per cent.
upon the stock standing in their names.


OTHER BUBBLES.

One consequence of the prosperous appearance that the South Sea scheme
bore, till within a short period before its failure, was a variety of
equally promising and delusive projects. These were denominated
_bubbles_. Alarmed at the destructive issue of the master-bubble,
government issued the following manifesto: “The lords justices in
council, taking into consideration the many inconveniences arising to
the public, from several projects set on foot for raising of
joint-stocks for various purposes; and that a great many of his
majesty’s subjects have been drawn in to part with their money, on
pretence of assurances that their petitions, for patents and charters to
enable them to carry on the same, would be granted: to prevent such
impositions, their excellencies ordered the said several petitions,
together with such reports from the Board of Trade, and from his
majesty’s attorney and solicitor general, as had been obtained thereon,
to be laid before them; and, after mature consideration thereof, were
pleased, by advice of his majesty’s privy-council, to order that the
said petitions be dismissed.” The applications thus rejected prayed
patents for various fisheries, for building ships to let or freight, for
raising hemp, flax, and madder, for making of sail-cloth, for
fire-assurances, for salt-works, for the making of snuff in Virginia,
&c.

In defiance of this salutary order, the herd of projectors, with an
audacity that passed on the credulous for well-grounded confidence,
continued their nefarious traffic. Proclamations from the king, and even
acts of parliament, were utterly disregarded; and companies which had
been established by charter increased the evil, by imitating the South
Sea company’s fatal management, and taking in subscriptions. This
occasioned the lords justices to issue another order, wherein they
declared that, having been attended by Mr. attorney-general, they gave
him express orders to bring writs of scire facias against the charters
or patents of the York-building’s company, Lustring company, English
copper, Welsh copper, and lead, and also against other charters or
patents which had been, or should be made use of, or acted under,
contrary to the intent or meaning of an act passed the last session of
parliament, &c.

They likewise instructed the attorney-general to prosecute, with the
utmost severity, all persons opening books for public subscriptions; or
receiving money upon such subscriptions; or making or accepting
transfers of, or shares upon, such subscriptions; of which they gave
public notice in the Gazette, as “a farther caution to prevent the
drawing of unwary persons, for the future, into practices contrary to
law.” This effectually frustrated the plans of plunder, exercised or
contemplated at that period. How necessary so vigorous a resistance was
must be obvious from this fact, that innumerable bubbles perished in
embryo; besides an incredible number which could be named that were
actually set in motion, and to support which the sums intended to be
raised amounted to about 300,000,000_l._ The lowest advance of the
shares in any of these speculations was above cent. per cent., most of
them above 400_l._ per cent.; and some were raised to twenty times the
price of the subscription. Taking these circumstances into account, the
scandalous projects would have required seven hundred millions sterling,
if such a sum could have been realized in the shape of capital. To such
a height of madness had the public mind been excited, that even shares
were eagerly coveted, and bargained for, in shameless schemes which were
not worth the paper whereon their proposals were printed, at treble the
price they nominally bore. From a list of only a part of those that the
air of ’Change-alley teemed with, the names of a few are here set forth:

_Projects_

  For supplying London with cattle.
  For supplying London with hay.
  For breeding and feeding cattle.
  For making pasteboards.
  For improving the paper manufacture.
  For dealing in lace, hollands, &c.
  For a grand dispensary.
  For a royal fishery.
  For a fish pool.
  For making glass-bottles.
  For encouraging the breed of horses.
  For discovering gold mines.
  For an assurance against thieves.
  For trading in hair.
  For loan offices.
  For dealing in hops.
  For making of china ware.
  For furnishing funerals.
  For a coral fishery.
  For a flying machine.
  For insuring of horses.
  For making of looking-glasses.
  For feeding of hogs.
  For buying and selling estates.
  For purchasing and letting lands.
  For supplying London with provisions.
  For curing the gout and stone.
  For making oil of poppies.
  For bleaching coarse sugar.
  For making of stockings.
  For an air-pump for the brain.
  For insurance against divorces.
  For making butter from beech-trees.
  For paving London streets.
  For extracting silver from lead.
  For making of radish oil.
  For a perpetual motion.
  For japanning of shoes.
  For making deal boards of sawdust.
  For a scheme to teach the casting of nativities.


JOINT STOCK COMPANIES OF 1825.

The large quantity of surplus capital and consequent low rate of
interest during the last, and in the present, year, induce its
possessors to embark their money in schemes for promoting general
utility. One of the advantages resulting from a state of peace is the
influx of wealth that pours forth upon the country for its improvement.
Yet it behoves the prudent, and those of small means, to be circumspect
in their outlays; to see with their own eyes, and not through the medium
of others. The premiums that shares in projects may bear in the market,
are not even a shadow of criterion whereon to found a judgment for
investment. This is well known to every discreet man who has an odd
hundred to put out; and he who cannot rely on his own discrimination for
a right selection from among the various schemes that are proffered to
his choice, will do well to act as if none of them existed, and place
his cash where the principal will at least be safe, and the interest,
though small, be certain. This month presents schemes for

  Twenty Rail Road Companies,
  Twenty-two Banking, Loan, Investment, and Assurance Companies,
  Eleven Gas Companies,
  Eight British and Irish Mine Companies,
  Seventeen Foreign Mine Companies,
  Nine Shipping and Dock Companies,
                and
  Twenty-seven Miscellaneous Companies,
             Including
  A London Brick Company,
  A Patent Brick Company,
  A London Marine Bath Company,
  A Royal National Bath Company,
  A Great Westminster Milk Company,
               and
  A Metropolitan Water Company.
  An Alderney Dairy Company,
  A Metropolitan Alderney Dairy Company,
  A South London Milk Company,
  An East London Milk Company,
  A Metropolitan Milk Company.

A correspondent in the “London Magazine” declares, that “if we named the
several divisions of the year after the French revolutionary fashion, by
the phenomena observable in them, we should, from our experience of
January, 1825, call it _Bubblose_--it has been a month of most
flagitious and flourishing knavery.” He pleasantly assumes that Mr.
Jeremiah Hop-the-twig, attorney at law, benevolently conceives the idea
of directing “surplus capital” to the formation of “a joint stock
company for the outfit of air-balloons, the purchase of herds of swine,
and the other requisites for a flourishing lunar commerce; Capital One
Million, divided into 10,000 shares of 100_l._ each.” The method is then
related of opening an account with a respectable banking-house,
obtaining respectable directors, appointing his son-in-law the
respectable secretary, the son of a respected director the respectable
standing counsel, and the self-nomination of the respectable Mr.
Jeremiah H. and Co. as the respectable solicitors. Afterwards come the
means of raising the bubble, to the admiration of proper persons who pay
a deposit of 5_l._ per share; who, when the shares “look down,” try to
sell, but there are “no buyers,” the “quotations are nominal;” a second
instalment called for, the holders hesitate; “their shares are
forfeited;” the speculation is consequently declared frustrated; and
there being only £10,000 in the bankers’ hands to pay “Mr.
Hop-the-twig’s bill of 10,073_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ that respectable
solicitor is defrauded of the sum of 73_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ This is the
rise and fall of a respectable _bubble_.”

Undoubtedly, among these various schemes afloat, some will be productive
of great benefit to the country; but it is seriously to be considered
whether the estimation of some of them in a money view be not too high,
and forced to an undue price by the arts of jobbing:

    Haste instantly and buy, cries one
    Real Del Monte shares, for none
      Will hold a richer profit;
    Another cries--No mining plan
    Like ours--the Anglo-Mexican
      As for Del Monte, scoff it.

    _This_ grasps my button, and declares
    There’s nothing like Columbian shares,
      The capital a million;--
    _That_, cries La Plata’s sure to pay;
    Or bids me buy without delay
      Hibernian or Brazilian.

    ’Scaped from the torments of the mine
    Rivals in Gas, an endless line,
      Arrest me as I travel;
    Each sure my suffrage to receive,
    If I will only give him leave,
      His project to unravel.

    By Fire and Life insurers next
    I’m intercepted, pester’d, vex’d,
      Almost beyond endurance;
    And though the schemes appear unsound,
    Their advocates are seldom found
      Deficient in assurance.

    Last I am worried, shares to buy
    In the Canadian company,
      The Milk Association,
    The Laundry-men who wash by steam,
    Rail-ways, Pearl-fishing, or the scheme,
      For Inland Navigation.

  _New Monthly Mag._

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Stalkless moss. _Phascum muticum._


~January 25.~

  Holiday at the Public Office; except the Excise, Stamps, and Customs.

  CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL. _Sts. Juventinus and Maximinus_, A. D. 363.
  _St. Projectus_, A. D. 674. _St. Poppo_, A. D. 1048. _St. Apollo_, A.
  D. 393. _St. Publius_, A. D. 369.


_The Conversion of St. Paul._

This is a festival in the calendar of the church of England, as well as
in that of the Romish church.


~St. Paul’s Day.~

On this day prognostications of the months were drawn for the whole
year. If fair and clear, there was to be plenty; if cloudy or misty,
much cattle would die; if rain or snow fell then it presaged a dearth;
and if windy, there would be wars:

    If Saint Paul’s Day be fair and clear.
    It does betide a happy year;
    But if it chance to snow or rain,
    Then will be dear all kinds of grain;
    If clouds or mists do dark the skie,
    Great store of birds and beasts shall die;
    And if the winds do fly aloft,
    Then wars shall vex the kingdome oft.

  _Willsford’s Nature’s Secrets._

These prognostications are Englished from an ancient calendar: they have
likewise been translated by Gay, who enjoins,

    Let no such vulgar tales debase thy mind,
    Nor Paul nor Swithin rule the clouds and wind.

The latter lines are allusive to the popular superstitions, regarding
these days, which were before remarked by bishop Hall, who observes of a
person under such influences, that “St. Paule’s day, and St. Swithine’s,
with the twelve, are his oracles, which he dares believe against the
almanacke.” It will be recollected that “the twelve” are twelve days of
Christmastide, mentioned on a preceding day as believed by the ignorant
to denote the weather throughout the year.

Concerning this day, Bourne says. “How it came to have this particular
knack of foretelling the good or ill fortune of the following year is no
easy matter to find out. The monks, who were undoubtedly the first who
made this wonderful observation, have taken care it should be handed
down to posterity; but why, or for what reason, they have taken care to
conceal. St. Paul did indeed labour more abundantly than all the
apostles; but never that I heard in the science of astrology: and why
this day should therefore be a standing almanac to the world, rather
than the day of any other saint, will be pretty hard to find out.” In
an ancient Romish calendar, much used by Brand, the vigil of St. Paul is
called “Dies Ægyptiacus;” and he confesses his ignorance of any reason
for calling it “an Egyptian-day.” Mr. Fosbroke explains, from a passage
in Ducange, that it was so called because there were two unlucky days in
every month, and St. Paul’s vigil was one of the two in January.

Dr. Forster notes, that the festival of the conversion of St. Paul has
always been reckoned ominous of the future weather of the year, in
various countries remote from each other.

According to Schenkius, cited by Brand, it was a custom in many parts of
Germany, to drag the images of St. Paul and St. Urban to the river, if
there was foul weather on their festival.


APOSTLE-SPOONS.

St. Paul’s day being the first festival of an apostle in the year, it is
an opportunity for alluding to the old, ancient, English custom, with
sponsors, or visitors at christenings, of presenting spoons, called
apostle-spoons, because the figures of the twelve apostles were chased,
or carved on the tops of the handles. Brand cites several authors to
testify of the practice. Persons who could afford it gave the set of
twelve; others a smaller number, and a poor person offered the gift of
one, with the figure of the saint after whom the child was named, or to
whom the child was dedicated, or who was the patron saint of the
good-natured donor.

Ben Jonson, in his Bartholomew Fair, has a character, saying, “And all
this for the hope of a couple of apostle-spoons, and a cup to eat caudle
in.” In the Chaste Maid of Cheapside, by Middleton, “_Gossip_” inquires,
“What has he given her? What is it, Gossip?” Whereto the answer of
another “_Gossip_” is, “A faire high-standing cup, and two great
’postle-spoons--one of them gilt,” Beaumont and Fletcher, likewise, in
the Noble Gentleman, say:

    “I’ll be a Gossip. Bewford,
    I have an odd apostle-spoon.”

[Illustration: ~A Set of Apostle-Spoons.~]

The rarity and antiquity of apostle-spoons render them of considerable
value as curiosities. A complete set of twelve is represented in the
sketch on the opposite page, from a set of the spoons themselves on the
writer’s table. The apostles on this set of spoons are somewhat worn,
and the stems and bowls have been altered by the silversmith in
conformity with the prevailing fashion of the present day; to the eye of
the antiquary, therefore, they are not so interesting as they were
before they underwent this partial modernization: yet in this state they
are objects of regard. Their size in the print is exactly that of the
spoons themselves, except that the stems are necessarily fore-shortened
in the engraving to get them within the page. The stem of each spoon
measures exactly three inches and a half in length from the foot of the
apostle to the commencement of the bowl; the length of each bowl is two
inches and nine-sixteenths of an inch; and the height of each apostle is
one inch and one-sixteenth: the entire length of each spoon is seven
inches and one-eighth of an inch. They are of silver; the lightest,
which is St. Peter, weighs 1 oz. 5 dwts. 9 gr.; the heaviest is St.
Bartholomew, and weighs 1 oz. 9 dwts. 4 gr.; their collective weight is
16 oz. 14 dwts. 16 gr. The hat, or flat covering, on the head of each
figure, is usual to apostles-spoons, and was probably affixed to save
the features from effacement. In a really fine state they are very rare.

It seems from “the Gossips,” a poem by Shipman, in 1666, that the usage
of giving apostle-spoons at christenings, was at that time on the
decline:

    “Formerly, when they us’d to troul,
    Gilt bowls of sack, they gave the bowl;
    Two _spoons_ at least; an _use ill kept_;
    ’Tis well if now our own be left.”

An anecdote is related of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson, which bears upon
the usage: Shakspeare was godfather to one of Jonson’s children, and,
after the christening, being in deep study, Jonson cheeringly asked him,
why he was so melancholy? “Ben,” said he, “I have been considering a
great while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow upon my
godchild, and I have resolved it at last.” “I prithee, what?” said Ben,
“I’ faith, Ben,” answered Shakspeare, “I’ll give him a dozen good
_latten spoons_, and thou shalt translate them.” The word _latten_,
intended as a play upon _latin_, is the name for thin iron tinned, of
which spoons, and similar small articles of household use, are sometimes
made. Without being aware of the origin, it is still a custom with many
persons, to present spoons at christenings, or on visiting the “lady in
the straw;” though they are not now adorned with imagery.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Winter hellebore. _Helleborus hyemalis._


~January 26.~

  _St. Polycarp._ _St. Paula._ _St. Conan._


THE SEASON.

    On winter comes--the cruel north
    Pours his furious whirlwind forth
    Before him--and we breathe the breath
    Of famish’d bears, that howl to death:
    Onward he comes from rocks that blanch
      O’er solid streams that never flow,
      His tears all ice, his locks all snow,
    Just crept from some huge avalanche.

  _Incog._


BEARS AND BEES.

M. M. M. a traveller in Russia, communicates, through the Gentleman’s
Magazine of 1785, a remarkable method of cultivating bees, and
preserving them from their housebreakers, the bears. The Russians of
Borodskoe, on the banks of the river Ufa, deposit the hives within
excavations that they form in the hardest, strongest, and loftiest trees
of the forest, at about five-and-twenty or thirty feet high from the
ground, and even higher, if the height of the trunk allows it. They
hollow out the holes lengthways, with small narrow hatchets, and with
chisels and gouges complete their work. The longitudinal aperture of the
hive is stopped by a cover of two or more pieces exactly fitted to it,
and pierced with small holes, to give ingress and egress to the bees. No
means can be devised more ingenious or more convenient for climbing the
highest and the smoothest trees than those practised by this people, for
the construction and visitation of these hives. For this purpose they
use nothing but a very sharp axe, a leathern strap, or a common rope.
The man places himself against the trunk of the tree, and passes the
cord round his body and round the tree, just leaving it sufficient play
for casting it higher and higher, by jerks, towards the elevation he
desires to attain, and there to place his body, bent as in a swing, his
feet resting against the tree, and preserving the free use of his hands.
This done, he takes his axe, and at about the height of his body makes
the first notch or step in the tree; then he takes his rope, the two
ends whereof he takes care to have tied very fast, and throws it towards
the top of the trunk. Placed thus in his rope by the middle of his body,
and resting his feet against the tree, he ascends by two steps, and
easily enables himself to put one of his feet in the notch. He now makes
a new step, and continues to mount in this manner till he has reached
the intended height. He performs all this with incredible speed and
agility. Being mounted to the place where he is to make the hive, he
cuts more convenient steps, and, by the help of the rope, which his body
keeps in distension, he performs his necessary work with the
above-mentioned tools, which are stuck in his girdle. He also carefully
cuts away all boughs and protuberances beneath the hive, to render
access as difficult as possible to the bears, which abound in vast
numbers throughout the forests, and in spite of all imaginable
precautions, do considerable damage to the hives. On this account the
natives put in practice every kind of means, not only for defending
themselves from these voracious animals, but for their destruction.
The method most in use consists in sticking into the trunk of the tree
old blades of knives, standing upwards, scythes, and pieces of pointed
iron, disposed circularly round it, when the tree is straight, or at the
place of bending, when the trunk is crooked. The bear has commonly
dexterity enough to avoid these points in climbing up the tree; but when
he descends, as he always does, backwards, he gets on these sharp hooks,
and receives such deep wounds, that he usually dies. Old bears
frequently take the precaution to bend down these blades with their
fore-paws as they mount, and thereby render all this offensive armour
useless.

[Illustration: ~Russian Tree-Climbing and Bear Trap.~]

Another destructive apparatus has some similitude to the catapulta of
the ancients. It is fixed in such a manner that, at the instant the bear
prepares to climb the tree, he pulls a string that lets go the machine,
whose elasticity strikes a dart into the animal’s breast. A further mode
is to suspend a platform by long ropes to the farthest extremity of a
branch of the tree. The platform is disposed horizontally before the
hive, and there tied fast to the trunk of the tree with a cord made of
bark. The bear, who finds the seat very convenient for proceeding to the
opening of the hive, begins by tearing the cord of bark which holds the
platform to the trunk, and hinders him from executing his purpose. Upon
this the platform immediately quits the tree, and swings in the air with
the animal seated upon it. If, on the first shock, the bear is not
tumbled out, he must either take a very dangerous leap, or remain
patiently in his suspended seat. If he take the leap, either
involuntarily, or by his own good will, he falls on sharp points, placed
all about the bottom of the tree; if he resolve to remain where he is,
he is shot by arrows or musket balls.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  White butterbur. _Tressilago alba._


~January 27.~

  _St. John Chrysostom._ _St. Julian of Mans._ _St. Marius._


THE SEASON

It is observed in Dr. Forster’s “Perennial Calendar,” that “Buds and
embryo blossoms in their silky, downy coats, often finely varnished to
protect them from the wet and cold, are the principal botanical subjects
for observation in January, and their structure is particularly worthy
of notice; to the practical gardener an attention to their appearance is
indispensable, as by them alone can he prune with safety. Buds are
always formed in the spring preceding that in which they open, and are
of two kinds, leaf buds and flower buds, distinguished by a difference
of shape and figure, easily discernible by the observing eye; the fruit
buds being thicker, rounder, and shorter, than the others--hence the
gardener can judge of the probable quantity of blossom that will
appear:”--

_Lines on Buds, by Cowper._

    When all this uniform uncoloured scene
    Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load,
    And flush into variety again.
    From dearth to plenty, and from death to life,
    Is Nature’s progress, when she lectures man
    In heavenly truth; evincing, as she makes
    The grand transition, that there lives and works
    A soul in all things, and that soul is God.
    He sets the bright procession on its way,
    And marshals all the order of the year;
    He marks the bounds which winter may not pass,
    And blunts his pointed fury; in its case,
    Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ,
    Uninjured, with inimitable art;
    And ere one flowery season fades and dies,
    Designs the blooming wonders of the next.

“Buds possess a power analogous to that of seeds, and have been called
the viviparous offspring of vegetables, inasmuch as they admit of a
removal from their original connection, and, its action being suspended
for an indefinite time, can be renewed at pleasure.”

_On Icicles, by Cowper._

    The mill-dam dashes on the restless wheel,
    And wantons in the pebbly gulf below
    No frost can bind it there; its utmost force
    Can but arrest the light and smoky mist,
    That in its fall the liquid sheet throws wide.
    And see where it has hung th’ embroidered banks
    With forms so various, that no powers of art,
    The pencil, or the pen, may trace the scene!
    Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high
    (Fantastic misarrangement!) on the roof
    Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees
    And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops
    That trickle down the branches, fast congealed,
    Shoot into pillars of pellucid length,
    And prop the pile they but adorned before.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Earth Moss. _Phascum cuspidatum._
  Dedicated to _St. Chrysostom._


~January 28.~

  _St. Agnes._--Second Commemoration.

  _St. Cyril_, A. D. 444. _Sts. Thyrsus, Leucius, and Callinicus._ _St.
  John of Reomay_, A. D. 540. Blessed _Margaret_, Princess of Hungary,
  A. D. 1271. _St. Paulinus_, A. D. 804. Blessed _Charlemagne_, Emperor,
  A. D. 814. _St. Glastian_, of Fife, A. D. 830.


_St. Thyrsus._

Several churches in Spain are dedicated to him. In 777, the queen of
Oviedo and Asturia presented one of them with a silver chalice and
paten, a wash-hand basin and a pipe, which, according to Butler, is “a
silver pipe, or quill to suck up the blood of Christ at the communion,
such as the pope sometimes uses--it sucks up as a nose draws up air.”


CHRONOLOGY.

John Gottlob Immanuel Breitkopf, a celebrated printer, letter-founder,
and bookseller of Leipsic, died on this day, in the year 1794: he was
born there November 23, 1719. After the perusal of a work by Albert
Durer, in which the shape of the letters is deduced from mathematical
principles, he endeavoured to fashion them according to the most
beautiful models in matrices cut for the purpose. His printing-office
and letter-foundery acquired very high reputation. It contained punches
and matrices for 400 alphabets, and he employed the types of Baskerville
and Didot. Finding that engraving on wood had given birth to printing,
and that the latter had contributed to the improvement of engraving, he
transferred some particulars, in the province of the engraver, to that
of the printer; and represented, by typography, all the marks and lines
which occur in the modern music, with all the accuracy of engraving, and
even printed maps and mathematical figures with movable types; though
the latter he considered as a matter of mere curiosity: such was also
another attempt, that of copying portraits by movable types. He likewise
printed, with movable types, the Chinese characters, which are, in
general, cut in pieces of wood, so that a whole house is often necessary
to contain the blocks employed for a single book. He improved
type-metal, by giving it that degree of hardness, which has been a
desideratum in founderies of this kind; and discovered a new method of
facilitating the process of melting and casting. From his foundery he
sent types to Russia, Sweden, Poland, and even America. He also improved
the printing-press.

Besides this, his inquiries into the origin and progress of the art of
printing, furnished the materials of a history, which he left behind in
manuscript. He published in 1784, the first part of “An Attempt to
illustrate the origin of playing-cards, the introduction of paper made
from linen, and the invention of engraving on wood in Europe;” the
latter part was finished, but not published, before his death. His last
publication was a small “Treatise on Bibliography,” &c. published in
1793, with his reasons for retaining the present German characters. With
the interruption of only five or six hours in the twenty-four, which he
allowed for sleep, his whole life was devoted to study and useful
employment.


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Double Daisy. _Bellis perennis plenus._
  Dedicated to _St. Margaret of Hungary_.

       *       *       *       *       *

~January 29.~

  St. _Francis_ of Sales, A. D. 1622. _St. Sulpicius Severus_, A. D.
  420. _St. Gildas_ the Abbot, A. D. 570. _St. Gildas_, the Scot, A. D.
  512.

This being the anniversary of the king’s accession to the throne, in
1820, is a _Holiday at all the public offices_, except the Excise,
Stamps, and Customs.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Flowering Fern. _Osmunda regalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Francis of Sales_.


~January 30.~

  KING CHARLES’S MARTYRDOM.

  Holiday at the Public Offices; except the Stamps, Customs, and Excise.

  _St. Bathildes_, Queen of Navarre, A. D. 680. _St. Martina._ _St.
  Aldegondes_, A. D. 660. _St. Barsimæus_, A. D. 114.


_St. Martina._

The Jesuit Ribadeneira relates that the emperor Alexander IV., having
decreed that all christians should sacrifice to the Roman gods, or die,
insinuated to St. Martina, that if she would conform to the edict, he
would make her his empress but on her being taken to the temple, “by a
sudden earthquake the blockish idol of Apollo was broken in pieces, a
fourth part of his temple thrown down, and, with his ruins, were crushed
to death; his priests and many others, and the emperor himself, began to
fly.” Whereupon St. Martina taunted the emperor; and the devil, in the
idol, rolling himself in the dust, made a speech to her, and another to
the emperor, and “fled through the air in a dark cloud; but the emperor
would not understand it.” Then the emperor commanded her to be tortured.
The jesuit’s stories of these operations and her escapes, are
wonderfully particular. According to him, hooks and stakes did her no
mischief; she had a faculty of shining, which the pouring of hot lard
upon her would not quench; when in gaol, men in dazzling white
surrounded her; she could not feel a hundred and eighteen wounds; a
fierce lion, who had fasted three days, would not eat her, and fire
would not burn her; but a sword cut her head off in 228, and at the end
of two days two eagles were found watching her body. “That which above
all confirmeth the truth of this relation,” says Ribadeneira, “is, that
there is nothing herein related but what is in brief in the lessons of
the Roman Breviary, commanded by public authority to be read on her
feast by the whole church.”


CHRONOLOGY.

On this day, in the year 1649, king Charles I. was beheaded. In the
Common Prayer Book of the Church of England, it is called “The Day of
the Martyrdom of the Blessed King Charles I.;” and there is “A Form of
Prayer, with Fasting, to be used yearly” upon its recurrence.

The sheet, which received the head of Charles I. after its decapitation,
is carefully preserved along with the communion plate in the church of
Ashburnham, in this county; the blood, with which it has been almost
entirely covered, now appears nearly black. The watch of the unfortunate
monarch is also deposited with the linen, the movements of which are
still perfect. These relics came into the possession of lord Ashburnham
immediately after the death of the king.--_Brighton Herald._

Lord Orford says, “one can scarce conceive a greater absurdity than
retaining the three holidays dedicated to the house of Stuart. Was the
preservation of James I. a greater blessing to England than the
destruction of the Spanish armada, for which no festival is established?
Are we more or less free for the execution of king Charles? Are we at
this day still guilty of his blood? When is the stain to be washed out?
What sense is there in thanking heaven for the restoration of a family,
which it so soon became necessary to expel again?”

According to the “Life of William Lilly, written by himself,” Charles I.
caused the old astrologer to be consulted for his judgment. This is
Lilly’s account: “His majesty, Charles I., having intrusted the Scots
with his person, was, for money, delivered into the hands of the English
parliament, and, by several removals, was had to Hampton-court, about
July or August, 1647; for he was there, and at that time when my house
was visited with the plague. He was desirous to escape from the
soldiery, and to obscure himself for some time near London, the citizens
whereof began now to be unruly, and alienated in affection from the
parliament, inclining wholly to his majesty, and very averse to the
army. His majesty was well informed of all this, and thought to make
good use hereof: besides, the army and parliament were at some odds, who
should be masters. Upon the king’s intention to escape, and with his
consent, madam Whorewood (whom you knew very well, worthy esquire) came
to receive my judgment, viz. In what quarter of this nation he might be
most safe, and not to be discovered until himself pleased. When she came
to my door, I told her I would not let her come into my house, for I
buried a maid-servant of the plague very lately: however, up we went.
After erection of my figure, I told her about twenty miles (or
thereabouts) from London, and in Essex, I was certain he might continue
undiscovered. She liked my judgment very well; and, being herself of a
sharp judgment, remembered a place in Essex about that distance, where
was an excellent house, and all conveniences for his reception. Away she
went, early next morning, unto Hampton-court, to acquaint his majesty;
but see the misfortune: he, either guided by his own approaching hard
fate, or misguided by Ashburnham, went away in the night-time westward,
and surrendered himself to Hammond, in the Isle of Wight. Whilst his
majesty was at Hampton-court, alderman Adams sent his majesty one
thousand pounds in gold, five hundred whereof he gave to madam
Whorewood. I believe I had twenty pieces of that very gold for my
share.” Lilly proceeds thus: “His majesty being in Carisbrook-castle, in
the Isle of Wight, the Kentish men, in great numbers, rose in arms, and
joined with the lord Goring; a considerable number of the best ships
revolted from the parliament; the citizens of London were forward to
rise against the parliament; his majesty laid his design to escape out
of prison, by sawing the iron bars of his chamber window; a small ship
was provided, and anchored not far from the castle to bring him into
Sussex; horses were provided ready to carry him through Sussex into
Kent, that so he might be at the head of the army in Kent, and from
thence to march immediately to London, where thousands then would have
armed for him. The lady Whorewood came to me, acquaints me herewith. I
got G. Farmer (who was a most ingenious locksmith, and dwelt in
Bow-lane) to make a saw to cut the iron bars in sunder, I mean to saw
them, and aqua fortis besides. His majesty in a small time did his work;
the bars gave liberty for him to go out; he was out with his body till
he came to his breast; but then his heart failing, he proceeded no
farther: when this was discovered, as soon after it was, he was narrowly
looked after, and no opportunity after that could be devised to enlarge
him.”

Lilly goes on to say, “He was beheaded January 30, 1649. After the
execution, his body was carried to Windsor, and buried with Henry
VIIIth, in the same vault where his body was lodged. Some, who saw him
embowelled, affirm, had he not come unto this untimely end, he might
have lived, according unto nature, even unto the height of old age. Many
have curiously inquired who it was that cut off his head: I have no
permission to speak of such things; only thus much I say, he that did it
is as valiant and resolute a man as lives, and one of a competent
fortune. For my part, I do believe he was not the worst, but the most
unfortunate of kings.”

Lilly elsewhere relates, “that the next Sunday but one after Charles I.
was beheaded, Robert Spavin, secretary unto lieutenant-general Cromwell
at that time, invited himself to dine with me, and brought Anthony
Pierson, and several others, along with him to dinner. Their principal
discourse all dinner-time was, who it was beheaded the king: one said it
was the common hangman; another, Hugh Peters; others also were
nominated, but none concluded. Robert Spavin, so soon as dinner was
done, took me by the hand, and carried me to the south window; saith he,
‘These are all mistaken, they have not named the man that did the fact;
it was lieutenant-colonel Joice: I was in the room when he fitted
himself for the work, stood behind him when he did it; when done, went
in again with him. There is no man knows this but my master, viz.
Cromwell, commissary Ireton, and myself.’--‘Doth not Mr. Rushworth know
it?’ said I. ‘No, he doth not know it,’ saith Spavin. The same thing
Spavin since hath often related unto me when we were alone.”


MOVEABLE FEASTS.

SHROVE TUESDAY regulates most of the moveable feasts. _Shrove Tuesday_
itself is the next after the first new moon in the month of February. If
such new moon should happen on a Tuesday, the next Tuesday following is
Shrove Tuesday. A recently published volume furnishes a list, the
introduction of which on the next page puts the reader in possession of
serviceable knowledge on this point, and affords an opportunity for
affirming, that Mr. Nicolas’s book contains a variety of correct and
valuable information not elsewhere in a collected form:--

MOVEABLE FEASTS

FROM

  “_Tables, Calendars, &c. for the use of Historians, Antiquaries, and
  the Legal Profession, by N. H. Nicolas, Esq._”

  _Advent Sunday_, is the nearest Sunday to the feast of St. Andrew,
  November 30th, whether before or after.

  _Ascension Day_, or _Holy Thursday_, is the Thursday in Rogation week,
  i. e. the week following Rogation Sunday.

  _Ash Wednesday_, or the first day in lent, is the day after Shrove
  Tuesday.

  _Carle_, or _Care Sunday_, or the fifth Sunday in lent, is the fifth
  Sunday after Shrove Tuesday.

  _Corpus Christi_, or _Body of Christ_, is a festival kept on the
  Thursday after Trinity Sunday; and was instituted in the year 1264.

  _Easter Day._ _The Paschal Sabbath._ _The Eucharist_, or _Lord’s
  Supper_, is the seventh Sunday after Shrove Tuesday, and is always the
  first Sunday after the first full moon, which happens on or next after
  the 21st of March.

  _Easter Monday_   { are the Monday and
                    { Tuesday following
  _Easter Tuesday_  { Easter day.

  _Ember Days_, are the Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, after the
  first Sunday in lent; after the Feast of Pentecost; after Holy-rood
  Day, or the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, viz. 14th
  September; and after St. Lucia’s day, viz. 15th December.

  _Ember Weeks_, are those weeks in which the Ember days fall.

  _The Eucharist._ See Easter day.

  _Good Friday_, is the Friday in Passion Week, and the next Friday
  before Easter day.

  _Holy Thursday._ See Ascension day.

  _Lent_, a Fast from Ash Wednesday, to the Feast of Easter, viz. forty
  days.

  _Lord’s Supper._ See Easter day.

  _Low Sunday_, is the Sunday next after Easter day.

  _Maunday Thursday_, is the day before Good Friday.

  _Midlent_, or the fourth Sunday in Lent, is the fourth Sunday after
  Shrove Tuesday.

  _Palm Sunday_, or the sixth Sunday in Lent, is the sixth Sunday after
  Shrove Tuesday.

  _Paschal Sabbath._ See Easter day.

  _Passion Week_, is the week next ensuing after Palm Sunday.

  _Pentecost_ or _Whit Sunday_, is the fiftieth day and seventh Sunday
  after Easter day.

  _Quinquagesima Sunday_, is so named from its being about the fiftieth
  day before Easter. It is also called _Shrove Sunday_.

  _Relick Sunday_, is the third Sunday after Midsummer-day.

  _Rogation Sunday_, is the fifth Sunday after Easter day.

  _Rogation Days_ are the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday following
  Rogation Sunday.

  _Shrove Sunday_, is the Sunday next before Shrove Tuesday. It is also
  called _Quinquagesima Sunday_.

  _Septuagesima Sunday_, so called from its being about the seventieth
  day before Easter, is the third Sunday before Lent.

  _Sexagesima Sunday_, is the second Sunday before Lent, or the next to
  Shrove Sunday, so called as being about the sixtieth day before
  Easter.

  _Trinity Sunday_, or the _Feast_ of the _Holy Trinity_, is the next
  Sunday after Pentecost or Whitsuntide.

  _Whit Sunday._ See Pentecost.

  _Whit Monday_   { are the Monday and
                  { Tuesday  following
  _Whit Tuesday_  { Whit Sunday.

  _Whitsuntide_, is the three days above-mentioned.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _The Vigil or Eve_ of a feast, is the day before it occurs. Thus the
  Vigil of the feast of St. John the Baptist is the 23d of June. If the
  feast-day falls upon a Monday, then the Vigil or the Eve is kept upon
  the Saturday preceding.

  _The Morrow_ of a feast, is the day following: thus the feast of All
  Souls, is November 2d, and the Morrow of All Souls is consequently the
  3d of November.

  _The Octave_ or _Utas_ of each feast, is always the eighth day after
  it occurs; for example, the feast of St. Hillary, is the 13th of
  February, hence the Octave of St. Hillary, is the 20th of that month.

  _In the Octaves_, means within the eight days following any particular
  feast.

SEPTUAGESIMA

  Is the _ninth_ Sunday before Easter Sunday.

SEXAGESIMA

Is the _eighth_ Sunday before Easter.

QUINQUAGESIMA

Is the _seventh_ Sunday before Easter.

QUADRAGESIMA

  Is the _sixth_ Sunday before Easter, and the first Sunday in Lent,
  which commences on Ash Wednesday.

“The earliest term of Septuagesima Sunday is the 18th of January, when
Easter day falls on the 22d of March; the latest is the 22d of February,
when Easter happens on the 25th of April.”

  _Butler._

Shepherd in his “Elucidation of the Book of Common Prayer”
satisfactorily explains the origin of these days:

“When the words _Septuagesima_, _Sexagesima_, and _Quinquagesima_ were
first applied to denote these three Sundays, the season of _Lent_ had
generally been extended to a fast of six weeks, that is, thirty-six
days, not reckoning the Sundays, which were always celebrated as
festivals. At this time, likewise, the Sunday which we call the first
Sunday in Lent, was styled simply _Quadragesima_, or the fortieth,
meaning the fortieth day before Easter. _Quadragesima_ was also the name
given to Lent, and denoted the _Quadragesimal_, or forty days’ fast.
When the three weeks before Quadragesima ceased to be considered as
weeks after the Epiphany, and were appointed to be observed as a time of
preparation for Lent, it was perfectly conformable to the ordinary mode
of computation to reckon backwards, and for the sake of even and round
numbers to count by decades. The authors of this novel institution, and
the compilers of the new proper offices, would naturally call the first
Sunday before Quadragesima, Quinquagesima; the second, Sexagesima; and
the third, Septuagesima. This reason corresponds with the account that
seems to be at present most generally adopted.”

There is much difference of opinion as to whether the fast of _Lent_
lasted anciently during forty days or forty hours.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Maidenhair. _Asplenium trichomanes._
  Dedicated to _St. Martina_.


~January 31.~

  King George IV. proclaimed. Holiday at the Exchequer.

  _St. Peter Nolasco_, A. D. 1258. _St. Serapion_, A. D. 1240. _St.
  Cyrus and John._ _St. Marcella_, A. D. 410. _St. Maidoc_, or
  _Maodhog_, alias _Aidar_, otherwise _Mogue_, Bishop of Ferns, A. D.
  1632.


_St. Peter Nolasco._

Ribadeneira relates, that on the 1st of August 1216, the virgin Mary
with a beautiful train of holy virgins appeared to this saint at
midnight, and signified it was the divine pleasure that a new order
should be instituted under the title of Our Blessed Lady of Mercy, for
the redemption of captives, and that king James of Aragon had the same
vision at the same time, and “this order, therefore, by divine
revelation, was founded upon the 10th, or as others say, upon the 23d of
August.” Then St. Peter Nolasco begged for its support, and thereby
rendered himself offensive to the devil. For once taking up his lodging
in private, some of the neighbours told him, that the master of the
house, a man of evil report, had lately died, and the place had ever
since been inhabited by “night spirits,” wherein he commended himself to
the virgin and other saints, and “instantly his admonitors vanished away
like smoke, leaving an intolerable scent behind them.” These of course
were devils in disguise. Then he passed the sea in his cloak, angels
sung before him in the habit of his order, and the virgin visited his
monastery. One night he went into the church and found the angels
singing the service instead of the monks; and at another time seven
stars fell from heaven, and on digging the ground “there, they found a
most devout image of our lady under a great bell,”--and so forth.

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Hartstongue. _Asplenium Scolopendium._
  Dedicated to _St. Marcella_.




[Illustration: FEBRUARY.]


    ------- Then came cold February, sitting
    In an old waggon, for he could not ride,
    Drawne of two fishes, for the season fitting,
    Which through the flood before did softly slyde
    And swim away; yet had he by his side
    His plough and harnesse fit to till the ground,
    And tooles to prune the trees before the pride
    Of hasting prime did make them burgeon round.

  _Spenser._

This month has Pisces or the fishes for its zodiacal sign. Numa, who was
chosen by the Roman people to succeed Romulus as their king, and became
their legislator, placed it the second in the year, as it remains with
us, and dedicated it to Neptune, the lord of waters. Its name is from
the _Februa_, or Feralia, sacrifices offered to the manes of the gods at
this season. Ovid in his _Fasti_ attests the derivation:

    In ancient times, purgations had the name
    Of _Februa_, various customs prove the same;
    The pontiffs from the _rex_ and _flamen_ crave
    A lock of wool; in former days they gave
    To wool the name of Februa.
    A pliant branch cut from a lofty pine,
    Which round the temples of the priests they twine,
    Is Februa called; which if the priest demand,
    A branch of pine is put into his hand;
    In short, with whatsoe’er our hearts we hold
    Are purified, was Februa termed of old;
    _Lustrations_ are from hence, from hence the name
    Of this our month of February came;
    In which the priests of Pan processions made;
    In which the tombs were also purified
    Of such as had no dirges when they died;
    For our religious fathers did maintain
    Purgations expiated every stain
    Of guilt and sin; from Greece the custom came,
    But here adopted by another name;
    The Grecians held that pure lustrations could
    Efface an impious deed, or guilt of blood
    Weak men; to think that water can make clean
    A bloody crime, or any sinful stain.

  _Massey’s Ovid._

Our Saxon ancestors, according to Verstegan, “called February
_Sprout-kele_, by kele meaning the kele-wurt, which we now call the
colewurt, the greatest _pot-wurt_ in time long past that our ancestors
used, and the broth made therewith was thereof also called kele; for
before we borrowed from the French the name of potage, and the name of
herbe, the one in our owne language was called _kele_, and the other
_wurt_; and as this kele-wurt, or potage-hearbe, was the chiefe
winter-wurt for the sustenance of the husbandman, so was it the first
hearbe that in this moneth began to yeeld out wholesome yong sprouts,
and consequently gave thereunto the name of _Sprout-kele_.” The “kele”
here mentioned, is the well-known kale of the cabbage tribe. But the
Saxons likewise called this month “Solmonath,” which Dr. Frank Sayers in
his “Disquisitions” says, is explained by Bede “mensis placentarum,” and
rendered by Spelman in an unedited manuscript “_pan-cake_ month,”
because in the course of it, cakes were offered by the pagan Saxons to
the sun; and “Sol,” or “soul,” signified “food,” or “cakes.”

In “The Months,” by Mr. Leigh Hunt, he remarks that “if February were
not the precursor of spring, it would be the least pleasant season of
the year, November not excepted. The thaws now take place; and a clammy
mixture of moisture and cold succeeds, which is the most disagreeable of
wintry sensations.” Yet so variable is our climate, that the February of
1825 broke in upon the inhabitants of the metropolis with a day or two
of piercing cold, and realized a delightful description of January
sparkled from the same pen. “What can be more delicately beautiful than
the spectacle which sometimes salutes the eye at the breakfast-room
window, occasioned by the hoar-frost dew? If a jeweller had come to
dress every plant over night, to surprise an Eastern sultan, he could
not produce any thing like the ‘pearly drops,’ or the ‘silvery plumage.’
An ordinary bed of greens, to those who are not at the mercy of their
own vulgar associations, will sometimes look crisp and corrugated
emerald, powdered with diamonds.”


THE SEASON.

    Sunk in the vale, whose concave depth receives
    The waters draining from these shelvy banks
    When the shower beats, yon pool with pallid gleam
    Betrays its icy covering. From the glade
    Issuing in pensive file, and moving slow,
    The cattle, all unwitting of the change,
    To quench their customary thirst advance.
    With wondering stare and fruitless search they trace
    The solid margin: now bend low the head
    In act to drink; now with fastidious nose
    Snuffing the marble floor, and breathing loud,
    From the cold touch withdraw. Awhile they stand
    In disappointment mute; with ponderous feet
    Then bruise the surface: to each stroke the woods
    Reply; forth gushes the imprisoned wave.


~February 1.~

  _St. Ignatius._ _St. Pionius_, A. D. 250. _St. Bridget._ _St. Kinnia._
  _St. Sigebert II._ _King._


_St. Bridget._

St. Bride, otherwise St. Bridget, confers her name upon the parish of
St. Bride’s, for to her its church in Fleet-street is dedicated. Butler
says she was born in Ulster, built herself a cell under a large oak,
thence called Kill-dara, or cell of the oak, was joined by others of her
own sex, formed several nunneries, and became patroness of Ireland.
“But,” says Butler, “a full account of her virtues has not been
transmitted down to us, together with the veneration of her name;” yet
he declares that “her five modern lives mention little else but
wonderful miracles.” According to the same author, she flourished in the
beginning of the sixth century, her body was found in the twelfth
century, and her head “is now kept in the church of the Jesuits at
Lisbon.” This writer does not favour us with any of her miracles, but
bishop Patrick mentions, that wild ducks swimming in the water, or
flying in the air, obeyed her call, came to her hand, let her embrace
them, and then she let them fly away again. He also found in the
breviary of Sarum, that when she was sent a-milking by her mother to
make butter, she gave away all the milk to the poor; that when the rest
of the maids brought in their milk she prayed, and the butter
multiplied; that the butter she gave away she divided into twelve parts,
“as if it were for the twelve apostles; and one part she made bigger
than any of the rest, which stood for Christ’s portion; though it is
strange,” says Patrick, “that she forget to make another inequality by
ordering one portion more of the butter to be made bigger than the
remaining ones in honour of St. Peter, the prince of the apostles.”


BURIAL OF ALLELUIA.

In Mr. Fosbroke’s “British Monarchism,” the observation of this catholic
ceremony is noticed as being mentioned in “Ernulphus’s Annals of
Rochester Cathedral,” and by Selden. From thence it appears to have
taken place just before the octaves of Easter. Austin says, “that it
used to be sung in all churches from Easter to Pentecost, but Damasus
ordered it to be performed at certain times, whence it was chanted on
Sundays from the octaves of Epiphany to Septuagesima, and on the Sundays
from the octaves of Pentecost and Advent. One mode of burying the
Alleluia was this: in the sabbath of the _Septuagesima_ at Nones, the
choristers assembled in the great vestiary, and there arranged the
ceremony. Having finished the last ‘Benedicamus,’ they advanced with
crosses, torches, holy waters, and incense, carrying a turf (Glebam) in
the manner of a coffin, passed through the choir and went howling to the
cloister, as far as the place of interment; and then having sprinkled
the water, and censed the place, returned by the same road. According to
a story (whether true or false) in one of the churches of Paris, a choir
boy used to whip a top, marked with _Alleluia_, written in golden
letters, from one end of the choir to the other. In other places
_Alleluia_ was buried by a serious service on Septuagesima Sunday.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lesser Water Moss. _Fontinalis minor._
  Dedicated to _St. Ignatius_.
  Bay. _Laurus nobilis._
  Dedicated to _St. Bridget_.


~February 2.~

  Holiday at the Public Offices, except Excise, Stamps, and Customs.

  _The Purification._ _St. Laurence_, Archbishop of Canterbury, A. D.
  619.


CANDLEMAS DAY.

This being the festival which catholics call the Purification of the
virgin, they observe it with great pomp. It stands as a holiday in the
calendar of the church of England. Naogeorgus thus introduces the day;
or rather Barnaby Googe, in his translation of that author’s, “Popish
Kingdom:”

    “Then comes the Day wherein the Virgin offred Christ unto
    The Father chiefe, as Moyses law commaunded hir to do.
    Then numbers great of Tapers large, both men and women beare
    To Church, being halowed there with pomp, and dreadful words to
         heare.
    This done, eche man his Candell lightes where chiefest seemeth hee,
    Whose Taper greatest may be seene and fortunate to bee;
    Whose Candell burneth cleare and bright, a wondrous force and might
    Doth in these Candels lie, which if at any time they light,
    They sure beleve that neyther storme or tempest dare abide,
    Nor thunder in the skies be heard, nor any Devil’s spide,
    Nor fearefull sprites that walke by night, nor hurts of frost or
         haile.”--

According to “The Posey of Prayers, or the Key of Heaven,” it is called
_Candlemas_, because before mass is said this day, the church _blesses
her candles for the whole year_, and makes a procession with hallowed or
blessed candles in the hands of the faithful.

From catholic service-books, quoted in “Pagano Papismus,” some
particulars are collected concerning the blessing of the candles. Being
at the altar, the priest says over them several prayers; one of which
commences thus: “O Lord Jesu Christ, who enlightenest every one that
cometh into the world, pour out thy benediction upon these Candles, and
sanctifie them with the light of thy grace,” &c. Another begins: “Holy
Lord, Father Almighty, Everlasting God, who hast created all things of
nothing, and by the labour of bees caused this liquor to come to the
perfection of a wax candle; we humbly beseech thee, that by the
invocation of thy most holy name, and by the intercession of the blessed
virgin, ever a virgin, whose festivals are this day devoutly celebrated,
and by the prayers of all thy saints, thou wouldst vouchsafe to bless
and sanctifie these candles,” &c. Then the priest sprinkles the candles
thrice with holy water, saying “Sprinkle me with,” &c. and perfumes them
thrice with incense. One of the consecratory prayers begins: “O Lord
Jesu Christ, bless this creature of wax to us thy suppliants; and infuse
into it, by the virtue of the holy cross, thy heavenly benediction; that
in whatsoever places it shall be lighted, or put, the devil may depart,
and tremble, and fly away, with all his ministers, from those
habitations, and not presume any more to disturb them,” &c. There is
likewise this benediction: “I bless thee, O wax, in the name of the holy
trinity, that thou may’st be in every place the ejection of Satan, and
subversion of all his companions,” &c. During the saying of these
prayers, various bowings and crossings are interjected; and when the
ceremonies of consecration are over, the chiefest priest goes to the
altar, and he that officiates receives a candle from him; afterwards,
that priest, standing before the altar towards the people, distributes
the candles, first to the priest from whom he received a candle, then to
others in order, all kneeling (except bishops) and kissing the candle,
and also kissing the hand of the priest who delivers it. When he begins
to distribute the candles, they sing, “A light to lighten the gentiles,
and the glory of thy people Israel.” After the candles are distributed,
a solemn procession is made; in which one carries a censer, another a
crucifix, and the rest burning candles in their hands.

The practice is treated of by Butler in his notice of the festival under
this head, “On blessing of Candles and the Procession.” It is to be
gathered from him that “St. Bernard says the procession was first made
by St. Joseph, Simeon, and Anne, as an example to be followed by all the
earth, walking two and two, holding in their hands candles, lighted from
fire, first blessed by the priests, and singing.” The candle-bearing has
reference to Simeon’s declaration in the temple when he took Jesus in
his arms, and affirmed that he was a light to lighten the gentiles, and
the glory of Israel. This was deemed sufficient ground by the Romish
church, whereon to adopt the torch-bearing of the pagans in honour of
their own deities, as a ceremony in honour of the presentation of Jesus
in the temple. The pagans used lights in their worship, and Constantine,
and other emperors, endowed churches with land and various possessions,
for the maintenance of lights in catholic churches, and frequently
presented the ecclesiastics with coffers full of candles and tapers.
Mr. Fosbroke shows, from catholic authorities, that light-bearing on
Candlemas day is an old Pagan ceremony; and from Du Cange, that it was
substituted by pope Gelasius for the candles, which in February the
Roman people used to carry in the Lupercalia.

Pope Innocent, in a sermon on this festival, quoted in “Pagano
Papismus,” inquires, “Why do we (the catholics) in this feast carry
candles?” and then he explains the matter by way of answer. “Because,”
says he, “the gentiles dedicated the month of February to the infernal
gods, and as, at the beginning of it, Pluto stole Proserpine, and her
mother, Ceres, sought her in the night with lighted candles, so they, at
the beginning of this month, walked about the city with lighted candles;
because the holy fathers could not utterly extirpate this custom, they
ordained that Christians should carry about candles in honour of the
blessed virgin Mary: and thus,” says the pope, “what was done before to
the honour of Ceres is now done to the honour of the Virgin.”

Polydore Vergil, observing on the pagan processions and the custom of
publicly carrying about images of the gods with relics, says, “Our
priests do the same thing. We observe all these ceremonies, but I know
not whether the custom is as good as it is showy; I fear, I fear, I say,
that in these things, we rather please the gods of the heathen than
Jesus Christ, for they were desirous that their worshippers should be
magnificent in their processions, as Sallust says; but Christ hates
nothing more than this, telling us, _When thou prayest, enter into thy
closet, and when thou hast shut thy door pray to thy Father_. What will
then become of us, if we act contrary to his commandment? Surely,
whatever may become of us, we do act contrary to it.”

Brand shows, from “Dunstan’s Concord of Monastic Rules,” that the monks
went in surplices to the church for candles, which were to be
consecrated, sprinkled with holy water, and censed by the abbot. Every
monk took a candle from the sacrist, and lighted it. A procession was
made, thirds and mass were celebrated, and the candles, after the
offering, were offered to the priest. The monks’ candles signified the
use of those in the parable of the wise virgins.

In catholic countries the people joined the priests in their public
processions to the churches, every individual bearing a burning candle,
and the churches themselves blazed with supernumerary illuminations at
mid-day.

It is to be noted, that from Candlemas the use of tapers at vespers and
litanies, which prevailed throughout the winter, ceased until the
ensuing ALL HALLOW MASS; and hence the origin of an old English proverb
in Ray’s Collection--

    “On Candlemas-day
    Throw candle and candlestick away.”

Candlemas candle-carrying remained in England till its abolition by an
order in council, in the second year of king Edward VI.

       *       *       *       *       *

The “Golden Legend” relates, that a lady who had given her mantle to a
poor man for the love of our lady, would not go to church on
Candlemas-day, but went into her own private chapel, and kneeling before
the altar, fell asleep, and had a miraculous vision, wherein she saw
herself at church. Into this visionary church she imagined that a troop
of virgins came, with a noble virgin at their head, “crowned ryght
precyously,” and seated themselves in order; then a troop of young men,
who seated themselves in like order; then one, with a proper number of
candles, gave to each a candle, and to the lady herself he gave a candle
of wax; then came St. Laurence as a deacon, and St. Vincent as a
sub-deacon, and Jesus Christ as the priest, and two angels bearing
candles; then the two angels began the Introit of the mass, and the
virgins sung the mass; then the virgins went and each offered the candle
to the priest, and the priest waited for the lady to offer her candle;
then “the glorious quene of virgyns” sent to her to say that she was not
courteous to make the priest tarry so long for her, and the lady
answered that the priest might go on with the mass, for she should keep
her candle herself, and not offer it; and the virgin sent a second time,
and the lady said she would not offer the candle; then “the quene of
virgyns” said to the messenger, “Pray her to offer the candle, and if
she will not, take it from her by force;” still she would not offer the
candle, and therefore the messenger seized it; but the lady held so fast
and long, and the messenger drew and pulled so hard, that the candle
broke, and the lady kept half. Then the lady awoke, and found the piece
of candle in her hand; whereat she marvelled, and returned thanks to
the glorious virgin, who had not suffered her to be without a mass on
Candlemas-day, and all her life kept the piece of candle for a relic;
and all they that were touched therewith were healed of their maladies
and sicknesses.

       *       *       *       *       *

Poetry is the history of ancient times. We know little of the times sung
by Homer but from his verses. To Herrick we must confess our obligation
for acquaintance with some of the manners pertaining to this “great day
in the calendar.” Perhaps, had he not written, we should be ignorant
that our forefathers fared more daintily during the Christmas holidays
than at other seasons; be unaware of the rule for setting out the due
quantum of time, and orderly succession, to Christmas ever-greens; and
live, as most of us have lived, but ought not to live longer, without
being informed, that the Christmas-log may be burnt until this day, and
must be quenched this night till Christmas comes again.

_Candlemas Eve._

    End now the white-loafe and the pye,
    And let all sports with Christmas dye.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Kindle the Christmas Brand, and then
      Till sunne-set let it burne,
    Which quencht, then lay it up agen,
      Till Christmas next returne.

    Part must be kept wherewith to teend
      The Christmas Log next yeare,
    And where ’tis safely kept, the fiend
      Can do no mischiefe there.

  _Herrick._

How severely he enjoins the removal of the last greens of the old year,
and yet how essential is his reason for their displacement:

_Candlemas Eve._

    Down with the Rosemary, and so
    Down with the Baies and Misletoe;
    Down with the Holly, Ivie, all
    Wherewith ye drest the Christmas Hall;
    That so the superstitious find
    No one least Branch there left behind:
    For look, how many leaves there be
    Neglected there, maids, trust to me,
    So many goblins you shall see.

  _Herrick._

Hearken to the gay old man again, and participate in his joyous
anticipations of pleasure from the natural products of the new year. His
next little poem is a collyrium for the mind’s eye:

_Ceremonies for Candlemasse Eve._

    Down with the Rosemary and Bayes,
      Down with the Misleto;
    Instead of Holly, now up-raise
      The greener Box (for show.)

    The Holly hitherto did sway;
      Let Box now domineere,
    Untill the dancing Easter-day,
      On Easter’s Eve appeare.

    Then youthful Box, which now hath grace,
      Your houses to renew,
    Grown old, surrender must his place
      Unto the crisped Yew.

    When Yew is out, then Birch comes in,
      And many Flowers beside,
    Both of a fresh and fragrant kinne,
      To honour Whitsuntide.

    Green Bushes then, and sweetest Bents,
      With cooler Oken boughs,
    Come in for comely ornaments
      To re-adorn the house.

    Thus times do shift; each thing his turne do’s hold;
    New things succeed, as former things grow old.

  _Herrick._

Brand cites a curious anecdote concerning John Cosin, bishop of Durham,
on this day, from a rare tract, entitled “The Vanitie and Downefall of
superstitious Popish Ceremonies, preached in the Cathedral Church of
Durham, by one Peter Smart, a prebend there, July 27, 1628,”
Edinborough, 4to. 1628. The story is, that “on Candlemass-day last past,
Mr. Cozens, in renuing that popish ceremonie of burning Candles to the
honour of our lady, busied himself from two of the clocke in the
afternoon till foure, in climbing long ladders to stick up wax candles
in the said Cathedral Church: the number of all the Candles burnt that
evening was two hundred and twenty, besides sixteen torches; sixty of
those burning tapers and torches standing upon, and near, the high
Altar, (as he calls it,) where no man came nigh.”

A contributor to the Gentleman’s Magazine informs Mr. Urban, in 1790,
that having visited Harrowgate for his health a few years before, he
resided for some time at that pleasant market-town Rippon, where, on the
Sunday before Candlemas-day, he observed that the collegiate church, a
fine ancient building, was one continued blaze of light all the
afternoon from an immense number of candles.

Brand observes, that in the north of England this day is called the
“Wives’ Feast Day;” and he quotes a singular old custom from Martin’s
book on the Western Islands, to this effect:--“The mistress and servants
of each family dress a sheaf of oats in women’s apparel, put it in a
large basket, and lay a wooden club by it, and this they call Brüd’s
Bed; and the mistress and servants cry three times, ‘Brüd is come, Brüd
is welcome!’ This they do just before going to bed. In the morning they
look among the ashes, and if they see the impression of Brüd’s club
there, they reckon it a presage of a good crop, and prosperous year; if
not, they take it as an ill omen.”

       *       *       *       *       *

A Dorsetshire gentleman communicates a custom which he witnessed at Lyme
Regis in his juvenile days; to what extent it prevailed he is unable to
say, his knowledge being limited to the domestic circle wherein he was
included. The wood-ashes of the family being sold throughout the year as
they were made, the person who purchased them annually sent a present on
Candlemas-day of a large candle. When night came, this candle was
lighted, and, assisted by its illumination, the inmates regaled
themselves with cheering draughts of ale, and sippings of punch, or some
other animating beverage, until the candle had burnt out. The coming of
the Candlemas candle was looked forward to by the young ones as an event
of some consequence; for, of usage, they had a sort of right to sit up
that night, and partake of the refreshment, till all retired to rest,
the signal for which was the self-extinction of the Candlemas candle.

       *       *       *       *       *

Bishop Hall, in a Sermon on Candlemas-day, remarks, that “it hath been
an old (I say not how true) note, that hath been wont to be set on this
day, that if it be clear and sun-shiny, it portends a hard weather to
come; if cloudy and louring, a mild and gentle season ensuing.” This
agrees with one of Ray’s proverbs:

    “The hind had as lief see
       his wife on the bier,
     As that Candlemas-day
       should be pleasant and clear.”

So also Browne, in his “Vulgar Errors,” affirms, that “there is a
general tradition in most parts of Europe, that inferreth the coldness
of succeeding winter from the shining of the sun on Candlemas-day,
according to the proverbial distich:

    ‘Si Sol splendescat Mariâ purificante,
    Major erit glacies post festum quam fuit ante.’”

The “Country Almanac” for 1676, in the month of February, versifies to
the same effect:

    “Foul weather is no news;
       hail, rain, and snow,
     Are now expected, and
       esteem’d no woe;
     Nay, ’tis an omen bad,
       The yeomen say,
     If Phœbus shows his face
       the second day.”

  _Country Almanac_, (_Feb._) 1676.

Other almanacs prophesy to the like purport:

    “If Candlemas-day be fair and bright,
     Winter will have another flight;
     But if Candlemas-day be clouds and rain,
     Winter is gone, and will not come again.”

The next old saw is nearer the truth than either of the preceding:

    “When Candlemas-day is come and gone,
     The snow lies on a hot stone.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Snowdrop. _Galanthus Nivalis_
  Dedicated to the _Purification of the Virgin Mary_.


~February 3.~

  Holiday at the Exchequer.

  _St. Blase._ _St. Anscharius_, A. D. 865. _St. Wereburge_, Patroness
  of Chester. _St. Margaret_, of England.


_St. Blase._

This saint has the honour of a place in the church of England calendar,
on what account it is difficult to say. All the facts that Butler has
collected of him is, that he was bishop of Sebaste in Armenia, receiver
of the relics of St. Eustratius, and executor of his last will; that he
is venerated for the cure of sore throats; principal patron of Ragusa,
titular patron of the wool-combers; and that he was tormented with iron
combs, and martyred under Licinius, in 316.

Ribadeneira is more diffuse. He relates, that St. Blase lived in a cave,
whither wild beasts came daily to visit him, and be cured by him; “and
if it happened that they came while he was at prayer, they did not
interrupt him, but waited till he had ended, and never departed without
his benediction. He was discovered in his retirement, imprisoned, and
cured a youth who had a fish-bone stuck in his throat by praying.”
Ribadeneira further says that Ætius, an ancient Greek physician, gave
the following

_Receipt for a stoppage in the throat_:

“Hold the diseased party by the throat, and pronounce these
words:--BLASE, _the martyr and servant of Jesus Christ, commands thee to
pass up or down_!”

The same Jesuit relates, that St. Blase was scourged, and seven holy
women anointed themselves with his blood; whereupon their flesh was
combed with iron combs, their wounds ran nothing but milk, their flesh
was whiter than snow, angels came visibly and healed their wounds as
fast as they were made; and they were put into the fire, which would not
consume them; wherefore they were ordered to be beheaded, and beheaded
accordingly. Then St. Blase was ordered to be drowned in the lake; but
he walked on the water, sat down on it in the middle, and invited the
infidels to a sitting; whereupon threescore and eight, who tried the
experiment, were drowned, and St. Blase walked back to be beheaded.

The “Golden Legend” says, that a wolf having run away with a woman’s
swine, she prayed St. Blase that she might have her swine again, and St.
Blase promised her, with a smile, she should, and the wolf brought the
swine back; then she slew it, and offered the head and the feet, with
some bread and a candle, to St. Blase. “And he thanked God, and ete
thereof; and he sayd to her, that every yere she sholde offre in his
chirche a candell. And she dyd all her lyf, and she had moche grete
prosperyte. And knowe thou that to thee, and to all them that so shal
do, shal well happen to them.”

It is observed in a note on Brand, that the candles offered to St. Blase
were said to be good for the tooth-ache, and for diseased cattle.

       *       *       *       *       *

    “Then followeth good sir Blase, who doth a waxen Candell give,
     And holy water to his men, whereby they safely live
     I divers Barrels oft have seene, drawne out of water cleare,
     Through one small blessed bone of this same holy Martyr heare:
     And caryed thence to other townes and cities farre away,
     Ech superstition doth require such earnest kinde of play.”

The origin of St. Blase’s fame has baffled the inquiry of antiquaries;
it seems to have rolled off with the darkness of former ages, never to
be known again. To the _wool-combers_ this saint is indebted for the
maintenance of his reputation in England, for no other trade or persons
have any interest in remembering his existence; and this popularity with
a body of so much consequence may possibly have been the reason, and the
only reason, for the retention of his name in the church calendar at the
Reformation. That it is not in the wane with them, is clear from a
report in the _Leeds Mercury_, of the 5th of February, 1825. The article
furnishes the very interesting particulars in the subjoined account:--


CELEBRATION OF

~Bishop Blase’s Festival,~

AT BRADFORD, 3d FEBRUARY, 1825.

The septennial festival, held in honour of bishop Blase, and of the
invention of wool-combing attributed to that personage, was on this day
celebrated at Bradford with great gaiety and rejoicing.

There is no place in the kingdom where the bishop is so splendidly
commemorated as at Bradford. In 1811, 1818, and at previous septennial
periods, the occasion was celebrated with great pomp and festivity, each
celebration surpassing the preceding ones in numbers and brilliance. The
celebration of 1825 eclipsed all hitherto seen, and it is most
gratifying to know, that this is owing to the high prosperity of the
worsted and woollen manufactures, which are constantly adding fresh
streets and suburban villages to the town.

The different trades began to assemble at eight o’clock in the morning,
but it was near ten o’clock before they all were arranged in marching
order in Westgate. The arrangements were actively superintended by
Matthew Thompson, Esq. The morning was brilliantly beautiful. As early
as seven o’clock, strangers poured into Bradford from the surrounding
towns and villages, in such numbers as to line the roads in every
direction; and almost all the vehicles within twenty miles were in
requisition. Bradford was never before known to be so crowded with
strangers. Many thousands of individuals must have come to witness the
scene. About ten o’clock the procession was drawn up in the following
order:--

  Herald bearing a flag.
  _Woolstaplers_ on horseback, each horse caparisoned with a fleece.
  _Worsted Spinners and Manufacturers_ on horseback, in white stuff
       waistcoats, with each a sliver over the shoulder, and a white
       stuff sash; the horses’ necks covered with nets made of thick
       yarn.
  _Merchants_ on horseback, with  sashes.
  Three Guards. Masters’ Colours. Three Guards.
  _Apprentices and Masters’ Sons_, on horseback, with ornamented caps,
       scarlet stuff coats, white stuff waistcoats, and blue pantaloons.
  _Bradford_ and _Keighley Bands_.
  _Mace-bearer_, on foot.
  Six Guards. KING. QUEEN.  Six Guards.
  Guards. JASON. PRINCESS MEDEA. Guards.
  Bishop’s Chaplain.
  BISHOP BLASE.
  _Shepherd and Shepherdess._
  _Shepherd Swains._
  _Woolsorters_, on horseback, with ornamented caps, and various
        slivers.
  _Comb Makers._
  _Charcoal Burners._
  _Combers’ Colours._
  Band.
  _Woolcombers_, with wool wigs, &c.
  Band.
  _Dyers_, with red cockades, blue aprons, and crossed slivers of red
       and blue.

The following were the numbers of the different bodies, as nearly as
could be estimated:--24 _woolstaplers_, 38 _spinners_ and
_manufacturers_, 6 _merchants_, 56 _apprentices_ and _masters’ sons_,
160 _wool-sorters_, 30 _combmakers_, 470 _wool-combers_, and 40 _dyers_.
The KING, on this occasion, was an old man, named _Wm. Clough_, of
Darlington, who had filled the regal station at four previous
celebrations. Jason (the celebrated legend of the Golden Fleece of
Colchis, is interwoven with the commemoration of the bishop,) was
personated by _John Smith_; and the fair MEDEA, to whom he was indebted
for his spoils, rode by his side.--BISHOP BLASE was a personage of very
becoming gravity, also named _John Smith_; and he had enjoyed his
pontificate several previous commemorations; his chaplain was _James
Beethom_. The ornaments of the spinners and manufacturers had a neat and
even elegant appearance, from the delicate and glossy whiteness of the
finely combed wool which they wore. The apprentices and masters’ sons,
however, formed the most showy part of the procession, their caps being
richly adorned with ostrich feathers, flowers, and knots of various
 yarn, and their stuff garments being of the gayest colours;
some of these dresses, we understand, were very costly, from the
profusion of their decorations. The shepherd, shepherdess, and swains,
were attired in light green. The wool-sorters, from their number and the
height of their plumes of feathers, which were, for the most part, of
different colours, and formed in the shape of _fleur-de-lis_, had a
dashing appearance. The combmakers carried before them the instruments
here so much celebrated, raised on standards, together with golden
fleeces, rams’ heads with gilded horns, and other emblems. The combers
looked both neat and comfortable in their flowing wigs of well-combed
wool; and the garb of the dyers was quite professional. Several
well-painted flags were displayed, one of which represented on one side
the venerable BISHOP _in full robes_, and on the other a shepherd and
shepherdess under a tree. Another had a painting of MEDEA _giving up the
golden fleece to_ JASON: a third had a portrait of the KING: and a
fourth appeared to belong to some association in the trade. The whole
procession was from half a mile to a mile in length.

When the procession was ready to move, _Richard Fawcett, Esq._ who was
on horseback at the head of the spinners, pronounced, uncovered, and
with great animation, the following lines, which it had long been
customary to repeat on these occasions, and which, if they have not much
poetical elegance, have the merit of expressing true sentiments in
simple language:--

    Hail to the day, whose kind auspicious rays
    Deign’d first to smile on famous bishop Blase!
    To the great author of our combing trade,
    This day’s devoted, and due honour’s paid;
    To him whose fame thro’ Britain’s isle resounds,
    To him whose goodness to the poor abounds;
    Long shall his name in British annals shine,
    And grateful ages offer at his shrine!
    By this our trade are thousands daily fed,
    By it supplied with means to earn their bread.
    In various forms our trade its work imparts,
    In different methods, and by different arts,
    Preserves from starving, indigents distress’d
    As combers, spinners, weavers, and the rest.
    We boast no gems, or costly garments vain,
    Borrow’d from India, or the coast of Spain;
    Our native soil with wool our trade supplies,
    While foreign countries envy us the prize.
    No foreign broil our common good annoys,
    Our country’s product all our art employs;
    Our fleecy flocks abound in every vale,
    Our bleating lambs proclaim the joyful tale.
    So let not Spain with us attempt to vie,
    Nor India’s wealth pretend to soar so high;
    Nor Jason pride him in his Colchian spoil,
    By hardships gain’d, and enterprising toil,
    Since Britons all with ease attain the prize,
    And every hill resounds with golden cries.
    To celebrate our founder’s great renown
    Our shepherd and our shepherdess we crown;
    For England’s commerce, and for George’s sway,
    Each loyal subject give a loud HUZZA.
                      HUZZA!

These lines were afterwards several times repeated, in the principal
streets and roads through which the cavalcade passed. About five o’clock
they dispersed.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great water moss. _Fontinalis Antepyretica._
  Dedicated to _St. Blase_.


~February 4.~

  _St. Andrew Corsini_, A. D. 1373. _St. Phileas._ _St. Gilbert._ _St.
  Jane, or Joan_, Queen, A. D. 1505. _St. Isidore_, of Pelusium, A. D.
  449. _St. Rembert_, Archbishop of Bremen, A. D. 888. _St. Modan_, of
  Scotland. _St. Joseph_, of Leonissa, A. D. 1612.

    Goe plow in the stubble, for now is the season
    For sowing of fitches, of beanes, and of peason.
    Sow runciuals timely, and all that be gray,
    But sow not the white, till St Gregorie’s day.

  _Tusser_

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Goldilocks. _Polytricum Commune._
  Dedicated to _St. Jane_.
  Indian Bay. _Laurus Indica._
  Dedicated to _St. Margaret of England_.


~February 5.~

  Holiday at the Exchequer.

  _St. Agatha._ _The Martyrs of Japan._ _The Martyrs of China._ _St.
  Avitus_, Archbishop, A. D. 525. _St. Alice_, or _Adelaide_, A. D.
  1015. _St. Abraamius_, Bishop of Arbela.


_St. Agatha._

This saint, who is in the calendar of the church of England, was a
Sicilian martyr about the year 251. Butler relates, that before her
death she was tortured, and being refused physicians, St. Peter himself
came from heaven, healed her wounds, and filled her prison with light.
He also as gravely states, that several times when Catana was in danger
from the eruptions of mount Ætna, her veil carried in procession averted
the volcanic matter from the city.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Primrose. _Primula vulgaris._
  Dedicated to _St. Agatha_.
  Red Primrose. _Primula aculis._
  Dedicated to _St. Adelaide_.


~February 6.~

  Sexagesima Sunday.

  _St. Dorothy_, A. D. 308. _St. Vedast_, Bishop, A. D. 539. _St.
  Amandus_, A. D. 675. _St. Barsanuphius._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Blue Jacinth. _Hyacinthus Orientalis cœruleus._
  Dedicated to _St. Dorothy_.


~February 7.~

  _St. Romuald_, A. D. 1027. _St. Richard_, King of the West Saxons, A.
  D. 722. _St. Theodorus_ of Heraclea, A. D. 319. _St. Tresain_, 6th
  Cent. _St. Augulus_, Bishop.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Roundleaved Cyclamen. _Cyclamen Coum._
  Dedicated to _St. Romuald_.


~February 8.~

  _St. John_ of Matha, A. D. 1213. _St. Stephen_ of Grandmont, A. D.
  1124. _St. Paul_, Bishop of Verdun, A. D. 631. _St. Cuthman._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Narrow Spring Moss. _Mnium Androgynum._
  Dedicated to _St. John of Matha_.


~February 9.~

  _St. Apollonia_, A. D. 249. _St. Nicephorus_, A. D. 260. _St.
  Theliau_, Bishop, A. D. 580. _St. Ansbert_, Abp. of Rouen, A. D. 695.
  _St. Attracta or Tarahata_ of Ireland. _St. Herard_ or _Eberhard_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Roman Narcissus. _Narcissus Romanus._
  Dedicated to _St. Apollonia_.


~February 10.~

  _St. Scholastica_, A. D. 543. _St. Coteris_, 4th Cent. _St. William_
  of Maleval, A. D. 1157. _St. Erlulph_, Scotch Bishop.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Mezereon. _Daphne Mezereon._
  Dedicated to _St. Scholastica_.
  Silky Fork Moss. _Mnium heteomallum._
  Dedicated to _St. Coteris_.


~February 11.~

  _St. Saturninus Dativus, &c._ of Africa, A. D. 304. _St. Severinus_,
  A. D. 507, _The Empress Theodora_, A. D. 867.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Red Primrose. _Primula Verna rubra._
  Dedicated to _St. Theodora_.


~February 12.~

  _St. Benedict_ of Anian, A. D. 821. _St. Meletius_ of Antioch. A. D.
  381. _St. Eulalia_ of Barcelona. _St. Anthony Cauleas_, A. D. 896.

  HILARY TERM _ends_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Noble Liverwort. _Anemone hepatica_.
  Dedicated to _St. Eulalia_.


~February 13.~

  _St. Catherine de Ricci._ A. D. 1589. _St. Licinius_, Bishop, A. D.
  618. _St. Polyeuctus_, A. D. 257. _St. Gregory II._ Pope. _St.
  Martinianus._ _St. Modomnoc_ or _Dominick_ of Ossory, 6th Cent. _St.
  Stephen_, Abbot, 6th Cent. _Roger_, Abbot, A. D. 1175.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Polyanthus. _Primula polyantha._
  Dedicated to _St. Catherine de Ricci_.


~February 14.~

  VALENTINE’S DAY.

  _St. Valentine._ _St. Maro_, A. D. 433. _St. Abraames_, A. D. 422.
  _St. Augentius_, 5th Cent. _St. Conran_, Bishop of Orkney.


_St. Valentine._

Of this saint, so celebrated among young persons, little is known,
except that he was a priest of Rome, and martyred there about 270.

It was a custom with the ancient Roman youth to draw the names of girls
in honour of their goddess Februata-Juno on the 15th of February, in
exchange for which certain Roman catholic pastors substituted the names
of saints in billets given the day before, namely, on the 14th of
February.

[Illustration]

    Where _can_ the postman be, I say?
    He ought to _fly_--on such a day!
    Of _all_ days in the year, you know,
    It’s monstrous rude to be so _slow_:
    The fellow’s so _exceeding_ stupid--
    Hark!--_there_ he is!--oh! the _dear_ CUPID!

Two hundred thousand letters beyond the usual daily average, annually
pass through the twopenny post-office in London on St. Valentine’s Day.
“Two hundred thousand twopences,” said an old gentleman as he read this
in a March newspaper, “are four hundred thousand pence,”--and he was
going to cast up the amount--“Why, papa,” said his daughter, “that’s
just the number of young folks there must be in love with each
other--that’s the way to reckon.” “Ah, my child, that’s _not_ the way
to reckon; you have taken something into the _account_ that has no
_business_ there: all Valentine-writers are not in love, nor are all
lovers Valentine-writers; and remember, my dear girl, that as smiles on
the face sometimes conceal cruel dispositions, so there are some who
write Valentines, and trifle with hearts for the mere pleasure of
inflicting pain.” “I will show you what I mean,” said the old
gentleman, and taking a paper from a drawer, he held up this
exemplification:

[Illustration]

Just then an unmarried gentleman, “of a _certain_ age,” entered the
room. On becoming acquainted with the topic, he drew from his pocket a
small packet, and said, with a merry smile, “Here was _my_ Valentine.”
It contained a rib of some small animal completely enveloped with white
satin ribbon, ornamented by a true lover’s knot at each end, and another
in the middle. Father and daughter both had a laugh at the “old
bachelor,” and he, laughing with them, put into the young lady’s hand
the poetical address that accompanied his _rib_:

    Go contemplate this lovely sign!
    Haste thee away to reason’s shrine,
      And listen to her voice;
    No more illusive shades pursue,
    To happiness this gives the clue,
      Make but a prudent choice.

    ’Till Adam had a partner given,
    Much as fair Eden bloom’d like heaven,
      His bliss was incomplete;
    No social friend those joys to share,
    Gave the gay scene a vacant air!
      She came--’twas all replete.

    And could not genuine Paradise,
    The most extensive wish suffice,
      Its guiltless lord possest?
    No--not without a kindred mate;
    How then in this degen’rate state,
      Can man, alone be blest?

    But now the Muse withdraws her aid;
    Enough, thy folly to upbraid;
      Enough to make thee wise:
    No more of pensive hours complain,
    No more, that all life’s joys are vain,
      If thou this hint despise.

  Feb. 13, 182--.

  _A Friend._

“Well now, this is capital!” exclaimed the laughing lass. “After _such_
a Valentine, you _must_ take the hint, my dear sir, it’s really a shame
that so good-natured a man should remain a bachelor. I recollect, that
when I could only just run about, you used to be _so_ kind to me;
besides, how you dandled and played with me! and since then, how you
have read to me and instructed me till I grew up! Such a man is the very
man to be married: you are every way domestic, and it’s _settled_; you
_must_ get married.”--“Well, then, will _you_ have me?” he inquired,
with a cheerful laugh. “_I_ have you? No! Why, you are too old; but not
too old to find a wife: there are many ladies whom we know, of your age,
wholly disengaged; but you don’t pay them any _particular_ attention.”
Her father interposed; and the gentleman she addressed playfully said,
“It is a little hard, indeed, that I should have these fine compliments
and severe reproaches at the same time: however,” taking her by the
hand, “you will understand, that it _is_ possible I _may_ have paid
_particular_ attention to a lady at an age when the affections are
warmer; I did; and I reconciled myself to rejection by courting my books
and the pleasures of solitude--

    Hast thou been ever waking
      From slumbers soft and light,
    And heard sweet music breaking
      The stillness of the night;

    When all thy soul was blending
      With that delightful strain,
    And night her silence lending
      To rivet fancy’s chain;

    Then on a sudden pausing,
      Those strains have ceas’d to play
    A painful absence causing
      Of bliss that died away!

    So from my soul has vanish’d
      The dream of youthful days;
    So Hope and Love are banish’d,
      And _Truth_ her pow’r displays.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The origin of so pleasant a day, the first pleasant day in the year,
whether its season be regarded, or the mode of its celebration, requires
some little investigation; nor must some of its past and present usages
be unrecorded here.

_St. Valentine’s Morning._

    Hark! through the sacred silence of the night
      Loud chanticleer doth sound his clarion shrill,
    Hailing with song the first pale gleam of light
      Which floats the dark brow of yon eastern hill.

    Bright star of morn, oh! leave not yet the wave
      To deck the dewy frontlet of the day;
    Nor thou, Aurora, quit Tithonus’ cave,
      Nor drive retiring darkness yet away.

    Ere these my rustic hands a garland twine,
      Ere yet my tongue endite a single song,
    For her I mean to hail my Valentine,
      Sweet maiden, fairest of the virgin throng.

  _Dodsley’s Miscell._

Attend we upon ELIA. Hark, how triumphantly that noble herald of the
college of kindness proclaims the day!

“Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great is thy name
in the rubric, thou venerable arch-flamen of Hymen! Immortal Go-between!
who and what manner of person art thou? Art thou but a name, typifying
the restless principle which impels poor humans to seek perfection in
union? or wert thou indeed a mortal prelate, with thy tippet and thy
rochet, thy apron on, and decent lawn sleeves? Mysterious personage!
like unto thee, assuredly, there is no other mitred father in the
calendar.--Thou comest attended with thousands and ten thousands of
little Loves, and the air is

    Brush’d with the hiss of rustling wings;

singing Cupids are thy choristers, and thy precentors; and instead of
the crosier, the mystical arrow is borne before thee.

“In other words, this is the day on which those charming little
missives, ycleped Valentines, cross and intercross each other at every
street and turning. The weary and all for-spent twopenny postman sinks
beneath a load of delicate embarrassments, not his own. It is scarcely
credible to what an extent this ephemeral courtship is carried on in
this loving town, to the great enrichment of porters, and detriment of
knockers and bell-wires. In these little visual interpretations, no
emblem is so common as the _heart_,--that little three-cornered exponent
of all our hopes and fears,--the bestuck and bleeding heart; it is
twisted and tortured into more allegories and affectations than an
opera-hat. What authority we have in history or mythology for placing
the head-quarters and metropolis of god Cupid in this anatomical seat
rather than in any other, is not very clear; but we have got it, and it
will serve as well as any other thing. Else we might easily imagine,
upon some other system which might have prevailed for any thing which
our pathology knows to the contrary, a lover addressing his mistress,
in perfect simplicity of feeling, ‘Madam, my _liver_ and fortune are
entirely at your disposal;’ or putting a delicate question, ‘Amanda,
have you a _midriff_ to bestow?’ But custom has settled these things,
and awarded the seat of sentiment to the aforesaid triangle, while its
less fortunate neighbours wait at animal and anatomical distance.

“Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds,
exceed in interest a _knock at the door_. It ‘gives a very echo to the
throne where Hope is seated.’ But its issues seldom answer to this
oracle within. It is so seldom that just the person we want to see
comes. But of all the clamorous visitations, the welcomest in
expectation is the sound that ushers in, or seems to usher in, a
Valentine. As the raven himself was hoarse that announced the fatal
entrance of Duncan, so the knock of the postman on this day is light,
airy, confident, and befitting one that ‘bringeth good tidings.’ It is
less mechanical than on other days; you will say, ‘That is not the post,
I am sure.’ Visions of Love, of Cupids, of Hymens, and all those
delightful, eternal common-places, which ‘having been, will always be;’
which no schoolboy nor schoolman can write away; having their
irreversible throne in the fancy and affections; what are your
transports, when the happy maiden, opening with careful finger, careful
not to break the emblematic seal, bursts upon the sight of some
well-designed allegory, some type, some youthful fancy, not without
verses--

    Lovers all,
    A madrigal,

or some such device, not over abundant in sense--young Love disclaims
it,--and not quite silly--something between wind and water, a chorus
where the sheep might almost join the shepherd, as they did, or as I
apprehend they did, in Arcadia.

“All Valentines are not foolish, and I shall not easily forget thine, my
kind friend (if I may have leave to call you so) E. B.--E. B. lived
opposite a young maiden, whom he had often seen, unseen, from his
parlour window in C----e-street. She was all joyousness and innocence,
and just of an age to enjoy receiving a Valentine, and just of a temper
to bear the disappointment of missing one with good humour. E. B. is an
artist of no common powers; in the fancy parts of designing, perhaps
inferior to none; his name is known at the bottom of many a
well-executed vignette in the way of his profession, but no further; for
E. B. is modest, and the world meets nobody half-way. E. B. meditated
how he could repay this young maiden for many a favour which she had
done him unknown; for, when a kindly face greets us, though but passing
by, and never knows us again, nor we it, we should feel it as an
obligation; and E. B. did. This good artist set himself at work to
please the damsel. It was just before Valentine’s day three years since.
He wrought unseen, and unsuspected, a wondrous work. We need not say it
was on the finest gilt paper with borders--full, not of common hearts
and heartless allegory, but all the prettiest stories of love from Ovid,
and older poets than Ovid (for E. B. is a scholar.) There was Pyramus
and Thisbe, and be sure Dido was not forgot, nor Hero and Leander, and
swans more than sang in Cayster, with mottoes and fanciful devices, such
as beseemed,--a work in short of magic. Iris dipt the woof. This on
Valentine’s eve he commended to the all-swallowing indiscriminate
orifice--(O, ignoble trust!)--of the common post; but the humble medium
did its duty, and from his watchful stand, the next morning, he saw the
cheerful messenger knock, and by and by the precious charge delivered.
He saw, unseen, the happy girl unfold the Valentine, dance about, clap
her hands, as one after one the pretty emblems unfolded themselves. She
danced about, not with light love, or foolish expectations, for she had
no lover; or, if she had, none she knew that could have created those
bright images which delighted her. It was more like some fairy present;
a God-send, as our familiarly pious ancestors termed a benefit received,
where the benefactor was unknown. It would do her no harm. It would do
her good for ever after. It is good to love the unknown. I only give
this as a specimen of E. B., and his modest way of doing a concealed
kindness.

“Good morrow to my Valentine, sings poor Ophelia; and no better wish,
but with better auspices, we wish to all faithful lovers, who are not
too wise to despise old legends, but are content to rank themselves
humble diocesans with old Bishop Valentine, and his true church.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Douce, whose attainments include more erudition concerning the
origin and progress of English customs than any other antiquarian
possesses, must be referred to upon this occasion. He observes, in his
“Illustrations of Shakspeare,” concerning St. Valentine’s day, that “it
was the practice in ancient Rome, during a great part of the month of
February, to celebrate the Lupercalia, which were feasts in honour of
Pan and Juno, whence the latter deity was named Februata, Februalis, and
Februlla. On this occasion, amidst a variety of ceremonies, the names of
young women were put into a box, from which they were drawn by the men
as chance directed. The pastors of the early christian church, who by
every possible means endeavoured to eradicate the vestiges of pagan
superstitions, and chiefly by some commutations of their forms,
substituted, in the present instance, the names of particular saints
instead of those of the women, and as the festival of the Lupercalia had
commenced about the middle of February, they appear to have chosen St.
Valentine’s day for celebrating the new feast, because it occurred
nearly at the same time. This is, in part, the opinion of a learned and
rational compiler of the ‘Lives of the Saints,’ the Rev. Alban Butler.
It should seem, however, that it was utterly impossible to extirpate
altogether any ceremony to which the common people had been much
accustomed: a fact which it were easy to prove in tracing the origin of
various other popular superstitions. And accordingly the outline of the
ancient ceremonies was preserved, but modified by some adaptation to the
christian system. It is reasonable to suppose that the above practice of
choosing mates would gradually become reciprocal in the sexes; and that
all persons so chosen would be called Valentines, from the day on which
the ceremony took place.”

Leaving intermediary facts to the curious inquirer, we come immediately
to a few circumstances and sayings from grave authors and gay poets
respecting this festival, as it is observed in our own country. It is
recorded as a rural tradition, that on St. Valentine’s day each bird of
the air chooses its mate; and hence it is presumed, that our homely
ancestors, in their lusty youth, adopted a practice which we still find
peculiar to a season when nature bursts its imprisonments for the
coming pleasures of the cheerful spring. Lydgate, the monk of Bury, who
died in 1440, and is described by Warton to have been “not only the poet
of his monastery, but of the world in general,” has a poem in praise of
queene Catherine, consort to Henry V., wherein he says:

    Seynte _Valentine_. Of custome yeere by yeere
      Men have an usaunce, in this regioun,
    To loke and serche Cupides kalendere,
      And chose theyr choyse, by grete affeccioun;
      Such as ben _move_ with Cupides mocioun,
    Takyng theyre choyse as theyr sort doth falle:
    But I love oon whiche excellith alle.

Chaucer imagines “Nature the vicare of the Almightie Lord,” to address
the happiest of living things at this season, the birds, thus:

    Foules, take hede of my sentence I pray,
      And for your own ease in fordring of your need,
      As fast as I may speak I will me speed:
    Ye know well, how on St. Valentine’s day
      By my statute and through my governaunce,
    Ye doe chese your Makes, and after flie away
      With hem as I _move_ you with pleasaunce.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Saint Valentine, thou art full high on loft,
    Which drivest away the long nightès black,
    Thus singen smallè foules for thy sake,
    Will have they causè for to gladden oft,
    Since each of them recovered hath his Make:
    Full blissful may they sing, when they awake.

Our young readers are informed, that the word “make” in Chaucer, now
obsolete, signified mate.

Jago, a poet, who, if he has not soared to greatness, has at least
attained to the easy versification of agreeable, and sometimes higher
feelings, has left us a few stanzas, which harmonize with the
suppositions of Chaucer:

_St. Valentine’s Day._

    The tuneful choir in amorous strains
      Accost their feathered loves;
    While each fond mate, with equal pains,
      The tender suit approves.

    With cheerful hop from spray to spray
      They sport along the meads;
    In social bliss together stray,
      Where love or fancy leads.

    Through Spring’s gay scenes each happy pair
      Their fluttering joys pursue;
    Its various charms and produce share,
      For ever kind and true.

    Their sprightly notes from every shade
      Their mutual loves proclaim;
    Till Winter’s chilling blasts invade,
      And damp th’ enlivening flame.

    Then all the jocund scene declines,
      Nor woods nor meads delight;
    The drooping tribe in secret pines,
      And mourns th’ unwelcome sight.

    Go, blissful warblers! timely wise,
      Th’ instructive moral tell;
    Nor thou their meaning lays despise,
      My charming Annabelle!

Old John Dunton’s “British Apollo” sings a question and answer:

    Why, Valentine’s a day to choose
    A mistress, and our freedom lose?
    May I my reason interpose,
    The question with an answer close?
    To imitate we have a mind,
    And couple like the winged kind.

Further on, in the same miscellany, is another question and answer:

“_Question._ In _chusing_ valentines (according to custom) is not the
party chusing (be it man or woman) to make a present to the party
chosen?

“_Answer._ We think it more proper to say, _drawing_ of valentines,
since the most customary way is for each to take his or her _lot_. And
chance cannot be termed choice. According to this method, the
obligations are equal, and therefore it was formerly the custom mutually
to present, but now it is customary only for the gentlemen.”

This _drawing_ of valentines is remarked in Poor Robin’s Almanac for
1676, under St. Valentine’s day:

    “Now Andrew, Antho-
      ny, and William,
    For Valentines _draw_
      Prue, Kate, Jilian.”

Misson, a learned traveller, who died in England about 1721, describes
the amusing practices of his time:--“On the eve of the 14th of February,
St. Valentine’s day, the young folks in England and Scotland, by a very
ancient custom, celebrate a little festival. An equal number of maids
and bachelors get together, each writes their true or some feigned name
upon separate billets, which they roll up, and draw by way of lots, the
maids taking the men’s billets, and the men the maids’; so that each of
the young men lights upon a girl that he calls his valentine, and each
of the girls upon a young man which she calls hers. By this means each
has two valentines: but the man sticks faster to the valentine that is
fallen to him, than to the valentine to whom he is fallen. Fortune
having thus divided the company into so many couples, the valentines
give balls and treats to their mistresses, wear their billets several
days upon their bosoms or sleeves, and this little sport often ends in
love. This ceremony is practised differently in different counties, and
according to the freedom or severity of madam Valentine. There is
another kind of valentine, which is the first young man or woman that
chance throws in your way in the street, or elsewhere, on that day.”

In some places, at this time, and more particularly in London, the lad’s
valentine is the first lass he sees in the morning, who is not an inmate
of the house; the lass’s valentine is the first youth she sees. Gay
mentions this usage on St. Valentine’s day: he makes a rustic housewife
remind her good man,--

    I early rose just at the break of day,
    Before the sun had chas’d the stars away;
    A field I went, amid the morning dew
    To milk my kine, (for so should house-wives do,)
    Thee first I spied, and the first swain we see
    In spite of Fortune shall our _true-love_ be.

So also in the “Connoisseur” there is mention of the same usage preceded
by certain mysterious ceremonies the night before; one of these being
almost certain to ensure an indigestion is therefore likely to occasion
a dream favourable to the dreamer’s waking wishes.--“Last Friday was
Valentine’s day, and, the night before, I got five bay-leaves, and
pinned four of them to the four corners of my pillow, and the fifth to
the middle; and then, if I dreamt of my sweetheart, Betty said we should
be married before the year was out. But to make it more sure, I boiled
an egg hard, and took out the yolk, and filled it with salt; and when I
went to bed, ate it, shell and all, without speaking or drinking after
it. We also wrote our lovers’ names upon bits of paper, and rolled them
up in clay, and put them into water: and the first that rose up was to
be our valentine. Would you think it, Mr. Blossom was my man. I lay
a-bed and shut my eyes all the morning, till he came to our house; for I
would not have seen another man before him for all the world.”

Shakspeare bears witness to the custom of looking for your valentine, or
desiring to be one, through poor Ophelia’s singing

    Good morrow! ’tis St. Valentine’s day
      All in the morning betime,
    And I a maid at your window,
      To be your valentine!

Sylvanus Urban, in 1779, was informed by Kitty Curious, that on St.
Valentine’s day in that year, at a little obscure village in Kent, she
found an odd kind of sport. The girls from five or six to eighteen years
old were assembled in a crowd, burning an uncouth effigy which they
called a “holly boy,” and which they had stolen from the boys; while in
another part of the village the boys were burning what they called an
“ivy girl,” which they had stolen from the girls. The ceremony of each
burning was accompanied by acclamations, huzzas, and other noise. Kitty
inquired the meaning of this from the oldest people in the place, but
she could learn no more than that it had always been a sport at that
season.

A correspondent communicates to the _Every-Day Book_ a singular custom,
which prevailed many years since in the west of England. Three single
young men went out together before daylight on St. Valentine’s day, with
a clapnet to catch an old owl and two sparrows in a neighbouring barn.
If they were successful, and could bring the birds to the inn without
injury before the females of the house had risen, they were rewarded by
the hostess with three pots of purl in honour of St. Valentine, and
enjoyed the privilege of demanding at any other house in the
neighbourhood a similar boon. This was done, says our correspondent, as
an emblem that the owl being the bird of wisdom, could influence the
feathered race to enter the net of love as mates on that day, whereon
both single lads and maidens should be reminded that happiness could
alone be secured by an early union.

On this ancient festival, it was formerly the custom for men to make
presents to the women. In Scotland these valentine gifts were
reciprocal, as indeed they are still in some parts.

Hurdis calls this

          The day Saint Valentine,
    When maids are brisk, and at the break of day
    Start up and turn their pillows, curious all
    To know what happy swain the fates provide
    A mate for life. Then follows thick discharge
    Of true-love knots and sonnets nicely penned.

       *       *       *       *       *

St. Valentine is the lover’s saint. Not that lovers have more
superstition than other people, but their imaginings are more. As it is
fabled that Orpheus “played so well, he moved old Nick;” so it is true
that Love, “cruel tyrant,” moves the veriest brute. Its influence
renders the coarsest nature somewhat interesting. A being of this kind,
so possessed, is almost as agreeable as a parish cage with an owl
inside; you hear its melancholy tee-whit tee-who, and wonder how it got
_there_. Its place of settlement becomes a place of sentiment; nobody
can liberate the starveling, and it _will_ stay there. Its mural notes
seem so many calls for pity, which are much abated on the recollection,
that there are openings enough for its escape. The “tender passion” in
the two mile an hour Jehu of an eight-horse waggon, puzzles him
mightily. He “sighs and drives, sighs and drives, and drives and sighs
again,” till the approach of this festival enables him to buy “a
valentine,” with a “halter” and a “couple o’ hearts” transfixed by an
arrow in the form of a weathercock, inscribed

    “I’ll be yours, if you’ll be mine,
    I am your pleasing Valentine.”

This he gets his name written under by the shopkeeper, and will be quite
sure that it is his name, before he walks after his waggon, which he has
left to go on, because neither that nor his passion can brook delay.
After he is out of the town, he looks behind him, lest anybody should
see, and for a mile or two on the road, ponders on the “two hearts made
one,” as a most singular device, and with admired devotion. He then puts
it in the trusty pocket under his frock, which holds the waggon bill,
and flogs his horses to quicken their pace towards the inn, where “she,”
who is “his heart’s delight,” has been lately promoted to the rank of
under kitchen-maid, _vice_ her who resigned, on being called “to the
happy estate of matrimony” by a neighbouring carter. He gives her the
mysterious paper in the yard, she receives it with a “what be this?” and
with a smack on the lips, and a smack from the whip on the gown. The
gods have made him poetical, and, from his recollection of a play he saw
at the statute-fair, he tells her that “love, like a worm in the mud,
has played upon his Lammas cheek” ever since last Lammas-tide, and she
knows it has, and that she’s his valentine. With such persons and with
nature, this is the season of breaking the ice.

St. Valentine, be it repeated, is the saint of all true lovers of every
degree, and hence the letters missive to the fair, from wooers on his
festival, bear his name. Brand thinks “one of the most elegant
jeu-d’esprits on this occasion,” is one wherein an admirer reminds his
mistress of the choice attributed by the legend to the choristers of the
air on this day, and inquires of her--

    Shall only you and I forbear
    To meet and make a happy pair?
    Shall we alone delay to live?
    This day an age of bliss may give.

    But, ah! when I the proffer make,
    Still coyly you refuse to take;
    My heart I dedicate in vain,
    The too mean present you disdain.

    Yet since the solemn time allows
    To choose the object of our vows;
    Boldly I dare profess my flame,
    Proud to be yours by any name.

A better might have been selected from the “Magazine of Magazines,” the
“Gentleman’s,” wherein Mr. Urban has sometimes introduced the admirers
of ladies to the admirers of antiquities--under which class ladies never
come. Thence, ever and anon, as from some high barbican or watchtower
old, “songs of loves and maids forsaken,” have aroused the contemplation
from “facts, fancies, and recollections” regarding other times, to
lovers “sighing like furnace” in our own. Through Sylvanus, nearly a
century ago, there was poured this

_Invocation of St. Valentine._

    Haste, friendly _Saint_! to my relief,
    My heart is stol’n, help! stop the thief!
    My rifled breast I search’d with care,
    And found Eliza lurking there.

    Away she started from my view,
    Yet may be caught, if thou pursue;
    Nor need I to describe her strive--
    The fairest, dearest maid alive!

    Seize her--yet treat the nymph divine
    With gentle usage, _Valentine_!
    Then, tell her, she, for what was done,
    Must bring _my_ heart, and give _her own_.

So pleasant, so descriptive an illustration of the present custom,
requires a companion equally amiable:

MY VALENTINE.

    Mark’d you her eye’s resistless glance,
    That does the enraptur’d soul entrance?
    Mark’d you that dark blue orb unfold
    Volumes of bliss as yet untold?
    And felt you not, as I now feel,
    Delight no tongue could e’er reveal?

    Mark’d you her cheek that blooms and glows
    A living emblem of the rose?
    Mark’d you her vernal lip that breathes
    The balmy fragrance of its leaves?
    And felt you not, as I now feel,
    Delight no tongue can e’er reveal?

    Mark’d you her artless smiles that speak
    The language written on her cheek,
    Where, bright as morn, and pure as dew,
    The bosom’s thoughts arise to view?
    And felt you not, as I now feel,
    Delight no tongue could e’er reveal?

    Mark’d you her face, and did not there,
    Sense, softness, sweetness, all appear?
    Mark’d you her form, and saw not you
    A heart and mind as lovely too?
    And felt you not, as I now feel,
    Delight no tongue could e’er reveal?

    Mark’d you all this, and you have known
    The treasured raptures that I own;
    Mark’d you all this, and you like me,
    Have wandered oft her shade to see,
    For you have felt, as I now feel,
    Delight no tongue could e’er reveal?

  _High Wycombe._

Every lady will bear witness that the roll of valentine poesy is
interminable; and it being presumed that few would object to a peep in
the editor’s budget, he offers a little piece, written, at the desire of
a lady, under an engraving, which represented a girl fastening a letter
to the neck of a pigeon:--

THE COURIER DOVE.

“Va, porter cet écrit à l’objet de mon cœur!”

    Outstrip the winds my courier dove!
      On pinions fleet and free,
    And bear this letter to my love
      Who’s far away from me.

    It bids him mark thy plume whereon
      The changing colours range;
    But warns him that my peace is gone
      If he should also change.

    It tells him thou return’st again
      To her who sets thee free;
    And O! it asks the truant, when
      He’ll thus resemble thee!

Lastly, from “Sixty-five Poems and Sonnets,” &c. recently published, he
ventures to extract one not less deserving the honour of perusal, than
either that he has presented:--

A VALENTINE.

    No tales of love to you I send,
      No hidden flame discover,
    I glory in the name of friend,
      Disclaiming that of lover.
    And now, while each fond sighing youth
    Repeats his vows of love and truth,
    Attend to this advice of mine--
    With caution choose a VALENTINE.

    Heed not the <DW2>, who loves himself,
      Nor let the rake your love obtain;
    Choose not the miser for his pelf,
      The drunkard heed with cold disdain;
    The profligate with caution shun,
    His race of ruin soon is run:
    To none of these your heart incline,
    Nor choose from them a VALENTINE.

    But should some generous youth appear,
      Whose honest mind is void of art,
    Who shall his Maker’s laws revere,
      And serve him with a willing heart;
    Who owns fair Virtue for his guide,
    Nor from her precepts turns aside;
    To him at once your heart resign,
    And bless your faithful VALENTINE.

    Though in this wilderness below
      You still imperfect bliss shall find,
    Yet such a friend will share each woe,
      And bid you be to Heaven resign’d:
    While Faith unfolds the radiant prize,
    And Hope still points beyond the skies,
    At life’s dark storms you’ll not repine,
    But bless the day of VALENTINE.


_Wit_ at a _pinch_.

A gentleman who left his snuffbox at a friend’s on St. Valentine’s Eve,
1825, received it soon after his return home in an envelope, sealed, and
superscribed--

  To J---- E----, Esq.

  Dear Sir,

          I’ve just found proof enough,
    You are _not_ worth a pinch of snuff;
    _Receive_ the proof, seal’d up with care,
    And _extract_ from it, that you _are_.

  _Valentine_, 1825

  *


CHRONOLOGY.

SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE died on the 14th of February, 1780. He was born
at the house of his father, a silkman, in Cheapside, London, on the 10th
of July, 1723; sent to the Charter-house in 1730; entered
Pembroke-college, Cambridge, in 1738; of the Middle Temple, 1741; called
to the bar in 1746; elected recorder of Wallingford in 1749; made doctor
of civil law in 1750; elected Vinerian professor of common law in 1758;
returned a representative to Parliament in 1761; married in 1761; became
a justice of the court of Common Pleas in 1770. In the course of his
life he filled other offices. He was just and benevolent in all his
relations, and, on the judicial seat, able and impartial. In English
literature and jurisprudence he holds a distinguished rank for his
“Commentaries on the Laws of England.” This work originated in the legal
lectures he commenced in 1753: the first volume was published in 1759,
and the remaining three in the four succeeding years. Through these his
name is popular, and so will remain while law exists. The work is not
for the lawyer alone, it is for every body. It is not so praiseworthy to
be learned, as it is disgraceful to be ignorant of the laws which
regulate liberty and property. The absence of all information in some
men when serving upon juries and coroners’ inquests, or as constables,
and in parochial offices, is scandalous to themselves and injurious to
their fellow men. The “Commentaries” of Blackstone require only common
capacity to understand. Wynne’s “Eunomus” is an excellent introduction
to Blackstone, if any be wanting. With these two works no man can be
ignorant of his rights or obligations; and, indeed, the “Commentaries”
are so essential, that he who has not read them has no claim to be
considered qualified for the exercise of his public duties as an
Englishman. He is at liberty, it is true, for the law leaves him at
liberty, to assume the character he may be called on to bear in common
with his fellow-citizens; but, with this liberty, he is only more or
less than a savage, as he is more than a savage by his birth in a
civilized country, and less than a savage in the animal instinct, which
teaches that self-preservation is the first law of nature; and still
further is he less, because, beside the safety of others, it may fall to
him, in this state of ignorance, to watch and ward the safety of the
commonwealth itself.

Blackstone, on making choice of his profession, wrote an elegant little
poem, entitled “_The Lawyer’s Farewell to his Nurse_.” It is not more to
be admired for ease and grace, than for the strong feeling it evinces in
relinquishing the pleasures of poesy and art, and parting for ever from
scenes wherein he had happily spent his youthful days. Its conclusion
describes his anticipations--

    Lost to the field and torn from you--
    Farewell! a long--a last adieu!
    Me wrangling courts and stubborn _law_
    To smoke and crowds, and cities draw;
    There selfish faction rules the day,
    And pride and av’rice throng the way;
    Diseases taint the murky air,
    And midnight conflagrations glare:
    Loose revelry and riot bold
    In frighted streets their orgies hold;
    Or when in silence all is drowned,
    Fell murder walks her lonely round
    No room for peace--no room for you
    Adieu, celestial nymph, adieu!


A SUIT AT LAW.

Its origin and progress may be traced in the _Tree_ engraved on the
opposite page.

[Illustration: ~The Tree of Common Law.~]

  1. The _root_ of the engraved _Tree_ exhibits a diversity of suits and
  actions for the remedy of different wrongs.

  2. The _trunk_ shows the growth of a suit, stage by stage, until its
  conclusion.

  3. The _branches_ from each stage show the proceedings of the
  plaintiff on one side, and the proceedings of the defendant on the
  other.

  4. The _leaves_ of each branch show certain collateral proceedings
  whereby the suit is either advanced or suspended.

  5. Supposing the _form_ of action suitable to the case, and no stay of
  proceedings, the suit grows, on the “sure and firm set earth” of the
  law, into a “goodly tree,” and, attaining to execution against either
  the plaintiff or the defendant, terminates in consuming fire.

       *       *       *       *       *

A few whimsical miscellanies are subjoined, not derogatory from the
importance or necessity of _legislation_, but amusingly illustrative of
_legal practice_ in the sinuosities it has acquired during successive
stages of desuetude and change. Those only who know the law are
acquainted with the modes by which numerous deformities in its
application have originated, or the means by which they may be remedied;
while all who experience that application are astonished at its
expensiveness, and complain of it with reason.

A legal practitioner is said to have delivered a bill containing several
charges of unmerciful appearance, to a client, who was a tailor; and the
tailor, who had made a suit of clothes for his professional adviser, is
said to have sent him the following bill by way of set-off.

  GEORGE GRIP, ESQ.

  _Dr. to_ SAMUEL SMART.

                                                           £.  _s._ _d._
  Attending you, in conference, concerning your proposed
  Suit, conferring thereon when you could not finally
  determine                                                 0    6    8
  Attending you again thereon, when found you prepared,
  and taking measures accordingly                           0    6    8
  Entering                                                  0    3    4
  Instructions and warrant to woollen-draper                0    5    0
  Copy thereof to keep                                      0    2    0
  Instructions to foreman                                   0    6    8
  Difficulty arising as to proceedings, attending him in
  consultation                                              0    6    8
  Paid fees to woollen-draper                               4   18    6
  Attending him thereon                                     0    6    8
  Perusing his receipt                                      0    3    4
  Attending to file same                                    0    3    4
  Filing                                                    0    1    0
  Attending button-maker, instructing him                   0    6    8
  Paid his charges                                          2   19    0
  Having received summons to proceed, perusing and
  considering same                                          0    6    8
  Drawing consent, and copy to keep                         0    4    4
  Postage                                                   0    1    6
  Copy order thereon and entering                           0    3    0
  Appointing consultation as to further proceedings, and
  attending same                                            0   13    4
  Foreman having filed a demurrer, preparing argument
  against same                                              0    6    8
  Attending long argument on demurrer, when same
  overruled                                                 0   10    0
  Perusing foreman’s plea                                   0    6    8
  Excepting to same                                         0    6    8
  Entering exceptions                                       0    3    4
  Perusing notice of motion to remove suit, and
  preparing valid objections to lay before you              0   10    0
  Same being overruled, consent thereto, on an
  undertaking                                               0    6    8
  Expenses on removal of suit--paid by you at the time      0    0    0
  Writing you my extreme dissatisfaction on finding the
  suit removed into the King’s Bench, and that I should
  move the court, when you promised to obtain a Rule as
  soon as term commenced, and attend me thereon             0   10    0
  Conferring with you, in presence of your attendant, at
  my house, on the first day of term, when you succeeded
  in satisfying me that you were a _Gent. one_, &c. and
  an honourable man, and expressed great dissatisfaction
  at the proceedings had with the suit while out of my
  hands; receiving your instructions to demand of your
  _Uncle_ that same should return to me, on my paying
  him a _lien_ he claimed thereon, and received from you
  his debenture for that purpose                            0   13    4
  Perusing same, and attending him in St. George’s-
  fields therewith and thereon                              0   10    0
  Paid him, principal and interest                          2   10    4
  In consideration of circumstances, no charge for
  receiving suit back                                       0    0    0
  Perusing letter unexpectedly received from you, dated
  from your own house, respecting short notice of trial     0    6    8
  Attending you thereon                                     0    6    8
  Attending at Westminster several mornings to try the
  suit, when at last got same on                            2    2    0
  Paid fees                                                 0   12    0
  Fee to porter                                             0    5    0
  It being determined that the suit should be put into a
  special case, drawing special instructions to Boxmaker
  for same                                                  0   13    4
  Attending him therewith and thereon                       0    6    8
  Paid him his fee for special case                         2    2    0
  Paid his clerk’s fee                                      0    2    6
  Considering case, as settled                              0    6    8
  Attending foreman for his consent to same, when he
  promised to determine shortly                             0    6    8
  Attending him again thereon to obviate his objections,
  and obtained his consent with difficulty                  0    6    8
  Drawing bill of costs                                     0   15    0
  Fair copy for Mr. ---- to peruse and settle               0    7    6
  Attending him therewith                                   0    6    8
  Fee to him settling                                       0    5    0
  Attending him for same                                    0    6    8
  Perusing and considering same, as settled                 0    6    8
  Attending Mr. ---- again suggesting amendments            0    6    8
  Fee to him on amending                                    0    5    0
  Perusing same as amended                                  0    6    8
  Fair copy, with amendments, to keep                       0    7    6
  Entering                                                  0    5    0
  Fair copy for service                                     0    7    6
  Thirty-eight various attendances to serve same            6    6    8
  Service thereof                                           0    6    8
  Drawing memorandum of service                             0    5    0
  Attending to enter same                                   0    3    4
  Entering same                                             0    2    6
  Attending you concerning same                             0    6    8
  Accepted service of order to attend at the theatre,
  and gave consent                                          0    6    8
  Retaining fee at box-office                               0    1    0
  Service of order on box-keeper                            0    6    8
  Self and wife, with six children, two of her cousins,
  her brother, and his son, two of my brothers, my
  sister-in-law, three nephews, four nieces, each
  attending for four hours and a half to see the Road to
  Ruin, and the Beggars’ Opera, eighty-five hours and a
  half, at 3_s._ 4_d._ per hour--very moderate             17    0   10
  Coach hire there and back                                 0   18    0
  Attending you to acquaint you with particulars in
  general, and concerning settlement particularly           0    6    8
  Instructions for receipt                                  0    3    4
  Drawing receipt                                           0    5    0
  Vacation fee                                              1    1    0
  Refreshing fee                                            0   13    4
  Perusing receipt, and amending same                       0    6    8
  Fair copy to keep                                         0    2    6
  Engrossing on stamp                                       0    2    6
  Paid duty and paper                                       0    3    1
  Fee on ending                                             2    2    0
  Letters and messengers                                    0   10    0
                                                          -------------
                                                          £63    0    9
  To numerous, various, and a great variety of divers,
  and very many letters, messages, and attendances to,
  from, on, and upon, you and your agents and others,
  pending a negotiation for settlement, far too numerous
  to be mentioned; and an infinite deal of trouble, too
  troublesome to trouble you with, or to be expressed;
  without more and further trouble, but which you must,
  or can, or shall, or may know, or be informed of--what
  you please
                                                          -------------
                                                          £
                                                          -------------


_Item in a Bill of Costs_

Attending =A= in conference concerning the best mode to indemnify =B=
against =C=’s demand for damages, in consequence of his driving =D=’s
cart against =E=’s house, and thereby breaking the window of a room
occupied by =F=’s family, and cutting the head of =G=, one of his
children, which =H=, the surgeon, had pronounced dangerous, and advising
on the steps necessary for such indemnity. Attending =I= accordingly
thereon, who said he could do nothing without the concurrence of his
brother =J=, who was on a visit to his friend =K=, but who afterwards
consented thereto, upon having a counter-indemnity from =L=. Taking
instructions for, and writing the letter accordingly, but he refused to
accede thereto, in consequence of misconduct in some of the parties
towards his distant relation =M=, because he had arrested =N=, who being
in custody of =O=, the officer, at =P=’s house, was unable to prevail
upon =Q= and =R= to become bail. Attending in consequence upon =S=, the
sheriff, when he said, if he received an undertaking to give a
bail-bond at the return of the writ, the defendant should be discharged.
Attending =T= for undertaking accordingly, conferring thereon; but he
declined interfering without the concurrence of =V=, to whom he was
largely indebted, in whose hands he had lodged several title-deeds as a
collateral security, and who, it appeared, had sent the deeds to his
attorney =U=, for the purpose of preparing a mortgage to =W=, in trust,
for securing his demand, and also of a debt due to =X=. Attending
afterwards on =A=’s clerk =Y=, communicating the result of our numerous
applications, and conferring with him thereon, when he at length
informed me that =Z= had settled the business.


_Legal Recreations._

“To him that goes to law, nine things are requisite: 1. A good deal of
money--2. A good deal of patience--3. A good cause--4. A good
attorney--5. Good counsel--6. Good evidence--7. A good jury--8. A good
judge--and lastly, good luck.”

“Reason is the life of the law, nay, the common law itself is nothing
else but reason.”

       *       *       *       *       *

If a man says of a counsellor of law, _Thou art a daffa-down-dilly_, an
action lies. So adjudged in Scaccario, and agreed _per totam curiam_.--1
Vin. Abb. 445.

_He hath no more law than Mr. C.’s bull._ These words being spoken of an
attorney, the court inclined that they were actionable, and that the
plaintiff should have judgment, though it was objected that the
plaintiff had not declared that C. had a bull.--Siderfin, 327, pl. 8.
Pasch. 19 Car. II. Baker _v._ Morfue. The chief justice was of opinion,
that if C. had no bull, the scandal was the greater. And it was
pronounced _per curiam_ in the same case, that to say of a lawyer, that
_he has no more law than a goose_, has been adjudged actionable.--Sid.
127, pl. 8.--There is quære added as to the saying, _He hath no more law
than the man in the moon_ (Ib. 2 Kib. 209); the law, doubtless,
contemplating the possibility of there being a man in the moon, and of
his being a good lawyer.

_My lord chief baron cannot hear of one ear_, adjudged actionable, there
being a _colloquium_ of his administration of justice. But not so if
there had been no discourse of his justice.--1 Vin. Ab. 446.

Adjudged, that the _death_ of a parson is a _non-residency_, within 13
Eliz. c. 20, so as to avoid his leases. Mott _v._ Hales, Crok. Eliz. 123

Eden and Whalley’s case:--“One Eden confessed himself guilty of
_multiplication_, and that he had practised the making of
_quintessence_, and the _philosopher’s stone_, by which all metals might
be turned into gold and silver; and also accused Whalley, now a prisoner
in the Tower, of urging and procuring him to practise this art; and that
Whalley had laid out money in red wine and other things necessary for
the said art. And, because this offence is only felony, Eden, the
principal, was pardoned by the general pardon; but Whalley, who was but
accessary in this case, was excepted as one of those who were in the
Tower. The question was moved, whether Whalley should be
discharged;--Quære, the statute of 5 Hen. IV. 4, which enacts, ‘that
none should use to multiply gold or silver, nor use the craft of
multiplication; and if any the same do, that he incur the pain of felony
in this case.’--Quære--Whether there can be any accessary in this new
felony?--1 Dyer, 87, 6, Easter Term, 7 Ed. VI. This statute was repealed
by the stat. of 1 Will. & Mary.”

In the case of _monopolized cards_, there was cited a commission in the
time of Henry V. directed to three friars and two aldermen of London, to
inquire whether the philosopher’s stone was feasible, who returned it
was, and upon this a patent was made out for them to make it--Moore,
675; Dancey’s case.

       *       *       *       *       *

According to the Asiatic Researches, a very curious mode of trying the
title of land is practised in Hindostan:--Two holes are dug in the
disputed spot, in each of which the plaintiff and defendant’s lawyers
put one of their legs, and remain there until one of them is tired, or
complains of being stung by the insects, in which case his client is
defeated. In this country it is the _client_, and not the _lawyer_, who
puts his _foot into it_.

       *       *       *       *       *

Professional practice is frequently the subject of theatrical
exhibition. “Giovanni in London” has a scene before going to trial, with
the following

  TRIO.

  _First Lawyer, Second Lawyer, Giovanni._

  _Air_--“Soldier, gave me one Pound.”

    _First Lawyer._
    Giovanni, give me one pound.

    _Second Lawyer._
      Giovanni, give me two.

    _First Lawyer._
    Trial it comes on to-day;

    _Second Lawyer._
      And nothing we can do.

    _First Lawyer._
        You must give a fee,
        Both to me--

    _Second Lawyer._
                    And me.

    _Both Lawyers._
    For, oh! the law’s a mill
      that without grist will never go.

    _Giovanni._
    Lawyer, there is one pound;
                      (_to second Lawyer_)
      Lawyer, there are two;
                       (_to first Lawyer_)

    And now I am without a pound,
      Thanks to the law and you.
        For, oh! I feel the law
        Has clapp’d on me its paw;
    And, oh! the law’s a mill
      that without grist will never go.


~Collop Monday.~

The Monday before Shrove Tuesday is so called because it was the last
day of flesh-eating before Lent, and our ancestors cut their fresh meat
into collops, or steaks, for salting or hanging up till Lent was over;
and hence, in many places, it is still a custom to have eggs and
collops, or slices of bacon, at dinner on this day. The Rev. Mr. Bowles
communicates to his friend Mr. Brand, that the boys in the neighbourhood
of Salisbury go about before Shrove-tide singing these lines:

    Shrove-tide is nigh at hand,
    And I am come a shroving;
    Pray, dame, something,
    An apple or a dumpling,
    Or a piece of Truckle cheese
    Of your own making,
    Or a piece of pancake.

Polydore Virgil affirms of this season and its delicacies, that it
sprung from the feasts of Bacchus, which were celebrated in Rome with
rejoicings and festivity at the same period. This, therefore, is another
adoption of the Romish church from the heathens; and it is observed by
Brand, that on Shrove Monday it was a custom with the boys at Eton to
write verses concerning Bacchus, in all kinds of metre, which were
affixed to the college doors, and that Bacchus’ verses “are still
written and put up on this day.” The Eton practice is doubtless a
remnant of the catholic custom.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Crocus. _Crocus Mæsiacus._
  Dedicated to _St. Valentine_.


~February 15.~

  _Sts. Faustinus and Jovita_, A. D. 121. _St. Sigefride_, or _Sigfrid_,
  of Sweden, Bp. A. D. 1002.


SHROVE TUESDAY.

It is communicated to the _Every-Day Book_ by a correspondent, Mr. R. N.
B--, that at Hoddesdon in Hertfordshire, the old curfew-bell, which was
anciently rung in that town for the extinction and relighting of “all
fire and candle light” still exists, and has from time immemorial been
regularly rang on the morning of Shrove Tuesday at four o’clock, after
which hour the inhabitants are at liberty to make and eat _pancakes_,
until the bell rings again at eight o’clock at night. He says, that this
custom is observed so closely, that after that hour not a pancake
remains in the town.

THE CURFEW.

    I hear the far-off curfew sound,
    Over some wide-water’d shore,
    Swinging slow with sullen roar.

  _Milton._

That the curfew-bell came in with William the Conqueror is a common, but
erroneous, supposition. It is true, that by one of his laws he ordered
the people to put out their fires and lights, and go to bed, at the
eight-o’clock curfew-bell; but Henry says, in his “History of Great
Britain,” that there is sufficient evidence of the curfew having
prevailed in different parts of Europe at that period, as a precaution
against fires, which were frequent and fatal, when so many houses were
built of wood. It is related too, in Peshall’s “History of Oxford,” that
Alfred the Great ordered the inhabitants of that city to cover their
fires on the ringing of the bell at Carfax every night at eight
o’clock; “which custom is observed to this day, and the bell as
constantly rings at eight as Great Tom tolls at nine.” Wherever the
curfew is now rung in England, it is usually at four in the morning, and
eight in the evening, as at Hoddesdon on Shrove Tuesday.

       *       *       *       *       *

Concerning the curfew, or the instrument used to cover the fire, there
is a communication from the late Mr. Francis Grose, the well remembered
antiquary, in the “Antiquarian Repertory” (vol. i.) published by Mr. Ed.
Jeffery. Mr. Grose enclosed a letter from the Rev. F. Gostling, author
of the “Walk through Canterbury,” with a drawing of the utensil, from
which an engraving is made in that work, and which is given here on
account of its singularity. No other representation of the curfew
exists.

[Illustration]

“This utensil,” says the Antiquarian Repertory, “is called a curfew, or
_couvre-feu_, from its use, which is that of suddenly putting out a
fire: the method of applying it was thus;--the wood and embers were
raked as close as possible to the back of the hearth, and then the
curfew was put over them, the open part placed close to the back of the
chimney; by this contrivance, the air being almost totally excluded, the
fire was of course extinguished. This curfew is of copper, rivetted
together, as solder would have been liable to melt with the heat. It is
10 inches high, 16 inches wide, and 9 inches deep. The Rev. Mr.
Gostling, to whom it belongs, says it has been in his family for time
immemorial, and was always called the curfew. Some others of this kind
are still remaining in Kent and Sussex.” It is proper to add to this
account, that T. Row, in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” because no mention
is made “of any particular implement for extinguishing the fire in any
writer,” is inclined to think “there never was any such.” Mr. Fosbroke
in the “Encyclopædia of Antiquities” says, “an instrument of copper
presumed to have been made for covering the ashes, but of uncertain use,
is engraved.” It is in one of Mr. F.’s plates.

On T. Row’s remark, who is also facetious on the subject, it may be
observed, that his inclination to think there never was any such
implement, is so far from being warrantable, if the fact be even
correct, that it has not been mentioned by any ancient writer, that the
fair inference is the converse of T. Row’s inclination. Had he consulted
“Johnson’s Dictionary,” he would have found the curfew itself explained
as “a cover for a fire; a fire-plate.--_Bacon._” So that if Johnson is
credible, and his citation of authorities is unquestionable, Bacon, no
very modern writer, is authority for the fact that there _was_ such an
implement as the curfew.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Football at Kingston._

Mr. P., an obliging contributor, furnishes the _Every-Day Book_ with a
letter from a _Friend_, descriptive of a custom on this day in the
vicinity of London.

  Respected Friend,

Having some business which called me to Kingston-upon-Thames on the day
called Shrove Tuesday, I got upon the Hampton-court coach to go there.
We had not gone above four miles, when the coachman exclaimed to one of
the passengers, “It’s Foot-ball day;” not understanding the term, I
questioned him what he meant by it; his answer was, that I would see
what he meant where I was going.--Upon entering Teddington, I was not a
little amused to see all the inhabitants securing the glass of all their
front windows from the ground to the roof, some by placing hurdles
before them, and some by nailing laths across the frames. At Twickenham,
Bushy, and Hampton-wick, they were all engaged in the same way: having
to stop a few hours at Hampton-wick and Kingston, I had an opportunity
of seeing the whole of the custom, which is, to carry a foot-ball from
door to door and beg money:--at about 12 o’clock the ball is turned
loose, and those who can, kick it. In the town of Kingston, all the
shops are purposely kept shut upon that day; there were several balls in
the town, and of course several parties. I observed some persons of
respectability following the ball: the game lasts about four hours, when
the parties retire to the public-houses, and spend the money they before
collected in refreshments.

I understand the corporation of Kingston attempted to put a stop to this
practice, but the judges confirmed the right of the game, and it now
legally continues, to the no small annoyance of some of the inhabitants,
besides the expense and trouble they are put to in securing all their
windows.

I was rather surprised that such a custom should have existed so near
London, without my ever before knowing of it.

  From thy respected Friend,

  N---- S----

  _Third Month_, 1815.

  J.---- B.----

       *       *       *       *       *


_Pancakes and Confession._

    As fit--as a _pancake_ for _Shrove Tuesday_.

  SHAKSPEARE.

       *       *       *       *       *

PANCAKE DAY is another name for Shrove Tuesday, from the custom of
eating pancakes on this day, still generally observed. A writer in the
“Gentleman’s Magazine, 1790,” says, that “_Shrive_ is an old Saxon word,
of which _shrove_ is a corruption, and signifies confession. Hence
Shrove Tuesday means Confession Tuesday, on which day all the people in
every parish throughout the kingdom, during the Romish times, were
obliged to confess their sins, one by one, to their own parish priests,
in their own parish churches; and that this might be done the more
regularly, the great bell in every parish was rung at ten o’clock, or
perhaps sooner, that it might be heard by all. And as the Romish
religion has given way to a much better, I mean the protestant religion,
yet the custom of ringing the great bell in our ancient parish churches,
at least in some of them, still remains, and obtains in and about London
the name of _Pancake-bell_: the usage of dining on pancakes or fritters,
and such like provision, still continues.” In “Pasquil’s Palinodia,
1634,” 4to. it is merrily observed that on this day every stomach

                          till it can hold no more,
    Is fritter-filled, as well as heart can wish;
    And every man and maide doe take their turne,
    And tosse their pancakes up for feare they burne;
    And all the kitchen doth with laughter sound,
    To see the pancakes fall upon the ground.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Threshing the Hen._

This singular custom is almost obsolete, yet it certainly is practised,
even now, in at least one obscure part of the kingdom. A reasonable
conjecture concerning its origin is, that the fowl was a delicacy to
the labourer, and therefore given to him on this festive day, for sport
and food.

    At Shrovetide to shroving, go thresh the fat hen,
    If blindfold can kill her, then give it thy men.
    Maids, fritters and pancakes inough see you make,
    Let slut have one pancake, for company sake.

So directs Tusser in his “Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry, 1620,”
4to. On this his annotator, “Tusser Redivivus, 1710,” (8vo. June, p.
15,) annexes an account of the custom. “The hen is hung at a fellow’s
back, who has also some horse bells about him, the rest of the fellows
are blinded, and have boughs in their hands, with which they chase this
fellow and his hen about some large court or small enclosure. The fellow
with his hen and bells shifting as well as he can, they follow the
sound, and sometimes hit him and his hen, other times, if he can get
behind one of them, they thresh one another well favour’dly; but the
jest is, the maids are to blind the fellows, which they do with their
aprons, and the cunning baggages will endear their sweethearts with a
peeping-hole, whilst the others look out as sharp to hinder it. After
this the hen is boil’d with bacon, and store of pancakes and fritters
are made.”

[Illustration: ~Threshing the Fat Hen at Shrovetide.~]

Tusser’s annotator, “Redivivus,” adds, after the hen-threshing. “She
that is noted for lying a-bed long, or any other miscarriage, hath the
first pancake presented to her, which most commonly falls to the dog’s
share at last, for no one will own it their due. Thus were youth
encourag’d, sham’d, and feasted with very little cost, and always their
feasts were accompanied with exercise. The loss of which laudable
custom, is one of the benefits we have got by smoking tobacco.” Old
Tusser himself, by a reference, denotes that this was a sport in Essex
and Suffolk. Mr. Brand was informed by a Mr. Jones that, when he was a
boy in Wales, the hen that did not lay eggs before Shrove Tuesday was
considered useless, and to be on that day threshed by a man with a
flail; if he killed her he got her for his pains.

[Illustration: ~A Hen that spoke on Shrove Tuesday.~]

On Shrove Tuesday, at a certain ancient borough in Staffordshire, a hen
was set up by its owner to be thrown at by himself and his companions,
according to the usual custom on that day. This poor hen, after many a
severe bang, and many a broken bone, weltering in mire and blood,
recovered spirits a little, and to the unspeakable surprise and
astonishment of all the company, just as her late master was handling
his oaken cudgel to fling at her again, opened her mouth and said--“Hold
thy hand a moment, hard-hearted wretch! if it be but out of curiosity,
to hear one of my feathered species utter articulate sounds.--What art
thou, or any of thy comrades, better than I, though bigger and stronger,
and at liberty, while I am tied by the leg? What art thou, I say, that I
may not presume to reason with thee, though thou never reasonest with
thyself? What have I done to deserve the treatment I have suffered this
day, from thee and thy barbarous companions? Whom have I ever injured?
Did I ever profane the name of my creator, or give one moment’s disquiet
to any creature under heaven? or lie, or deceive, or slander, or rob my
fellow-creatures? Did I ever guzzle down what should have been for the
support and comfort (in effect the blood) of a wife and innocent
children, as thou dost every week of thy life? A little of thy
superfluous grain, or the sweeping of thy cupboard, and the parings of
thy cheese, moistened with the dew of heaven, was all I had, or desired
for my support; while, in return, I furnished thy table with dainties.
The tender brood, which I hatched with assiduity, and all the anxiety
and solicitude of a humane mother, fell a sacrifice to thy gluttony. My
new laid eggs enriched thy pancakes, puddings, and custards; and all thy
most delicious fare. And I was ready myself at any time, to lay down my
life to support thine, but the third part of a day. Had I been a man,
and a hangman, and been commanded by authority to take away thy life for
a crime that deserved death, I would have performed my office with
reluctance, and with the shortest, and the least pain or insult, to thee
possible. How much more if a wise providence had so ordered it, that
thou hadst been my proper and delicious food, as I am thine? I speak not
this to move thy compassion, who hast none for thy own offspring, or for
the wife of thy bosom, nor to prolong my own life, which through thy
most brutal usage of me, is past recovery, and a burden to me; nor yet
to teach thee humanity for the future. I know thee to have neither a
head, a heart, nor a hand to show mercy; neither brains, nor bowels, nor
grace, to hearken to reason, or to restrain thee from any folly. I
appeal from thy cruel and relentless heart to a future judgment;
certainly there will be one sometime, when the meanest creature of God
shall have justice done it, even against proud and savage man, its lord;
and surely our cause will then be heard, since, at present, we have none
to judge betwixt us. O, that some good Christian would cause this my
first, and last speech to be printed, and published through the nation.
Perhaps the legislature may not think it beneath them to take our sad
case into consideration. Who can tell but some faint remains of common
sense among the vulgar themselves, may be excited by a suffering dying
fellow-creature’s last words, to find out a more good-natured exercise
for their youth, than this which hardens their hearts, and taints their
morals? But I find myself spent with speaking. And now villain, take
good aim, let fly thy truncheon, and despatch at one _manly_ stroke, the
remaining life of a miserable mortal, who is utterly unable to resist,
or fly from thee.” Alas! he heeded not. She sunk down, and died
immediately, without another blow. Reader, farewell! but learn
compassion towards an innocent creature, that has, at least, as quick a
sense of pain as thyself.

This article is extracted from the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for the year
1749. It appeals to the feelings and the judgment, and is therefore
inserted here, lest one reader should need a dissuasive against the
cruelty of torturing a poor animal on Shrove Tuesday.

Hens were formerly thrown at, as cocks are still, in some places.


THROWING AT COCKS.

This brutal practice on Shrove Tuesday is still conspicuous in several
parts of the kingdom. Brand affirms that it was retained in many schools
in Scotland within the last century, and he conjectures “perhaps it is
still in use:” a little inquiry on his part would have discovered it in
English schools. He proceeds to observe, that the Scotch schoolmasters
“were said to have presided at the battle, and claimed the run-away
cocks, called fugees, as their perquisites.” To show the ancient
legitimacy of the usage, he instances a petition in 1355, from the
scholars of the school of Ramera to their schoolmaster, for a cock he
owed them upon Shrove Tuesday, to throw sticks at, according to the
usual custom for their sport and entertainment. No decently
circumstanced person however rugged his disposition, from neglect in his
childhood, will in our times permit one of his sons to take part in the
sport. This is a natural consequence of the influence which persons in
the higher ranks of life can beneficially exercise. Country gentlemen
threw at the poor cock formerly: there is not a country gentleman now
who would not discourage the shocking usage.

Strutt says that in some places, it was a common practice to put a cock
into an earthen vessel made for the purpose, and to place him in such a
position that his head and tail might be exposed to view; the vessel,
with the bird in it, was then suspended across the street, about 12 or
14 feet from the ground, to be thrown at by such as chose to make trial
of their skill; twopence was paid for four throws, and he who broke the
pot, and delivered the cock from his confinement, had him for a reward.
At North Walsham, in Norfolk, about 60 years ago, some wags put an owl
into one of these vessels; and having procured the head and tail of a
dead cock, they placed them in the same position as if they had
appertained to a living one; the deception was successful; and at last,
a labouring man belonging to the town, after several fruitless attempts,
broke the pot, but missed his prize; for the owl being set at liberty,
instantly flew away, to his great astonishment, and left him nothing
more than the head and tail of the dead bird, with the potsherds, for
his money and his trouble; this ridiculous adventure exposed him to the
continual laughter of the town’s people, and obliged him to quit the
place.


_Shying at Leaden Cocks._

A correspondent, S. W., says, “It strikes me that the game of pitching
at capons, practised by boys when I was young, took its rise from this
sport, (the throwing at cocks,) indulged in by the matured barbarians.
The capons were leaden representations of cocks and hens pitched at by
leaden dumps.”

Another correspondent, whose MS. collections are opened to the
_Every-Day Book_, has a similar remark in one of his common-place books,
on the sports of boys. He says, “_Shying at Cocks._--Probably in
imitation of the barbarous custom of ‘shying’ or throwing at the living
animal. The ‘cock’ was a representation of a bird or a beast, a man, a
horse, or some device, with a stand projecting on all sides, but
principally behind the figure. These were made of lead cast in moulds.
They were shyed at with dumps from a small distance agreed upon by the
parties, generally regulated by the size or weight of the dump, and the
value of the cock. If the thrower overset or knocked down the cock, he
won it; if he failed, he lost his dump.

“_Shy for shy._--This was played at by two boys, each having a cock
placed at a certain distance, generally about four or five feet asunder,
the players standing behind their cocks, and throwing alternately; a bit
of stone or wood was generally used to throw with: the cock was won by
him who knocked it down. Cocks and dumps were exposed for sale on the
butchers’ shambles on a small board, and were the perquisite of the
apprentices, who made them; and many a pewter plate, and many an
ale-house pot, were melted at this season for shying at cocks, which was
as soon as fires were lighted in the autumn. These games, and all others
among the boys of London, had their particular times or seasons; and
when any game was out, as it was termed, it was lawful to steal the
thing played with; this was called _smugging_ and it was expressed by
the boys in a doggrel: viz.

    “Tops are in. Spin ’em agin.
    Tops are out. Smuggin about.

or

    Tops are in. Spin ’em agin.
    Dumps are out, &c.

“The fair cock was not allowed to have his stand extended behind, more
than his height and half as much more, nor much thicker than himself,
and he was not to extend in width more than his height, nor to project
over the stand; but fraudulent cocks were made extending laterally over
the side, so as to prevent his lying down sideways, and with a long
stand behind; the body of the cock was made thinner, and the stand
thicker, by which means the cock bent upon being struck, and it was
impossible to knock him over.” This information may seem trifling to
some, but it will interest many. We all look back with complacency on
the amusements of our childhood; and “some future _Strutt_,” a century
or two hence, may find this page, and glean from it the important
difference between the sports of boys now, and those of our
grandchildren’s great grandchildren.


_Cock-fighting._

The cruelty of cock-fighting was a chief ingredient of the pleasure
which intoxicated the people on Shrove Tuesday.

Cock-fighting was practised by the Greeks. Themistocles, when leading
his troops against the Persians, saw two cocks fighting, and roused the
courage of his soldiers by pointing out the obstinacy with which these
animals contended, though they neither fought for their country, their
families, nor their liberty. The Persians were defeated; and the
Athenians, as a memorial of the victory, and of the incident, ordered
annual cock-fighting in the presence of the whole people. Beckmann
thinks it existed even earlier. Pliny says cock-fighting was an annual
exhibition at Pergamus. Plato laments that not only boys, but men, bred
fighting birds, and employed their whole time in similar idle
amusements. Beckmann mentions an ancient gem in sir William Hamilton’s
collection, whereon two cocks are fighting, while a mouse carries away
the ear of corn for which they contest: “a happy emblem,” says Beckmann,
“of our law-suits, in which the greater part of the property in dispute
falls to the lawyers.” The Greeks obtained their fighting cocks from
foreign countries; according to Beckmann, the English import the
strongest and best of theirs from abroad, especially from Germany.

Cæsar mentions the English cocks in his “Commentaries;” but the earliest
notice of cock-fighting in England is by Fitz-Stephens, who died in
1191. He mentions this as one of the amusements of the Londoners,
together with the game of foot-ball. The whole passage is worth
transcribing. “Yearly at Shrove-tide, the boys of every school bring
fighting-cocks to their masters, and all the forenoon is spent at
school, to see these cocks fight together. After dinner, all the youth
of the city goeth to play at the ball in the fields; the scholars of
every study have their balls; the practisers also of all the trades have
every one their ball in their hands. The ancienter sort, the fathers,
and the wealthy citizens, come on horseback, to see these youngsters
contending at their sport, with whom, in a manner, they participate by
motion; stirring their own natural heat in the view of the active youth,
with whose mirth and liberty they seem to communicate.”

Cock-fighting was prohibited in England under Edward III. and Henry
VIII., and even later: yet Henry himself indulged his cruel nature by
instituting cock-fights, and even James I. took great delight in them;
and within our own time, games have been fought, and attendance
solicited by public advertisement, at the Royal Cock-pit, Whitehall,
which Henry VIII. built.

Beckmann says, that as the cock roused Peter, so it was held an
ecclesiastical duty “to call the people to repentance, or at least to
church;” and therefore, “in the ages of ignorance, the clergy frequently
called themselves the cocks of the Almighty.”


_Old Shrove-tide Revels._

On Shrove Tuesday, according to an old author, “men ate and drank, and
abandoned themselves to every kind of sportive foolery, as if resolved
to have their fill of pleasure before they were to die.”

The preparing of bacon, meat, and the making of savoury black-puddings,
for good cheer after the coming Lent, preceded the day itself, whereon,
besides domestic feasting and revelry, with dice and card-playing, there
was immensity of mumming. The records of Norwich testify, that in 1440,
one John Gladman, who is there called “a man who was ever trewe and
feythfull to God and to the kyng” and constantly disportive, made a
public disport with his neighbours, crowned as king of christmas, on
horseback, having his horse bedizened with tinsel and flauntery, and
preceded by the twelve months of the year, each month habited as the
season required; after him came Lent, clothed in white and
herring-skins, on a horse with trappings of oyster-shells, “in token
that sadnesse shulde folowe, and an holy tyme;” and in this sort they
rode through the city, accompanied by others in whimsical dresses,
“makyng myrth, disportes, and playes.” Among much curious observation on
these Shrove-tide mummings, in the “Popish Kingdome” it is affirmed,
that of all merry-makers,

    The chiefest man is he, and one that most deserveth prayse
    Among the rest, that can finde out the fondest kinde of playes.
    On him they look, and gaze upon, and laugh with lustie cheere,
    Whom boys do follow, crying foole, and such like other geare.
    He in the mean time thinkes himselfe a wondrous worthie man, &c.

It is further related, that some of the rout carried staves, or fought
in armour; others, disguised as devils, chased all the people they came
up with, and frightened the boys: men wore women’s clothes, and women,
dressed as men, entered their neighbours’ or friends’ houses; some were
apparelled as monks, others arrayed themselves as kings, attended by
their guards and royal accompaniments; some disguised as old fools,
pretended to sit on nests and hatch young fools; others wearing skins
and dresses, became counterfeit bears and wolves, roaring lions, and
raging bulls, or walked on high stilts, with wings at their backs, as
cranes:

    Some like filthy forme of apes, and some like fools are drest,
    Which best beseeme those papistes all, that thus keep _Bacchus’_
         feast.

Others are represented as bearers of an unsavoury morsel--

    ----------------------- that on a cushion soft they lay,
    And one there is that, with a flap doth keepe the flies away

Some stuffed a doublet and hose with rags or straw--

    Whom as a man that lately dyed of honest life and fame,
    In blanket did they beare about, and streightways with the same
    They hurl him up into the ayre, not suff’ring him to fall,
    And this they doe at divers tymes, the citie over all.

The Kentish “holly boy,” and “ivy girl” are erroneously supposed (at p.
226,) to have been carried about on St. Valentine’s day. On turning to
Brand, who also cites the circumstance, it appears they were carried the
Tuesday before Shrove Tuesday, and most probably were the unrecognised
remains of the drest mawkin of the “Popish Kingdome,” carried about with
various devices to represent the “death of good living,” and which our
catholic neighbours continue. The Morning Chronicle of March the 10th,
1791, represents the peasantry of France carrying it at that time into
the villages, collecting money for the “funeral,” and, “after sundry
absurd mummeries,” committing the body to the earth.

       *       *       *       *       *

Naogeorgus records, that if the snow lay on the ground this day,
snow-ball combats were exhibited with great vigour, till one party got
the victory, and the other ran away: the confusion whereof troubled him
sorely, on account of its disturbance to the “matrone olde,” and “sober
man,” who desired to pass without a cold salutation from the “wanton
fellowes.”

The “rabble-rout,” however, in these processions and mockeries, had the
honour of respectable spectators, who seem to have been somewhat
affected by the popular epidemic. The same author says that,

    ----------------- the noble men, the rich and men of hie degree,
    Least they with common people should not seeme so mad to bee,

came abroad in “wagons finely framed before” drawn by “a lustie horse
and swift of pace,” having trappings on him from head to foot, about
whose neck,

    -------------- and every place before,
    A hundred gingling belles do hang, to make his courage more,

and their wives and children being seated in these “wagons,” they

    -------------behinde themselves do stande
    Well armde with whips, and holding faste the bridle in their hande.

Thus laden and equipped

    With all their force throughout the streetes and market place they
         ron,
    As if some whirlwinde mad, or tempest great from skies should come

and thus furiously they drove without stopping for people to get out of
their way:

    Yea, sometimes legges or arms they breake, and horse and cart and
         all
    They overthrow, with such a _force_, they in their course do _fall_!

The genteel “wagon”-drivers ceased not with the cessation of the vulgar
sports on foot,

    But even till midnight holde they on, their pastimes for to make,
    Whereby they hinder men of sleepe, and cause their heades to ake
    But all this same they care not for, nor do esteeme a heare,
    So they may have their pleasure, &c.


APPRENTICES’ HOLIDAY.

Shrove Tuesday was until late years the great holiday of the
apprentices; why it should have been so is easy to imagine, on
recollecting the sports that boys were allowed on that day at school.
The indulgencies of the ancient city ’prentices were great, and their
licentious disturbances stand recorded in the annals of many a fray.
Mixing in every neighbouring brawl to bring it if possible to open riot,
they at length assumed to determine on public affairs, and went in
bodies with their petitions and remonstrances to the bar of the house of
commons, with as much importance as their masters of the corporation. A
satire of 1675 says,

    They’r mounted high, contemn the humble play
    Of trap or foot-ball on a holiday
    In Finesbury-fieldes. No, ’tis their brave intent,
    Wisely t’ advise the king and parliament.

But this is not the place to notice their manners further. The
successors to their name are of another generation, they have been
better educated, live in better times, and having better masters, will
make better men. The apprentices whose situation is to be viewed with
anxiety, are the out-door apprentices of poor persons, who can scarcely
find homes, or who being orphans, leave the factories or work-rooms of
their masters, at night, to go where they can, and do what they please,
without paternal care, or being the creatures of any one’s solicitude,
and are yet expected to be, or become good members of society.


PANCAKES.

A MS. in the British Museum quoted by Brand states, that in 1560, it was
a custom at _Eton_ school on Shrove Tuesday for the cook to fasten a
pancake to a crow upon the school door; and as crows usually hatch at
this season, the cawing of the young ones for their parent, heightened
this heartless sport. From a question by Antiquarius, in the
“Gentleman’s Magazine,” 1790, it appears that it is a custom on Shrove
Tuesday at _Westminster_ school for the under clerk of the college,
preceded by the beadle and the other officers, to throw a large pancake
over the bar which divides the upper from the lower school. Brand
mentions a similar custom at _Eton_ school. Mr. Fosbroke is decisive in
the opinion that pancakes on Shrove Tuesday were taken from the heathen
Fornacalia, celebrated on the 18th of February, in memory of making
bread, before ovens were invented, by the goddess Fornax.


FOOT-BALL.

This was, and remains, a game on Shrove Tuesday, in various parts of
England.

Sir Frederick Morton Eden in the “Statistical account of Scotland,” says
that at the parish of Scone, county of Perth, every year on Shrove
Tuesday the bachelors and married men drew themselves up at the cross of
Scone, on opposite sides; a ball was then thrown up, and they played
from two o’clock till sun-set. The game was this: he who at any time got
the ball into his hands, run with it till overtaken by one of the
opposite party; and then, if he could shake himself loose from those on
the opposite side who seized him, he run on; if not, he threw the ball
from him, unless it was wrested from him by the other party, but no
person was allowed to kick it. The object of the married men was to
_hang_ it, that is, to put it three times into a small hole in the moor,
which was the _dool_ or limit on the one hand: that of the bachelors was
to _drown_ it, or dip it three times in a deep place in the river, the
limit on the other: the party who could effect either of these objects
won the game; if neither won, the ball was cut into equal parts at
sun-set. In the course of the play there was usually some violence
between the parties; but it is a proverb in this part of the country
that “All is fair at the ball of Scone.” Sir Frederick goes on to say,
that this custom is supposed to have had its origin in the days of
chivalry; when an Italian is reported to have come into this part of the
country challenging all the parishes, under a certain penalty in case of
declining his challenge. All the parishes declined this challenge except
Scone, which beat the foreigner, and in commemoration of this gallant
action the game was instituted. Whilst the custom continued, every man
in the parish, the gentry not excepted, was obliged to turn out and
support the side to which he belonged, and the person who neglected to
do his part on that occasion was fined; but the custom being attended
with certain inconveniences, was abolished a few years before Sir
Frederick wrote. He further mentions that on Shrove Tuesday there is a
standing match at foot-ball in the parish of Inverness, county of Mid
Lothian, between the married and unmarried women, and he states as a
remarkable fact that the married women are always successful.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Crowdie_ is mentioned by sir F. M. Eden, (“State of the Poor,”) as a
never failing dinner on Shrove Tuesday, with all ranks of people in
Scotland, as pancakes are in England; and that a ring is put into the
basin or porringer of the unmarried folks, to the finder of which, by
fair means, it was an omen of marriage before the rest of the eaters.
This practice on _Fasten’s Eve_, is described in Mr. Stewart’s “Popular
Superstitions of the Highlands,” with little difference; only that the
ring instead of being in “crowdie” is in “brose,” made of the “bree of a
good fat jigget of beef or mutton.” This with plenty of other good cheer
being despatched, the _Bannich Junit_, or “sauty bannocks” are brought
out. They are made of eggs and meal mixed with salt to make them
“sauty,” and being baked or toasted on the gridiron, “are regarded by
old and young as a most delicious treat.” They have a “charm” in them
which enables the highlander to “spell” out his future wife: this
consists of some article being intermixed in the meal-dough, and he to
whom falls the “sauty bannock” which contains it, is sure--if not
already married--to be married before the next anniversary. Then the
_Bannich Brauder_, or “dreaming bannocks” find a place. They contain “a
little of that substance which chimney-sweeps call soot.” In baking them
“the baker must be as mute as a stone--one word would destroy the whole
concern.” Each person has one, slips off quietly to bed, lays his head
on his bannock, and expects to see his sweetheart in his sleep.

       *       *       *       *       *

Shakspeare in King Henry IV. says,

    Be merry, be merry,---------
    ’Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all
      And welcome merry _Shrovetide_.
    Be merry, be merry, &c.

It is mentioned in the “Shepherd’s Almanack” of 1676, that “some say,
thunder on Shrove Tuesday foretelleth wind, store of fruit, and plenty.
Others affirm that so much as the sun shineth on that day, the like will
shine every day in Lent.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cloth of Gold. _Crocus sulphureus._
  Dedicated to _St. Sigifride_.


~February 16.~

  _St. Onesimus._ _Sts. Elias, Jeremy, Isaias, Samuel, and Daniel_, A.
  D. 309. _St. Juliana._ _St. Gregory X._ Pope, A. D. 1276. _St. Tanco_,
  or _Tatta_, of Scotland, A. D. 815.


~Ash Wednesday.~

  Holiday at the Public Offices; except the Stamps, Customs, and Excise.

This is the first day of Lent. It is called _Ash_ Wednesday, because in
the Roman catholic church the priest blesses ashes on this day, and puts
them on the heads of the people. These ashes are made of the branches of
brushwood or palms, consecrated the year before. The ashes are cleaned,
and dried, and sifted, fit for the purpose. After the priest has given
absolution to the people, he prays “Vouchsafe + to bless and sanctify +
these ashes--that whosoever shall sprinkle these ashes upon them for the
redemption of their sins, they may obtain health of body and protection
of soul,” &c. Prayers ended, the priest sprinkles the ashes with holy
water, and perfumes them thrice with incense, and the people coming to
him and kneeling, he puts ashes on their heads in the form of a cross
with other ceremonies.

Platina, a priest, and librarian to the Vatican, who wrote the lives of
the popes relates that Prochetus, archbishop of Geneva, being at Rome
on Ash Wednesday, he fell at the feet of pope Boniface VIII., who
blessed and gave out the ashes on that day, in order to be signed with
the blessed ashes as others had been. Thinking him to be his enemy,
instead of uttering the usual form, “Remember, O man, because thou art
dust, thou shalt return to dust,” &c., the pope parodied the form and
said “Remember thou art a Gibelline, and with the Gibellines thou shalt
return to ashes,” and then his holiness threw the ashes in the
archbishop’s eyes.

It is observed by Mr. Fosbroke that ladies wore friars’ girdles in Lent.
This gentleman quotes, from “Camden’s Remains,” that sir Thomas More,
finding his lady scolding her servants during Lent, endeavoured to
restrain her. “Tush, tush, my lord,” said she, “look, here is one step
to heavenward,” showing him a friar’s girdle. “I fear me,” said he,
“that one step, will not bring you up one step higher.” There are
various instances of belief in the virtues of garments that had been
worn by monks and friars; some of them almost surpassing belief.

Ash Wednesday is observed in the church of England by reading publicly
the curses denounced against impenitent sinners; to each malediction the
people being directed to utter, amen. Many who consider this as cursing
their neighbours, keep away from church on the occasion; which absence
from these motives Mr. Brand regards as “a folly and superstition worthy
of the after-midnight, the spirit-walking time of popery.” On this
eloquent remark, and Mr. Brand is seldom warmed to eloquence, it may be
observed, that persons far removed from superstition and who have never
approached “the valley of the shadow of popery,” deem the commination of
the “Common Prayer Book,” a departure from the christian dispensation,
and its injunctions of brotherly kindness.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lilac Primrose. _Primula acaulis plena._
  Dedicated to _St. Juliana_.


~February 17.~

  _St. Flavian_, Archbishop of Constantinople, A. D. 449. _Sts.
  Theodulus and Julian._ _St. Silvin_ of Auchy, A. D. 718. _St. Loman_,
  or _Luman_, Bishop. _St. Fintan_, Abbot.


       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Scotch Crocus. _Crocus Susianus._
  Dedicated to _St. Flavian_.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 17th of February, 1563, died Michael Angelo Buonarroti, as an
artist and a man one of the most eminent ornaments of the times wherein
he lived. A bare record of his decease is not sufficient. Thousands of
readers have heard his name; some know his works; few know his
character.

Michael Angelo was born in Tuscany, on the 6th of March, 1474.
Fascinated by art at an early age, he executed a facsimile of a picture
in his thirteenth year, which he presented to the owner instead of the
original, who did not discover the deception till a confidant of
Michael’s began to laugh. He afterwards studied under Ghirlandaïo, and
at fifteen drew an outline round a drawing by his master which showed
its defects and his own superiority. Studying in a garden supplied by
the celebrated Lorenzo de Medici with antique statues and other forms,
he saw a student modelling figures in clay, and emulous of excelling in
the same branch, begged a piece of marble, and the use of implements,
from one of the workmen employed in making ornaments for Lorenzo’s
library. With these he imitated an old head, or mask, of a laughing
faun, supplying the deficiencies effected by time, by his own invention,
and making other additions. Lorenzo saw it, and good humouredly
remarked, “You have restored to the old faun all his teeth, but don’t
you know that a man of such an age has generally lost some?” As soon as
Lorenzo departed, Michael broke a tooth from the upper jaw, and drilled
a hole in the gum to denote that it had decayed. Lorenzo at his next
visit was delighted by this docility, and to encourage Michael assigned
him an apartment in his palace for a workroom, seated him at his table,
and introduced him to the men of rank and talent who daily resorted to
Lorenzo, as the munificent patron of learning and the arts. He justified
this distinction by labouring with intense ardour. At seventeen years of
age he sculptured in brass the battle of Hercules with the Centaurs; a
work of which he said at seventy, “When I see it now, I repent that I
did not entirely devote myself to sculpture.” His reputation increased
with his application, for application brought him nearer to excellence.
By the merit of a sleeping cupid from his chisel, which was stained and
buried by a dealer to be dug up as an antique, and purchased by cardinal
Giorgio under the persuasion that it was one, he was invited to Rome.

On the elevation of Julius II. to the pontificate he desired a mausoleum
for his remains, and commissioned Michael Angelo to execute it. The
design was magnificent and gratified Julius. He inquired the cost of
completing it, “A hundred thousand crowns,” answered Michael; the pope
replied, “It may be twice that sum,” and gave orders accordingly. The
pontiff further determined on rebuilding the cathedral of St. Peter on a
plan of corresponding grandeur wherein the mausoleum should be erected.
It was for the prosecution of this vast structure for Romish worship,
that Leo X. sold the indulgencies against which Luther inveighed, and by
establishing the right of private judgment shook the papacy to its
foundations. While Michael was engaged on the mausoleum, Julius caused a
covered bridge to be erected by which he might pass from the Vatican to
Michael’s study unobserved. Envy was excited in the papal dependents by
this distinction, and insinuated so much to Michael’s disadvantage that
his unrestrained visits to the Vatican were suddenly interrupted. “I
have an order not to let you enter,” said the groom of the chamber: a
prelate inquired if he knew to whom he spoke; “Well enough,” answered
the officer, “and it is my duty to obey my orders.” “Tell the pope,”
said Michael indignantly, “if he wants me, he shall have to seek me in
another place.” He returned home, ordered his servants to sell his
furniture immediately, and follow him to Florence, and the same evening
left Rome.

The pope sent couriers to force his return, but before he was overtaken
he had reached a territory wherein the papal mandate was without
authority. “Immediately return to Rome on pain of our disgrace,” was the
pope’s letter. Michael’s answer was, that having been expelled his
holiness’s antichamber without having merited disgrace, he had left Rome
to preserve his character, and that he would not return; for if he had
been deemed worthless one day, he could be little valued the next,
unless by a caprice that would neither be creditable to the pope nor to
himself. Having despatched the pope’s couriers with this letter, he
proceeded to Florence. To the government of this city Julius wrote: “We
know the humour of men of his stamp; if he will return, we promise he
shall be neither meddled with nor offended, and he shall be reinstated
in the apostolic grace.” Michael was unmoved. A second and a third
arrived, each more impressive, and Michael remained unchanged; but the
Gonfaloniere of Florence, to whom these epistles were addressed, became
alarmed and expostulated: “You have done by the pope what the king of
France would not have presumed to do; he must be no longer trifled with;
we cannot make war against his holiness to risk the safety of the state;
and therefore you must obey his will.” Thus remonstrated with, Michael
entertained a proposal for entering into the service of the sultan
Bajazet II., and building a bridge from Constantinople to Pera. The
sultan had even sent him letters of credit on Florence and all the
cities on his way; and appointed escorts of Janizaries to await his
arrival on the Turkish frontiers, and conduct him, by whatever road he
pleased, to the Mahometan capital. To divert Michael Angelo from this
course, the Gonfaloniere urged that it was better to die under the
pope’s displeasure than to live in the Turkish service; and that if he
were apprehensive for his security at Rome, the government of Florence
would send him thither as its ambassador, in which character his person
would be inviolable. Michael, urged by these and other reasons,
relented, and met the pope at Bologna, a city which had been betrayed to
the papal arms, and taken possession of by Julius in great pomp just
before Michael’s arrival. The cardinal Soderini, brother to the
Gonfaloniere, was to have introduced Michael to the pope, but
indisposition constrained him to depute that office to a prelate of his
household. The pope askanced his eye at Michael with displeasure, and
after a short pause saluted him, “Instead of your coming to us, you seem
to have expected that we should attend upon you.” Michael answered, that
his error proceeded from too hastily feeling a disgrace he was
unconscious of having merited, and hoped his holiness would pardon what
had passed. The officious prelate who had introduced him, not thinking
this apology sufficient, observed to the pope, that great allowance was
to to be made for such men, who were ignorant of every thing but their
art. “Thou,” answered the pontiff, “hast vilified him; I have not: thou
art no man of genius but an ignorant fellow; get out of my sight.” The
prelate was pushed from the room. The pope gave Michael his benediction,
restored him to full favour, and desired him not to quit Bologna till he
had given him a commission for some work. In a few days, Michael
received an order from Julius for a colossal statue of himself in
bronze. While it was modelling, the pope’s visits to Michael were as
frequent as formerly. This statue was grand, austere, and majestic: the
pope familiarly asked if the extended arm was bestowing a blessing or a
curse upon the people. Michael answered that the action only implied
hostility to disobedience, and inquired whether he would not have a book
put into the other hand. “No,” said the pope, “a sword would be more
adapted to my character, I am no book-man.” Julius quitted Bologna, and
left Michael Angelo there to complete the statue; he effected it in
sixteen months, and having placed it in the façade of the church of St.
Petronio, returned to Rome. This product of Michael’s genius was of
short existence. The prosperity of Venice under united councils, and a
prudent administration of its affairs, excited the hatred of the
European powers. An infamous league was entered into at Cambray for the
ruin of the Venetian government, and the partition of its territory;
Julius became a party to this alliance, with the hope of adding Romagna
to the dominions of the church, and retaining possession of Bologna.
Effecting his object, he withdrew from the league; and by a change of
policy, and a miscalculation of his strength, quarrelled with Louis XII.
who had assisted him in subjecting Bologna. That monarch retook the
city, restored the Bentivoglio family, which had been displaced by the
papal arms, and the populace throwing down Michael’s statue of the pope,
dragged it through the streets, and broke it to pieces. With the
mutilated fragments the duke of Ferrara cast a cannon, which he named
Julio, but preserved the head entire, as an invaluable specimen of art,
although it bore the countenance of his implacable enemy.

Michael Angelo resumed Julius’s mausoleum, but the pontiff had changed
his mind, and sorely against Michael’s inclination, engaged him to
decorate the ceilings and walls of the Sixtine chapel, with paintings
in fresco, to the memory of Sixtus VI., the pope’s uncle. For the
purpose of commencing these paintings, ropes were let through the
ceiling to suspend the scaffolding. Michael asked Bramante the
architect, who had arranged this machinery, how the ceiling was to be
completed if the ropes were suffered to remain? The answer did not
obviate the objection. Michael represented to the pope that the defect
would have been avoided if Bramante had better understood the
application of mechanical principles, and obtained the pope’s permission
to take down the inefficient contrivance and erect another. This he
effected; and his machinery was so ample and complete, that Bramante
himself adopted it in the building of St. Peter’s. Michael gave this
invention to the poor man who was his carpenter in constructing it, and
who realized a fortune from the commissions he received for others on
the same plan. To indulge his curiosity, and watch the progress of the
work, the pope ascended the ladder to the top of Michael’s platform
almost daily. He was of an impetuous temper, and impatient to see the
general effect from below before the ceiling was half completed:
Michael, yielding to his impatience, struck the scaffold; and so eager
were men of taste to obtain a view, that before the dust from displacing
the machinery had settled, they rushed into the chapel to gratify their
curiosity. Julius was satisfied: but Michael’s rivals, and Bramante
among the rest, secretly solicited the pope to intrust the completion of
the cartoons to Raphael. Michael had intimation of these wiles, and in
the presence of Bramante himself, claimed and obtained of the pope the
entire execution of his own designs. He persevered with incessant
assiduity. In twenty months from the commencement of “this stupendous
monument of human genius” it was completed, and on All Saints’ day,
1512, the pontiff himself opened the chapel in person with a splendid
high mass, to crowds of devotees and artists. Whatever Julius conceived
he hastened with the ardour of youth; he was old, and knowing that he
had no time to spare, he had so harassed the progress of these cartoons
by his eagerness, that the scaffolding was struck before they were
thoroughly completed; yet, as there was not any thing of importance to
be added, Michael determined not to undergo the labour of reerecting the
machinery. The pope loved splendour, and wished them ornamented with
gold. Michael answered, “In those days gold was not worn, and the
characters I have painted were neither rich, nor desirous of riches;
they were holy men with whom gold was an object of contempt.”

Julius soon afterwards died; and the execution of his mausoleum was
frustrated by Leo X., to whose patronage Michael was little indebted. He
finished his celebrated cartoon of the Last Judgment, for the east end
of the Sistine chapel, in 1541. On Christmas-day in that year the chapel
was opened, and residents in the most distant parts of Italy thronged to
see it. In the following year, he painted the Conversion of St. Paul,
and the Crucifixion of St. Peter, on the walls of the chapel Paolina. In
1546, when he was 72 years old, the reigning pope nominated him
architect of St. Peter’s. Michael would only accept the appointment on
the condition that he received no salary; that he should have
uncontrolled power over the subordinate officers; and be allowed to
alter the original design conformably to his own judgment. It was
necessary to adapt and contract that design to the impoverished state of
the papal exchequer. Though numerous impediments were purposely opposed
to his progress with this splendid edifice, he advanced it rapidly; and
before he was 74, he had completed the Farnese palace, built a palace on
the hill of the Capitol for the senator of Rome, erected two galleries
for sculpture and painting on the same site, and threw up a flight of
steps to the church of the convent of Araceli--an edifice remarkable for
its occupying the highest part of the hill whereon the temple of Jupiter
Capitolinus formerly stood, and, more especially, for Gibbon having
mused there, while listening to the vespers of the bare-footed friars,
and conceived the first thought of writing his “History of the Decline
and Fall of the Roman Empire.”

In 1550, Julius III. succeeded to the pontificate, and Michael to new
vexations. His rivals endeavoured to displace him for unfitness in the
conduct of St. Peter’s. A committee of architects was appointed to
investigate the charge, in the presence of the pope. The committee
alleged that the church wanted light; and they furnished the cardinals
Salviati and Marcello Cervino with plans, to show that Michael had
walled up a recess for three chapels, and made only three insufficient
windows. “Over those windows are to be placed three others,” answered
Michael. “You never said that before,” answered one of the cardinals. To
this Michael indignantly replied, “I am not, neither will I ever be,
obliged to tell your eminence, or any one else, what I ought or am
disposed to do; it is your office to see that money be provided, to keep
off the thieves, and to leave the building of St. Peter’s to me.” The
pope decided in Michael’s favour. From that time Julius prosecuted no
work in painting or sculpture without Michael’s advice; and his
estimation of him was so high, that he told him at a public audience,
that if he died before himself, he should be embalmed, and kept in his
own palace, that his body might be as permanent as his works. Soon after
the death of Julius III. in 1555, Paul IV., the new pontiff, expressed
his displeasure of the academical figures in the Last Judgment, and
intimated an intention to “reform” the picture. Michael sent this
message to him: “What the pope wishes, is very little, and may be easily
effected; for if his holiness will only ‘reform’ the opinions of
mankind, the picture will be reformed of itself.” This holy father
plunged Italy in blood by his vindictive passions; and while war ravaged
its plains, Michael, at the age of 82, retreated for a while to a
monastery. On coming from his seclusion, he wrote to Vasari, “I have had
a great deal of pleasure in visiting the monks in the mountains of
Spoleto: indeed, though I am now returned to Rome, I have left the
better half of myself with them; for in these troublesome times, to say
the truth, there is no happiness but in such retirement.” The death of
this pope filled Rome with “tumultuous joy,” and the papal chair was
ascended by Pius IV., in whose pontificate, wearied and reduced by the
incessant attacks and artifices of his enemies, Michael, at the age of
87, resigned his office of architect to St. Peter’s; but the pope,
informed of the frauds which had occasioned it, reinstated him, and to
induce him to retain the appointment, ensured strict adherence to his
designs until the building should be completed.

At the age of eighty-nine a slow fever indicated Michael Angelo’s
approaching decease. His nephew, Leonardo Buonarrotti, was sent for; but
not arriving, and the fever increasing, he ordered the persons who were
in the house into his chamber, and in the presence of them and his
physicians uttered this verbal will:--“My soul I resign to God, my body
to the earth, and my worldly possessions to my nearest of kin:” then
admonishing his attendants, he said, “In your passage through this life,
remember the sufferings of Jesus Christ.”

Thus died one of the greatest artists, and one of the noblest men of
modern times. The ceremony of his funeral was conducted at Rome with
great pomp, but his remains were removed within a month to Florence, and
finally deposited in the church of Santa Croce at Florence. In 1720, the
vault was opened; the body retained its original form, habited in the
costume of the ancient citizens of Florence, in a gown of green velvet,
and slippers of the same.

According to his English biographer, Mr. Duppa, Michael Angelo was of
the middle stature, bony in make, rather spare, and broad shouldered;
his complexion good, his forehead square and “somewhat” projecting; his
eyes hazel and rather small; his brows with little hair; his nose flat
from a blow given him in his youth by Torrigiano; his lips thin; his
cranium large in proportion to his face. Within these pages a detail of
his works will not be sought. The few particulars mentioned are from Mr.
Duppa’s quarto life, where many of them are enumerated, and outline
sketches of some of them are engraved.

The portrait of Michael Angelo selected by Mr. Duppa, to precede his
life, is engraved by Bartolozzi, from a profile in Gori’s edition of
“Condivi’s Memoir.” He says its original was a drawing supposed to have
been made by Julio Bonasoni, from which Mr. Duppa presumes that artist
to have etched a print bearing his name, and dated in the year 1546.
There is an engraved portrait dated 1545, without any artist’s name
attached. Mr. Duppa says, “of these _two_ prints Bonasoni’s is much the
best; and although the second has a prior date, it appears to have been
engraved from the same original.” That “original,” whatever it was, is
no longer in existence. Certainly Bonasoni’s print is better as a
_print_, for it has the grace of that master’s point, yet as a
_likeness_ the print of 1545 seems to the editor of the _Every-day Book_
to have a stronger claim to regard; not because it is of prior date, but
because it has more decisive marks of character. He conjectures, that
the anonymous print of 1545 may have been executed from a bust or
statue of Michael. There is a laboured precision in the contour, and a
close mannered marking of the features, that denote the “original” to
have been marble. The conjecture is strengthened by the fact, that the
eye in the anonymous print is without an iris; a deficiency which exists
in no engraved portraits unless they are executed from a marble
“original.” While _correctness_ seems to have been the aim of the
engraver in this anonymous print, elegance appears to have been the
object of the painter Bonasoni in his etching. Bonasoni’s portrait is
comparatively common; the anonymous one is rare; a copy of it from the
print in the editor’s possession, is executed on wood, by Mr. T.
Williams, and placed under the reader’s eye.

[Illustration: MICHAEL·ANGELVS·BVONAROTVS]

Michael Angelo was remarkable for nothing but his genius. He slept
little, and was abstemious; he was accustomed to say, “However rich I
may have been, I have always lived as a poor man.” He obtained the
reputation of being proud and odd; for he found little pleasure in the
society of men from whom he could not learn, or whom he could not teach.
He was pleased by originality of character in whatever rank he met with
it; and cultivated in mature life the society of persons respected for
their talents and learning. When young he endeavoured to acquaint
himself with every branch of knowledge that could contribute to his
improvement. In common with all who have obtained a deserved eminence,
he was never satisfied with his performances; if he perceived an
imperfection that might have been avoided, he either threw aside the
work in disgust, or commenced it anew.

He continued to study to the end of his life. In his old age the
cardinal Farnese found him walking in solitude amidst the ruins of the
Coliseum and expressed his surprise. Michael answered, “I go yet to
school that I may continue to learn.” He lived much alone. His great
excess seems to have been indulgence in reflection, and the labours of
his profession. The power of generalizing facts, and realizing what he
conceived, he drew from this habit: without it some men have become
popular for a time, but no man ever became great.

       *       *       *       *       *

Grandeur was Michael Angelo’s prevailing sentiment. In his architecture
of St. Peter’s, he seems to have been limited by the impossibility of
arriving to excellence without adopting the ancient styles, and the
necessity of attempting something great without them; and to speak with
the severity of uncompromising truth he failed. Of what else he did in
that science, and he did much, for which he obtained deserved renown,
there is neither room nor occasion to speak. In painting and sculpture,
if he did not always succeed in embodying his feelings, yet he succeeded
more frequently than any other artist since the revival of arts; and, as
his power was greater than theirs, so he accomplished greater works. His
aim was elevated as that of the giants who warred against the fabled
gods; in one respect he was unlike them--he conquered. Majestic and wild
as nature in her undescribable sublimity, he achieved with
corresponding greatness and beauty. His forms and their intellectual
expression are of the highest order. He never did any thing little. All
was in harmony with a mind which he created of himself by adding fact to
fact, by severe reading, by close observation, by study, by seclusion.
He was the quarrier, and architect, and builder-up of his own greatness.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sir Joshua Reynolds speaks with becoming deference of Michael Angelo’s
powers.--“It will not be thought presumptuous in me to appear in the
train, I cannot say of his imitators, but of his admirers. I have taken
another course, one more suited to my abilities, and to the taste of the
times in which I live. Yet however unequal I feel myself to that
attempt, were I now to begin the world again, I would tread in the steps
of that great master: to kiss the hem of his garment, to catch the
slightest of his perfections, would be glory and distinction enough for
an ambitious man. He was the bright luminary from whom painting has
borrowed a new lustre, under whose hands it assumed a new appearance,
and became another and superior art, and from whom all his
contemporaries and successors have derived whatever they have possessed
of the dignified and majestic.”

       *       *       *       *       *

There are excellent casts from three of Michael Angelo’s statues
exhibited by Mr. West at Mr. Bullock’s museum, in Piccadilly; they are,
Christ, from the church of Sta. Maria at Florence, Lorenzo de Medici
from his monument, and the celebrated Moses, from the church of St.
Pietro, in Vincoli, at Rome. The editor of the _Every-day Book_ has
conversed with persons who think themselves pupils and students in
sculpture and painting without having seen these!

       *       *       *       *       *

Michael Angelo had studied anatomy profoundly. Condivi, who was his
pupil and one of his biographers, says that his knowledge of human
anatomy and of other animals was so correct, that those who had studied
it as a profession all their lives, scarcely understood it so well. When
he began to dissect he conceived disgust from the offensiveness of the
operation and desisted; but reflecting that it was disgraceful to
abandon what others could achieve, he resumed and pursued it to the
fullest extent. Perceiving the utility of Albert Durer’s “Treatise on
the Proportions of the Human Body,” he deemed it capable of improvement.
Its rules were in his opinion insufficient and too mechanical, and he
contemplated a treatise to exhibit the muscles in their various action.
A friend, whom he consulted on the subject, sent him the body of a fine
young Moor, which he dissected and made remarks on, but they were never
published. The result of his anatomical knowledge may be seen in the
powerful muscular developement of his figures: he left no part
undefined.

       *       *       *       *       *

Several remarks occur in the course of Michael Angelo’s letters
concerning his art. Speaking of the rivalry between sculpture and
painting, he says, “The sculptor arrives at his end by taking away what
is superfluous; the painter produces his, by adding the materials which
embody the representation to the mind: however, after all, they are both
produced by the same intelligence, and the superiority is not worth
disputing about, since more time may be lost in the discussion, than
would produce the works themselves.” At one time, however, Michael
Angelo regarded painting with less favour than he expresses in this
letter. It is addressed to Varchi, who wrote a dissertation on the
subject, and sent it to him with an inquiry, which had divided the
amateurs of Florence, as to whether painting or sculpture required the
most talent. Varchi’s treatise has the merit of having convinced Michael
Angelo that he was in error, and with the truth and candour inseparable
from such a character he confessed his mistake. “Of the relative
importance of painting and sculpture,” says Michael Angelo, “I think
painting excellent in proportion as it approaches relievo, and relievo
bad in proportion as it partakes of the character of a picture, and
therefore I was used to be of opinion, that painting might be considered
as borrowing light from sculpture, and the difference between them as
the sun and moon. Now, however, since I have read your dissertation,
which treats the subject philosophically, and shows, that those things
which have the same end, are one, and the same, I have changed my
opinion, and say, that, if greater judgment, labour, difficulty, and
impediment, confer no dignity on the work on which it is bestowed,
painting and sculpture may be considered without giving the preeminence
to either: and since it has been so considered, no painter ought to
undervalue sculpture, and in like manner, no sculptor ought to make
light of painting.”

Great as Michael Angelo was in art, his intellectual character was
greater. “No one,” says Mr. Duppa, “ever felt the dignity of human
nature with its noblest attributes more forcibly than Michael Angelo,
and his disgust at any violation of principle was acute in proportion to
his sensibility and love of truth.” He despised and shrunk from the
shadow of a meanness: hating the heartlessness of unmeaning profession,
he regarded the dazzling simulation which constitutes the polish of
society as a soul-cloud. With these commanding views of self dignity he
poured out his feelings to his friend Luigi del Ricco, in

A MADRIGAL.

Translated by Robert Southey Esq.

(_From Mr. Duppa’s Life of Michael Angelo._)

    Ill hath he chosen his part who seeks to please
    The worthless world,--ill hath he chosen his part,
    For often must he wear the look of ease
           When grief is at his heart;
    And often in his hours of happier feeling
    With sorrow must his countenance be hung,
    And ever his own better thoughts concealing
    Must in stupid grandeur’s praise be loud,
    And to the errors of the ignorant crowd
           Assent with lying tongue.
    Thus much would I conceal--that none should know
    What secret cause I have for silent woe;
    And taught by many a melancholy proof
    That those whom fortune favours it pollutes
    I from the blind and faithless world aloof,
    Nor fear its envy nor desire its praise,
    But choose my path through solitary ways.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was one of Michael Angelo’s high qualities to bear about him an
atmosphere which the parasite dared not approach: no heart-eater could
live in it.

He justly estimated whatever was influential in society; and hence
though he seemed to look down upon rank as an accident of life, he was
not regardless of its use. To those whom distinctions had raised, he
paid the deference accorded to their dignities. Yet towards him who
touched his integrity, he bore a lofty carriage, and when he
condescended to resent the attack, hurled an impetuous defiance that
kindled as it flew, and consumed the insulting defamer, though he were
ensconced behind countless quarterings, or ermined and enthroned. To the
constant calumny of jealous rivalry, and the daily lie of envy and
enmity, he was utterly indifferent. When asked why he did not resent the
aspersions incessantly poured upon him by one of his assailants, he
answered--“He who contends with the worthless can gain nothing worth
possessing.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Michael Angelo’s temper was “sudden and quick;” but his nature was kind
and benevolent. Inferior artists frequently experienced his friendly
disposition. He sometimes made drawings and modelled for them. To
Minigella, a very indifferent hand, he gave the model of a crucifix
beautifully executed, from which the poor fellow formed a mould and made
casts of _papier mache_ to sell to the country people. Friendship and
esteem for particular individuals oftener induced him to undertake works
than proffers of large sums. Yet he was not indifferent or insensible to
a just estimation of his talents when they were undervalued. For Angelo
Doni, a Florentine of taste, he painted a holy family, and sent it home
with a note requiring seventy ducats for it. Doni told the messenger he
thought forty were enough; Michael replied by demanding the picture or a
hundred; Doni said he was willing to pay the seventy; Michael demanded a
hundred and forty, and Doni paid the sum.

       *       *       *       *       *

He honoured worthy men in every station. His purse was open to their
necessities; he condoled with them in their afflictions, and lightened
their oppressions by his sympathies and influence. To artists and men of
talent his liberality was munificent. He neither loved money nor
accumulated it. His gifts were the free-will offerings of his heart, and
hence its dispensations were unaccompanied by a notoriety which sullies
the purity of primary obligation, by exposing the nakedness of its
object.

       *       *       *       *       *

Conversing one day with his old and faithful servant, he said, “What
will become of you, Urbine, if I should die?” “I must then seek another
master” was the reply. “Poor fellow,” said Michael, “thou shalt not
need another master,” and he gave him two thousand crowns. This was a
large sum in those days: Vasari says such a donation would only have
been expected from popes and great emperors. Michael afterwards procured
him an appointment in the Vatican to take care of the pictures, with a
monthly salary of six ducats; and preserving his regard for the old man,
Michael, though at that time eighty-two years of age, sat up with him by
night in his last illness. “His death has been a heavy loss to me,” he
wrote to Vasari, “and the cause of excessive grief, but it has also been
a most impressive lesson of the grace of God: for it has shown me, that
he, who in his lifetime comforted me in the enjoyment of life, dying has
taught me how to die; not with reluctance, but even with a desire of
death. He lived with me twenty-six years, grew rich in my service, and I
found him a most rare and faithful servant; and now that I calculated
upon his being the staff and repose of my old age he is taken away, and
has left me only the hope of seeing him again in paradise.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Michael Angelo was never married. To one who lamented that he had no
children to inherit his property, Michael answered, “My works must
supply their place; and if they are good for any thing they will live
hereafter. It would have been unfortunate for Lorenzo Ghiberti, had he
not left the doors of S. Giovanni, for his sons and his nephews have
long since sold and dissipated his accumulated wealth; but his sculpture
remains, and will continue to record his name to future ages.” These
“doors” were of bronze. When Michael was asked his opinion of them, he
said they were fit to be the doors of paradise.

       *       *       *       *       *

Throughout the poetry of Michael Angelo, of which there is much in
existence, love is a pervading sentiment, though, without reference to
any particular object. Condivi had often heard him discourse upon it as
a passion platonically; and Mr. Duppa gives the following sonnet,
translated from the Italian of Michael Angelo by Mr. Wordsworth, as
exemplifying Michael’s turn of thought:

SONNET,

BY MICHAEL ANGELO.

    Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
      And I be undeluded, unbetray’d;
    For, if of our affections none find grace
      In sight of Heaven, then wherefore hath God made
    The world which we inhabit? Better plea
    Love cannot have, than that in loving thee,
      Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,
    Who such divinity to thee imparts
    As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
      His hope is treacherous only, whose love dies
    With beauty, which is varying every hour;
    But in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the power
    Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower
      That breathes on earth the air of Paradise.

The personal beauty and intellectual endowments of Vittoria Colonna,
marchioness of Pescara, impressed Michael Angelo with sentiments of
affectionate esteem. She admired his genius, and frequently left her
residence at Viterbo for the sole purpose of enjoying his society at
Rome. He addressed three sonnets and a madrigal to her. In her last
moments he paid her a visit, and told Condivi he grieved he had not
kissed her cheek, as he had her hand, for there was little hope of his
ever seeing her again. He penned an epitaph on her decease: the
recollection of her death constantly dejected him.

To the purity of his thoughts, there is a high testimony by Condivi. “In
a long intimacy, I have never heard from his mouth a single word that
was not perfectly decorous, and had not for its object to extinguish in
youth every improper and lawless desire: his nature is a stranger to
depravity.” He was religious, not by the show, but from feeling and
conviction As an instance, a short poetical supplication, translated by
Mr. Duppa into prose, is remarkable for its self-knowledge and
simplicity; it is here subjoined:--

“_To the Supreme Being._

“My prayers will be sweet if thou lendest me virtue to make them worthy
to be heard; my unfruitful soil cannot produce virtue of itself. Thou
knowest the seed, and how to sow it, that it may spring up in the mind
to produce just and pious works: if thou showest not the hallowed path,
no one by his own knowledge can follow thee. Pour thou into my mind the
thoughts that may conduct me in thy holy steps; and endue me with a
fervent tongue, that I may alway praise, exalt, and sing thy glory.”

Finally, it may be added, that in an age of splendid vice, Michael
Angelo was an illustrious example of virtue.

TO MICHAEL ANGELO--IMMORTAL

    Michael! to what thou wert, if I could raise
      An aspiration, or a holy light,
    Within one reader, I’d essay to praise
      Thy virtue; and would supplicate the muse
    For flowers to deck thy greatness: so I might
      But urge one youthful artist on to choose
    A life like thine, I would attempt the hill
      Where well inspiring floods, and thence would drink
    Till--as the Pythoness of old, the will
      No longer then controll’d by sense--I’d think
    Alone of good and thee, and with loud cries,
      Break the dead slumber of undeeming man,
    Refresh him with a gush of truth, surprise
      Him with thy deeds, and show him thine was Wisdom’s plan.


[Illustration: ~Pisces.~]

This zodiacal sign is said to symbolize the fishery of the Nile, which
usually commenced at this season of the year. According to an ancient
fable, it represents Venus and Cupid, who, to avoid Typhon, a dreadful
giant with a hundred heads, transformed themselves into fish. This
fabulous monster, it seems, threw the whole host of heathen deities into
confusion. His story shortly is, that as soon as he was born, he began
to avenge the death of his brethren, the giants who had warred against
Olympus, by resuming the conflict alone. Flames of fire darted from his
eyes and mouths; he uttered horrid yells, and so frightened the pagan
celestials, that Jupiter himself became a ram, Juno a cow, Mercury an
ibis, Apollo a crow, Bacchus a goat, Diana a cat, Venus a fish, &c. till
Jupiter hurled a rock and buried him under Ætna. The idol Dagon, with a
human head and arms, and a fish’s tail, is affirmed to be the symbol of
the sun in Pisces, and to allegorize that the earth teems with corn and
fruits.

The sun generally enters Pisces about the period of February; for
instance, in 1824 on the 16th, in 1825 on the 18th of the month. The
Romans imagined that the entrance of the sun into Pisces was attended by
bad weather, and gales of uncertainty to the mariner.[1] Thomson sings,
that in this month--

    Muttering, the winds at eve, with blunted point,
    Blow hollow-blustering from the south. Subdued,
    The frost resolves into a trickling thaw,
    Spotted, the mountains shine; loose sleet descends,
    And floods the country round. The rivers swell,
    Of bonds impatient. Sudden from the hills,
    O’er rocks and woods, in broad, brown cataracts,
    A thousand snow-fed torrents shoot at once;
    And where they rush, the wide resounding plain
    Is left one slimy waste.

  _Thomson._

  [1] Dr. Forster’s Perenn. Cal.


~February 18.~

  _St. Simeon_, Bp. of Jerusalem, A. D. 116. _Sts. Leo and Paregorius_,
  3d Cent.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 18th of February 1734, the house of commons received a petition
from Mr. Samuel Buckley, a learned printer; setting forth that he had,
at his sole expense, by several years’ labour, and with the assistance
of some learned persons abroad and at home, made collections of original
papers and letters relating to “Thuanus’s History,” written in Latin, in
order to a new and accurate edition, in 7 vols. folio, which was
finished; that the act of the 8th of Q. Anne, for the encouragement of
learning, extended only to the authors, purchasers, or proprietors of
the copy-right of any book in English, published after the 10th of
April, 1710, and allowed the importation or vending of any books in
foreign language printed beyond the seas; so that any books, first
compiled and printed in this kingdom in any of those languages, might be
reprinted abroad and sold in this kingdom, to the great damage of the
first printer or proprietor: he therefore prayed, that he might be
allowed the same benefit in his copy of the “History of Thuanus,” in
Latin, for fourteen years. Leave was given to bring in the bill, and it
afterwards passed into an act.

The protection of this excellent work was a justice due to the spirit
and liberality of Mr. Buckley. He had been originally a bookseller. John
Dunton says of him, “He is an excellent linguist, understands the Latin,
French, Dutch, and Italian languages, and is master of a great deal of
wit: he prints the ‘Daily Courant,’ and ‘Monthly Register,’ which, I
hear, he translates out of the foreign papers himself:”--a great merit,
it should seem, in the eyes of old Dunton.

Mr. Buckley was a really learned printer. The collections for his
edition of Thuanus were made by Carte, who had fled to France from an
accusation of high treason, during the rebellion of 1715 and while in
that country possessed himself of so many materials for the purpose,
that he consulted Dr. Mead, the celebrated physician, and patron of
literary men, concerning the undertaking. By the doctor’s
recommendation, it was intrusted to Mr. Buckley, who imported the paper
for it, which, with the materials, cost him 2,350_l._ He edited the work
with fidelity, and executed it with elegance.

Mr. Buckley was the publisher of the “Spectator,” which appeared in
folio from his shop at the Dolphin in Little Britain, a place then
filled with booksellers. At the close of the seventh volume this popular
work was suspended, but resumed by Buckley in Amen-corner. He attained
to opulence and respectability, was in the commission of the peace for
Middlesex, and died, greatly esteemed, on the 8th of September, 1741, in
the sixty-eighth year of his age.[2]

It is related of the great lord chancellor Hardwicke, that he so highly
regarded “Thuanus’s History,” as to have resigned the seals for the
express purpose of being enabled to read it in the original language.[3]
It has been computed that a person who gave his attention to this work
for four hours every day, would not finish the perusal in twelve months.
It comprehends the events of sixty-four years, during the times wherein
Thuanus lived and flourished as an eminent French author and statesman.
His English biographer quotes, as a character of his writings, that, “in
a word, they are calculated to render those who attend to them better
and wiser men.”[4]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Wall Speedwell. _Veronica vivensis._
  Dedicated to _St. Simeon_ of Jerusalem.

  [2] Mr. Nichols’s Lit. Anecdotes.

  [3] Bibliog. Dict.

  [4] Mr. Collinson’s Life of Thuanus.


~February 19.~

_St. Barbatus, or Barbas_, Bp. A. D. 682.

This saint is patron of Benevento, of which city he was bishop. Butler
relates no miracle of him, nor does it appear from him that any other
name in the calendar of the Romish church is affixed to this day.


THE SEASON.

A pretty trifle from the Greek is descriptive of appearances about this
period:--

_To a Lady on her Birthday_

    See amidst the winter’s cold,
      Tender infant of the spring;
    See the rose her bud unfold,
      Every sweet is on the wing.

    Hark! the purple flow’ret cries,
      ’Tis for thee we haste away,
    ’Tis for thee we brave the skies,
      Smiling on thy natal day,
        Soon shalt thou the pleasure prove,
        Which awaits on virtuous love.

    Place us ’midst thy flowing hair,
      Where each lovely grace prevails,
    Happier we to deck the fair,
      Than to wait the vernal gales.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Field Speedwell. _Veronica agrestis._
  Dedicated to _St. Barbatus_.


~February 20.~

  _St. Tyrannio_, Bp. &c. A. D. 310. _Sts. Sadoth_, Bp. &c. A. D. 342.
  _St. Eleutherius_, Bp. A. D. 532. _St. Mildred_, Abbess. _St.
  Eucherius_, Bp. A. D. 743. _St. Ulrick._


_St. Mildred._

This saint was the first abbess of Minster, in the isle of Thanet,
founded by king Egbert about 670, in satisfaction for having murdered
his two nephews, Etheldred and Ethelbright; to which satisfaction he was
“miraculously terrified, by seeing a ray of bright light dart from the
heavens upon their grave.” In 1033, her remains were removed to St.
Augustine’s monastery at Canterbury, and venerated above all the relics
there, and worked miracles, as all saints’ relics did in those favoured
times. The churches of St. Mildred, Bread-street, and St. Mildred in the
Poultry, London, are dedicated to her.[5]

In St. Mildred’s church in the Poultry, Thomas Tusser, whose “Five
Hundred Points of Good Husbandrie” have been cited in former pages of
this work, was buried, and on his tomb this

EPITAPH.

    Here Thomas Tusser, clad in earth, doth lie,
    That sometime made the pointes of Husbandrie:
    By him then learne thou maist: here learne we must,
    When all is done, we sleepe, and turne to dust:
    And yet, through Christ, to Heaven we hope to goe;
    Who reades his bookes, shall find his faith was so.[6]


_St. Ulrick._

Of this saint, who died the 28th of February, 1154, Butler says little.

“THE FLOWERS of the LIVES of the most renowned SAINCTS of the three
kingdoms, England, Scotland, and Ireland, written and collected out of
the best authours and manuscripts of our nation, and distributed
according to their feasts in the calendar, By THE R. FATHER, HIEROME
PORTER, _Priest and Monke of the holy order of Sainct Benedict, of the
Congregation of England_, Printed at DOWAY with licence, and
approbation of the Ordinary, M.DC.XXXII,” relates of this saint, that he
was born in a village called Lenton, or Litton, near Bristol, with many
marvels concerning him, and among them this:--He became a priest, but
kept hawks and dogs for sport, till he met a beggar who asked alms.
Ulrick said, he did not know whether he had aught to bestow: “Look in
thy purse,” quoth the beggar, “and there thou shalt find twopence
halfpenny.” Ulrick finding as he was told, received thanks, and a
prophecy that he should become a saint, whereupon he starved and
hermitized at Hessleborough, in Dorsetshire, about thirty miles from
Exeter. “The skin only sticking to his bones,” his daintiest food was
oaten-bread and water-gruel. He passed many nights without sleep, never
slept but when he could not keep awake, and never went to bed, “but,
leaning his head to a wall, he tooke a short allowance;” and when he
awoke, “he would much blame and chastise his body, as yielding vnto
ouermuch nicenesse.” His pillow was ropes of hay, his clothing poor, and
lined next the skin with a rough shirt of hair-cloth, till his flesh
having overcome its uneasiness, he wore next his skin an iron coat of
mail. In the sharpest cold of winter, having first put off his iron
shirt, he was wont to get into a vessel of cold water and recite psalms.
His coat of mail hanging below his knees, he went to the knight who gave
it to him, to take counsel therein. His military adviser persuaded him
to send it to London to be cut; but he gave the knight “a payre of
sheares.” The knight hesitated, the other entreated. “The one falls to
his prayers, the other endeavours with iron and steale to cut iron and
steale, when both their labours tooke prosperous effect; for the knight,
in his cutting worke, seemed rather to divide a piece of cloath than a
peece of iron.” Then the saint, “without any sheeres, pulled asunder the
little rings of that part of his coate cutt off, and distributed them
charitably to all that desired, by virtue whereof manie diseases were
cured.” Envying such rare goodness, an infernal spirit, in most horrible
shape, dragged him into the church, and ran him round the pavement, till
the apparition of a virgin stopped this rude behaviour; however, the
infernal took advantage of the saint when he was sick, and with a staff
he had in his hand gave him three knocks on the head, and departed. The
devil tormented him other ways; he cast him into an intolerable heat,
then he gave him an intolerable cold, and then he made him dream a
dream, whereby the saint shamed the devil by openly confessing it at
church on Easter-day before all the people. At length, after other
wonders, “the joints of his iron coate miraculously dissolved, and it
fell down to his knees.” Upon this, he foretold his death on the next
Saturday, and thereon he died. Such, and much more is put forth
concerning St. Ulrick, by the aforesaid “Flowers of the Saincts,” which
contains a prayer to be used preparatory to the perusal, with these
words, “that this holy reading of their lives may soe inflame our
hearts, that we may follow and imitate the traces of their glorious
example, that, after this mortall life, we may be made worthie to enjoy
their most desired companie.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Navelwort. _Cynoglossum omphalodes._
  Dedicated to _St. Mildred_.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 20th of February 1749, Usher Gahagan, by birth a gentleman, and
by education a scholar, perished at Tyburn. His attainments were elegant
and superior; he was the editor of Brindley’s beautiful edition of the
classics, and translated Pope’s “Essay on Criticism” into Latin verse.
Better grounded in learning than in principle, he concentrated liberal
talents to the degrading selfishness of robbing the community of its
coin by clipping. During his confinement, and hoping for pardon, he
translated Pope’s “Temple of Fame,” and his “Messiah,” into the same
language, with a dedication to the duke of Newcastle. To the same end,
he addressed prince George and the recorder in poetic numbers. These
efforts were of no avail. Two of his miserable confederates in crime
were his companions in death. He suffered with a deeper guilt, because
he had a higher knowledge than ignorant and unthinking criminals, to
whom the polity of society, in its grounds and reasons, is unknown.

Accomplishments upon vice are as beautiful colours on a venomous
reptile. Learning is a vain show, and knowledge mischievous, without the
love of goodness, or the fear of evil. Children have fallen from
careless parents into the hands of the executioner, in whom the means of
distinguishing between right and wrong might have become a stock for
knowledge to ripen on, and learning have preserved the fruits to
posterity. Let not him despair who desires to know, or has power to
teach--

    There is in every human heart,
    Some not completely barren part,
    Where seeds of truth and love might grow
    And flowers of generous virtue blow:
    To plant, to watch, to water there,
    This be our duty, be our care.

  _Bowring._

  [5] Butler’s Lives of the Saints.

  [6] Stow.


~February 21.~

  _St. Severianus_, Bp. A. D. 452. _Sts. German_, Abbot, and _Randaut_,
  or _Randoald_, A. D. 666. _Sts. Daniel_ and _Verda_, A. D. 344. B.
  _Pepin_, of Landen, A. D. 640.


BREAKFAST IN COLD WEATHER.

“Here it is,” says the “Indicator,” “ready laid. Imprimis, tea and
coffee; secondly, dry toast; thirdly, butter; fourthly, eggs; fifthly,
ham; sixthly, something potted; seventhly, bread, salt, mustard, knives
and forks, &c. One of the first things that belong to a breakfast is a
good fire. There is a delightful mixture of the lively and the snug in
coming down into one’s breakfast-room of a cold morning, and seeing
every thing prepared for us; a blazing grate, a clean table-cloth and
tea-things, the newly-washed faces and combed heads of a set of
good-humoured urchins, and the sole empty chair at its accustomed
corner, ready for occupation. When we lived alone, we could not help
reading at meals: and it is certainly a delicious thing to resume an
entertaining book at a particularly interesting passage, with a hot cup
of tea at one’s elbow, and a piece of buttered toast in one’s hand. The
first look at the page, accompanied by a coexistent bite of the toast,
comes under the head of intensities.”


THE SEASON.

The weather is now cold and mild alternately. In our variable climate we
one day experience the severity of winter, and a genial warmth prevails
the next; and, indeed, such changes are not unfrequently felt in the
same day. Winter, however, at this time breaks apace, and we have
presages of the genial season.

    Oxen, o’er the furrow’d soil,
    Urging firm their annual toil;
    Trim cottages that here and there,
    Speckling the social tilth, appear:
    And spires, that as from groves they rise,
    Tell where the lurking hamlet lies:
    Hills white with many a bleating throng,
    And lakes, whose willowy banks along,
    Herds or ruminate, or lave,
    Immersing in the silent wave.
    The sombre wood--the cheerful plain,
    Green with the hope of future grain:
    A tender blade, ere Autumn smile
    Benignant on the farmer’s toil,
    Gild the ripe fields with mellowing hand,
    And scatter plenty through the land.

  _Baron Smith._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  White crocus. _Crocus versicolor._
  Dedicated to _St. Servianus_.


~February 22.~

  _The Chair of_ St. Peter at _Antioch_. _St. Margaret_, of Cortona, A.
  D. 1297. _Sts. Thalasius_ and _Limneus_. _St. Baradat._


_St. Margaret._

She was a penitent, asked public pardon for her sins with a rope about
her neck, punished her flesh, and worked miracles accordingly.[7]


_Sts. Thalasius_ and _Limneus_.

St. Thalasius dwelt in a cavern, “and was endowed with extraordinary
gifts of the Holy Ghost; but was a treasure unknown to the world.” St.
Limneus was his disciple, and “famous for miraculous cures of the sick,”
while his master “bore patiently the sharpest cholics, and other
distempers, without any human succour.”[8]


_St. Baradat._

This saint lived in a trellis-hut, exposed to the severities of the
weather, and clothed in the skins of beasts.[9]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Herb Margaret. _Bellis perennis._
  Dedicated to _St. Margaret_, of Cortona.


SPORTING CALENDAR.

A valued correspondent obliges the _Every-Day Book_ with an original
sketch, hasty and spirited as its hero, when the sports of the field
allured him from the pursuits of literature at college, and the domestic
comforts of wife and home.

_To the Editor._

To disemburthen oneself of ennui, and to find rational amusement for
every season of the year, is a grand desideratum in life. Luckily I have
hit on’t, and beg leave, as being the properest place, to give my recipe
in the Everlasting Calendar you are compiling. I contrive then to give
myself employment for every time of year. Neither lively Spring, glowing
Summer, sober Autumn, nor dreary Winter, come amiss to me; for I have
contrived to make myself an Universal Sportsman, and am become so
devoted a page of Diana, that I am dangling at her heels all the year
round without being tired of it. In bleak and frozen _January_, besides
sliding, skating in figures, and making men of snow to frighten children
with, by means of a lantern placed in a skull at the top of them, I now
and then get a day’s cock shooting when the frost breaks, or kill a few
small birds in the snow. In lack of other game, a neighbour’s duck, or
goose, or a chicken, shot and pocketed as I sally out to the club
dinner, are killed more easily than my dairymaid does it, poor things!

In _February_, the weather being rainy or mild, renders it worth my
while to send my stud into Leicestershire for hunting again; and so my
white horse Skyscraper, my old everlasting chestnut Silvertail, the only
good black in the hunt Sultan, and the brown mare Rosinante, together
with Alfana the king of the Cocktails, a hack or two, and a poney for
errands, are “pyked off” pack and baggage for Melton; and then from the
first purple dawn of daylight, when I set off to cover, to the
termination of the day with cards, I have plenty of rational amusement.
Next month, forbearing _March_ hares, I shoot a few snipes before they
are all gone, and at night prepare my fishing tackle for _April_, when
the verdant meadows again draw me to the riverside to angle.

My wife has now rational employment for the rest of the Summer in
catching and impaling the various flies of the season against my trout
mania comes, which is usual early in _May_, when all her maids assist in
this flyfowling sport. I have generally been successful in sport, but I
shall never forget my disappointment when on throwing in a flyline
which was not baited by myself, I found that Sally, mistaking her new
employment, had baited my hook with an earwig. In _June_ I neglected my
Grass for the same sport, and often let it stand till the Hay is spoiled
by Swithin, who wipes his watery eyes with what ought to be my Winter’s
fodder. This gives me rational, though troublesome, employment in buying
Hay or passing off the old at market. _July_, however, affords plenty of
bobfishing, as I call it, for roach, dace, perch, and bleak. I also
gudgeon some of my neighbours, and cast a line of an evening into their
carp and tench ponds. I have not, thank my stars, either stupidity or
patience enough for barbel. But in _August_, that is before the 12th, I
get my trolling tackle in order, and am reminded of my old vermin
college days, when shutting my room door, as if I was “sported in” and
cramming Euclid, I used to creep down to the banks of the Cam, and
clapping my hands on my old rod, with his long line to him, exclaimed,
in true Horatian measure, the only Latin line I ever cited in my life,

    _Progenie longa gaudes captare Johannes._

But, oh! the 12th day of _August_, that mountain holiday, ushered in by
the ringing of the sheep bell--’tis then that, jacketed in fustian, with
a gun on my shoulder, and a powder horn belted to my side, I ramble the
rough highland hills in quest of blackcocks and red game, get now and
then a chance shot at a ptarmagan, and once winged a Capercaille on a
pine tree at Invercauld. In hurrying home for the _First of September_,
I usually pass through the fens of Lincolnshire, and there generally
kill a wild duck or two. You must know I have, besides my pointers,
setters, and spaniels, water dogs of every sort. Indeed my dog
establishment would astonish Acteon. There are my harriers, Rockwood,
Ringwood, Lasher, Jowler, Rallywood, and twenty more; my pointers, Ponto
and Carlo; my spaniels, Dash and Old Grizzle; Hedgehog and Pompey, my
water dogs. No one, I bet a crown, has better greyhounds than Fly and
Dart are, nor a surer lurcher than Groveller. I say nothing of those
inferior “Lares,” my terriers--ratcatching Busy, Snap, and Nimbletoes,
with whom, in the absense of other game, I go sometimes for a frolic to
a farmhouse, disguised as a ratcatcher, and take a shilling for ferret
work.

But now I come to thy shrine, O lovely _Septembria_, thou fairest nymyh
in Diana’s train, with rolling blue eyes as sharp and as true as those
of a signal lieutenant; I come to court thee again, and may thy path be
even paved with the skulls of partridges. Again I come to dine with thee
on the leveret’s back or pheasant’s wings. We’ve wildboars’ bladders for
wine bottles, ramshorns for corkscrews, bugles for funnels, gunpowder
for snuff, smoke for tobacco, woodcock’s bills for toothpicks, and shot
for sugar plums! I dare not proceed to tell you now many brace of birds
Ponto and I bag the first day of shooting, as the long bow, instead of
the fowling piece, might be called my weapon. But enough rodomontading.

I now come to _October_. Pheasants by all that’s volatile! And then,
after them, I go to my tailor and order two suits--scarlet for master
Reynard, and a bottlegreen jacket for the harriers, top-boots, white
corderoy inexpressibles, and a velvet cap. Then when the covers ring
again with the hallowed music of harriers, I begin skylarking the gates
and setting into wind to follow the foxhounds in _November_. When

    _The dusky night rides down the sky,
      And ushers in the morn,
    The Hounds all make a jovial cry,
      And the Huntsman winds his horn._

With three days in the week chace, and pretty little interludes of
hunting with beagles, or of snipe shooting, I manage to get through
_December_ to the year’s end. My snug Winter evenings are spent in
getting ready my guns, smacking new hunting whips, or trying on new
boots, while my old hall furnishes ample store of trophies, stags’ horns
hunted by my great grandfather, cross bows, guns, brushes won on rivals
of Pegasus, and all sorts of odd oldfashioned whips, horns, and
accoutrements, hanging up all round, which remind me of those days of
yore when I remember the old squire and his sporting chaplain casting
home on spent horses all bespattered from the chase, before I had ridden
any thing but my rocking horse. There then have I rational amusement all
the year round. And much and sincerely do I praise thee, O Diana!
greatest Diana of the Ephesians! at thy feet will I repose my old and
weatherbeaten carcass at last and invoke thy tutelary protection for my
old age, thou who art _Hunting_, _Shooting_, and _Fishing_ personified,
the true DIVA TRIFORMIS of Antiquity.

    Imminens Villæ tua Pinus esto,
    Quam per exactos ego lætus annos,
    Verris obliquum meditantis ictum,
    Sanguine donem.

  I have the honour to remain,

  Yours ever,

  JACK LARKING.

       *       *       *       *       *

AN ADDRESS TO THE MOON,

_To a_ “proper new” _tune_.

ORIGINAL.

    No!--I have nothing new to say,
      Why must ye wait to hear my story?
    Go, get thee on thy trackless way,
      There’s many a weary mile before ye--
    Get thee to bed, lest some poor poet,
      Enraptur’d with thy phiz, should dip
    A pen in ink to let thee know it,
      And (mindful not to let thee slip
    His fingers) bid thy moonship stay
    And list, what he might have to say.

    Yet I do love thee!--and if aught
      The muse can serve thee, will petition
    Her grace t’ attend thine airy court,
      And play the part of first musician--
    But “ode,” and “lines,” “address,” and “sonnet,”
      “To Luna dedicate,” are now
    So plentiful, that (fie upon it!)
      She’ll add no glory to thy brow,
    But tell thee, in such strains as follow,
    That thy mild sheen beats Phosphor hollow!

    That thou art “fairest of the fair,”
      Tho’ Phœbus more that’s grand possesses,
    That tree and tower reflect thy glare,
      And the glad stream thy ray confesses,
    That, when thy silvery beams illumine
      The landscape, nature seems bedight
    With loveliness so rare, that few men
      Have e’er been blessed with such a sight!
    And all such _moonshine_:--but enough
    Of this tame “milk and water” stuff.

  Δ

  [7] Butler’s Saints.

  [8] Ibid.

  [9] Ibid.


~February 23.~

  _St. Serenus_, A. D. 307. _St. Milburge._ B. _Dositheus_. _St. Peter
  Damian_, Card. Bp. A. D. 1072. _St. Boisil_, Prior of Melross.


_St. Milburge_, 7th Cent.

She was sister to St. Mildred, wore a hair cloth, and built the
monastery of Wenlock, in Shropshire. One day being at Stokes, a
neighbouring village, brother Hierome Porter says, that “a young
gallant, sonne to a prince of that countrey, was soe taken with her
beautie, that he had a vehement desire to carrie her away by force and
marrie her.” St. Milburge fled from him and his companions till she had
passed a little brook, called Corfe, which then suddenly swelled up and
threatened her pursuers with destruction, wherefore they desisted. She
ordered the wild geese who ate the corn of her monastic fields to be
gone elsewhere, and they obeyed her as the waters did. After her death,
her remains were discovered, in 1100, by two children sinking up to
their knees in her grave, the dust whereof cured leprosies, restored the
sight, and spoiled medical practice. A diseased woman at Patton,
drinking of the water wherein St. Milburge’s bones were washed, there
came from her stomach “a filthie worme, ugly and horrible to behold,
having six feete, two hornes on his head, and two on his tayle.” Brother
Porter tells this, and that the “worme was shutt up in a hollow piece of
wood, and reserved afterwards in the monasterie, as a trophie, and
monument of S. Milburg, untill by the lascivious furie of him that
destroyed all goodnes in England, that, with other religious houses, and
monasteries, went to ruine.”[10] Hence the “filthie worme” was lost, and
we have nothing instead but the Reformation.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Apricot. _Prunus Armeniaca._
  Dedicated to _St. Milburge_.


THE SEASON.

If ice still remain let those who tempt it beware:--

    The frost-bound rivers bear the weight
      Of many a vent’rous elf;
    Let each who crowds to see them skate
      Be careful for himself:

    For, like the world, deceitful ice
      Who trusts it makes them rue:
    ’Tis slippery as the paths of vice,
      And quite as faithless too.


[Illustration: ~Stoning Jews in Lent.--A Custom.~]

From the sabbath before Palm-Sunday, to the last hour of the Tuesday
after Easter, “the Christians were accustomed to stone and beat the
Jews,”[11] and all Jews who desired to exempt themselves from the
infliction of this cruelty, commuted for a payment in money. It was
likewise ordained in one of the Catholic services, during Lent, that all
orders of men should be prayed for except the Jews.[12] These usages
were instituted and justified by a dreadful perversion of scripture,
when rite and ceremony triumphed over truth and mercy. Humanity was
dead, for superstition Molochized the heart.

From the dispersion of the Jews they have lived peaceably in all nations
towards all, and in all nations been persecuted, imprisoned, tortured,
and put to death, or massacred by mobs. In England, kings conspired with
their subjects to oppress them. To say nothing of the well-known
persecutions they endured under king John, the walls of London were
repaired with the stones of their dwellings, which his barons had
pillaged and destroyed. Until the reign of Henry II., a spot of ground
near Red-cross-street, in London, was the only place in all England
wherein they were allowed to bury their dead.

In 1262, after the citizens of London broke into their houses, plundered
their property, and murdered seven hundred of them in cold blood, King
Henry III. gave their ruined synagogue in Lothbury to the friars called
the fathers of the sackcloth. The church of St. Olave in the Old Jewry
was another of their synagogues till they were dispossessed of it: were
the sufferings they endured to be recounted we should shudder. Our old
English ancestors would have laughed any one to derision who urged in a
Jew’s behalf, that he had “eyes,” or “hands,” “organs, dimensions,
senses, affections, passions;” or that he was “fed with the same food,
hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the
same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a
Christian is.” They would have deemed a man mad had one been found with
a desire to prove that

          ------- the poor _Jew_,
    In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great
    As when a _Christian_ dies.

To say nothing of their more obvious sufferings for many centuries, the
tide of public opinion raged against the Jews vehemently and
incessantly. They were addressed with sneers and contumely; the finger
of vulgar scorn was pointed at them; they were hunted through the
streets in open day, and when protected from the extremity of violence,
it was with tones and looks denoting that only a little lower hate
sanctuaried their persons. In conversation and in books they were a
by-word, and a jest.

       *       *       *       *       *

A work printed in 1628, for popular entertainment, entitled “A
Miscellany of Seriousness with Merriment, consisting of Witty Questions,
Riddles, Jests,” &c. tells this story as a good joke. A sea captain on a
voyage, with thirty passengers, being overtaken by a violent tempest,
found it necessary to throw half of them overboard, in order to lighten
the vessel. Fifteen of the passengers were Christians, and the other
fifteen were Jews, but in this exigency they unanimously agreed in the
captain’s opinion, and that he should place the whole thirty in a
circle, and throw every ninth man over till only fifteen were left. To
save the Christians, the captain placed his thirty passengers in this
order, viz.: four Christians, five Jews; two Christians, one Jew; three
Christians, one Jew; one Christian, two Jews; two Christians, three
Jews; one Christian, two Jews; two Christians, one Jew. He began to
number from the first of the four Christians thus:

  CCCC. JJJJJ. CC. J. CCC. J. C. JJ. CC. JJJ. C. JJ. CC. J.

By this device, the captain preserved all the Christians, and _deeped_
all the Jews.

       *       *       *       *       *

Selden says, “Talk what you will of the Jews, that they are cursed, they
thrive wherever they come: they are able to oblige the prince of their
country by lending him money; none of them beg; they keep together; and
for their being hated, my life for yours, Christians hate one another as
much.” This was true, but it is also true that three quarters of a
century have not elapsed since hatred to the Jews was a national
feeling. In 1753, a bill was brought into the House of Lords for
naturalizing the Jews, and relieving them from persecuting disabilities.
It passed there on the ground that it would operate to the public
advantage, by encouraging wealthy persons professing the Jewish religion
to remove hither from foreign parts to the increase of the capital,
commerce, and credit of the kingdom. The corporation of London in common
council assembled, petitioned against it on the ground that it would
dishonour the christian religion, endanger the constitution, and
prejudice the interest and trade of the kingdom in general, and London
in particular. A body of London merchants and traders also petitioned
against it. Certain popular orators predicted that if the bill passed,
the Jews would multiply so fast, become so rich, and get so much power,
that their persons would be revered, their customs be imitated, and
Judaism become the fashionable religion; they further alleged that the
bill flew in the face of prophecy, which declared that the Jews should
be scattered without a country or fixed habitation till their
conversion, and that in short it was the duty of Christians to be
unchristian. But the bill passed the commons after violent debates, and
received the royal sanction. The nation was instantly in a ferment of
horror and execration; and on the first day of the next session of
parliament, ministers were constrained to bring in a bill to repeal the
act of naturalization, and to the foul dishonour of the people of
England at that period, the bill was repealed. From that hour to the
present, the Jews have been subjected to their old pains, penalties,
disqualifications, and privations. The enlightenment of this age has
dispelled much of the darkness of the last. Yet the errors of public
opinion then respecting the Jews, remain to be rectified now by the
solemn expression of a better public opinion. Formerly, if one of the
“ancient people” had said in the imploring language of the slave, “Am I
not a _man_, and a brother?” he might have been answered, “No, you are
not a _man_, but a _Jew_.” It is not the business of the Jews to
petition for justice, but it is the duty of Christians to be just.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the “General Evening Post” of June 21, 1777, a paragraph states, that
“the following circumstance is not more ridiculous than true;” and it
proceeds to relate, that some years before, at Stamford, in the province
of Connecticut, America, it was determined to build a church; but
“though the church was much wanted, as many people in that neighbourhood
were at a loss for a place of public worship, yet the work stood still a
considerable time for want of nails (for it was a wooden building;) at
last, a Jew merchant made them a present of a cask, amounting to four
hundred weight, and thus enabled the church to proceed.” Such an act
might make some Christians exclaim, “Almost thou persuadest me to be a
_Jew_ rather than remain a Jew-oppressor under the name of a Christian.”
It is not, however, on private, but on open grounds and high principle,
that justice should spontaneously be rendered to the Jews. The Jew and
the Christian, the Catholic and the Protestant, the Episcopalian and the
Dissenter, the Calvinist and the Arminian, the Baptist and the
Unitarian, all persons, of all denominations, are willed and empowered
by their common document to acts of justice and mercy, and they now meet
as brethren in social life to perform them; but the unsued claim of
their elder brother, the _Jew_, is acknowledged no where, save in the
conscience of every “just man made perfect.”

       *       *       *       *       *

To extend the benefits of Education to the children of the humbler
classes of Jews, is one of the first objects with their opulent and
enlightened brethren. The “Examiner” Sunday newspaper of the 4th of
February, 1825, cooperates in their benevolent views by an article of
information particularly interesting:--

“On Friday last, the Jews held their anniversary, at the London Tavern,
Bishopsgate-street, to celebrate their plan for the education of 600
boys and 300 girls, instituted April 20, 1818, in Bell-lane,
Spitalfields. It was gratifying to contrast the consideration in which
the Jews are now held in this country with their illiberal and cruel
treatment in former times; and it was no less gratifying to observe,
that the Jews themselves are becoming partakers of the spirit of the
present times, by providing for the education of the poor, which, till
within a very few years past, had been too much neglected; another
pleasing feature in the meeting was, that it was not an assemblage of
Jews only, but attended by people of other denominations, both as
visitors and subscribers. Samuel Joseph, Esq., the president, was in the
chair. Some loyal and patriotic toasts were given, appropriate addresses
were delivered by different gentlemen, and the more serious business, of
receiving and announcing new subscriptions, was much enlivened by a good
band of vocal and instrumental music. Among the subscriptions referred
to, one was of a peculiarly generous nature. An unknown hand had
forwarded to the treasurer on the two last meetings a sum of 200_l._
This year he received instructions to clothe all the children at the
expense of the same generous donor. The procession of the children round
the hall, was an agreeable scene at this important meeting. A poetical
address in the Hebrew language was delivered by one of the boys, and an
English translation of it by one of the girls, each with propriety of
accent, and much feeling.”

A record testifying the liberal disposition and humane attention of the
Jews to the welfare of their offspring, is not out of place in a work
which notices the progress of manners; and it is especially grateful to
him who places it on this page, that he has an opportunity of evincing
his respect for generous and noble virtues, in a people whose residence
in all parts of the world has advantaged every state, and to whose
enterprise and wealth, as merchants and bankers, every government in
Europe has been indebted. Their sacred writings and their literature
have been adopted by all civilized communities, while they themselves
have been fugitives every where, without security any where. They are

    ----------------a people scatter’d wide indeed,
    Yet from the mingling world distinctly kept:
    Ages ago, the Roman standard stood
    Upon their ruins, yet have ages swept
    O’er Rome herself, like an o’erwhelming flood,
    Since down Jerus’lem’s streets she pour’d her children’s blood,
    And still the nation lives!

  _Mr. Bull’s Museum._

  [10] Porter’s Flowers of the Saints.

  [11] Mr. Fosbroke’s Brit. Mon.

  [12] Ibid.


~February 24.~

  _St. Matthias_, the Apostle. _Sts. Montanus_, _Lucius_, _Flavian_,
  _Julian_, _Victoricus_, _Primolus_, _Rhenus_, and _Donation_, A. D.
  259. _St. Lethard_, or _Luidhard_, Bp. A. D. 566. B. _Robert_ of
  Arbrissel, A. D. 1116. _St. Pretextatus_, or _Prix_, Abp. A. D. 549.
  _St. Ethelbert_, King.


_St. Ethelbert._

He was king of Kent, and, according to Butler, the first christian king.
It was under him that St. Augustine found favour when he landed in
England with his monks, and is said to have introduced Christianity to
the English people; an assertion wholly unfounded, inasmuch as it had
been diffused hither centuries before. Augustine established nothing but
monasteries and monkery, and papal domination.

Bertha, the queen of Ethelbert, was a convert, and her spiritual
director officiated, before Augustine’s arrival, in the little church of
St. Martin, situated just without Canterbury on the road to Margate; the
present edifice is venerable for its site and its rude simplicity.

Ethelbert’s power is said to have extended to the Humber, and hence he
is often styled king of the English. He was subdued to the views of the
papacy by Augustine. Ethelbert founded Canterbury cathedral, and built
without the walls of the city, the abbey and church of St. Peter and St.
Paul, the ruins of which are denominated at this day St. Augustine’s
monastery and Ethelbert’s tower. The foundation of the cathedral of
Rochester, St. Paul’s at London, and other ecclesiastical structures, is
ascribed to him. He died in 616. Sometimes he is called St. Albert, and
churches are dedicated to him under that name.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 24th of February, 1809, died Mr. Jennings of Galley-lane, near
Barnet, Herts. A few days previous to his decease he called on Mr. Wm.
Salmon, his carpenter, at Shenley-hill, to go with him and fix upon a
spot for his vault. On the Sunday before his death he went on horseback
to Shenley-hill, and stopped at the White Horse to have a glass of warm
wine, with the same intention of going to Ridge; and afterwards, seeing
the rev. Mr. Jefferson, endeavoured to buy the ground, but differed with
him for two guineas. On the Monday, he applied to Mr. Mars, of Barnet,
for a vault there, but Mr. Jefferson sending him a note acceding to his
terms, he opened it before Mr. Salmon and Dr. Booth, and after he had
read it, showed it them, with this exclamation--“There, see what these
fellows will do!” The day before he died he played at whist with Dr.
Rumball, Dr. Booth, and his son, in bed: in the course of the evening he
said, “The game is almost up.” He afterwards informed his son, he had
lent a person some money that morning, and desired him to see it repaid.
To some friends he observed, that he should not be long with them, and
desiring them to leave the room he called back his son, for the purpose
of saying to him, “I gave William money for coals this morning;
deducting the turnpike, mind he gives you eleven and eightpence in
change when he comes home. Your mother always dines at three o’clock,
get your dinner with her, I shall be gone before that time--and don’t
make any stir about me.” He died at half-past two. This account is from
the manuscript papers of the late Mr. John Almon, in possession of the
editor.

       *       *       *       *       *

Regarding the season, there is an old proverb worthy noticing:

    February fill dike, be it black or be it white:
    But if it be white, it’s the better to like.

  _Old Proverb._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Fern. _Osmunda regalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Ethelbert_.


~February 25.~

  _St. Tarasius_, A. D. 806. _St. Victorinus_, A. D. 284. _St. Walburg_,
  Abbess. _St. Cæsarius_, A. D. 369.


_St. Walburg._

This saint, daughter of Richard, king of the West Saxons, also a saint,
became a nun at Winburn in Dorsetshire, from whence, twenty-seven years
after she had taken the veil, she went to Germany, and became abbess of
a nunnery at Heidenheim in Suabia, where her brother governed an abbey
of monks, which at his death, in 760, she also governed, and died in
779. His relics were distributed in the principal cities of the Low
Countries, and the cathedral of Canterbury. The catalogue of relics in
the electoral palace of Hanover, published there in 1713, mentions some
of them there in a rich shrine. Butler calls them “rich particles.” Part
of her jawbone, at Antwerp, was visited and kissed by the archduke
Albert and Isabella in 1615. An oily liquor flowed from her tomb, and
was a sovereign remedy, till the chemists and apothecaries somehow or
other got their simples and substances into superior reputation. Strange
to say, these victors over relics have never been canonized, yet their
names would not sound badly in the calendar: for instance, St. William
Allen, of Plough-court; St. Anderson, of Fleet-street; St. Cribb, of
High Holborn; St. Hardy, of Walworth; St. Fidler, of Peckham; St.
Perfect, of Hammersmith; &c.


THE SEASON.

It is observed by Dr. Forster in the “Perennial Calendar,” that about
this season the purple spring crocus, _crocus vernus_, now blows, and is
the latest of our crocuses. “It continues through March like the rest of
the genus, and it varies with purple, with whitish, and with light blue
flowers. The flowers appear before the leaves are grown to their full
length. The vernal and autumnal crocus have such an affinity, that the
best botanists only make them varieties of the same genus. Yet the
vernal crocus expands its flowers by the beginning of March at farthest,
often in very rigorous weather, and cannot be retarded but by some
violence offered; while the autumnal crocus, or saffron, alike defies
the influence of the spring and summer, and will not blow till most
plants begin to fade and run to seed.

_On the Seasons of Flowering, by White._

    Say, what impels, amid surrounding snow,
    Congealed, the Crocus’ flamy bud to glow?
    Say, what <DW44>s, amid the Summer’s blaze,
    The autumnal bulb, till pale, declining days?
    The God of Seasons, whose pervading power
    Controls the sun, or sheds the fleecy shower:
    He bids each flower his quickening word obey;
    Or to each lingering bloom enjoins delay.

We may now begin to expect a succession of spring flowers; something new
will be opening every day through the rest of the season.”


FLOWERS

A writer under the signature CRITO in the “Truth Teller” dilates most
pleasantly in his fourth letter concerning flowers and their names. He
says “the pilgrimages and the travelling of the mendicant friars, which
began to be common towards the close of the twelfth century, spread this
knowledge of plants and of medical nostrums far and wide. Though many of
these vegetable specifics have been of late years erased from our
Pharmacopœias, yet their utility has been asserted by some very able
writers on physic, and the author of these observations has himself
often witnessed their efficacy in cases where regular practice had been
unavailing. Mr. Abernethy has alluded to the surprising efficacy of
these popular vegetable diet drinks, in his book on the ‘Digestic
Organs.’ And it is a fact, curiously corroborating their utility, that
similar medicines are used by the North American Indians, whose sagacity
has found out, and known from time immemorial, the use of such various
herbs as medicines, which the kind, hospitable woods provide; and by
means of which Mr. Whitlaw is now making many excellent cures of
diseases.” He then proceeds to mention certain plants noted by the
monks, as flowering about the time of certain religious festivals: “The
SNOWDROP, _Galanthus nivalis_, whose pure white and pendant flowers are
the first harbingers of spring, is noted down in some calendars as being
an emblem of the purification of the spotless virgin, as it blows about
Candlemas, and was not known by the name of snowdrop till lately, being
formerly called FAIR MAID OF FEBRUARY, in honour of our lady. Sir James
Edward Smith, and other modern botanists, make this plant a native of
England, but I can trace most of the wild specimens to some neighbouring
garden, or old dilapidated monastery; and I am persuaded it was
introduced into England by the monks subsequent to the conquest, and
probably since the time of Chaucer, who does not notice it, though he
mentions the daisy, and various less striking flowers. The LADYSMOCK,
_Cardamine pratensis_, is a word corrupted of ‘our lady’s smock,’ a name
by which this plant (as well as that of _Chemise de nôtre Dame_) is
still known in parts of Europe: it first flowers about Lady Tide, or the
festival of the Annunciation, and hence its name. CROSS FLOWER,
_Polygala Vulgaris_, which begins to flower about the Invention of the
Cross, May 3, was also called _Rogation flower_, and was carried by
maidens in the processions in Rogation week, in early times. The monks
discovered its quality of producing milk in nursing women, and hence it
was called _milkwort_. Indeed so extensive was the knowledge of botany,
and of the medical power of herbs among the monks of old, that a few
examples only can be adduced in a general essay, and indeed it appears
that many rare species of exotics were known by them, and were
inhabitants of their monastery gardens, which Beckmann in his
‘_Geschichte der Erfindungen_,’ and Dryander in the ‘_Hortus Kewensis_,’
have ascribed to more modern introducers. What is very remarkable is,
that above three hundred species of medical plants were known to the
monks and friars, and used by the religious orders in general for
medicines, which are now to be found in some of our numerous books of
pharmacy and medical botany, by new and less appropriate names; just as
if the Protestants of subsequent times had changed the old names with a
view to obliterate any traces of catholic science. Linnæus, however,
occasionally restored the ancient names. The following are some familiar
examples which occur to me, of all medicinal plants, whose names have
been changed in later times. The _virgin’s bower_, of the monastic
physicians, was changed into flammula Jovis, by the new pharmaciens; the
_hedge hyssop_, into gratiola; the _St. John’s wort_ (so called from
blowing about St. John the Baptist’s day) was changed into hypericum;
_fleur de St. Louis_, into iris; _palma Christi_, into ricinus; _our
master wort_, into imperatoria; _sweet bay_, into laurus; _our lady’s
smock_, into cardamine; _Solomon’s seal_, into convallaria; _our lady’s
hair_, into trichomanes; _balm_, into melissa; _marjorum_, into
origanum; _crowfoot_, into ranunculus; _herb Trinity_, into viola
tricolor; _avens_ into caryophyllata; _coltsfoot_, into tussilago; _knee
holy_, into rascus; _wormwood_, into absinthium; _rosemary_, into
rosmarinus; _marygold_, into calendula, and so on. Thus the ancient
names were not only changed, but in this change all the references to
religious subjects, which would have led people to a knowledge of their
culture among the monastic orders, were carefully left out. The THORN
APPLE, _datura stramonium_, is not a native of England; it was
introduced by the friars in early times of pilgrimage; and hence we see
it on old waste lands near abbeys, and on dunghills, &c. Modern
botanists, however, have ascribed its introduction to gipsies, although
it has never been seen among that wandering people, nor used by them as
a drug. I could adduce many other instances of the same sort. But vain
indeed would be the endeavour to overshadow the fame of the religious
orders in medical botany and the knowledge of plants; go into any garden
and the common name of _marygold_, _our lady’s seal_, _our lady’s
bedstraw_, _holy oak_, (corrupted into holyhock,) the _virgin’s
thistle_, _St. Barnaby’s thistle_, _herb Trinity_, _herb St.
Christopher_, _herb St. Robert_, _herb St. Timothy_, _Jacob’s ladder_,
_star of Bethlehem_, now called ornithogalum; _star of Jerusalem_, now
made goatsbeard; _passion flower_, now passiflora; _Lent lilly_, now
daffodil; _Canterbury bells_, (so called in honour of St. Augustine,) is
now made into Campanula; _cursed thistle_, now carduus; besides
_archangel_, _apple of Jerusalem_, _St. Paul’s betony_, _Basil_, _St.
Berbe_, _herb St. Barbara_, _bishopsweed_, _herba Christi_, _herba
Benedict_, _herb St. Margaret_, (erroneously converted into _la belle
Marguerite_,) _god’s flower_, flos Jovis, _Job’s tears_, _our lady’s
laces_, _our lady’s mantle_, _our lady’s slipper_, _monk’s hood_,
_friar’s cowl_, _St. Peter’s herb_, and a hundred more such.--Go into
any garden, I say, and these names will remind every one at once of the
knowledge of plants possessed by the monks. Most of them have been named
after the festivals and saints’ days on which their natural time of
blowing happened to occur; and others were so called, from the tendency
of the minds of the religious orders of those days to convert every
thing into a memento of sacred history, and the holy religion which they
embraced.”

It will be perceived that CRITO is a Catholic. His floral enumeration is
amusing and instructive; and as his bias is natural, so it ought to be
inoffensive. Liberality makes a large allowance for educational feelings
and habitual mistake; but deceptive views, false reasonings, and
perverted facts, cannot be used, by either Protestant or Catholic, with
impunity to himself, or avail to the cause he espouses.

       *       *       *       *       *

Leo the XII., the present pope, on the 24th of May, 1824, put forth a
bull from St. Peter’s at Rome. “We have resolved,” he says, “by virtue
of the authority given to us by heaven fully to unlock the sacred
treasure composed of the merits, sufferings, and virtues of Christ our
Lord, and of his Virgin Mother, and of all the saints, which the author
of human salvation has intrusted to our dispensation. Let the earth
therefore hear the words of his mouth. We proclaim that the year of
Atonement and Pardon, of Redemption and Grace, of Remission and
Indulgence is arrived. We ordain and publish the most solemn Jubilee, to
commence in this holy city from the first vespers of the nativity of our
most holy saviour, Jesus Christ, next ensuing, and to continue during
the whole year 1825, during which time we mercifully give and grant in
the Lord a Plenary Indulgence, Remission, and Pardon of all their Sins
to all the Faithful of Christ of both sexes, truly penitent and
confessing their sins, and receiving the holy communion, who shall
devoutly visit the churches of blessed Peter and Paul, as also of St.
John Lateran and St. Mary Major of this city for thirty successive days,
provided they be Romans or inhabitants of this city; but, if pilgrims or
strangers, if they shall do the same for fifteen days, and shall pour
forth their pious prayers to God for the exaltation of the holy church,
the extirpation of heresies, concord of catholic princes, and the safety
and tranquillity of christian people.” The pope requires “all the earth”
to “therefore ascend, with loins girt up, to holy Jerusalem, this
priestly and royal city.”--He requires the clergy to explain “the power
of Indulgences, what is their efficacy, not only in the remission of the
canonical penance, but also of the temporal punishment,” and to point
out the succour afforded to those “now purifying in the fire of
Purgatory.” However, in February, 1825, one of the public journals
contains an extract from the French _Journal des Debats_, which states
that there was “a great falling off in the devotion of saints and
pilgrims,” and it proves this by an article from Rome, dated January 25,
1825, of which the following is a copy:

“The number of pilgrims drawn to Jerusalem (Rome) by the Jubilee is
remarkably small, compared with former Jubilees. Without adverting to
those of 1300 and 1350, when they had at least a _million_ of pilgrims;
in 1750, they had 1,300 pilgrims presented on the 24th of December, at
the opening of the holy gate. That number was increased to 8,400 before
the ensuing New Year’s day. This time (Christmas, 1824) they had no more
than thirty-six pilgrims at the opening of the holy gate, and in the
course of Christmas week, that number increased only to 440. This is
explained by the strict measures adopted in the Italian states with
respect to the passports of pilgrims. The police have taken into their
heads, that a vast number of individuals from all parts of Europe wish
to bring about some revolutionary plot. They believe that the
_Carbonari_, or some other Italian patriots, assemble here in crowds to
accomplish a dangerous object. The passports of simple labourers, and
other inferior classes, are rejected at Milan, and the surrounding
cities of Austrian Italy, when they have not a number of signatures,
which these poor men consider quite unnecessary. They cannot enter the
Sardinian states without great difficulty. These circumstances are
deplorable in the eyes of religious men. We are all grieved at this
place.”

On this, the _Journal des Debats_ remarks, “Notwithstanding the excuse
for so great a reduction of late years in the number of these devotees,
it has evidently been produced by the diffusion of knowledge. Men, in
1825, are not so simple as to suppose they cannot be saved, without a
long and painful journey to Jerusalem (Rome.)”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Peach. _Amygdalus Persica._
  Dedicated to _St. Walburg_.


~February 26.~

  _St. Alexander._ _St. Porphyrius_, Bishop of Gaza, A. D. 420. _St.
  Victor_, or _Vittre_, 7th Cent.


_St. Alexander._

This is the patriarch of Alexandria so famous in ecclesiastical history
for his opposition to Arius whom, with St. Athanasius and Marcellus of
Ancyra, as his especial colleagues, he resisted at the council of Nice,
till Arius was banished, his books ordered to be burnt, and an edict
issued denouncing death to any who secreted them. On the death of St.
Alexander in 420, St. Athanasius succeeded to his patriarchal chair.


FOGS.

The fogs of England have been at all times the complaint of foreigners.
Gondomar, the Spanish ambassador, when some one who was going to Spain
waited on him to ask whether he had any commands, replied, “Only my
compliments to the sun, whom I have not seen since I came to
England.”--Carraccioli, the Neapolitan minister here, a man of a good
deal of conversation and wit, used to say, that the only _ripe fruit_ he
had seen in England were _roasted apples!_ and in a conversation with
George II. he took the liberty of preferring the _moon_ of Naples to the
_sun_ of England.

       *       *       *       *       *

_On seeing a_ LADY _walking in the_ SNOW.

    I saw fair JULIA walk alone,
    When feather’d rain came softly down,
    ’Twas JOVE descending from his tower,
    To court her in a silver shower,
    A wanton flake flew on her breast,
    As happy dove into its nest,
    But rivall’d by the whiteness there,
    For grief dissolv’d into a tear,
    And falling to her garment’s hem,
    To deck her waist, froze to a gem.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lesser Periwinkle. _Vinca minor._
  Dedicated to _St. Victor_.


~February 27.~

  _St. Leander_, Bishop, A. D. 596. _St. Julian_, _Chronion_, and
  _Besas_. _St. Thalilæus._ _St. Galmier_, or _Baldomerus_, A. D. 650.
  _St. Nestor_, A. D. 250. _St. Alnoth._


_St. Thalilæus._

This saint was a weeper in Syria. He hermitized on a mountain during
sixty years, wept almost without intermission for his sins, and lived
for ten years in a wooden cage.


_St. Galmier._

Was a locksmith at Lyons, and lived in great poverty, for he bestowed
all he got on the poor, and sometimes his tools. An abbot gave him a
cell to live in, he died a subdeacon about 650, and his relics worked
miracles to his fame, till the Hugonots destroyed them in the sixteenth
century.


_St. Alnoth._

Was bailiff to St. Wereburge, became an anchoret, was killed by robbers,
and had his relics kept at Stow, near Wedon, in Northamptonshire.


TIME.

‘Time is the stuff that life is made of,’ says Young.

“BEGONE _about your business_,” says the dial in the Temple: a good
admonition to a loiterer on the pavement below.

The great French chancellor, d’Aguesseau, employed _all_ his time.
Observing that madame d’Aguesseau always delayed ten or twelve minutes
before she came down to dinner, he composed a work entirely in this
time, in order not to lose an instant; the result was, at the end of
fifteen years, a book in three large volumes quarto, which went through
several editions.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lungwort. _Pulmonaria Officinalis._
  Dedicated to _Leander_.


~February 28.~

  _Martyrs to the Pestilence in Alexandria_, 261, &c. _St. Proterius_,
  Patriarch of Alexandria, 557. _Sts. Romanus_ and _Lupicinus_.


_Sts. Romanus_ and _Lupicinus_.

These saints were brothers, who founded the monastery of Condate with a
nunnery, in the forest of Jura. St. Lupicinus prescribed a hard regimen.
He lived himself on bread moistened with cold water, used a chair or a
hard board for a bed, wore no stockings in his monastery, walked in
wooden shoes, and died about 480.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Purple Crocus. _Crocus vernus._
  Dedicated to _St. Proterius_.


_Five Sundays in February._

The February of 1824, being leap-year, consisted of twenty-nine days; it
contained five Sundays, a circumstance which cannot again occur till
another leap-year, wherein the first of February shall fall on Sunday.


FOR THE MEMORY

_Old Memorandum of the Months._

    Thirty days hath September,
    April, June, and November,
    All the rest have thirty and one,
    Except February, which hath twenty-eight alone.




[Illustration: MARCH.]


    --Sturdy March with brows full sternly bent
      And armed strongly, rode upon a ram,
      The same which over Hellespontus swam;
    Yet in his hand a spade he also hent,
      And in a bag all sorts of weeds ysame,
    Which on the earth he strewed as he went,
    And fill’d her womb with fruitfull hope of nourishment.

  _Spenser._

March is the _third_ month of the year; with the ancients it was the
first: according to Mr. Leigh Hunt, from Ovid, the Romans named it from
Mars, the god of war, because he was the father of their first prince.
“As to the deity’s nature, March has certainly nothing in common with
it; for though it affects to be very rough, it is one of the best
natured months in the year, drying up the superabundant moisture of
winter with its fierce winds, and thus restoring us our paths through
the fields, and piping before the flowers like a bacchanal. He
sometimes, it must be confessed, as if in a fit of the spleen, hinders
the buds which he has dried from blowing; and it is allowable in the
less robust part of his friends out of doors, to object to the fancy he
has for coming in such a cutting manner from the east. But it may be
truly said, that the oftener you meet him firmly, the less he will
shake you; and the more smiles you will have from the fair months that
follow him.”

Perhaps the ascription of this month to Mars, by the Romans, was a
compliment to themselves; they were the sons of War, and might naturally
deduce their origin from the belligerent deity. Minerva was also
patroness of March.

Verstegan says of our Saxon ancestors, that “the moneth of March they
called _Lenct-monat_, that is, according to our new orthography,
_Length-moneth_, because the dayes did then first begin in length to
exceed the nights. And this moneth being by our ancestors so called when
they received Christianity, and consequently therewith the ancient
christian custome of fasting, they called this chiefe season of fasting
the fast of _Lenct_, because of the _Lenct-monat_, whereon the most
part of the time of this fasting alwayes fell; and hereof it cometh
that we now cal it _Lent_, it being rather the fast of Lent, thogh the
former name of _Lenct-monat_ be long since lost, and the name of March
borrowed in stead thereof.” _Lenct_, or _Lent_, however, means _Spring_;
hence March was the _Spring_-month. Dr. Sayer says the Saxons likewise
called it _Rhed-monath_, a word derived by some from one of their
deities, named Rheda, to whom sacrifices were offered in March; others
derive it from _ræd_, the Saxon word for council, March being the month
wherein wars or expeditions were usually undertaken by the Gothic
tribes. The Saxons also called it _Hlyd-monath_, from _hlyd_, which
means stormy, and in this sense March was the _Stormy_ month.

No living writer discourses so agreeably on the “Months” as Mr. Leigh
Hunt in his little volume bearing that title. He says of March,
that--“The animal creation now exhibit unequivocal signs of activity.
The farmer extends the exercise of his plough; and, if fair weather
continues, begins sowing barley and oats. Bats and reptiles break up
their winter sleep: the little smelts or sparlings run up the softened
rivers to spawn: the field-fare and woodcock return to their northern
quarters; the rooks are all in motion with building and repairing their
nests; hens sit; geese and ducks lay; pheasants crow; the ring-dove
coos; young lambs come tottering forth in mild weather; the throstle
warbles on the top of some naked tree, as if he triumphed over the last
lingering of barrenness; and, lastly, forth issues the bee with his
vernal trumpet, to tell us that there is news of sunshine and the
flowers.--In addition to the last month’s flowers, we now have the
crown-imperial, the dog’s-tooth violet, fritillaries, the hyacinth,
narcissus, (bending its face like its namesake,) pilewort, scarlet
ranunculus, great snow-drop, tulips, (which turned even the Dutch to
enthusiasts,) and violets, proverbial for their odour, which were
perhaps the favourite flowers of Shakspeare. The passage at the
beginning of ‘Twelfth Night,’ in which he compares their scent with the
passing sweetness of music is well-known, and probably suggested the
beautiful one in lord ‘Bacon’s Essays,’ about the superiority of flowers
in the open air, ‘where the scent comes and goes like the warbling of
music.’”

Now, Winter, dispossessed of storms, and weak from boisterous rage,

    ---------- Ling’ring on the verge of Spring,
    Retires reluctant, and from time to time
    Looks back, while at his keen and chilling breath
    Fair Flora sickens.


~March 1.~

  _St. David_, Archbishop, A. D. 544. _St. Swidbert_, or _Swibert_, A.
  D. 713. _St. Albinus_, Bishop, A. D. 549. _St. Monan_, A. D. 874.


ST. DAVID.

_Patron of Wales._

St. David, or, in Welch, Dewid, was son of Xantus, prince of
Cardiganshire, brought up a priest, became an ascetic in the Isle of
Wight, afterwards preached to the Britons, founded twelve monasteries,
ate only bread and vegetables, and drank milk and water. A synod being
called at Brevy, in Cardiganshire, A. D. 519, in order to suppress the
heresy of Pelagius, “St. David confuted and silenced the infernal
monster by his learning, eloquence, and miracles.” After the synod, St.
Dubritius, archbishop of Caerleon, resigned his see to St. David, which
see is now called St. David’s. He died in 544. St. Kentigern saw his
soul borne by angels to heaven; his body was in the church of St.
Andrew. In 962, his relics were translated to Glastonbury.[13]

Butler conceals that St. David’s mother was not married to his father,
but Cressy tells the story out, and that his birth was prophecied of
thirty years before it happened.

One of the miracles alleged of St. David is, that at the anti-Pelagian
synod he restored a child to life, ordered it to spread a napkin under
his feet, and made an oration; that a snow white dove descended from
heaven and sat on his shoulders; and that the ground whereon he stood
rose under him till it became a hill, “on the top of which hill a church
was afterwards built, which remains to this day.” He assembled a
provincial synod to confirm the decrees of Brevy; and wrote the
proceedings of both synods for preservation in his own church, and to be
sent to the other churches of the province; but they were lost by age,
negligence, and the incursions of pirates, who almost every summer came
in long boats from the Orkneys, and wasted the coasts of Cambria. He
invited St. Kined to this synod, who answered that he had grown crooked,
distorted, and too weak for the journey; whereupon ensued “a double
miracle,” for “St. Kined having been restored to health and straightness
by the prayers of St. David, by his own prayers he was reduced again to
his former infirmity and crookedness.” After this synod he journeyed to
the monastery of Glastonbury, which he had built there and consecrated,
with intent to repair it, and consecrate it again; whereupon “our Lord
appearing to him in his sleep, and forbidding him to profane the sacred
ceremony before performed, he, in testimony, with his finger pierced a
hole in the bishop’s hand, which remained open to the view of all men
till the end of the next day’s mass.” Before his death “the angel of the
lord appeared to him, and said to him, Prepare thyself.” Again: “When
the hour of his departure was come, our Lord Jesus Christ vouchsafed his
presence, to the infinite consolation of our holy father, who at the
sight of him exulted.” More to the same purpose is alleged by the
catholic writers respecting him. Such as, that at his death “being
associated to a troop of angels, he with them mounted up to heaven,” and
that the event was known “by an angel divulging it.” This is Cressy’s
account.

According to another biographer of St. David, he was uncle to the famous
prince Arthur, or, strictly speaking, half uncle, if St. David’s
illegitimacy be authentic. The same author relates of him, that on his
way from building the church of Glastonbury he went to Bath, cured an
infection of the waters, and by his prayers and benediction gave them
the perpetual heat they still retain. On the same authority, St. David’s
posthumous virtue, in the reign of king Stephen, occasioned the brook
above the church-yard of St. David’s church to run wine, by miracle: the
well near it, called Pisteldewy or the conduit of David, sent forth milk
instead of water. Also a boy, that endeavoured to take pigeons from a
nest in St. David’s church at Lhannons, had his fingers miraculously
fastened to the stone, till by his friends’ watching, fasting, and
praying before the altar three days and nights, the stone fell from his
hand. “Manie thousands of other miracles have been wrought by the
meritts of this holy man, which for brevities sake we omitt. I only
desire all true hearted Welchmen allwaies to honour this their great
patrone and protector, and supplicate the divine goodnes to reduce his
sometimes beloved countrey out of the blindnes of _Protestancie_,
groveling in which it languisheth. Not only in Wales, but all England
over is most famous in memorie of St. David. But in these our unhappie
daies the greatest part of his solemnitie consisteth in wearing of a
greene leeke, and it is a sufficient theme for a zealous Welchman to
ground a quarrell against him, that doeth not honour his capp with the
like ornament that day.” So saith Porter.

This legend has been the theme of successive writers, with more or less
of variation, and much of addition.

_Inscription for a monument in the Vale of Ewias._

    Here was it, stranger, that the _Patron Saint_
    Of _Cambria_ past his age of penitence,
    A solitary man; and here he made
    His hermitage, the roots his food, his drink
    Of Hodney’s mountain stream. Perchance thy youth
    Has read, with eager wonder, how the knight
    Of Wales, in Ormandine’s enchanted bower
    Slept the long sleep: and if that in thy veins
    Flow the pure blood of Britain, sure that blood
    Hath flowed with quicker impulse at the tale
    Of DAVID’S deeds, when thro’ the press of war
    His gallant comrades followed his _green crest_
    To conquest. Stranger! Hatterill’s mountain heights
    And this fair vale of Ewias, and the stream
    Of Hodney, to thine after-thoughts will rise
    More grateful, thus associate with the name
    Of David, and the deeds of other days.

  MR. SOUTHEY.


~St. David’s Day.~

_Wearing the Leek._

Mr. Brady, in the “Clavis Calendaria,” affirms that the custom of
wearing the leek on St. David’s day is derived from St. David; who,
according to him, caused the Britons under king Cadwallader to
distinguish themselves from their enemies during a great battle, wherein
they conquered the Saxons by virtue of his prayers and that regulation.
Unfortunately he lays no ground for this positive statement, and the
same misfortune attends almost every representation in his book, which
would really be useful if he had pointed to his sources of information.
A work professing to state facts without referring to authorities has no
claim to confidence, whoever may be its author.

For any thing in the shape of ancient and authentic statement to the
contrary, the institution of wearing the leek on St. David’s day by the
saint himself, may rest on a Jeffrey of Monmouth authority, or on
legends of no higher estimation with the historian, than “The famous
History of the Seven Champions of Christendom,” by Richard Johnson.

       *       *       *       *       *

Shakspeare, whose genius appropriated every thing that his extraordinary
faculty of observation marked for its own, introduces this custom of the
Welch wearing leeks upon St. David’s day into his play of King Henry V.

  _Enter Pistol to King Henry._

  _Pistol._ _Qui va là?_

  _K. Henry._ A friend.

  _P._ What’s thy name?

  _K. H._ Harry _le Roy_.

  _P._ Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?

  _K. H._ No, I am a Welchman.

  _P._ Knowest thou Fluellen?

  _K. H._ Yes.

  _P._ Tell him, I’ll knock his _leek_ about his pate

  Upon _St. David’s day_.

  _K. H._ Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he
  knock _that_ about yours.

It is again referred to in a dialogue between Henry V. and Fluellen.

_Fluellen._ Your grandfather of famous memory, an’t please your
majesty, and your great-uncle, Edward, the black prince, as I have read
in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France.

_K. Henry._ They did, Fluellen.

_F._ Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is remembered of it,
the Welchmen did goot service in a garden where _leeks_ did grow,
wearing _leeks_ in their Monmouth caps; which, your majesty knows, is an
honourable padge of the service: and, I do believe, your majesty takes
no scorn to wear the _leek_ upon _Saint Tavy’s day_.

_K. H._ _I wear it_ for a memorable honour: _for I am a Welch_, you
know, good countryman.

This allusion by Fluellen to the Welch having worn the leek in a battle
under the black prince, is not, perhaps, as some writers suppose, wholly
decisive of its having originated in the fields of Cressy or Poictiers;
but it shows that when Shakspeare wrote, Welchmen wore leeks. In the
same play, the well-remembered Fluellen’s enforcement of Pistol to eat
the _leek_ he had ridiculed, further establishes the wearing it as a
usage. Fluellen wears his leek in the battle of Agincourt, which it will
be recollected takes place in this play, and is there mentioned, as well
as in the chronicles, to have been “fought on the day of Crispin
Crispianus,” in the month of October. The scene between Fluellen and
Pistol takes place the day after this battle.

  _Enter Fluellen and Gower._

_Gower._ Why wear you your _leek_ to-day? _St. David’s day_ is past.

_Fluellen._ There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all
things.--The rascally, scald, peggarly, pragging knave, Pistol, a fellow
look you now of no merits, he is come to me with pread and salt
yesterday, look you, and pid me eat my _leek_, it was in a place where I
could not preed no contentions with him, but I will be so pold as to
wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then--(_Enter
Pistol_)--Got pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy knave, Got pless
you!

_P._ Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of _leek_.

_G._ I peseech you heartily scurvy knave, at my desires, and my
requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this _leek_.

_P._ Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats.

_F._ There is one goat for you. (_strikes him._) Will you be so goot,
scald knave, as eat it?

_P._ Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

_F._ I desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals; come
there is sauce for it.--(_strikes him._) If you can mock a _leek_, you
can eat a _leek_.

By beating and taunt, Fluellen forces Pistol to eat the leek, and on its
being wholly swallowed, Fluellen exhorts him “when you take occasions to
see _leeks_ hereafter, I pray you, mock at them, that is all!” Having
thus accomplished his purpose, Fluellen leaves Pistol to digestion, and
the consolation of Gower, who calls him “counterfeit cowardly knave:
will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable aspect,
and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not
avouch in your deeds any of your words?”

Here we have Gower speaking of the custom of the Welch wearing leeks as
“an ancient tradition,” and as “a memorable trophy of predeceased
valour.” Thoroughly versed in the history of the few reigns preceding
the period wherein he lived, it is not likely that Shakspeare would make
a character in the time of Henry V. refer to an occurrence under the
black prince, little more than half a century before the battle of
Agincourt, as an affair of “ancient tradition.” Its origin may be fairly
referred to a very early period.

A contributor to a periodical work[14] rejects the notion, that wearing
_leeks_ on St. David’s day originated at the battle between the Welch
and the Saxons in the sixth century; and thinks it more probable that
_leeks_ were a _druidic_ symbol employed in honour of the British
_Ceudven_ or Ceres. In which hypothesis, he thinks, there is nothing
strained or far-fetched, presuming that the Druids were a branch of the
Phœnician priesthood. Both were addicted to oak worship; and during the
funereal rites of Adonis at Byblos, _leeks_ and onions were exhibited in
“pots with other vegetables, and called the gardens of that deity.” The
_leek_ was worshipped at _Ascalon_, (whence the modern term of
_Scallions_,) as it was in Egypt. _Leeks_ and onions were also
deposited in the sacred chests of the mysteries both of Isis and Ceres,
the _Ceudven_ of the Druids; _leeks_ are among the Egyptian
hieroglyphics; sometimes a _leek_ is on the head of Osiris; and at other
times grasped in an extended hand; and thence, perhaps, the Italian
proverb, “_Porro che nasce nella mano_,” _a leek that grows in the
hand_, for a virtue. _Porrus_, a _leek_, is derived by Bryant from the
Egyptian god Pi-orus, who is the same as the _Beal Peor_ of the
Phœnicians, and the _Bel_ or _Bellinis_ of the Druids. These accordances
are worth an ancient Briton’s consideration.

Ridicule of national peculiarities was formerly a pleasantry that the
English freely indulged in. They seemed to think that different soil was
good ground for a laugh at a person, and that it justified coarse and
insolent remarks. In an old satirical tract there is the following sneer
at the Welch:

“A WELCHMAN, Is the Oyster that the Pearl is in, for a man may be pickt
out of him. He hath the abilities of the mind in _potentiâ_, and _actu_
nothing but boldnesse. His Clothes are in fashion before his Bodie; and
he accounts boldnesse the chiefest vertue. Above all men he loves a
Herrald, and speakes pedigrees naturally. He accompts none well
descended that call him not Cosen, and prefers _Owen Glendower_ before
any of the nine worthies. The first note of his familiaritie is the
confession of his valour; and so he prevents quarrels. Hee voucheth
Welch a pure, an unconquered language; and courts Ladies with the storie
of their Chronicle. To conclude, he is pretious in his own conceit, and
upon St. David’s day without comparison.”[15]

Not quite so flouting is a poetical satire called,

_The Welchman’s Song in praise of Wales._

      I’s come not here to tauke of Prut,
    From whence the Welse dos take hur root;
    Nor tell long pedegree of Prince Camber,
    Whose linage would fill full a chamber;
    Nor sing the deeds of ould Saint _Davie_,
    The Ursip of which would fill a navie,
    But hark you me now, for a liddell tales
    Sall make a great deal to the creddit of Wales,
        For hur will tudge your eares,
        With the praise of hur thirteen seers;
        And make you as glad and merry,
        As fourteen pot of perry.

There are four other stanzas; one of them mentions the _leek_:

    But all this while was never think
    A word in praise of our Welse drink:
    Yet for aull that is a cup of bragat
    Aull England seer may cast his cap at.
    And what you say to ale of Webley,
    Toudge him as well, you’ll praise him trebly
    As well as metheglin, or syder, or meath,
    Sall sake it your dagger quite out o’ the seath.
        And oat cake of Guarthenion,
        With a goodly _leek_ or onion,
        To give as sweet a rellis
        As e’er did Harper Ellis.[16]

In “Time’s Telescope,” an annual volume already mentioned for its
pleasant varieties and agreeable information, there is a citation of
flouting lines from “Poor Robin’s Almanac,” of 1757, under the month of
_March_:

    The _first of this month_ some do keep,
    For honest <DW75> to wear his _leek_;
    Who patron was, they say, of Wales,
    And since that time, cuts-plutter-a nails,
    Along the street this day doth strut
    With hur green _leek_ stuck in hur hat,
    And if hur meet a shentleman
    Salutes in Welch; and if hur can
    Discourse in Welch, then hur shall be
    Amongst the green-horned Taffy’s free.

The lines that immediately succeed the above, and follow below, are a
versified record of public violence to the Welch character, which
Englishmen in this day will read with surprise:

    But it would make a stranger laugh
    To see th’ English hang poor <DW75>;
    A pair of breeches and a coat,
    Hat, shoes and stockings, and what not;
    All stuffed with hay to represent
    The Cambrian hero thereby meant;
    With sword sometimes three inches broad,
    And other armour made of wood,
    They drag hur to some publick tree,
    And hang hur up in effigy.

These barbarous practices of more barbarous times have disappeared as
knowledge has advanced.

       *       *       *       *       *

St. David’s day in London is the Anniversary of “the most Honourable and
Loyal Society of Ancient Britons,” established in 1714; they celebrate
it with festivity in behalf of the Welch charity-school in
Grays-inn-road, which was instituted in 1718 for boarding, clothing, and
educating 80 boys and 25 girls, born of Welch parents, in or within ten
miles of the metropolis, and not having a parochial settlement within
those limits. This institution has the king for patron as prince of
Wales, and is supported by voluntary contributions. The “Ancient
Britons,” according to annual custom, go in procession to the royal
residence on St. David’s day, and receive the royal bounty. The society
are in carriages, and each wears an artificial representation of the
_leek_ in his hat, composed of ribbands and silver foil. They have been
sometimes accompanied by horsemen decorated in the same way, and are
usually preceded by marshals, also on horseback, wearing _leeks_ of
larger dimension in their hats, and ornamented with silk scarfs. In this
state they proceed from the school-house to some adjacent church, and
hear a discourse delivered on the occasion, by a prelate or other
dignified clergyman. The day is concluded by an elegant dinner under the
regulation of stewards, when a collection is made for the institution,
and a handsome sum is generally contributed.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Leek. _Allium Porrum._
  Dedicated to _St. David_.

  [13] Butler’s Saints.

  [14] “Gazette of Fashion,” March 9, 1822.

  [15] “A wife, now the widdow of sir Thomas Overburye, being a most
  exquisite and singular poem of the choice of a wife, whereunto are
  added many _witty characters_,” &c. London, printed for Lawrence
  Lisle, 4to. 1614.

  [16] “An Antidote against Melancholy,” 4to 1661.


~March 2.~

  _St. Ceada_, or _Chad_. _Martyrs under the Lombards_, 6th Cent. _St.
  Simplicius_, Pope A. D. 483. _St. Marnan_, A. D. 620. _St. Charles the
  Good_, Earl of Flanders, A. D. 1124. _St. Joavan_, or _Joevin_.


_St. Chad_, A. D. 673.

His name is in the calendar of the church of England. He was founder of
the see, and bishop of Lichfield. According to Bede, joyful melody as of
persons sweetly singing descended from heaven into his oratory for half
an hour, and then mounted again to heaven. This was to presage his
death, and accordingly he died, attended by his brother’s soul and
musical angels.


_St. Chad’s Well_

Is near Battle-bridge. The miraculous water is aperient, and was some
years ago quaffed by the bilious and other invalids, who flocked thither
in crowds, to drink at the cost of sixpence, what people of these
latter days by “the ingenious chemists’ art,” can make as effectual as
St. Chad’s virtues “at the small price of one halfpenny.”

If any one desire to visit this spot of ancient renown, let him descend
from Holborn-bars to the very bottom of Grays-inn-lane. On the left-hand
side formerly stood a considerable hill, whereon were wont to climb and
browze certain mountain goats of the metropolis, in common language
called swine; the hill was the largest heap of cinder-dust in the
neighbourhood of London. It was formed by the annual accumulation of
some thousands of cart loads, since exported to Russia for making bricks
to rebuild Moscow, after the conflagration of that capital on the
entrance of Napoleon. Opposite to this unsightly site, and on the
right-hand side of the road is an angle-wise faded inscription:

[Illustration: S^{T}. CHAD’S WELL.]

It stands, or rather dejects, over an elderly pair of wooden gates, one
whereof opens on a scene which the unaccustomed eye may take for the
pleasure-ground of Giant Despair. Trees stand as if made not to
vegetate, clipped hedges seem willing to decline, and nameless weeds
straggle weakly upon unlimited borders. If you look upwards you perceive
painted on an octagon board “Health Restored and Preserved.” Further on
towards the left, stands a low, old-fashioned, comfortable-looking,
large windowed dwelling; and ten to one, but there also stands, at the
open door, an ancient ailing female, in a black bonnet, a clean 
cotton gown, and a check apron; her silver hair only in part tucked
beneath the narrow border of a frilled cap, with a sedate and patient,
yet, somewhat inquiring look. This is “the Lady of the _Well_.” She
gratuitously informs you, that “the gardens” of “St. Chad’s well” are
“for circulation” by paying for the water, of which you may drink as
much, or as little, or nothing, as you please, at one guinea per year,
9_s._ 6_d._ quarterly, 4_s._ 6_d._ monthly, or 1_s._ 6_d._ weekly. You
qualify for a single visit by paying sixpence, and a large glass tumbler
full of warm water is handed to you. As a stranger, you are told, that
“St. Chad’s well was famous at one time.” Should you be inquisitive, the
dame will instruct you, with an earnest eye, that “people are not what
they were,” “things are not as they used to be,” and she “can’t tell
what’ll happen next.” Oracles have not ceased. While drinking St. Chad’s
water you observe an immense copper into which it is poured, wherein it
is heated to due efficacy, and from whence it is drawn by a cock, into
the glasses. You also remark, hanging on the wall, a “tribute of
gratitude” versified, and inscribed on vellum, beneath a pane of glass
stained by the hand of time and let into a black frame: this is an
effusion for value received from St. Chad’s invaluable water. But, above
all, there is a full-sized portrait in oil, of a stout, comely
personage, with a ruddy countenance, in a coat or cloak, supposed
scarlet, a laced cravat falling down the breast, and a small red night
cap carelessly placed on the head, conveying the idea that it was
painted for the likeness of some opulent butcher who flourished in the
reign of queen Anne. Ask the dame about it, and she refers you to
“Rhone.” This is a tall old man, who would be taller if he were not bent
by years. “I am ninety-four,” he will tell you, “this present year of
our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five.” All that he has
to communicate concerning the portrait is, “I have heard say it is the
portrait of St. Chad.” Should you venture to differ, he adds, “this is
the opinion of most people who come here.” You may gather that it is his
own undoubted belief. On pacing the garden alleys, and peeping at the
places of retirement, you imagine the whole may have been improved and
beautified for the last time by some countryman of William III., who
came over and died in the same year with that king, and whose works
here, in wood and box, have been following him piecemeal ever since.

St. Chad’s well is scarcely known in the neighbourhood, save by its
sign-board of invitation and forbidding externals. An old American
loyalist, who has lived in Pentonville ever since “the rebellion” forced
him to the mother country, enters to “totter not unseen” between the
stunted hedgerows; it was the first “place of pleasure” he came to
after his arrival, and he goes no where besides,--“every thing else is
so altered.” For the same reason, a tall, spare, thin-faced man, with
dull grey eyes and underhung chin, from the neighbourhood of
Bethnal-green, walks hither for his “Sunday morning’s exercise,” to
untruss a theological point with a law clerk, who also attends the place
because his father, “when he was ’prentice to Mr. ---- the great law
stationer in Chancery-lane in 1776, and sat writing for sixteen hours a
day, received great benefit from the waters, which he came to drink
fasting, once a week.” Such persons from local attachment, and a few
male and female atrabilarians, who without a powerful motive would never
breathe the pure morning air, resort to this spot for their health. St.
Chad’s well is haunted, not frequented. A few years and it will be with
its water as with the water of St. Pancras’ well, which is enclosed in
the garden of a private house, near old St. Pancras’ churchyard.


_Holy Wells._

The _holy_ wells of London have all declined in reputation, even to St.
Bride’s well, whose fame gave the name of Bridewell to an adjoining
hospital and prison, and at last, attached the name to every house of
correction throughout the kingdom. The last public use of the water of
St. Bride’s well drained it so much, that the inhabitants of St. Bride’s
parish could not get their usual supply. This exhaustion was effected by
a sudden demand. Several men were engaged in filling thousands of
bottles, a day or two before the 19th of July 1821, on which day his
majesty, king George IV. was crowned at Westminster; and Mr. Walker of
the hotel, No. 10, Bridge-street, Blackfriars, purveyor of water to the
coronation, obtained it, by the only means through which the sainted
fluid is now attainable, from the cast-iron pump over St. Bride’s well,
in Bride-lane.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Dwarf Cerastium. _Cerastium pumilum._
  Dedicated to _St. Chad_.


~March 3.~

  _St. Cunegundes_, Empress, A. D. 1040. _Sts. Marinus_ and _Asterius_,
  or _Astyrius_. _St. Emeterius_, or _Madir_, and _St. Chelidonius_.
  _St. Winwaloe_, Abbot, A. D. 529. _St. Lamalisse_, 7th Cent.


_Sts. Emeterius_ and _Chelidonius_.

Two Spanish saints, famous against hailstorms. When hailstorms come on,
the clergy proceed thus:

  1. They make a procession to the church.
  2. They put lighted candles on the altar.
  3. They sing a hymn to these saints.
  4. They chaunt the antiphona.
  5. They sing the praises of these saints.

By the time this chain is linked, the storm finishes.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 3d of March, 1792, died Robert Adam, Esq. He was born at
Kirkaldy, in Fifeshire, in 1728, educated at the university of
Edinburgh, devoted himself to architecture, went to Italy to study its
ancient remains, became proficient in his profession, and rose to its
highest honours: he was appointed architect to their majesties, and
chosen fellow of the Royal and Antiquarian Societies of London and
Edinburgh. In conjunction with his brother, Mr. James Adam, who died
20th November 1794, he built some of the finest of our modern mansions.
His genius and acquirements adorned London with several structures,
eminently superior in beauty to those which arose around him under the
direction of other hands; but the work for which the Adams are chiefly
celebrated, is the elegant range of buildings called the _Adelphi_. This
Greek word, denoting the relationship of brothers, was conferred in
compliment to the brothers, by whose intellect and science, in
opposition to long vitiated taste, and difficulties deemed
impracticable, these edifices were elevated. It is related that soon
after their completion, a classically educated gentleman being present
at a public dinner, and intending to toast the Messrs. Adams, who were
also present, begged to give “the _Adelphi_;” and that this occasioned a
worthy citizen to exclaim, “Bless me! it’s a very odd toast; what drink
the health of a parcel of houses! However, oh, oh! ah, ah! I see! yes,
yes! oh, the witty rogue! What, the street’s in a healthy spot? so it
is; very healthy! Come I’ll drink its health with all my heart!--Here’s
the Adelphi Terrace! I’ll stand up to it, (_rising_) and I hope it will
never go down!”

       *       *       *       *       *

Garrick resided in one of the houses of the Adelphi until his death, and
was a friend of the Adams, who indeed were intimate with most of the
eminent men in art and literature. Before the Adelphi was finished, the
late Mr. Thomas Becket, the bookseller, desired the corner house of
Adam-street, then building as a spacious avenue by the Adams to their
terrace and the adjacent thoroughfares. Garrick anxious to secure the
commanding corner for his friend Becket, wrote a warm-hearted letter in
his behalf to Messrs. Adam. The letter has never been published, and
being in the possession of the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, he
inserts a copy of it, with a correct _fac-simile_ of the commencement
and conclusion. This hasty unstudied note, warm from the feelings, is
testimony of Garrick’s zeal for a friend’s success, and of his
qualifications as a solicitor to promote it: there is in it

    ---- a grace beyond the reach of art.

[Illustration:

  Hampton
  Monday
  8.

  My dear Adelphi:]

  I forgot to speak to you last Saturday about our friend Becket.--We
  shall all break our hearts if he is not bookseller to y^{e} Adelphi, &
  has not y^{e} corner house that is to be built.--Pray, my dear & very
  good friends, think a little of this matter, & if you can make us
  happy, by suiting all our conveniences--we shall make his shop, as old
  Jacob Tonson’s was formerly, y^{e} rendevouz for y^{e} first people in
  England.--I have a little selfishness in this request--I never go to
  coffee-houses, seldom to taverns, & should constantly (if this scheme
  takes place) be at Becket’s at one at noon, & 6 at night; as y^{e}
  monkey us’d to be punctual in Piccadilly.

  When you left me on Saturday, whether I had exerted my spirits too
  much, or gave too great a loose to my love of drinking with those I
  like, I know not; but I was attack’d terribly with a fit of y^{e}
  stone, & had it all yesterday morning, till I was relieved from
  torture, to y^{e} great joy of my wife & family.--I was 4 hours upon
  y^{e} rack, & now as free from pain as ever I was. I am weak w^{h} my
  disorder; but I could eat turtle, & laugh with you again to day, as if
  nothing had ail’d me--’tis a curs’d disorder, & that you may never
  have that curse make y^{r} peace w^{th} heav’n by an act of
  righteousness, & bestow that corner blessing (I have mention’d) upon
  Becket & his family--this is y^{e} pray’r & petition

[Illustration:

  of Y^{r}.
  affectionate
  &
  devoted

  D. Garrick]

Mr. Becket had the “corner blessing” conferred upon him.--He removed
into the house from another part of the Strand, and remained tenant to
the “Adelphi,” until he retired into Pall Mall.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Golden Fig Marygold. _Mesembrianthemum aureum._
  Dedicated to _St. Cunegundes_.


~March 4.~

  _St. Casimir._ _St. Lucius_, Pope, A. D. 253. _St. Adrian_, Bishop, A.
  D. 874.


_St. Casimir_,

Was born a prince on the 5th of October, 1458, and died 4th March, 1482.
He was second son of Casimir III. king of Poland; and, according to
Ribadeneira, he wore under his princely attire a prickly hair shirt,
fasted rigorously, prayed at night till he fell weary and exhausted on
the bare floor; often in the most sharp and bitter weather went barefoot
to church at midnight, and lay on his face before the door; studied to
advance the catholic religion, and to extinguish or drive heresy out of
Poland; persuaded his father to enact a law that no new church should be
built for heretics, nor any old ones repaired; in a particular virtue
“surpassed the angels;” committed suicide; resigned his soul amidst
choirs of priests; had it carried to heaven surrounded with a clear
bright light by angels; and thirty-six years after his death he appeared
in glittering armour and gallantly mounted; led the Polish army through
an impassable river, and conquered the Muscovites; and the next year
marched before his beloved Poles in the air against the enemy, and as
“he beat them before, so he beat them again.”


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 4th of March, 1583, died Bernard Gilpin. He was born at Kentmire,
in Westmoreland, 1517, sent to Queen’s college, Oxford, in 1553, read
the writings of Erasmus, excelled in logic and philosophy, and studied
Greek and Hebrew; being a Catholic he held a public disputation against
John Hooper, the Protestant, who was martyred at the stake under Henry
VIII. Appointed to hold a disputation against Peter Martyr, another
eminent reformer, who read the divinity lecture in Oxford, he diligently
studied the scriptures and the writings of the early fathers, and “was
not sorry to be overcome by the truth.” Cuthbert Tunstall, bishop of
Durham, gave him a living, which he shortly afterwards resigned, because
he desired to travel, and could not hold it while absent with peace of
conscience. “But,” saith the bishop, “thou mayst hold it with a
dispensation, and thou shalt be dispensed withal.” To this Gilpin
answered, that when he should be called on for an account of his
stewardship, he feared it would not serve his turn to answer, that he
had been “dispensed withal.” Whereupon the bishop admired, and “Father’s
soul!” said he, “Gilpin will die a beggar.” He afterwards went to
Lovaine and Paris, from whence he returned to England in the days of
queen Mary; and bishop Tunstall gave him the rectory of Essingdon, by
which he became archdeacon of Durham, and preached on scriptural
authority against the vices in the church. Those who hated his
integrity and feared his talents, sought his blood by insnaring
controversy. He avoided vain jangling, and beat his adversaries in solid
argument. At one of these disputations, carried on in an undertone with
bishop Tunstall’s chaplains, and close behind the bishop, who was
sitting before the fire, the bishop, leaning his chair somewhat
backwards, hearkened to what was said; and when they had done, turning
to his chaplains, “Father’s soul!” said the bishop, “let him alone, for
he hath more learning than you all.” He was twice accused of heresy to
Tunstall, who abhorred to shed blood; but information being given
against him to Bonner, bishop of London, an order was issued for his
apprehension. Gilpin had intelligence of the danger, yet he only
provided against it by ordering William Airy, his house steward, to
provide a long garment, that he might go the more comely to the stake.
The sudden death of Mary cleared off the impending storm. Not long
afterwards, bishop Tunstall presented Gilpin to the rectory of Houghton,
a large parish with fourteen villages, which he laboriously served. He
built a grammar school, from whence he sent students almost daily to the
university, and maintained them there at his own cost. Honoured by the
wise, and respected by the noble, the earl of Bedford solicited from
queen Elizabeth the vacant bishopric of Carlisle for Gilpin. A _congé
d’élire_ was accordingly issued, but Gilpin resisted the dignity against
all entreaties. “If I had been chosen to a bishopric elsewhere,” he
said, “I would not have refused it; but in Carlisle I have many friends
and kindred, at whom I must connive in many things, not without hurt to
myself, or else deny them many things, not without hurt to them, which
difficulties I have avoided by the refusal of that bishopric.” He was
chosen provost of his own (Queen’s) college in Oxford, but this
advancement he also declined. Yet he did the office and work of a
bishop, by preaching, taking care of the poor, providing for the
necessities of other churches, erecting schools, encouraging learned
men, and keeping open house to all that needed. Cecil, lord Burleigh,
the queen’s secretary, having visited Gilpin at Houghton, on his return
towards Durham, when he came to Rainton-hill, reflected his eye upon the
open country he had passed, and looking earnestly upon Gilpin’s house,
said, “I do not blame this man for refusing a bishopric. What doth he
want that a bishopric could more enrich him withal? besides that he is
free from the great weight of cares.” Gilpin annually visited the people
of Ridsdale and Tindale, and was “little else than adored by that half
barbarous and rustic people.” When at Rothbury, in these parts, “there
was a pestilent faction among some of them who were wont to resort to
the church; the men being bloodily minded, practised a bloody manner of
revenge, termed by them a _deadly feud_:” if one faction came to the
church the other kept away, inasmuch as they could not meet without
bloodshed. It so happened that when Gilpin was in the pulpit both
parties came to the church; one party stood in the chancel, the other in
the body of the church. Each body was armed with swords and javelins,
and their weapons making a clashing sound, Gilpin, unaccustomed to such
a spectacle, was somewhat moved, yet he proceeded with his sermon. A
second time the weapons clashed; the one side drew near to the other;
and they were about to commence battle in the church. Gilpin descended,
stepped to the leaders on each side, appeased the tumult, and laboured
to establish peace between them; but he could only obtain from these
rude borderers, that they would not break the peace while Mr. Gilpin
remained. On this he once more ascended the pulpit, and spent the
allotted time in inveighing against this unchristian and savage custom,
and exhorting them to forego it for ever. Another incident, further
illustrating the manners of the people, will be mentioned below; it may
be added here, however, that afterwards, when he revisited these parts,
any one who dreaded a deadly foe, found himself safer in Gilpin’s
presence than with armed guards. In his younger years, while on a ride
to Oxford, Gilpin overtook a youth who was one while walking, and at
another time running. He found that the lad came from Wales, knew Latin,
had a smattering of Greek, and was bound for Oxford, with intent to be a
scholar. “Wilt thou,” said Gilpin, “be contented to go with me? I will
provide for thee.” The youth assented, Gilpin took him first to Oxford,
afterwards to Houghton, where he improved him exceedingly in Greek and
Hebrew, and sent him at last to Oxford. This youth was the learned Hugh
Broughton; he is said to have requited this protection and care by
something worse than inconstancy. Gilpin’s nature was kind and
charitable, he visited sick chambers and prisons, and dispensed large
bounties. He was firm in rectitude; and hence, on one occasion, when
bishop Tunstall had inclined to his enemies, and insisted on Gilpin’s
preaching, sorely against the good man’s petitions to be excused, and
repeated refusals, he at length mounted the pulpit, and concluded his
discourse by denouncing the enormities in the bishop’s diocese; looking
at Tunstall, he said “Lest your lordship should make answer, that you
had no notice of these things given you, behold, I bring them to your
knowledge. Let not your lordship say these crimes have been committed by
the faults of others, without your knowledge; for whatsoever either
yourself shall do in person, or suffer through your connivance to be
done by others, is wholly your own. Therefore,” thundered forth the
faithful preacher, “in presence of God, his angels and man, I pronounce
your fatherhood to be the author of all these evils; yea, and, in that
strict day of the general account, I shall be a witness to testify
against you, that all these things have come to your knowledge by my
means: and all these men shall bear witness thereof, who have heard me
speaking unto you this day.” Gilpin’s adherents, terrified at this
unexpected and bold address, apprehended the worst consequences from the
bishop’s power. “You have,” said they, “put a sword into his hand to
slay you. If heretofore he hath been offended with you without a cause,
what may you now expect from him who, being provoked, shall make use of
his own power to injure you by right or wrong.” Gilpin answered, “Be not
afraid; the Lord God over-ruleth us all; so that the truth may be
propagated, and God glorified, God’s will be done concerning me.” After
dinner, Gilpin waited on the bishop to take leave of him, and return
home. “It shall not be so,” said the bishop, “for I will bring you to
your house.” When they arrived at Mr. Gilpin’s house, and had entered
the parlour, the bishop on a sudden caught Mr. Gilpin by the hand, and
addressed him in these words:--“Father Gilpin, I acknowledge you are
fitter to be bishop of Durham, than myself to be parson of this church
of yours; I ask forgiveness for errors past; forgive me, father. I know
you have hatched up some chickens that now seek to pick out your eyes;
but so long as I shall live bishop of Durham, be secure: no man shall
injure you.” Thus the fearless integrity of Gilpin, by which it was
conceived he had jeopardized his life, saved him from his enemies and
advanced him beyond the reach of their further hate.

After a life excellent for kindness, charity, and faithful dealing
towards the people intrusted to his care, he died at the age of
sixty-six worn out by labour in well doing.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Chickweed. _Alsine media._
  Dedicated to _St. Casimir._


~March 5.~

  _Sts. Adrian_ and _Eubulus_, A. D. 309. _St. Kiaran_, or _Kenerin_.
  _St. Roger_, A. D. 1236.


_St. Piran._

This saint, anciently of good repute in Cornwall, is not mentioned by
Butler. According to Porter he was born in Ireland, and became a hermit
there. He afterwards came to England, and settling at Cornwall, had a
grave made for him, entered into it, and dying on the 6th of March, “in
the glorie of a great light and splendour that appeared at the same
instant,” was buried at Padstow. “He is reported,” says Porter, “to have
wrought manie wonderfull miracles in his lifetime, which bicause they
tend rather to breed an incredulous amazement in the readers, then move
to anie workes of vertues or pietie, we have willingly omitted.” We have
had a specimen of such miracles as father Porter deemed worthy of
belief; those of St. Piran which would have caused “incredulous
amazement” in Porter’s readers must have been “passing wonderfull.”

_St. Piran’s day_ is said to be a favourite with the tinners; having a
tradition that some secrets regarding the manufacture of tin was
communicated to their ancestors by that saint, they leave the
manufacture to shift for itself for that day and keep it as a holiday.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Green Hellebore. _Helleborus viridis._
  Dedicated to _St. Adrian_.


~March 6.~

  _St. Chrodegang_, Bishop, A. D. 766. _B. Colette._ _St. Fridolin_, A.
  D. 538. _St. Baldrede._ _Sts. Kyneburge_, _Kyneswid_, and _Tibba_.
  _St. Cadroe_, A. D. 975.


_St. Baldrede_,

Bishop of Glasgow, died in London A. D. 608, and his relics were famous
in many churches in Scotland. Bollandus says, “he was wonderfully buried
in three places; seeing that three towns Aldham, Tinningham, and
Preston, contended for his body.” In those days when there were no
parish registers, these miraculous powers of self-multiplication after
death, must have been sadly perplexing to topographers and antiquaries.


[Illustration: ~Spring.~]

    The “New-come” of the year is born to-day,
      With a strong lusty laugh, and joyous shout,
    Uprising, with its mother, it, in play,
      Throws flowers on her; pulls hard buds about,
    To open them for blossom; and its voice,
      Peeling o’er dells, plains, uplands, and high groves,
    Startles all living things, till they rejoice
      In re-creation of themselves; each loves,
    And blesses each; and man’s intelligence,
    In musings grateful, thanks All Wise Beneficence.

SPRING commences on the 6th of March, and lasts ninety-three days.

According to Mr. Howard, whose practical information concerning the
seasons is highly valuable, the medium temperature during spring is
elevated, in round numbers, from 40 to 58 degrees. “The mean of the
season is 48.94°--the sun effecting by his approach an advance of 11.18°
upon the mean temperature of the winter. This increase is retarded in
the forepart of the spring by the winds from north to east, then
prevalent; and which form two-thirds of the complement of the season;
but proportionately accelerated afterwards by the southerly winds, with
which it terminates. A strong evaporation, in the first instance
followed by showers, often with thunder and hail in the latter,
characterises this period. The temperature commonly rises, not by a
steady increase from day to day, but by sudden starts, from the breaking
in of sunshine upon previous cold, cloudy weather. At such times, the
vapour appears to be now and then thrown up, in too great plenty, into
the cold region above; where being suddenly decomposed, the temperature
falls back for awhile, amidst wind, showers, and hail, attended, in some
instances, with frost at night.”

Our ancestors varied their clothing according to the season. Strutt has
given the spring dress of a man in the fourteenth century, from an
illumination in a manuscript of that age: this is a copy of it.

[Illustration]

In “_Sylvan Sketches_,” a new and charming volume by the lady who wrote
the “Flora Domestica,” it is delightfully observed, that, “the young and
joyous spirit of spring sheds its sweet influence upon every thing: the
streams sparkle and ripple in the noon-day sun, and the birds carol
tipseyly their merriest ditties. It is surely the loveliest season of
the year.” One of our living minstrels sings of a spring day, that it

    Looks beautiful, as when an infant wakes
    From its soft slumbers;

and the same bard poetically reminds us with more than poetical truth,
that at this season, when we

    See life and bliss around us flowing,
      Wherever space or being is,
    The cup of joy is full and flowing.

  _Bowring._

Another, whose numbers are choralled by worshipping crowds, observes
with equal truth, and under the influence of high feelings, for
seasonable abundance, that

    To enjoy is to obey.

  _Watts._

       *       *       *       *       *

    Grateful and salutary spring the plants
    Which crown our numerous gardens, and
    Invite to health and temperance, in the simple meal,
    Unpoisoned with rich sauces, to provoke
    Th’ unwilling appetite to gluttony.
    For this, the bulbous esculents their roots
    With sweetness fill; for this, with cooling juice
    The green herb spreads its leaves; and opening buds,
    And flowers and seeds, with various flavours.

  _Dodsley._

       *       *       *       *       *

    Sweet is thy coming, Spring!--and as I pass
    Thy hedge-rows, where from the half-naked spray
    Peeps the sweet bud, and ’midst the dewy grass
    The tufted primrose opens to the day:
    My spirits light and pure confess thy pow’r
    Of balmiest influence: there is not a tree
    That whispers to the warm noon-breeze; nor flow’r
    Whose bell the dew-drop holds, but yields to me
    Predestinings of joy: O, heavenly sweet
    Illusion!--that the sadly pensive breast
    Can for a moment from itself retreat
    To outward pleasantness, and be at rest:
    While sun, and fields, and air, the sense have wrought
    Of pleasure and content, in spite of thought!

  _Athenæum._

       *       *       *       *       *

In spring the ancient Romans celebrated the _Ludi Florales_. These were
annual games in honour to Flora, accompanied by supplications for
beneficent influences on the grass, trees, flowers, and other products
of the earth, during the year. The Greeks likewise invoked fertility on
the coming of spring with many ceremonies. The remains of the Roman
festivals, in countries which the Roman arms subdued, have been
frequently noticed already; and it is not purposed to advert to them
further, than by observing that there is considerable difficulty in so
apportioning every usage in a modern ceremony, as to assign each to its
proper origin. Some may have been common to a people before they were
conquered; others may have been the growth of later times. Spring, as
the commencement of the natural year, must have been hailed by all
nations with satisfaction; and was, undoubtedly, commemorated, in most,
by public rejoicing and popular sports.


CHRONOLOGY.

Dr. Samuel Parr died on the 6th of March, 1825.


A SPRING FESTIVAL.

The Germans retain many of the annual customs peculiar to themselves
before the Roman conquest. Whether a ceremony described in the
“Athenæum,” as having been observed in Germany of late years, is derived
from the victors, or from the ancient nations, is not worth discussing.

The approach of spring was there commemorated with an abundance of
display, its allegorical character was its most remarkable feature. It
was called _Der Sommers-gewinn_, the acquisition of summer; and about
thirty years ago was celebrated at the beginning of spring by the
inhabitants of Eisenach, in Saxony, who, for that purpose, divided
themselves into two parties. One party carried _winter_ under the shape
of a man covered with straw, out of the town, and then, as it were, sent
him into public exile; whilst the other party, at a distance from the
town, decked _spring_, or, as it was vulgarly called, summer, in the
form of youth, with boughs of cypress and May, and marched in solemn
array to meet their comrades, the jocund executioners of winter. In the
meanwhile national ballads, celebrating the delights of spring and
summer, filled the skies; processions paraded the meadows and fields,
loudly imploring the blessings of a prolific summer; and the jovial
merry-makers then brought the victor-god home in triumph. In the course
of time, however, this ceremonial underwent various alterations. The
parts, before personified, were now performed by real dramatis personæ;
one arrayed as spring, and another as winter, entertained the spectators
with a combat, wherein winter was ultimately vanquished and stripped of
his emblematical attire; spring, on the contrary, being hailed as
victor, was led in triumph, amidst the loud acclamations of the
multitude, into the town. From this festival originated a popular
ballad, composed of stanzas each of which conclude thus:

    Heigho! heigho! heigho! Summer is at hand!
        Winter has lost the game,
        Summer maintain’d its fame;
    Heigho! heigho! heigho! Summer is at hand!

The day whereon the jubilee takes place is denominated _der Todten
sonntag_, the dead Sunday. The reason may be traced perhaps to the
analogy which winter bears to the sleep of death, when the vital powers
of nature are suspended. The conjecture is strengthened by this distich
in the ballad before quoted:

    Now we’ve vanquish’d _Death_,
    And Summer’s return ensured:
    Were _Death_ still unsubdued,
    How much had we endured!

But of late years the spirit of this festival has disappeared. Lately,
winter was uncouthly shaped of wood, and being covered with straw, was
nailed against a large wheel, and the straw being set on fire, the
apparatus was rolled down a steep hill! Agreeably to the intention of
its inventors, the blazing wheel was by degrees knocked to pieces,
against the precipices below, and then--winter’s effigy, to the
admiration of the multitude, split into a thousand fiery fragments. This
custom too, merely from the danger attending it, quickly fell into
disuse; but still a shadow of the original festivity, which it was meant
to commemorate, is preserved amongst the people of Eisenach. “Although”
says the writer of these particulars, “we find winter no longer sent
into banishment, as in former times, yet an attempt is made to represent
and conciliate spring by offerings of nosegays and sprays of evergreen,
adorned with birds or eggs, emblematical of the season.” Probably the
latter usages may not have been consequent upon the decline of the
former, but were coeval in their origin, and are the only remains of
ancient customs peculiar to the season.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lent Lily. _Narcissus Pseudonarcissus multiplex._
  Dedicated to _St. Colette_.


~March 7.~

  _St. Thomas Aquinas_, A. D. 1274. _Sts. Perpetua_ and _Felicitas_, A.
  D. 203. _St. Paul_, Anchoret.


_St. Perpetua._

This saint is in the church of England calendar. She was martyred under
the emperor Severus in 205.


_St. Paul_ the Anchoret.

This saint was “a man of profound ignorance.” Butler says he was named
“the simple.” He journeyed eight days into the desert on a visit, and to
become a disciple of St. Antony, who told him he was too old, and bade
him return home, mind his business, and say his prayers; he shut the
door upon him. Paul fasted and prayed before the door till Antony opened
it, and out of compassion made a monk of him. One day after he had
diligently worked at making mats and hurdles, and prayed without
intermission, St. Antony bid him undo his work and do it all over again,
which he did, without asking for a morsel of bread though he had been
seven days without eating; this was to try Paul’s obedience. Another day
when some monks came to Antony for advice, he bid Paul spill a vessel of
honey and gather it up without any dust: this was another trial of his
obedience. At other times he ordered him to draw water a whole day and
pour it out again; to make baskets and pull them to pieces; to sew and
unsew garments and the like: these were other trials of his obedience.
When Antony had thus exercised him he placed him in a cell three miles
from his own, proposed him as a model of obedience to his disciples,
sent sick persons to him, and others possessed with the devil, whom he
could not cure himself, and “under Paul,” Butler says, “they never
failed of a cure.” He died about 330.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Early Daffodil. _Narcissus Pseudonarcissus simplex._
  Dedicated to _St. Perpetua_.


~March 8.~

  _St. John_ of God, A. D. 1550. _St. Felix_, A. D. 646. _Sts.
  Apollonius_, _Philemon_, &c. A. D. 311. _St. Julian_, Abp. of Toledo,
  A. D. 690. _St. Duthak_, Bp. of Ross, A. D. 1253. _St. Rosa_, of
  Viterbo, A. D. 1261. _St. Senan_, 5th Cent. _St. Psalmod_, or
  _Saumay_, about 589.

Romish saints are like earthquakes, wherein _shocks_ crowd so fast they
cannot be noted.


_An Earthquake in London._

On the 8th of March, 1750, an earthquake shook all London. The shock was
at half past five in the morning. It awoke people from their
sleep and frightened them out of their houses. A servant maid in
Charterhouse-square, was thrown from her bed, and had her arm broken;
bells in several steeples were struck by the chime hammers; great stones
were thrown from the new spire of Westminster Abbey; dogs howled in
uncommon tones; and fish jumped half a yard above the water.

London had experienced a shock only a month before, namely, on the 8th
of February 1750, between 12 and 1 o’clock in the day. At Westminster,
the barristers were so alarmed that they imagined the hall was falling.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Everblowing Rose. _Rosa Semperflorens._
  Dedicated to _St. Rosa_ of _Viterbo_.
  Great Jonquil. _Narcissus lætus._
  Dedicated to _St. Felix_.


~March 9.~

  _St. Frances_, Widow, A. D. 1440. _St. Gregory_, of Nyssa, Bp. 4th
  Cent. _St. Pacian_, Bp. A. D. 373. _St. Catherine_, of Bologna, A. D.
  1463.


MISTS AND FALLS.

Scots’ mists, like Scots’ men, are proverbial for their penetration;
Plymouth showers for their persevering frequency. The father of Mr.
Haydon, the artist, relates that in the latter portion of 1807, and the
first three or four months of 1808, there had been more than 160
successive days in which rain, in more or less quantities, had fallen in
that neighbourhood. He adds, indeed, by way of consolation, that in
winter it only _rained_ there, while it _snowed_ elsewhere. It has been
remarked that in this opinion he might be correct; at least if he
compared the climate of Plymouth with that of the western highlands. A
party of English tourists are said to have stopped for several days at
an uncomfortable inn, near Inverary, by the unremitting rains that fall
in that country about Lammas, when one of them pettishly asked the
waiter, “Does it _rain_ here ALWAYS?” “Na! na!” replied Donald, “it
_snaws whiles_,” i. e. sometimes.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Petticoat Daffodil. _Narcissus Bulbocodium._
  Dedicated to _St. Catherine_.


~March 10.~

  _Forty Martyrs of St. Sebasti_, A. D. 320. _St. Droctovæus_, Abbot, A.
  D. 580. _St. Mackessoge._

       *       *       *       *       *

The 10th of March, 1702, is erroneously said to have been the day
whereon died sir Hugh Myddleton; a man renowned in English annals for
having abundantly supplied London with water, by conducting the New
River from Ware, in Hertfordshire, to the Clerkenwell suburb of the
metropolis.


[Illustration: ~The first View of the New River--from London.~]

This is seen immediately on coming within view of Sadler’s Wells, a
place of dramatic entertainment. After manifold windings and tunnellings
from its source, the New River passes beneath the arch in the engraving,
and forms a basin within a large walled enclosure, from whence diverging
main pipes convey the water to all parts of London. At the back of the
boy angling on the wall, is a public-house with tea-gardens and a
skittle-ground, “commonly called, or known by the name or sign of, the
sir Hugh Myddleton, or of the sir Hugh Myddleton’s head,” a portrait of
sir Hugh hangs in front of the house. To this stream, as the water
nearest London favourable to sport, anglers of inferior note repair:--

      Here “gentle anglers,” and their rods withal,
    Essaying, do the finny tribe inthrall.
    Here boys their penny lines and bloodworms throw,
    And scare, and catch, the “silly fish” below:
    Backstickles bite, and biting, up they come,
    And now a minnow, now a miller’s thumb.
      Here too, experienced youths of better taste
    And higher aim resort, who bait with paste,
    Or push beneath a gentle’s shining skin
    The barbed hook, and bury it within;
    The more he writhes the better, if he die
    Not one will touch him of the finny fry;
    If in strong agony the sufferer live,
    Then doth the “gentle angler” joy receive,
    Down bobs the float, the angler wins the prize,
    And now the gentle, now the gudgeon dies.

Concerning Sir Hugh Myddleton there will be occasion to speak again.


GLOVE OF DEFIANCE

_In the Church._

In the notice of Bernard Gilpin, March 4, (p. 332,) it is said, “another
incident further illustrating the manners of the _Northern Borderers_
will be mentioned below.” The observation refers to a _singular
challenge_, which the arrangements of that day could not include, and is
now inserted.

On a certain Sunday Mr. Gilpin going to preach in those parts wherein
_deadly feuds_ prevailed, observed a glove hanging up on high in the
church. He demanded of the sexton what it meant, and why it hung there.
The sexton answered, that it was a glove which one of the parish hung up
there as a challenge to his enemy, signifying thereby, that he was ready
to enter combat hand to hand, with him or any one else who should dare
to take the glove down. Mr. Gilpin requested the sexton to take it down.
“Not I, sir,” replied the sexton, “I dare do no such thing.” Then Mr.
Gilpin, calling for a long staff, took down the glove himself, and put
it in his bosom. By and by, when the people came to church, and Mr.
Gilpin in due time went up into the pulpit, he in his sermon reproved
the barbarous custom of challenges, and especially the custom which they
had, of making challenges by the hanging up of a glove. “I hear,” said
he, “that there is one amongst you, who, even in this sacred place, hath
hanged up a glove to this purpose, and threateneth to enter into combat
with whosoever shall take it down. Behold, I have taken it down myself.”
Then plucking out the glove, he showed it openly, and inveighing against
such practices in any man that professed himself a Christian,
endeavoured to persuade them to the practice of mutual love and charity.


THE SEASON.

The memory of man supplies no recollection of so wet a season as from
September 1824 to March 1825; it produced the _rot_ in sheep to an
alarming extent. In consequence of the animals being killed in this
disease, the mutton is unwholesome for human food, and produces
mortality even in dogs. The newspapers relate that such mutton given to
a kennel of dogs rendered them fat, till on a sudden their good looks
declined, they became lean, and gradually died, without any other cause
being assignable for the mortality, than the impure flesh of the sheep.
In such a season, therefore, families should shrink from the use of
mutton as from a pestilence. There is no security, but in entire
abstinence. Almost every hare shot during the same period had a tainted
liver. Under such circumstances _lamb_ should be sparingly used, and, if
possible, refrained from altogether, in order to secure mutton at a
reasonable price hereafter.


CHRONOLOGY.

1792. John, earl of Bute, died. He was prime minister soon after the
accession of George III.; and of all who guided the helm of state, the
most unpopular.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 10th of March, 1820, died Benjamin West, esq., president of the
Royal Academy, in the eighty-second year of his age. It was his delight
to gently lead genius in a young artist; and Mr. WILLIAM BEHNES, the
sculptor, was honoured by the venerable president with the means of
transmitting his parting looks to an admiring world, upon whom he was
soon to look no more. Mr. West’s sittings to Mr. Behnes were about two
months before his death. Expressing himself to his young friend in terms
of high satisfaction at the model, he encouraged him to persevere in
that branch of art which Mr. Behnes has since distinguished, by
admirable power of design and use of the chisel. To speak of Mr.
Behnes’s model as a mere likeness, is meagre praise of an effort which
clearly marks observation, and comprehension, of Mr. West’s great mental
powers. The bust, as it stands in marble, in sir John Leicester’s
gallery, is a perfect resemblance of Mr. West’s features, and an
eloquent memorial of his vigorous and unimpaired intellect in the last
days of earthly existence. If ever the noblest traits of humanity were
depicted by the hand of art, they are on this bust. Superiority of mind
is so decidedly marked, and blended, with primitive simplicity, and a
beaming look of humanity and benevolence, that it seems the head of an
apostle.

Mr. West was an American; he was born at Springfield, in Pennsylvania,
on the 10th of October, 1738; his ancestors and parents were “Friends:”
the family had emigrated from England with the illustrious founder and
legislator of Pennsylvania, WILLIAM PENN: of whose treaty with the
Indians for a tract of their territory, it is observed, that it was the
only christian contract unsanctioned by an oath, and the only one never
violated.[17] The first of the family who embraced Quaker principles was
colonel James West, the friend and companion in arms of the great John
Hampden.

Mr. West’s genius developed itself very early. When a child he saw an
infant smile in its sleep, and forcibly struck with its beauty, seized
pens, ink, and paper, which happened to lie by him, and endeavoured to
delineate a portrait; at this period he had never seen an engraving or a
picture. He was afterwards sent to school in the neighbourhood, and
during hours of leisure was permitted to draw with a pen and ink. It did
not occur to any of the family to provide him with better materials,
till a party of Indians being amused with little Benjamin’s sketches of
birds and flowers, taught him to prepare the red and yellow colours with
which they painted their ornaments, and his mother adding blue, by
giving him a piece of indigo, he became possessed of the three primary
colours. As he could not procure camels’ hair pencils, and did not even
know of their existence, he supplied the deficiency by cutting fur from
the end of the cat’s tail. From the frequent necessity for repeating
this depredation, his father observed the altered appearance of his
favourite, and lamented it as the effect of disease; the young artist,
with due contrition, informed his father of the true cause, and the old
gentleman was highly pleased by his son’s ingenuousness. Mr. Pennington,
a merchant of Philadelphia, struck with the genius of the child, sent
him a box of paints and pencils, with some canvass, and six engravings
by Grevling. Little West rose with the dawn of the next day, carried the
box into the garret, prepared a pallet, began to imitate the figures in
the engravings, omitted to go to school, and joined the family at
dinner, without mentioning how he had been occupied. In the afternoon he
again retired to his garret; and for several successive days thus
devoted himself to painting. The schoolmaster, however, sent to know the
reason of his absence. Mrs. West recollecting that she had seen Benjamin
going up stairs every morning, and suspecting that it was the box which
occasioned this neglect of the school, affected not to notice the
message, but went immediately to the garret, and found him employed on
the picture. If she had anger, it was changed to a different feeling by
the sight of his performance; she kissed him with transports of
affection, and assured him that she would intercede to prevent his being
punished. It seemed ever the highest pleasure of Mr. West emphatically
to declare, that it was this kiss that made him a painter.

After numerous indications of uncontrollable passion for his favourite
and only pursuit, a consultation of “Friends” was held, on the propriety
of allowing young West to indulge a taste, which the strict discipline
of the society inhibits:--

    _Genius_ has such resistless power
    That e’en the _Quaker, stern and plain_,
    Felt for the blooming _painter_ boy.

The destiny he desired was fixed. In 1760 he left Philadelphia for Rome,
pursued his studies in the capital of art, visited the galleries and
collections of Italy with an ardour that impaired his health, came
through France to London, and was about to return to America, when sir
Joshua Reynolds, and Wilson, the landscape painter, used their utmost
persuasions to detain him in this country. There was only one obstacle;
he had formed an attachment on his native soil:

    Wheree’er he turn’d, whatever realms to see,
    His heart, untravell’d, fondly turn’d

to her whom he loved. This difficulty was overcome, for the lady, Miss
Shewell, came over; they were married in London, in 1764. Thus
“settled,” in the following year Mr. West was chosen a member and one of
the directors of the Society of Artists, afterwards incorporated with
the Royal Academy, which he assisted in forming, and over which he
afterwards presided till his death.

As an artist his works in the various collections and edifices
throughout England exhibit his talents, but above all “West’s Gallery,”
now open in Newman-street for public inspection, is an assemblage of
testimonials to the justice of his fame among his adopted countrymen.
His talent germinated on the shores of the Atlantic, but with us it
flourished. America at that period was not sufficiently advanced to
cultivate his genius: now that she has risen in commerce and the arts,
and taken her stand among the nations, she will retain her future Wests
to adorn her greatness. May the people of England and America contend
with each other no more but in works of peace and good will; and may the
interchange of talented individuals from each, contribute to the
prosperity and moral grandeur of both countries!

As a man, Mr. West’s characteristics were kindness and warmth of heart.
From accordant feelings, he painted with delight and energy some of the
most affecting incidents in the New Testament history. His “Christ
healing the sick” will be remembered by all who saw it, with reverend
solemnity. In his “Christ Rejected,” the various bad passions in the
malignant spectators and abettors of the outrage; the patient suffering
of the great and all-enduring character; the sympathizing feelings of
his adherents; and the general accessories, are great lineaments of the
designer’s power. His “Death on the Pale Horse,” and more especially the
sketch for that painting, express masterly thought and conception. These
are Mr. West’s “large” pictures. Some of his smaller ones and his
sketches, the beholder studies and lingers over till his limbs and body
tire; and he leaves the large assemblage of paintings in “West’s
Gallery” with a conviction, that no artist has yet fully occupied his
place. Perhaps there is only _one_ who would have designed the “Death on
the Pale Horse” more effectively, and _he_ would have had no
compeer--Mr. Fuseli; whose compositions are of a higher order than those
of any other in this country, and will be duly estimated when the price
set upon his works cannot be useful to their author. No one is valued
till he is dead; after the last sigh has sobbed from the body, comes the
time for some to suspect that they had inflicted pangs upon its
infirmity when living, and a desire to know more of a man, the rufflings
of whose dying pillow the breath of their friendship might have
smoothed, and whom, to the extent of their comprehension they might have
known, if their little feelings, in a state too easy, had not excluded
him from their society.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Upright Chickweed. _Veronica triphyllos._
  Dedicated to _St. Droctavæus_.

  [17] Voltaire’s Philosophical Dictionary, London edit. vol. v. p. 367.


~March 11.~

  _St. Eulogius_ of Cordova, A. D. 859. _St. Sophronius_, Patriarch of
  Jerusalem, A. D. 640. _St. Ængus_, Bishop, A. D. 824. _St.
  Constantine_, 6th Cent.


CHRONOLOGY.

1752. Papers were affixed in the avenues to both houses of parliament,
giving notice that the farmers and their servants intended to destroy
the pheasant and partridge eggs, and leverets, if the country gentlemen,
who had entered into an association for the preservation of game, did
not desist. There were sad hearts at this time between the owners and
occupiers of land, from the obnoxiousness of the game laws, and the
severity of their execution.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cornish Heath. _Erica vaguus._
  Dedicated to _St. Eulogius_.


~March 12.~

  _St. Gregory the Great._ _St. Maximilian_, A. D. 296. _St. Paul_,
  Bishop of Leon, about 573.


_St. Gregory the Great._

He was prætor of Rome in 574, under the emperor Justin; next year he
became a monk, and by fasting and study so weakened his stomach, that he
swooned if he did not frequently eat. “What gave him the greatest
affliction,” says Butler, “was, his not being able to fast on an
Easter-eve; a day on which, says St. John the deacon, ‘every one, not
even excepting little children are used to fast;’ whereupon, by praying
that he might be enabled to fast, he not only fasted, but quite forgot
his illness.” He determined to come to Britain to propagate the faith;
but the whole city rose in an uproar to prevent his departure, and the
pope constrained him to remain. Pope Pelagius II. sent him as nuncio to
Constantinople, where Eutychius fell into an error, importing that after
the resurrection glorified bodies would not be palpable, but of a more
subtile texture than air. Whereupon, says Butler, St. Gregory was
alarmed, and clearly demonstrated that their bodies would be the same
which they had on earth, and Eutychius retracted his error: on his
return to Rome he took with him an arm of St. Andrew, and the head of
St. Luke. Pelagius made him his secretary, and after his death was
elected pope himself. To escape from the danger of this elevation, he
got himself carried out of Rome in a wicker basket, and lay concealed in
woods and caverns for three days. He was afterwards consecrated with
great pomp, and on that occasion sent a synodal epistle to the other
patriarchs, wherein he declared that “he received the four councils as
the four gospels.” Butler says, he extended his charity to the heretics,
and “to the very Jews,” yet he afterwards adds, that in Africa “he
extirpated the Donatists.” He subscribed himself in his letters,
“Servant of the Servants of God.” He sent to the empress Constantina a
veil which had touched the relics of the apostles, and assured her that
miracles had been wrought by such relics, and promised her some
dust-filings of the chains of St. Paul. He sent St. Austin and other
monks to convert the English. (See February 24, _St. Ethelbert_.) He
died on the 25th of January, 604.[18] His devotion to the church was
constant; he was learned, enterprising, sincere, and credulous, and, for
the times wherein he lived, charitable, and merciful. It should be
observed, that he was the author of the church-singing called the
Gregorian chaunt.

Many miracles are related of St. Gregory, as that going to bless a
church in honour of St. Agnes, which had been used by the Arians, he
caused the relics to be placed on the altar, whereon a hog went grunting
out of the church with a fearful noise; whence it was averred that the
devil, who had been served in it by the heretic Arians, was driven out
by the relics. Sometimes the lamps were miraculously lighted. One day a
bright cloud descended on the altar, with a heavenly odour, so that from
reverence no one dared to enter the church. At another time, when
Gregory was transubstantiating the wafers a woman laughed; he asked her
why she laughed? to which at length she answered, “because you call the
bread which I made with my own hands the body of our Lord;” whereupon he
prayed, and the consecrated bread appeared flesh to every one present;
and the woman was converted, and the rest were confirmed. At another
time, some ambassadors coming to Rome for relics, Gregory took a linen
cloth which had been applied to the body of a saint, and enclosing it in
a box gave it to them. While on their journey home they were curious to
see the contents of the box: and finding nothing within it but the
cloth, returned to St. Gregory complaining that he had deceived them. On
this he took the cloth, laid it on the altar, prayed, pricked it with a
knife, the cloth shed blood, and the astonished ambassadors reverently
took back the box. Another time one who had been excommunicated by St.
Gregory for having put away his lawful wife, bargained with certain
sorcerers and witches for revenge; who, when the holy pope rode through
the city, sent the devil into his horse, and made him caper, so that he
could not be held; then with the sign of the cross the pope cast out the
devil, and the witches by miracle becoming blind were converted, and St.
Gregory baptized them; yet he would not restore their sight, lest they
should read their magical books again, but maintained them out of the
church rents. After his death there was a famine in Rome, and the people
being falsely persuaded that St. Gregory had wasted the church property,
gathered his writings to burn them; wherefore Peter, the deacon, who had
been intimate with Gregory, affirmed, that “he had often seen the Holy
Ghost, in form of a dove upon St. Gregory’s head whilst he was writing,
and that it would be an insufferable affront to burn those books, which
had been written by his inspiration;” and to assure them of this he
offered to confirm it by oath, but stipulated that if he died
immediately after he had taken the oath, they should believe that he had
told them the truth: this being assented to, he took the oath, and
thereupon died, and the people believed; and “hence the painters came to
represent St. Gregory, with a dove at his ear, to signify that the Holy
Ghost inspired and dictated what he writ.”[19]

It is also a legend concerning St. Gregory, that when he fled from Rome
to avoid the dignity of popedom and lay hid, a bright pillar of fire
descending from heaven, glittered above his head, and angels appeared
descending and ascending by the same fiery pillar upon him, wherefore
he was “miraculously betrayed.”[20]

After St. Gregory’s death there was a hermit, who had left all his
goods, and left the world, and kept nothing but his cat, and this cat he
used to play with, and hold in his lap tenderly: one day he prayed that
it might be revealed to him, to the joy of what saint he should
hereafter come; then St. Gregory was revealed to him, and that he should
come to his joy; wherefore the hermit sighed, and disliked his poverty,
because St. Gregory had possessed so much earthly riches: and in
revelation it was commanded him to be quiet, because he had more
pleasure in stroking and playing with his cat, than St. Gregory had in
all his riches. Then the hermit prayed that he might have the like merit
and reward with St. Gregory; and in this story, lieth great moral.


DOMESTIC MEDICINE.

Although this is not a family receipt-book, yet a prescription is
extracted from the “Yea and Nay Almanack for 1678,” because the remedy
has been tried and approved.


_For the Eyes._

In the morning as soon as you rise, instead of fasting spittle, or a
cat’s tail, rub your eyes with a hundred broad pieces of your own gold;
and I tell thee friend, it will not only do thy eyes good, but thy purse
also.


CHRONOLOGY.

1689. King James II. landed at Kinsale in Ireland, with an army he
brought from France, to assist in the recovery of the throne he had
abdicated. He afterwards made a public entry into Dublin, and besieged
Londonderry, which vigorously defended itself under the rev. George
Walker, and suffered dreadful privations till it was relieved, and the
siege abandoned. He then held a parliament in Dublin, coined base money,
and committed various outrages, till William III. signally defeated him
at the battle of the Boyne, and compelled him to fly to France.


SOCIETY FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF LITERATURE.

Among the proposals in 1825, a year prolific of projects, there is one
for a Joint Stock Company or _Society for the Encouragement of
Literature_; the capital to be £100,000. in shares of £25. to be
increased, if advisable; shareholders to be allowed to subscribe at par;
each shareholder to be entitled to a copy of every work published by the
society, at two-thirds of the publication price; interest 5 per cent.,
to be paid half yearly on the instalments subscribed; a deposit of £1.
per share to be paid on subscribing, the remainder by instalments as the
extension of the society’s concerns may demand; of the profits
one-fourth to form a fund for the benefit of authors, at the discretion
of the society; two-fourths to be divided among the proprietors
annually; the remaining one-fourth to accumulate into a perpetual
triennial fund, to meet unforeseen expenditure, the possibility of loss,
&c. &c. &c. There is not one word about the _Encouragement of
Literature_ beyond the title. This absence is the most intelligible part
of the proposals.

There was a _Society for the Encouragement of Learning_, established in
May, 1736. The duke of Richmond was president, sir Hugh Smithson,
(afterwards duke of Northumberland,) and sir Thomas Robinson, bart.,
were vice-presidents. The trustees were the earl of Hertford, earl of
Abercorn, Harley, earl of Oxford, earl Stanhope, lord Percival, Dr.
Mead, Dr. Birch, Paul Whitehead, Ward, the professor at Gresham college,
Sale, the translator of the Koran, and other really eminent men;
Alexander Gordon, the author of “Iter Septentrionale,” a “History of
Amphitheatres,” and other learned and antiquarian works, was their
secretary. In the December of the same year Gordon wrote a letter to Dr.
Richardson, master of Emanuel college Cambridge, soliciting his
interference with Dr. Conyers Middleton, to obtain for the society the
publication of the life of Cicero. “They have already entirely paved the
way for the reception of authors,” says Gordon; “appointed booksellers
for their service; settled the regulations concerning printers, and the
printing part;” and, “in fine _nothing is wanting but to set out with
some author of genius and note_.” Dr. Middleton chose to publish his
life of Cicero with a bookseller, notwithstanding an army of really
great names had made all those arrangements, and courted him to their
encouragement. In the outset of this society Mr. Clarke in a letter to
Mr. Bowyer expressed his conviction, that “it must be at last a
downright _trading_ society,” and said “I hope you will take care to be
one of their printers, for there will certainly be a society for
encouraging _printing_.” Mr. Bowyer took the hint, and printed for them.
The security was good, because each member of such a society is
answerable individually for its debts. At the end of three years “Dr.
Birch, as treasurer to the society, handed over to Mr. Stephen le Bas,
his successor in office, the astonishing balance of 59_l._ 3_s._ 9½_d._
During that period the society had printed only four books; and then,
deeming the assistance of booksellers necessary, they entered into a
contract for three years with A. Millar, J. Gray, and J. Nourse;
afterwards they contracted with six other booksellers, whose profits
they retrenched: then they became their own booksellers; then they once
more had recourse to three other booksellers; and finally, finding their
finances almost exhausted, they laid before the public a memorial of the
Present State of Affairs of the Society, April 17, 1748,” whereby it
appeared that they had incurred so considerable a debt they could
proceed no further.[21]

Less than fifty years ago another society existed, under the very title
of the Joint Stock Society proposed in 1825. Mr. Tyson, in a letter of
June 21, 1779, to his friend Mr. Gough, the antiquary, mentions that a
bequest of £5. was “left at the disposal of the _Society for the
Encouragement of Literature_.”[22] If the literature of the present day
owes its existence to that society, its offspring is most ungrateful;
the foster-parent is not even remembered, nor is the time of its birth
or death recorded in any public register. That it survived the bequest
alluded to, only a very short period, appears certain; for in the very
next year, 1780, Dr. Lettsom issued “Hints for establishing a Society
for promoting useful Literature.” The doctor, a most benevolent man, and
a good physician, dispensed much charity in private as well as in
public, and patronized almost every humane institution for the relief
and cure of human infirmity; and hence his eye was as microscopic in
discernment, as his hand was experimental in the healing of griefs.
Literature seems to have been to him as a gentle river that he rilled
into, and which he thought could be diverted, or regulated by new
channels and sluices; he appeared not to know, that it is an ocean of
mighty waters, with countless currents and varying tides. He proposed
largesses to indigent writers, and their widows and orphans, and
“honorary rewards” to successful ones. Robertson, Bryant, Melmoth,
Johnson, Gibbon, and many other “useful and accomplished writers,” were
to have had the “honorary rewards” of the encouraging society. Such
honours, such a society was to have forced on such men! The doctor’s
“hints” were not adopted, except that to relieve the casualties of minor
literary men, and their dependents, there now exists the _Literary
Fund_.

In the records of former days there is mention of a project for
extracting, bottling, and preserving sunbeams from cucumbers, for use at
that season when sunbeams are rare, and cucumbers not at all. The
projector seems to have inferred, that as cucumbers derived their virtue
from sunbeams, it would be virtuous in cucumbers to return the deposit.
Whatever virtue cucumbers had, it would not be forced. Experiment,
doubtless, disappointed hope; the promising project absorbed the capital
advanced, as completely as the cholicky vegetables tenaciously retained
the solar rays; and the deposit never found its way to the shareholders.

Any _Society for the Encouragement of Literature_, save one, is a
fallacy--that one is society itself. All interposition in its behalf is
feeble and doting interference. A public Joint Stock Company can neither
create literary talent, nor by divided efforts obtain so much; nor with
capital, however great, reward it so well, as the undivided interest,
industry, and unshared purse of the private publisher.

If a _Society for the Encouragement of Literature_ be instituted, when
more institution is threatened, and less institution is necessary, than
at any former period, such society will be a hot-bed for the cultivation
of little more than hopeful weeds. A few literary _shoots_ may be set in
warm borders, and drawn up under frames, to look handsome, but they will
not bear transplanting to open ground. Their produce will be premature,
of inferior quality, and not repay the trouble and expense of rearing.
If left unsheltered, the first chill will kill them. Weak _suckers_,
however well favoured, will never come to trees.

The monarch of the forest, in natural solitude, drinking sunshine and
dews, uninterrupted and untainted by human encroachments, and striking
deep root beneath virgin earth, attains, in fulness of time, to majestic
growth. In like manner the silent spirit of man, seeking peace in
solitary imaginings, penetrating below the foundations of human
knowledge, and generalizing and embodying the objects of sight and
feeling, arrives to a grandeur astonishing to men’s eyes, because not
the work of men’s hands. This self-created power, is denominated Genius.
In an incipient state it evaporates beneath the meddling touch, and at
maturity soars above its reach. Talent is ungovernable. It directs
itself, appoints its own trustees for uses, and draws drafts upon the
public which are honoured at sight. The demand for talent is greater
than the supply.

What is to be _done_?--nothing. What _can_ be done?--nothing. Literature
must be let alone. Under bounties and drawbacks, it becomes tortuous and
illicit.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Channelled Ixia. _Ixia Bulbocodium._
  Dedicated to _St. Gregory_.

  [18] Butler’s Saints.

  [19] Ribadeneira’s Saints.

  [20] Porter’s Flowers.

  [21] Nichols’s Anecdotes.

  [22] Ibid.


~March 13.~

  _St. Nicephorus_, Patriarch of Constantinople, A. D. 828. _St.
  Euphrasia_, A. D. 410. _St. Theophanes_, Abbot, A. D. 818. _St.
  Kennocha_, A. D. 1007. _St. Gerald_, Bishop, A. D. 732. _St.
  Mochoemoc_, in Latin, _Pulcherius_, Abbot, A. D. 655.


~Mid-Lent Sunday.~

[Illustration: ~Winter and Spring allegorized--a Sport.~]

  Mothering Sunday.--Refreshment Sunday.--Rose Sunday.

This is the fourth Sunday in Lent, and noted as a holiday in the church
of England calendar.

On this day boys went about, in ancient times, into the villages with a
figure of death made of straw; from whence they were generally driven by
the country people; who disliked it as an ominous appearance, while
some gave them money to get the mawkin carried off. Its precise meaning
under that form is doubtful, though it seems likely to have purported
the death of Winter, and to have been only a part of another ceremony
conducted by a larger body of boys, from whom the death-carriers were a
detachment, and who consisted of a large assemblage carrying two figures
to represent Spring and Winter, whereof one was called “Sommer tout”--

    Apparelde all in greene, and drest in youthful fine arraye;
    The other Winter, cladde in mosse, with heare all hoare and
         graye.[23]

These two figures they bore about, and fought; in the fight Summer, or
Spring, got the victory over Winter, and thus was allegorized the
departure or burial of the death of the year, and its commencement or
revival as Spring. The custom described on March the 6th, (p. 339,) was
only a variation of the present, wherein also the boys carried about
cracknels or cakes:--

    Thus children also beare, with speares, their cracknelles round
         about.[24]

It is still a custom on Mid-Lent Sunday in many parts of England, for
servants and apprentices to carry cakes or some nice eatables or
trinkets, as presents to their parents; and in other parts, to visit
their mother for a meal of furmity, or to receive cakes from her with
her blessing. This is called going _a mothering_.[25] Herrick mentions
this custom in Gloucestershire:

    I’le to thee a simnell bring
    ’Gainst thou go’st _a mothering_,
    So that when she blesseth thee
    Half that blessing thoul’t give me.

Going _a mothering_ is from the Roman catholic custom of going to the
_mother_-church on Mid-Lent Sunday, to make offerings at the high altar;
and that custom of the Romish Church is derived from the _Hilaria_, a
heathen festival celebrated by the ancient Romans, in honour of the
Mother of the Gods on the ides of March.[26] The offerings at the altars
were in their origin voluntary, and became church property. At length
the parish priests compounded with the church at a certain sum, and
these voluntary donations of the people have become the dues known by
the name of _Easter Offerings_.

_Mid-Lent_, or _Mothering Sunday_ is likewise called _Refreshment
Sunday_, “the reason of which,” says Wheatly, (on the Common Prayer) “I
suppose is the Gospel for that day, which treats of our Saviour’s
miraculously feeding five thousand; or else, perhaps, from the first
lesson in the morning, which gives us the story of Joseph entertaining
his brethren.” It is also denominated _Rose Sunday_, from the pope on
this day carrying a golden rose in his hand, which he exhibits on his
way to and from mass.[27]

On this day at Seville there is an usage evidently the remains of an old
custom. Children of all ranks, poor and gentle, appear in the streets
fantastically dressed, somewhat like English chimney-sweepers on
May-day, with caps of gilt and  paper, and coats made of the
crusade bulls of the preceding year. During the whole day they make an
incessant din with drums and rattles, and cry “Saw down the old woman.”
At midnight, parties of the commonalty parade the streets, knock at
every door, repeat the same cries, and conclude by sawing in two the
figure of an old woman representing Lent. This division is emblematical
of Mid-Lent.[28]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Heartsease. _Viola Tricolor._
  Dedicated to _St. Euphrasia_.

  [23] Gouge’s Naogeorgus.

  [24] Ibid.

  [25] Gentleman’s Magazine.

  [26] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

  [27] Shepherd, on Common Prayer.

  [28] Doblado’s Letters.


~March 14.~

  _St. Maud_, or _Mathildis_, Queen, A. D. 968. _Sts. Acepsimas_,
  Bishop, _Joseph_, and _Aithilahas_, A. D. 380. _St. Boniface_, Bishop
  of Ross, about 630.


CHRONOLOGY.

1733. The Excise scheme was first moved in the House of Commons, by
resolutions, which were powerfully resisted, but on the 16th finally
carried, and the Excise bill brought in. On the 4th of April the bill
was read a first time, and carried by a majority of 36; the majority
being 230, the minority 200. There were petitions against it from every
trading town of the kingdom, and great tumults in London; the obnoxious
members were attacked on their way to parliament. The measure was so
unpopular that it was for that time dropped, whereon public feeling was
manifested by general illuminations, and other rejoicings.

1757. Admiral John Byng, second son of lord viscount Torrington, was
shot at Portsmouth, under the sentence of a court martial, for not
having done his duty in an action between the British and French fleets
on the 20th of May preceding. After he had made his defence, and
conducted himself throughout the trial with coolness and courage, he was
so sure of acquittal, that he ordered his coach to be in waiting to
convey him to London. He suffered on board the Monarque with undaunted
firmness, walking out of the cabin with unchanged countenance to the
quarter-deck, where the marines were stationed to execute the sentence.
He desired to die with his eyes uncovered; but on its being represented
that his intrepid looks might intimidate the soldiers, and frustrate
their aim, he tied a handkerchief over his eyes, and then dropping
another, five musket balls passed through his body, and he fell dead
instantly. An historian of the day says of him, that “Whatever his
errors and indiscretions might have been, he seemed to have been rashly
condemned, meanly given up, and cruelly sacrificed to vile
considerations.” It is believed that popular fury had been excited
against him by various arts, and especially by the suppression of
important passages in his official despatches. He delivered a paper to
the marshal of the admiralty on the morning of his death, wherein he
expressed his conviction, that he should hereafter be regarded as a
victim to divert the indignation and resentment of an injured and
deluded people from the proper objects, and that his very enemies
believed him innocent.

1797. Courtney Melmoth died at Bath, aged 89 years; he translated part
of “Cicero’s Works,” and “Pliny’s Epistles,” and wrote “Fitzosborne’s
Letters,” and the “Memoirs of a late eminent Advocate;” his father was
the author of “The great Importance of a Religious Life.”

1803. Frederick Klopstock, a German writer, author of the “Messiah” and
other works, chiefly poetical, died at Hamburgh, aged 80. His funeral
was a public one, and conducted with a marked solemnity, denoting
affectionate respect for his talents and character.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Mountain Soldanel. _Soldanella Alpina._
  Dedicated to _St. Maud._


~March 15.~

  _St. Abraham_, Hermit, and his niece, _St. Mary_, 4th Cent. _St.
  Zachary_, Pope, A. D. 752.


CHRONOLOGY.

Forty-four years before Christ, Julius Cæsar was assassinated by Brutus
and his associates in the senate-house of Rome, in the 56th year of his
age. He is said to have conquered three hundred nations, taken eight
hundred cities, defeated three hundred millions of men, and slain one
hundred millions on the field of battle. He was learned himself, and an
encourager of learning and the arts. He wrote the “Commentaries on the
wars of Gaul,” a book which bears his name, and which would have been
lost in the bay of Alexandria, if he had not swam from his ship with his
book in one hand, and his arms in the other. His ruling passion was
ambition, yet he was a slave to sensuality; with talents that might have
made him the protector of Roman liberty he destroyed it.

1784. Dr. Thomas Franklin, translator of Sophocles, Phalaris, and
Lucian, died. He was born about 1720, and wrote two tragedies, the “Earl
of Warwick” and “Matilda.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Coltsfoot. _Tussilago Farfala._
  Dedicated to _St. Zachery_.
  Lasting Mercury. _Mercurialis perennis._
  Dedicated to _St. Abraham_.


~March 16.~

  _St. Julian_, of Cilicia. _St. Finian_, surnamed _Lobhar_, or the
  Leper.


_St. Finian._

He was descended from Alild, king of Munster, built the abbey of
Innis-Fallen in an island on the lake of Loughlane, county of Kerry;
another at Ardfinnan, in Tipperary; and a third at Cluin-more Madoc, in
Leinster, where he was buried.[29]

It is related of St. Finian, that he visited St. Ruadanus, who had a
miraculous tree in his cell, dropping a liquor so peculiar, into a
vessel from nine o’clock to sun-set, that it sufficed to dine him and
all his brotherhood every day. St. Finian’s visit was to persuade St.
Ruadanus to live like other people; therefore, when St. Finian came to
the tree, he signed it with the sign of the cross, by virtue of which
the liquor ceased to flow after nine o’clock. This was in the absence of
Ruadanus, who being informed on his return, that St. Finian and others
had come to see him, he ordered his servant to prepare the miraculous
water dinner as usual; the servant surprised to find the vessel empty,
told his master, who bade him to fill it with common water from a
fountain, which he had no sooner done, than the water was changed into
the liquor that flowed from the tree. St. Ruadanus ordered the man to
carry it to St. Finian, who making a cross over the liquor, changed it
back to water, and said why is this liquor of a false name given to me?
St. Finian’s companions urged him to go and cross the fountain as he had
crossed the tree; but Finian answered, it would only grieve Ruadanus,
who would go to the next bog, and change the water there into the same
liquor. In the end, St. Finian and his companions persuaded St. Ruadanus
not to work any more miracles, but to live as others did, whereunto he
yielded. Thus St. Finian having out-miracled the miracle of St.
Ruadanus, and stopped him from working the same miracle again, departed
with his companions.[30]


CHRONOLOGY.

1723. March 16, a royal proclamation was issued for a thanksgiving for
our preservation from the plague.

[It has been lately proved that the plague is not contagious. Dr.
Maclean is understood to have established the fact to the satisfaction
of government, and it is in contemplation to repeal the present laws of
_quarantine_.]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Nodding Daffodil. _Narcissus nutans._
  Dedicated to St. Julian.

  [29] Butler’s Saints.

  [30] Patrick’s Devotions.


~March 17.~

  _St. Patrick._ _St. Joseph_, of Arimathea. _St. Gertrude_, Abbess, A.
  D. 626.


ST. PATRICK,

_Apostle of Ireland_.

St. Patrick was born towards the end of the fourth century, in
Killpatrick, between Dunbriton and Glasgow. At sixteen he was carried
off with many of his father’s vassals into slavery, and compelled for
six months to keep cattle on the mountains in Ireland, from whence he
escaped through the humanity of some sailors. He travelled into Gaul and
Italy, and received his apostolical mission to convert the Irish, from
pope Celestine, who died in 432. Determined on attempting the
conversion of the people, he penetrated to the remotest corners of
Ireland, baptized multitudes, ordained clergy to preside over them,
instituted monks, gave alms to the poor of the provinces, made presents
to the kings, educated children to serve at the altar, held councils,
founded monasteries, restored health to the sick, sight to the blind,
raised dead persons to life, continued his missions during forty years,
and died at Down in Ulster, where he was buried. Such, in brief, is
Alban Butler’s account, who assigns the year 464, for a period wherein
he lived.

Ribadeneira affirms it, as a most famous miracle, and well known to the
whole world, that St. Patrick did so free Ireland of all venomous
beasts, that none could ever since breed or live there, and that even
the very wood has a virtue against poison, “so that it is reported of
king’s college, Cambridge, that being built of Irish wood, no spider
doth ever come near it.”

Jocelin, a Cistercian monk of Furnes in the twelfth century, wrote “The
Life and Acts of St. Patrick,” wherein he relates many extraordinary
particulars, of which the few that follow are specimens: St. Patrick
when a child in winter time brought home some pieces of ice, his nurse
told him he had better have brought home wood, whereupon he heaped
together the ice, and prayed, and the ice immediately became a bonfire.
After this his foster-father died, and to relieve his nurse’s distress,
St. Patrick prayed, signed him with the sign of the cross, and so
restored him to life. Then by the same sign he freed a cow from an evil
spirit; recovered five cows she had wounded; and, by the same means,
when his nurse was ill and longed for honey, he “immediately changed
water into the best honey.” At another time, when she was commanded to
clean out some filthy stables, St. Patrick prayed, and they were cleaned
without hands. Then St. Patrick himself was carried into slavery, and
sold for a kettle; but the kettle being placed on the fire, the hotter
the fire burned, the colder became the kettle; whereupon the seller of
St. Patrick returned the kettle, took St. Patrick back, and the vessel
was restored to its wonted power of boiling. St. Patrick desiring to eat
meat, obtained some pork, and having concealed it for a convenient
season, presently he saw a man with eyes before and eyes behind, and
asked him why he was so formed; the seer answered, “I am the servant of
God; with the eyes in my forehead I see things open to view, with my
eyes behind I see a monk hiding flesh meat in a vessel to satisfy his
appetite privately.” Then the seer vanished. St. Patrick repented,
prayed for pardon, besought for a sign that he had it, was told by an
angel to put the pork into water, did as the angel bid him, and the pork
“immediately became fishes.” Having journeyed into Britain, he saw a
leper whom mariners would not carry in their ship, whereon St. Patrick
took a stone altar consecrated by the pope, cast it into the sea, caused
the leper to sit on it, and the leper immediately set sail on the stone,
kept company with the ship all the voyage, and got into port with her at
the same time. St. Patrick, returning to Ireland, on approaching the
shore, saw a multitude of devils in the form of a globe surrounding the
whole island, when he “raised his sacred right hand, made the sign of
the cross, and, unhurt and unterrified, passed he over.” Some fishermen
in the county of Leinster, drawing their nets from a river loaded with
fish, St. Patrick asked them for some; they refused him; he cursed them,
and the river; and from that day the river never produced fish. Once
when the chief king of Ireland ordered his subjects to prevent St.
Patrick from landing, they set a fierce dog at him, whereupon the dog
stiffened like a stone; then a gigantic man brandished his sword at the
saint, the man stiffened likewise, but repented, and St. Patrick
unstiffened him, and baptized him. An old man, would not believe St.
Patrick’s preaching. St. Patrick asked him whether he would be persuaded
by a miracle; the old man said he would, then St. Patrick prayed, laid
his hand on him, “and immediately the old man became beautiful and
young, and flourished again, as in his early youth,” and was so made to
believe. Having converted Mochna, a virtuous swineherd, while they were
conversing together, a staff from heaven fell between them, which St.
Patrick gave to Mochna for a pastoral staff, consecrated him bishop of
Edrum, “and the staff is in that church still preserved, and called the
_flying staff_.”

St. Patrick’s nephew, St. Lumanus, being desirous of taking a journey by
sea when wind and tide were against him, he hoisted the sails, trusted
in the merits of St. Patrick, and, “O, miracle till then unheard and
unknown! the ship, without any pilot, sailed against wind and stream,”
and he made a prosperous voyage. At another time, St. Patrick seeing a
hundred men unable to stir a large stone, he, alone, raised it up, and
placed it where it was wanted. He was accustomed to stop and erect a
cross at the head-stone of every christian who was buried outside of a
burial-place; one day, coming to the graves of two men newly buried, and
observing that one of the graves only had a cross over it, he stopped
his chariot, and speaking to the dead man below, asked him what religion
he had been, the dead man answered a pagan, St. Patrick inquired why
then a cross was put over _him_, the dead pagan replied, he who is
buried near me was a christian, and one of your faith coming hither
placed the cross at _my_ head; the saint stepped out of his chariot,
rectified the mistake, and went his way. One Foylge, an idolator,
strangled the driver of St. Patrick’s chariot, in his seat, wherefore
the saint cast his “holy curse” at Foylge, who pierced thereby, fell
dead into hell; but the devil entering the dead body, walked about in
it, and seemed as if he were Foylge himself, till one day St. Patrick
called at the dead man’s house, and asking the family where Foylge was,
they answered he was at home, when the saint told them of Foylge’s
death, and that Satan “had entered into his corpse and occupied it as
his own proper vessel,” then St. Patrick gave notice to the devil to
leave his lodging in Foylge’s body, which he did immediately, and Foylge
was buried. Preaching on a journey to 14,000 men, “he first fed them all
with spiritual food,” then commanding a cow to be killed, with two
stags, and a couple of boars, the people ate abundantly, the remnants
were gathered up; and “thus with the flesh of five animals, did St.
Patrick plenteously feed 14,000 men.” Once when he was preaching, by way
of a strong argument, he raised to life nineteen dead men, one of whom
had been buried for ten years. After that, St. Patrick passing over a
river one of his teeth dropped into the water, and his disciples could
not find it till night, when the tooth in the river shone as a radiant
star, and being so discovered was brought to St. Patrick, who on that
spot built a church, and deposited his tooth beneath the altar. Desiring
to pass an impassable river, and no boat being at hand, St. Patrick
prayed, and dividing the river, made himself and followers a free
passage, then “he blessed the river, and being so blessed, it abounded
in fishes above all others.” St. Mel being denounced unjustly to St.
Patrick, and preferring to prove his innocence by a miracle rather than
by an oath, he ploughed up the earth on a certain hill, and took by the
ploughshare many and large fishes out of the dry land; thereupon St.
Patrick absolved him, but lest St. Mel should continue to work miracles
presumptuously, “he bade him that he should thenceforth plough on the
land, and fish in the water.” St. Patrick had a goat, a thief stole it,
and ate it, and when accused, denied it; but the goat bleating in the
stomach of the thief, proclaimed the merit of St. Patrick; and, to
increase the miracle, by the sentence of the saint, all the posterity of
the man were marked with the beard of a goat. St. Patrick having labored
to convert a tyrant, who laughed him to scorn, he immediately converted
the tyrant, against his will, into a fox; which fox went off with a hard
run, and could never be found. Another time being benighted in the open
air, violent rain fell around St. Patrick and his companions, but did
not wet them a drop. On the same night, the driver of his chariot could
not for the darkness find the horses to re-yoke them, on which St.
Patrick, drawing his right hand from his sleeve, and lifting up his
fingers, they “shone even as sun-beams, and wonderfully illumining the
whole country, turned darkness into light, and night into day--then by
the aid of the radiant miracle, the chariot-driver found his steed.”
After the death of St. Patrick, there was no night for twelve days.

These are some of the miracles attributed to St. Patrick by Jocelin,
whose life of him published in “Dublin, Printed for the Hibernia Press
Company, By James Blyth,” is sold in London by Messrs. Keating and
Brown, Catholic Printers and Publishers, No. 38, Duke-street,
Grosvenor-square, in one volume 12mo. containing 264 pages, price 2_s._
6_d._ in boards.

       *       *       *       *       *

To what extent Catholics believe such miracles, as have been just
related is unknown to a Protestant; but the publication of Jocelin’s
works by catholic booksellers in a cheap form, seems to signify that it
it held in repute by Catholics in a humble rank of life. To what extent
the catholic clergy have instructed this class of their flocks, or
rather to what extent they design to instruct them, is also unknown to a
Protestant; but should the higher classes of catholics enjoy the civil
rights, which the most wise and enlightened of their Protestant
fellow-subjects deplore they do not possess, and most anxiously desire
they should possess, it is not too much to hope that it will become the
anxious wish, as it is the positive duty of the catholic clergy to
inform the ignorant of their community. An union between the church of
England, or any other protestant church, and the church of Rome, never
can take place; but protestant churchmen, and Protestants of all
denominations, can and will unite with Catholics, if Catholics can and
will unite with them, to enlighten the Egyptian darkness, which ensures
the mind worse than Egyptian bondage. The education of helpless infancy,
and the fixation of just principles in youth, form the best security
against criminal manhood. In this, surely, both Protestants and
Catholics will concur, and their earnest cooperation to obtain this
security will be a firm pledge that each desires the welfare of each.
The marked separation of churches and doctrines cannot much longer
separate man from man. In the bigotted and selfish interests that dam
the social affections, there are incurable and daily widening breaches:
the issues alternate and vary, but the first high tide of mutual
kindness will burst the restrictions, and sweep them away for ever.


~St. Patrick’s Day.~

This being the anniversary of the day whereon St. Patrick died, it is
commemorated as a high festival in the catholic church; and it is
celebrated to his honour in that country, with every demonstration of
affection for his memory as the apostle and patron saint of Ireland,
that a warm-hearted, enthusiastic, joyous people, can possibly express.
An eye-witness represents to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ that St.
Patrick’s day in Dublin is a scene of festivity and mirth unequalled by
any thing observable in this country. From the highest to the lowest,
all hearts seem inspired by the saint’s beneficence. At day-break flags
fly on the steeples, and the bells ring out incessant peals till
midnight. The rich bestow their benevolence on the poor, and the poor
bestow their blessings on the rich, and on each other, and on the
blessed St. Patrick. The “green immortal” shamrock is in every hat.
Sports of manly exercise exhibit the capabilities of the celebrated
“shillelah,” and before night many a head gives token of the application
of its wonderful powers, by a muscular hand. Priestly care soothes
querulousness; laughter drowns casualty; innumerable bright-eyed,
rosy-cheeked, jaunty lasses dance with their mirth-loving lads; old
women run about with children in the hoods of their cloaks, to publicly
share care-drowning cups of sweet consolation with each other; and by
the voice of wit, humour, and frolic, this miraculous day is prolonged
till after the morning dawn.

A popular song on this festal occasion contains these verses:

    Saint Patrick’s, the holy and tutelar man;
    His beard down his bosom like Aaron’s ran:
    Some from Scotland, from Wales, will declare that he came,
    But I care not from whence now he’s risen to fame:--
    The pride of the world and his enemies scorning,
    I will drink to St. Patrick, to-day, in the morning!

    He’s a desperate big, little Erin go brah;
    He will pardon our follies and promise us joy.
    By the mass, by the Pope, by St. Patrick, so long
    As I live, I will give him a beautiful song!
    No saint is so good, Ireland’s country adorning;
    Then hail to St. Patrick, to-day, in the morning!

       *       *       *       *       *

In London St. Patrick’s day is observed at court as a high festival, and
the nobility crowd to pay their compliments in honour of Ireland’s
tutelar saint. For many years it has been selected as an occasion for
soliciting and obtaining aid to a great national object--the promotion
of education. It is the anniversary of the “Benevolent Society of St.
Patrick,” for clothing and educating children of Irish parents who need
the assistance, by voluntary contribution. The festival is attended by
Irishmen of different political parties and religious persuasions, and
many of the highest rank. On this anniversary, in 1825, the marquess of
Londonderry was in the chair, with the duke of Leinster on his right,
and the marquess of Lansdown at his left hand: several of the king’s
ministers and nobility were present. The report stated, that 400
children were educated in the school, the funds admitted of only 240
being clothed, the rest were supplied with shirts, shoes, and stockings;
and the committee earnestly invited inspection of the schools from nine
till two every day, except on the sabbath and Monday. A donation to the
charity, from his majesty of 100 guineas, was followed by others, and by
hopes that absent Irishmen and Englishmen who could, would cheerfully
contribute towards an institution which on its merits required general
support. Speeches from the chairman and noble guests, the chancellor of
the exchequer, Mr. O’Connell, Mr. Huskisson, and other distinguished
characters, breathed sentiments of universal good will, and must have
inspired every individual to kindness, and desire of extending, and
cementing, the conciliation so happily commenced between the people of
both countries.

It is related that during the dinner, the party at the head table were
much amused by a bottle of genuine (_illegal_) poteen, neat as imported
from the emerald isle, being handed to the chancellor of the exchequer,
who, forgetting the good of the revenue in the memory of St. Patrick,
put a portion of the naughty _liqueur_ in his glass, and drank it with
becoming devotion.

In the forenoon of the same day, the festival was celebrated at the
Roman catholic chapel in Sutton-street, Soho, with an unusual degree of
splendour. The archbishop of Armagh in his mitre and pontifical robes,
officiated as high-priest, assisted by the two English catholic bishops,
Poynter and Bramston, and one of the Irish bishops, and several of the
minor clergy. A selection of music, chiefly from Haydn’s masses, was
powerfully performed by a very numerous choir, accompanied by a full
band; and after a sermon by Dr. Poynter, a collection was made, to the
amount of £65., to assist the chapel and the schools attached to it.


_Order of St. Patrick._

In February, 1783, letters patent created a brotherhood denominated
“Knights of the illustrious order of St. Patrick,” to consist of the
sovereign for the time being, as sovereign of the order; and fifteen
knights companions, the “lieutenant-general and general governor of
Ireland, or the lord deputy or deputies, or lord’s justices, or other
chief governor or governors” for the time being, officiating as deputy
grand masters. The statutes of the order of St. Patrick direct the badge
to be of gold, surmounted with a wreath of shamrock or trefoil,
surrounding a circle of gold, bearing the motto of the order in gold
letters, _Quis separabit?_ with the date MDCCLXXXIII, wherein the order
was founded, and encircling the cross of St. Patrick _gules_, surmounted
with a trefoil _vert_, each leaf charged with an imperial crown _or_,
upon a field _argent_; the badge, encircled with rays in form of a star
of silver of eight points, four greater and four lesser, worn on the
left side of the outer garment.


_The Shamrock._

The shamrock is the trefoil. The Druids used it to cure diseases. The
Irish use it as a national cognizance. It is said that when St. Patrick
landed near Wicklow to convert the Irish in 433, the pagan inhabitants
were ready to stone him; he requested to be heard, and endeavoured to
explain God to them as the Trinity in Unity, but they could not
understand him, till plucking a _trefoil_ from the ground, he said, “Is
it not as possible for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, as for these
leaves, to grow upon a single stalk,” then the Irish were immediately
convinced.[31]


_St. Patrick._

The Welch claim St. Patrick. Mr. Owen in his “Cambrian Biography”
affirms, he was born at Aberllychwr in Pembrokeshire, South Wales, where
there is a church dedicated to him. They call him Padrig, the son of
Mawrn or Maenwyn, of the laird of Gwyr. Mr. Owen cites from the
genealogy of the British saints, that, “It was the glory of the emperor
Theodosius, in conjunction with Cystonnin Llydaw, surnamed the blessed,
to have first founded the college of Illtyd, which was regulated by
Balerus, a man from Rome; and Padrig, son of Mawrn, was the principal of
it, before he was carried away a captive by the Irishman.” In
corroboration, Mr. Owen says, it is recorded in the history of Wales,
“that the Irish were enabled to settle themselves along nearly the whole
extent of its coast, in the beginning of the fifth century, and
continued there until nearly the middle of the same era; when they were
expelled from the north by the natives, assisted by the sons of
Cunedda, and from the south with the aid of Urien.” Thus Wales contends
for the honour of the birth-place of Patrick with Scotland, while
Ireland has the honour of the saint himself.


_A London Bull._

The “Athenæum” affirms the following to be a literal transcript of a
letter sent to a gentleman, who had recommended a patient to that
excellent institution called the _London Electrical Dispensary_:--

  “To Mr. G----

  “No. 5081.

  “Sir,

  “Having by your recommendation been received a patient at the London
  Electrical Dispensary, and being discharged this day _dead_, I beg
  leave to return my humble and hearty thanks for the same.

  “March 7, 1810.”

Except the No., date, and the word _dead_, which are _written_, all the
rest of the letter is _printed_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet Violet. _Viola odorata._
  Dedicated to _St. Gertrude_.
  Shamrock. _Trifolium repens._
  Dedicated to _St. Patrick_.

  [31] Brand’s Pop. Antiquities.


~March 18.~

  _St. Alexander_, Bp. of Jerusalem, A. D. 251. _St. Cyril_, Abp. of
  Jerusalem, A. D. 386. _St. Edward_, King, A. D. 979. _St. Anselm_, Bp.
  of Lucca, A. D. 1086. _St. Fridian_, _Erigdian_, or _Frigdian_, Bp. of
  Lucca, A. D. 578.


_St. Edward._

This is the English king who was stabbed in the back with a dagger, by
order of his stepmother, Elfrida, while drinking on horseback at the
gate of Corfe castle, in the isle of Purbeck. He spurred his horse,
which plunged him into a deep marsh, and there he died of his wounds, in
979. Butler says his body was discovered by a pillar of light, and
buried in Wareham church, and worked miracles. His name is in the church
of England calendar.

It is an historical fact, that the wretched contriver of king Edward’s
murder passed the remainder of her days in dismal horror; and her nights
brought no repose from the afflictions of her conscience. She obtained a
kind of armour formed of crucifixes, wherein she encased herself,
performed penances, built monasteries, and died universally execrated by
the indignant people. The treachery of the crime occasioned a general
distrust, no one would drink without security from him, who sat beside
him, that he was safe while the bowl was at his lips; and hence is said
to have originated the customary expression at table of “I pledge you,”
when one person invites another to drink first.


CHRONOLOGY.

1745. Sir Robert Walpole, earl of Orford, died, aged 71.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Leopard Bane. _Doronicum Pardalionetes._
  Dedicated to _St. Cyril_.


~March 19.~

  _St. Joseph._ _St. Alemund, 819._


_St. Joseph._

The church of Rome has canonized Joseph the spouse of the Virgin Mary,
and honours him with offices and worship of various forms.


CHRONOLOGY.

720, B. C. the first eclipse of the moon on record happened on this day.

1355. Pressing for seamen to man the navy commenced.

1668. Sir John Denham, poet, died in London; he was born in Dublin,
1615.

1719. A surprising meteor was seen about eight o’clock in the evening,
from all parts of England, Scotland, and Ireland. To an observer in St.
Paul’s churchyard, it appeared a ball of fire as large as the moon, of a
pale bluish light, and with little motion, till in a moment it assumed
the shape of a common meteor with a stream of light, double the diameter
of its first appearance, emitting a splendour by which the smallest
print might have been read. Its duration was not above half a minute,
and its greatest light about the tenth part of a minute. At Exeter its
light exceeded that of the sun at noonday, and there it seemed to break
like a skyrocket, into sparks of red fire, which reflected that colour
on the houses, and shortly after a report, loud as cannon, shook the
windows, succeeded at the interval of a minute by about thirty others;
“they sounded just as the tower guns did in Mincing-lane, but shook the
houses and windows much more.” Mr. Whiston calculated the greatest
height of this extraordinary meteor to have been forty-three or
fifty-one statute miles: it gradually descended lower till it came to
Devonshire, where it was about thirty-nine miles high, and broke over
the sea, near the coast of Brittany; its altitude then being about
thirty miles.[32]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Star of Bethlehem. _Ormithogalum luteum._
  Dedicated to _St. Joseph_.

  [32] Whiston’s Account of a Meteor, 8vo. 1719.


~March 20.~

  _St. Cuthbert_, Bp. of Lindisfarne, A. D. 687. _St. Wulfran_, Abp. of
  Sens, A. D. 720.


_St. Cuthbert._

Of this saint there will be mention hereafter.


CHRONOLOGY.

1727. Sir Isaac Newton died; he was born December 25th, 1642.

1751. Frederick, prince of Wales, father of king George III. died aged
44.

1793. Died William Murray, earl of Mansfield. He was born on the 2d of
March, 1705, and during thirty years, and until his death, presided as
lord chief justice of the court of King’s Bench. He was eminent as a
lawyer, and dignified as a judge. It is said that he altered the common
law of England, by ingrafting upon it the civil law in his decisions. As
an elegant scholar, of highly cultivated and vigorous intellect, he
shone in the constellation of great men, which arose in the reign of
queen Anne. In eloquence and beauty of diction, he outrivalled his
predecessors, and has not been excelled by any successor in the high
office he filled.

1811. Napoleon, son of the late emperor of France, by the empress Maria
Louisa, was born, and received the title of king of Rome.

On the 20th of March, the sun enters the constellation ♈ _Aries_, or the
Ram, which is the first zodiacal sign; and this day is _the first day of
Spring_.

_By an accident, the remarks relating to_ SPRING _were inserted under_
MARCH 6, _instead of this day_: and as the error is thus _particularly_
noticed, in order as far as possible to rectify it, the reader will
please to consider all that has been said on the _sixth_ of March as
applicable to the _twentieth_ alone. The editor, while acknowledging,
and craving pardon for a vexatious and unpurposed misrepresentation,
will endeavour to set a watch upon himself in future, to guard against a
similar accident.

Aries, or the ram, as a zodiacal sign, is said to have been derived by
the Greeks from the golden fleece brought from Colchis by Jason, about
1263 years before Christ; but as it is a hieroglyphic on Egyptian
monuments, it is of higher antiquity, and symbolizes that season when
sheep yean their lambs. The people of Thebes slew a ram in honour of
Jupiter Ammon, who personifies the sun in Aries, and is represented by
ancient sculpture and coins with the horns of a ram on his head. The
Hebrews at this season sacrifice a lamb, to commemorate their
deliverance from Egypt. Aries, or the ram, was the ensign of Gad, one of
their leaders.

[Illustration: ~Aries.~]


VERNAL EQUINOX.

The remarks on the _Vernal Equinox_, immediately following, are
communicated by a respected scientific friend to the editor.

This is a day of great consequence in the year, and one that must excite
many associations in the mind of the astronomer, and of every one who
entertains a due reverence for our sacred records. The sun on this day
passes the imaginary line in the heavens, called the equator, or
equinoctial; it being the middle circle equally distant in every part
from the north or the south poles. The line is passed to an observer on
Greenwich hill, at ten minutes past nine in the morning; and,
consequently, when it is on the meridian, or its highest point at noon,
it will appear to every observer in the united kingdom at some distance
from the equator. It is commonly said, that at this time the day is
equal to the night all the world over; but this is a vulgar error. The
day is not equal to the night in this country; that is, the sun appears
for more than twelve hours above the horizon, and, consequently, a less
time than twelve hours elapses before it shines again to us in the
morning. Besides, the fallacy of this common saying is perceived at once
by any one who considers, that the inhabitant of the north pole, if
there is any inhabitant there, has already seen for some days the sun
above his horizon, and it will not set to him for above six months. The
day then is not equal to the night, either in the united kingdom, or at
the north pole. We will leave to the astronomer to determine at what
part of the earth this circumstance really takes place; in the
investigation of the problem he may encounter some difficulties, of
which at present he is probably not aware. The sun crosses the
equinoctial line at ten minutes past nine; it was therefore at its
rising south of that line, and at its setting it will be north of that
line. The line it marks out in the heavens is an arc of a spiral; but
had it risen and set in the equinoctial line, the arc would have been
circular.

To leave, however, the circumstances peculiarly relative to astronomy,
let us consider this day in another point of view. The sun and the moon
are the regulators of days, and months, and years, and times, and
seasons. Every nation in the world pays some regard to their motions;
and in this country they are the subjects of legislative
enactments--enactments which have been laughed at by our makers of
almanacs; disregarded by the church, though sanctioned in its rubrics;
and set at naught by courts of justice, whose openings at certain
periods depend on prescribed appearances in the heavens. Of this,
hereafter, sufficient proof will be given; and, in thus noticing the
errors of past times, there is a chance, that a statute of importance,
certainly, as it has been thought worthy of legislation, should not be
hereafter violated without the interposition of the legislature.

Our ancestors began their year about this time, and not without reason;
for they had for it the sanction of a divine command. To the Israelites
it was commanded, that this should be the beginning of their sacred
year, on which the great festivals prescribed by their law should
depend. Their civil year begins in September, and they continue to
observe the command, having an almanac founded on the complicated
motions of the sun and moon, whose calculations are of a very subtle
nature, and whose accuracy far exceeds that of the polished nations of
Europe. That the year should begin either at the vernal or the spring
equinox, or at the autumnal equinox, good reasons may be given; but for
our taking the first of January for the commencement of the year,
nothing more can be said, than the old theme,

    _Sic volo, sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas._

--Such is my will, the sun and moon may move as they please.

Except for the refraction of the atmosphere, the inhabitants of the
equator would have at all times twelve hours’ day and twelve hours’
night; the sun being north or south of this circle not causing any
difference, for the equator and ecliptic being both great circles of the
sphere, the two points of intersection must be in the same diameter.

By the almanac it will be found, that there are nearly eight days more
in the interval between the vernal and the autumnal equinox, than
between the latter and the return of the vernal equinox. As, therefore,
from the vernal to the autumnal equinox, the sun is on the northern side
of the equator, our summer occurring during this period, gives us an
advantage of nearly eight days, in this respect, over the southern
hemisphere. This difference arises from the oval or elliptical form of
the earth’s orbit. The earth, therefore, being at different distances
from the sun during the year, it is found to move with different
velocities; moving slowest when furthest from the sun, and quickest when
nearest to that luminary. It happens to be at its greatest distance just
after our Midsummer, and moving consequently slower during _our_ spring
and summer months; our summer is about eight days longer than that of
the southern hemisphere, our winter eight days shorter than theirs.

       *       *       *       *       *

The annexed diagram will exhibit the equinoctial condition of the earth;
the sun’s rays at their noon falling vertically to the inhabitants of
the equator.

[Illustration]


~Care Sunday.~

    Care Sunday; care away,
    Palm Sunday, and Easter day.

Care Sunday is the fifth Sunday from Shrove Tuesday, consequently it is
the next Sunday before Palm Sunday, and the second Sunday before Easter.
Why it is denominated _Care_ Sunday is very uncertain. It is also called
_Carle_ Sunday, and in some parts _Carling_ Sunday. A native of
Newcastle-upon-Tyne[33] observes, that in that town, and many other
places in the north of England, peas after having been steeped a night
in water, are fried with batter, given away, eaten at a kind of
entertainment on Carle Sunday, and are called Carlings, “probably as we
call the presents at fairs, fairings.” To this he attaches a query,
whether Carl_en_ may not be formed from the old plural termination in
_en_, as hos_en_, &c. The only attempt at a derivation of the word
_Care_, is, that “the Friday on which Christ was crucified, is called
in German both Gute Freytag and _Carr_ Freytag;” and that the word
_karr_ signified a satisfaction for a fine, or penalty.[34] The
inference is corroborated, by the church of Rome anciently using rites
on this day peculiar to Good Friday, whence it was also called _Passion
Sunday_. It is noted in an old calendar, that on this day “a dole is
made of soft _beans_,” which was also “a rite in the funeral ceremonies
of heathen Rome.” This “dole” of soft beans on Care Sunday, accounts for
the present custom of eating fried peas on the same day. No doubt the
beans were a very seasonable alms to help out the poor man’s lent stock
of provision. “In Northumberland the day is called _Carling Sunday_. The
yeomanry in general steep peas, and afterwards parch them, and eat them
on the afternoon of that day, calling them _carlings_. This is said by
an old author, to have taken its rise from the disciples plucking the
ears of corn, and rubbing them in their hands.”[35] Hence it is clear,
that the custom of eating peas or beans upon this day, is only a
continuation of the unrecollected “dole” of the Romish church. It is
possible, however, that there may have been no connection between the
heathen funeral rite of giving beans, and the church donation, if the
latter was given in mere charity; for there was little else to bestow at
such a time of the year, when dried pulse, variously cooked, must have
been almost the only winter meal with the labourer, and a frequent one
with his employer.

The couplet at the head of this article Mr. Nichols says he heard in
Nottinghamshire. There is another,

    Tid, Mid, Misera,
    Carling, Palm, Paste Egg day.

The first line is supposed to have been formed from the beginning of
Psalms, &c. viz. _Te d_eum--_Mi d_eus--_Misere_re mei.[36]

But how is it that _Care Sunday_ is also called _Carl Sunday_ and
_Carling Sunday_; and that the peas, or beans, of the day are called
_carlings_? _Carle_, which now means a churl, or rude boorish fellow,
was anciently the term for a working countryman or labourer; and it is
only altered in the spelling, without the slightest deviation in sense,
from the old Saxon word _ceorl_, the name for a husbandman. The older
denomination of the day, then, may not have been _Care_ but _Carl
Sunday_, from the benefactions to the _carles or carlen_. These are
still the northern names for the day; and the dialect in that part of
the kingdom is nearer to Saxon etymology. But whether the day were
called _Carle_ or _Care Sunday_ it is now little known, and little more
can be said about it, without the reader feeling inclined to say or
sing,

    “Begone dull _Care_.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Dog’s Violet. _Viola Canina._
  Dedicated to _St. Wulfran_.

  [33] Mr. Brand.

  [34] Brand’s Pop. Antiq. from Marshal on the Saxon Gospels.

  [35] Gentleman’s Magazine, 1786.

  [36] Brand’s Pop. Antiquities.


~March 21.~

  _St. Benedict_, or _Bennet_, Abbot, A. D. 543. _St. Serapion_, called
  the Sindonite, A. D. 388. _St. Serapion_, Abbot. _St. Serapion_,
  Bishop, 4th Age. _St. Enna_, or _Endeus_, Abbot, 6th Cent.


ST. BENEDICT, or BENNET,

_Founder of the order of St. Benedict_.

The accounts of distinguished persons of the Romish church written by
its ecclesiastics are exceedingly curious. The rev. Alban Butler states
of St. Benedict, that he was born in Umbria about 480, sent to school at
Rome, and afterwards being determined to leave the world, “therefore
left the city privately, and made the best of his way to the deserts.”
Here he remained secreted at a place called Sublacum, till a “certain
pious priest,” whilst preparing a dinner on Easter-day, heard a voice
say to him, “you are preparing for yourself a banquet whilst my servant
Benedict at Sublacum is distressed with hunger.” Then the priest found
out Benedict, and invited him to eat, “saying it was Easter-day, on
which it was not reasonable to fast.” Bennet answered, he did not know
it; and Alban Butler says, “nor is it to be wondered at that he should
not understand the Lunar cycle, which at that time was known by very
few.” Soon after, some shepherds found him near his cave, and “took him
for a wild beast; for he was clad with the skins of beasts, and they
imagined no human creature could live among those rocks.” From that time
he began to be known and visited, and the devil came to him “in the
shape of a little blackbird.” After this, Benedict rolled himself in
briars and nettles, till he was covered with blood; and his fame
spreading still more abroad, several forsook the world to live with him;
and he became an abbot, and built twelve monasteries. In one of these, a
monk becoming slothful, St. Benedict said, “I will go and correct him
myself;” and Butler, says, “such indeed was the danger and enormity of
this fault, as to require the most speedy and effectual remedy;”
wherefore St. Benedict coming to the lazy monk “at the end of the divine
office, saw a little black boy leading him by the sleeve out of the
church,” and applied the “speedy and effectual remedy” to the monk’s
shoulders, in the shape of a cudgel; and so “the sinner was freed from
the temptation” of the little black boy, who was the devil. Then by
Benedict’s prayers a fountain sprung up; and a monk cleaving wood with a
hedging bill, and the iron falling into the water, by holding the wooden
handle in the water, the iron miraculously swam up to it of its own
accord. Such growing fame brought to Benedict “many who came clad in
purple with gold and precious stones.” “He seemed,” says Alban Butler,
“indued with an extraordinary power, commanding all nature, and
foreseeing future events; he baffled the various artifices of the devil,
with the sign of the cross; rendered the heaviest stone light; by a
short prayer raised to life a novice who had been crushed by the fall of
a wall;” and after other wonders died, about the year 543, aged 63.[37]

Pope St. Gregory, of whom some account is given on his festival, (see
MARCH 12,) wrote the life and miracles of St. Benedict.[38] This work of
many chapters relates how Benedict dispossessed a certain clerk of the
devil; how he miraculously discovered the hiding of a flagon of wine;
how in a scarcity two hundred bushels of meal were miraculously brought
to his monastery; how a boy marvellously cast out of his grave, was
miraculously kept in it by St. Benedict putting the host on his body;
how a glass bottle cast down on the stones was not broken; how an empty
tun was filled with oil by his prayers; how he gave another monk a slap
in the face and drove the devil out of him; how he saw the soul of his
sister in form of a dove; how he foretold his own death; how he
performed miracles too many to be here related; all which, however, may
be seen in the said life of St. Benedict, by the said pope St. Gregory,
who it will be remembered is called by way of distinction St. Gregory
_the Great_.

St. Benedict founded the order of monks under his name. A reader who
desires to be acquainted with its rules may consult Mr. Fosbroke’s
“British Monachism,” who remarks, that monkery is an institution founded
upon the first principles of religious virtue, wrongly understood and
wrongly directed. He then proceeds to remark, that, “If man be endowed
with various qualities, in order to be severely punished for using them,
God is made the tempter of vice, and his works foolish. If voluntary
confinement, vegetable eating, perpetual praying, wearing coarse
clothing, and mere automatical action through respiration, be the
standard of excellence, then the best man is only a barrel organ set to
psalm-tunes.”


CHRONOLOGY.

1556. Thomas Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury, was burnt for heresy at
Oxford, between Baliol college and St. Mary’s church.

A correspondent, LECTOR, communicates that there is against the south
wall of Camberwell church, an inscription commemorative of “Bartholomew
Scott, esq. justice of peace in the county of Surrey,” in which he is
said to have married “Margaret, the widow of the right reverend prelate
and martyr, Thomas Cranmer, archbishop of Canterburie.” Strype, (Life,
p. 418. b. iii. ch. xxviii.) says, that the name of Cranmer’s last wife
was Ann; and that she survived him, was living towards the latter end of
archbishop Parker’s time, and “for her subsistence enjoyed an abbey in
Nottinghamshire.” He does not seem very sanguine on this head, but gives
the passage on authority of “a very angry book, writ against the
execution of justice in England by cardinall Allen.” Fox, in his “Actes
and Monumentes,” says, that Cranmer’s wife was “a Dutchewoman, kynne to
the wyfe of Osiander;” and that Cranmer having “sold hys plate, and
payed all his debts, so that no man could ask him a grote,” left his
wife and children unprovided. The marriage of “Bartholomew Scott, esq.”
with Cranmer’s widow, was certainly an act of noble disinterestedness.
He is celebrated for his never-dying virtues, and described as a
“valiant, wise, and religious gentleman,” of “right worshipful and
ancient familie.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Bulbous Fumitory. _Fumaria bulbosa._
  Dedicated to _St. Bennet_.

  [37] Alban Butler, the English biographer of St. Benedict, and the
  rest of the saints, died in May, 1773, aged 63.

  [38] Pope St. Gregory’s labour is translated under the title of “The
  Life and Miracles of our Holie Father St. Benedict--_Permissu
  Superiorum_. Printed an. 1628.” 18mo.


~March 22.~

  _St. Basil_ of Ancyra, A. D. 362. _St. Paul_, Bp. _St. Lea_, A. D.
  384. _St. Deogratias_, Bp. of Carthage, A. D. 457. _St. Catharine_ of
  Sweden, Abbess, A. D. 1381.


CHRONOLOGY.

1687. John Baptist Lulli, the celebrated musician, died, aged 54. He was
born at Florence, in 1634, and from being page to madame Montpensier,
niece to Louis XIV. became superintendent of music to that monarch.


_The Plague in London._

In March, 1665, London abounded in wealth and grandeur, in comparison
with its state in former ages. Goldsmiths’ shops shone with plate all
along the south-side of the street called Cheapside, then named
Goldsmiths’-row. The Strand then united London and Westminster by a
range of palaces, inhabited by the nobility, with gardens in the rear
reaching to the Thames, from whence through water-gates they descended
by stairs to take water. Each of these mansions was named after its
owner or occupier; as Essex, Arundel, Norfolk, Salisbury, Worcester,
Exeter, Hungerford, Howard, York, and Northumberland. They were built
at equal distances from each other, in the grandest style of antique
architecture. Such was London in March 1665, when it was visited by the
plague, which raged with such unabating fatality, that three, four, and
five thousand of the inhabitants died weekly. Deaths increased so fast
that the usual mode of interment could no longer be observed; large pits
were dug at Hollywell-mount, and in other suburbs of the city, to which
the dead were carried in carts, collected by the ring of a bell, and the
doleful cry of “Bring out your dead.” The bodies were brought out of the
houses, and placed in the carts with no other covering than rugs or
sheets tied round them, and were thrown into the pits in promiscuous
heaps. Trade was at a stand, the shops were shut up, every day had the
appearance of a sabbath; grass grew on the Royal Exchange, and most of
the public streets; and Whitechapel might be mistaken for green fields.


THE SEASON.

Dr. Forster observes, in his “Perennial Calendar,” that about this time
spiders begin to appear in the gardens, for in winter, they are only
seen in houses; and that the species which inhabits our dwellings, is
quite distinct from the garden spider. These are a very interesting
tribe of insects, in spite of their ugly appearance, and the general
dislike which most persons, especially females, attach to them, in
common with earwigs and other unsightly insects. Naturalists have found
out this curious propensity in spiders, that they seem remarkably fond
of music, and have been known to descend from the ceiling during
concerts, and to retire when the strain was finished; of which the
following old verses, from the “Anthologia Borealis et Australis,”
remind us:--

_To a Spider which inhabited a Cell._

    In this wild, groping, dark, and drearie cove,
      Of wife, of children, and of health bereft,
    I hailed thee, friendly spider, who hadst wove
      Thy mazy net on yonder mouldering raft:
    Would that the cleanlie housemaid’s foot had left
      Thee tarrying here, nor took thy life away;
    For thou, from out this seare old ceiling’s cleft,
      Came down each morn to hede my plaintive lay;
    Joying like me to heare sweete musick play,
    Wherewith I’d fein beguile the dull dark lingering day.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Pilewort. _Ficaria verna._
  Dedicated to _St. Catharine_ of Sweden.


~March 23.~

  _St. Alphonsus Turibius_, Abp. of Lima, A. D. 1606. _Sts. Victorian_,
  &c. A. D. 484. _St. Edelwald_, A. D. 699.


_St. Edelwald._

This was an English benedictine monk of Rippon, who became a hermit, and
was buried by St. Cuthbert in St. Peter’s church, at Lindisfarne.


CHRONOLOGY.

1801. Paul, emperor of Russia, was strangled at St. Petersburg.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Peerless Daffodil. _Narcissus incomparabilis._
  Dedicated to _St. Alphonsus_.


~March 24.~

  Cambridge Term ends.

  _St. Irenæus_, Bp. of Sirmium, A. D. 304. _St. Simon_, an Infant
  Martyr. _St. William_ of Norwich.


_St. Simon_, an Infant.

The _Jews_ are said to have murdered this infant in 1472. After having
deliberated at their synagogue in the holy week, on the preparations for
their passover, they came to the resolution of crucifying a child on
Good Friday, and having stolen Simon, they made him the victim, and sung
around his body while elevated. Whenever an act of cruelty was to be
perpetrated on the Jews, fables like these were forged, and the brutal
passions of the mob let loose upon the life and wealth of fugitive
Israelites.


_St. William_ of Norwich, A. D. 1137,

Was another of these pretended martyrs to Jewish hatred. Weever states,
that “the Jews in the principal cities of the kingdom, did use sometimes
to steal away, and crucify some neighbour’s male child,” as if it were a
common practice. Since protestantism, no such barbarities have been
imputed to the Jews.


CHRONOLOGY.

1580. The first bombs were thrown upon the town of Wachtendonck in
Guelderland. The invention is commonly attributed to Galen, bishop of
Munster.

1726. Daniel Whitby, the learned commentator on the New Testament, died.
He was born at Rushden, Northamptonshire, in 1638, and was eminent for
ability and honesty throughout his life.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Golden Saxifrage. _Chrysosplenum oppositifolium._
  Dedicated to _St. Irenæus_.


~March 25.~

  _Lady Day._ Holiday at the Public Offices, except the Excise, Stamp,
  and Custom.

  _The Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary._ _St. Cammin_, Abbot, A.
  D. 653.


~Lady Day.~

The Roman Catholic festival of the Annunciation is commonly called in
England LADY DAY, an abridgement of the old term _Our Lady’s Day_, or
the _Day of our blessed Lady_.

This is a “gaudy day” in the Romish church. Deeming the mother of Christ
an intercessor and mediatrix, it offers innumerable honours and
devotions to her. _Hail Mary!_ resounds in the masses to her praise; and
the worshippers of her shrines and resemblances, are excited to a
fervour of devotion which would astonish, if it were not known that
sculpture, painting, poetry, vocal and instrumental music, have been
added to revive the recollection of monkish fables, and early
impressions in her behalf.

In the ~Golden Legend~, a book formerly read instead of the New
Testament, but now, in degree, supplanted by Butler’s more voluminous
and almost equally miraculous “Lives of the Saints,” there is a story in
honour of the virgin, concerning a noble and ignorant knight, who, to
amend his life, entered an abbey, but was so incapable of learning, that
he could say nothing but _Ave Maria_, which words he continually
repeated wherever he was. When this knight died he was buried in the
church-yard of the abbey, and there afterwards grew out of his grave a
fair _fleur de lis_, and in every flower grew, in letters of gold, the
words _Ave Maria_; and at the miracle, the brethren marvelled, and
opened the sepulchre, and found the root of the _fleur de lis_ came out
of the mouth of the said knight; and then they understood that he was to
be honoured for his great devotion to the virgin, by using the words
_Ave Maria_.

There is another story in the “Golden Legend” of “another knyght.” “He
had a fayre place bisyde the hye waye where moche people passed, whome
he robbed,” and so he did all his life; yet he had “a good custom” of
saluting the virgin every day, by saying _Ave Maria_, and so he went on
committing highway robberies, and saluting the virgin day by day, till
his people having put “a holy man” in bodily fear and robbed him, the
said “holy man” desired to be brought before their master, the knight,
and seeing him, required him to summon all his attendants, which the
knight did; but the “holy man” objected that one of them was not
present. Then the knight perceived that his chamberlain was not there,
and called for him; and when the holy man saw the chamberlain, he
conjured him to declare who he was, and the chamberlain being so
enforced answered, “I am no man, but am a devil in the form of a man;”
and he acknowledged that he had abided with the knight fourteen years,
and watched him night and day, hoping the knight might leave off saying
the salutation _Ave Maria_, that so he might strangle him, “and brynge
him to hell,” because of his evil life; but, because there passed no day
without the knight saying _Ave Maria_, the devil could not have him for
all his long waiting. Then the knight fell down at the feet of the holy
man, and demanded pardon of his sins, and the “holy man” commanded the
devil to depart; wherefore says the “Golden Legend,” “let us pray to the
gloryous virgyn Mary, that she kepe us from the devyll.”

The festival of the annunciation is kept at Rome by sumptuous shows. The
author of “Rome in the nineteenth Century” relates the pope’s
proceedings on the occasion: “We drove through streets lined with
expecting crowds, and windows hung with crimson and yellow silk
draperies, and occupied by females in their most gorgeous attire, till
we made a stop near the church before which the pope’s horse-guards, in
their splendid full-dress uniforms, were stationed to keep the ground;
all of whom, both officers and men, wore in their caps a sprig of
myrtle, as a sign of rejoicing. After waiting a short time, the
procession appeared, headed by another detachment of the guards, mounted
on prancing black chargers, who rode forward to clear the way,
accompanied by such a flourish of trumpets and kettle-drums, that it
looked at first like any thing but a peaceable or religious proceeding.
This martial array was followed by a bareheaded priest, on a white mule,
bearing the host in a gold cup, at the sight of which every body fell
upon their knees. The pope used formerly to ride upon the white mule
himself, and all the cardinals used to follow him in their magnificent
robes of state, mounted either on mules or horses; and as the
_Eminentissimi_ are, for the most part, not very eminent horsemen, they
were generally fastened on, lest they should tumble off. This cavalcade
must have been a very entertaining sight. Pius VI., who was a very
handsome man, kept up this custom, but the (then) present pope (Pius
VII.) is far too infirm for such an enterprise; so he followed the man
on the white mule, in a state coach; at the very sight of which, we
seemed to have made a jump back of two hundred years at least. It was a
huge machine, composed almost entirely of plate-glass, fixed in a
ponderous carved and gilt frame, through which was distinctly visible
the person of the venerable old pope, dressed in robes of white and
silver, and incessantly giving his benediction to the people, by a twirl
of three fingers; which are typical of the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost; the last being represented by the little finger. On the gilded
back of this vehicle, the only part that was not made of glass, was a
picture of the pope in his chair of state, and the virgin Mary _at his
feet_. This extraordinary machine was drawn by six black horses, with
superb harness of crimson velvet and gold; the coachmen, or rather
postillions, were dressed in coats of silver stuff, with crimson velvet
breeches, and full bottomed wigs well powdered, without hats. Three
coaches, scarcely less antiquely superb, followed with the assistant
cardinals, and the rest of the train. In the inside of the church, the
usual tiresome ceremonies went on that take place when the pope is
present. He is seated on a throne, or chair of state; the cardinals, in
succession, approach and kiss his hand, retire one step, and make three
bows or nods, one to him in front, and one on the right hand, and
another on the left; which are intended for him (as the personification
of the Father,) and for the Son, and for the Holy Ghost, on either side
of him; and all the cardinals having gone through these motions, and the
inferior priests having kissed his _toe_--that is, the _cross_,
embroidered on his shoe--high mass begins. The pope kneels during the
elevation of the host, prays in silence before the high altar, gets up
and sits down, reads something out of a great book which they bring to
him, with a lighted taper held beside it; and, having gone through many
more such ceremonies, finally ends as he began, with giving his
benediction with three fingers, all the way he goes out. During all the
time of this high mass, the pope’s military band, stationed on the
platform in front of the church, played so many clamorous martial airs,
that it effectually put to flight any ideas of religious solemnity.”

In England, _Lady Day_ is only remembered as the first quarter-day in
the year, and is therefore only kept by tenants who truly pay rent to
their landlords. A few years ago a country gentleman wrote a letter to a
lady of rank in town, and sent it through the general post with the
following address:

  “To

  “The 25th of March,

  “Foley-place, London.”

The postman duly delivered the letter at the house of _Lady Day_ for
whom it was intended.


CHRONOLOGY.

1688. Parochial charity schools, for the education of the children of
poor persons, were instituted in London and its vicinity.

1748. A fire broke out at one o’clock in the morning in ’Change-alley,
Cornhill, London, which raged for ten hours, consuming all the buildings
in ’Change-alley and Birchin-lane; and in Cornhill, from ’Change-alley
to St. Michael’s-alley, including several celebrated taverns and
coffee-houses, and many valuable shops, including five booksellers.
There were eighty houses destroyed by this conflagration.

1809. Anna Seward, the friend of Dr. Darwin, and recollected for her
life of him, and for her poetry and correspondence, died in the bishop’s
palace at Lichfield, aged 66. She was born at Eyan, in Derbyshire. Her
poetry is easy, rather than vigorous.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Marigold. _Calendula Officinalis._
  Annunciation of V. Mary.


~March 26.~

  Oxford Term ends.

  _St. Ludger_, Bp. of Munster, A. D. 809. _St. Braulio_, Bp. of
  Saragossa, A. D. 646.


THE CUCKOO.

Now in many situations may be heard the cuckoo. Its distant note
intimating dislike to human approach, comes upon the ear as a soft
welcome from a shy stranger:--

    Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove,
      Thou messenger of spring!
    How heaven repairs thy rural seat,
      And woods thy welcome sing.

    What time the daisy decks the green
      Thy certain voice we hear;
    Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
      Or mark the rolling year?

    Delightful visitant! with thee
      I hail the time of flowers,
    And hear the sounds of music sweet
      From birds among the bowers.

    The school-boy wandering thro’ the wood
      To pull the primrose gay,
    Starts--the new voice of spring to hear
      And imitates thy lay.

    Soon as the pea puts on its bloom,
      Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
    An annual guest in other lands,
      Another spring to hail.

    Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green,
      Thy sky is ever clear;
    Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
      No winter in thy year!

    O! could I fly, I’d fly with thee;
      We’d make with social wing
    Our annual visit o’er the globe,
      Companions of the spring.

  _Logan._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lurid Henbane. _Hyoscyamus Scopolia._
  Dedicated to _St. Braulio._


~March 27.~

  _St. John_ of Egypt, Hermit, A. D. 394. _St. Rupert_, or _Robert_, Bp.
  of Saltzbourg.


_St. John_ of Egypt

Was a hermit, inured to obedience by an ancient holy anchoret, “who made
him water a dry stick for a whole year, as if it were a live plant.” He
walled himself up at the top of a rock, “from the fortieth or
forty-second to the ninetieth year of his age,” and “drew the admiration
of the whole world on him,” says Butler, by “the lustre of his
miracles,” and the “fame of his predictions.”


CHRONOLOGY.

1801. The peace of Amiens between France and England was signed in
France.


[Illustration: ~Palm Sunday.~]

This is the first Sunday before Easter, and is sometimes called
_Passion_ Sunday. It is denominated _Palm Sunday_, because on this day
the Roman catholic church ordains boughs or branches of palm trees to be
carried in procession, in imitation of those strewed before Christ when
he rode into Jerusalem. In this monkish procession the host was carried
upon an ass, branches and flowers were strewed on the road, the richest
cloths were laid down, and others were hung up. The palms were
consecrated by the priest, and after they were used they were preserved
to be burned for holy ashes, to lay on the heads of the people on _Ash_
Wednesday in the following year, as before-mentioned (see p. 261,) on
that day.

On _Palm Sunday_, the palm flowers and leaves to be consecrated by the
officiating prelate or priest were laid upon the high altar, and those
for the poor _laity_ being placed upon the south _step_ of the altar the
priest arrayed in a red cope proceeded to consecrate them by a prayer,
commencing “I conjure thee, thou creature of flowers and branches, in
the name of God the Father,” &c. This was to displace the devil or his
influences, if he or they lurked or were hidden in or about the
“creature of flowers and branches.” Then followed a prayer wherein he
said, with crosses, “We humbly beseech thee that thy truth may +
sanctify this creature of flowers and branches, and slips of palms, or
boughs of trees, which we offer,” &c. Then the “creature of flowers and
branches” was fumed with smoke of frankincense from the censers, and
there were other prayers with crossings, and they were sprinkled with
holy water with this supplication: “Bless + and sanctify + these
branches of palms, and other trees and flowers,” &c. Then the sacrists
distributed the palms to the abbots, priors, and nobler persons, and the
flowers and leaves to the others. When this was done the procession
moved, and afterwards made a stand while two priests brought a _Pascal_
in which the crucifix was laid; afterwards the banner and cross-bearers
filed off to the right and to the left, and the boys and monks of the
convent arranged themselves, and, after a short service, the priests
with the tomb, headed by the banner and cross, passed between the monks,
who knelt as they passed. When they came to the city-gates they divided
again on two sides, and the shrine being put on a table, was covered
with cloth. Above the entrance of the gates, in a place handsomely
prepared with hangings, were boys with other singers whom the chanter
had appointed, and these sang, “Gloria, Laus,” “Glory, praise,” &c.
After having made a procession through the city, they returned to the
convent-gate, where the shrine was laid on the table and covered with
cloth, and a religious service was performed. The monks then returned to
the church, and stood before the crucifix uncovered, while mass was
performed; and after they had communicated, the deacon first and the
rest afterwards, they offered their palms and flowers, at the altar.[39]

It was also an old Roman catholic custom on Palm Sunday, to draw about
the town a wooden ass with a figure on it, representing Christ riding
into Jerusalem, and the people strewing palms before it. Googe’s
_Naogeorgus_ says:--

    A _woodden Asse_ they have, and _Image great_ that on him rides,
    But underneath the Asse’s feete a table broad there slides,
    Being borne on wheeles, which ready drest, and al things meete
         therfore,
    The Asse is brought abroad and set before the churche’s doore:
    The people all do come, _and bowes of trees and Palmes they bere,
    Which things against the tempest great the Parson conjures there_,
    And straytwayes downe before the Asse, upon his face he lies,
    Whome there an other Priest doth strike with rodde of largest sise:
    He rising up, two lubbours great upon their faces fall,
    In straunge attire, and lothsomely, with filthie tune, they ball:
    Who, when againe they risen are, with stretching out their hande,
    They poynt unto the wooden knight, and, singing as they stande,
    Declare that that is he that came into the worlde to save,
    And to redeeme such as in him their hope assured have:
    And even the same that long agone, while in the streate he roade,
    The people mette, and Olive-bowes so thicke before him stroade.
    This being soung, the people _cast the braunches as they passe_,
    Some part upon the Image, and some part upon the Asse:
    Before whose feete a _wondrous heape of bowes and braunches ly_:
    This done, into the Church he strayght is drawne full solemly:
    The shaven Priestes before them marche, the people follow fast,
    Still striving who shall gather first the bowes that downe are cast:
    For falsely _they beleeve that these have force and vertue great,
    Against the rage of winter stormes and thunders flashing heate_.
    In some place wealthie citizens, and men of sober chere,
    For no small summe doe hire this Asse with them about to bere,
    And manerly they use the same, not suffering any by
    To touch this Asse, nor to presume unto his presence ny.
    For they suppose that in this thing, they Christ do lightly serve,
    And well of him accepted are, and great rewardes deserve.

When the wooden ass had performed in the church procession, the boys
hired him:

    The Sexten pleasde with price, and looking well no harme be done:
    They take the Asse, and through the streets and crooked lanes they
         rone,
    Whereas they common verses sing, according to the guise,
    The people giving money, breade, and egges of largest sise.
    Of this their gaines they are compelde the maister halfe to give,
    Least he alone without his portion of the Asse should live.

On the Romish processioning on Palm Sunday, it is observed by an old
writer that, “Among x thousand, scarce one knew what this meant. They
have their laudable dumme ceremonies, with _Lentin crosse_ and _Uptide
crosse_, and these two must justle til lent break his necke. Then cakes
must be caste out of the steple, that al the boyes in the parish must
lie scambling together by the eares, tyl al the parish falleth a
laughyng. But, lorde, what asses-play made they of it in great cathedral
churches and abbies. One comes forth in his albe and his long stole (for
so they call their girde that they put about theyr neckes,) thys must be
leashe wise, as hunters weares their hornes.--This solempne Syre played
Christe’s part, a God’s name. Then another companye of singers, chyldren
and al, song, in prick-song, the Jewe’s part--and the Deacon read the
middel text. The Prest at the Alter al this while, because it was
tediouse to be unoccupyed, made Crosses of Palme to set upon your doors,
and to beare in your purses, to chace away the Divel.”[40]

Dr. Fulke, opposing the Catholics, observes on their carrying of the
host on Palm Sunday,--“It is pretty sport, that you make the priests
carry this idol to supply the room of the ass on which Christ did ride.
Thus you turn the holy mystery of Christ’s riding to Jerusalem to a
May-game and pagent-play.” In the accounts of St. Andrew Hubbard’s
parish, there are Palm Sunday charges for the following items: In 1520,
eightpence for the hire of an angel. In 1535-7, another eightpence for a
priest and a child that played as a messenger: in that year the angel
was hired for fourpence. By the churchwardens of St. Mary-at-hill, in
1451, fourpence was paid to one Loreman for playing the prophet on Palm
Sunday. Though Roman catholic ceremonies were generally disused under
Henry VIII., yet he declared that the bearing of palms on Palm Sunday
was to be continued and not cast away; and it appears, that they were
borne in England until the second year of Edward VI. In “Stowe’s
Chronicle,” by Howes, the practice is said to have been discontinued in
1548.[41]

It was likewise a Roman catholic custom to resort to “our lady of
Nantswell,” at Little Conan, in Cornwall, with a cross of palm; and the
people, after making the priest a present, were allowed to throw the
cross into the well; if it swam, the thrower was to outlive the year; if
it sunk, he was not.[42]

Recently, it is related, that on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, the
boys of the grammar-school at Lanark, according to ancient usage, parade
the streets with a palm, or, its substitute, a large tree of the willow
kind, _salix cafrea_, in blossom, ornamented with daffodils, mezereon,
and box-tree. This day there is called Palm Saturday, and the custom is
supposed to be “a popish relic of very ancient standing.”[43] Mr. Douce,
in a manuscript note, cited by Mr. Ellis, says “I have somewhere met
with a proverbial saying, that he that hath not a palm in his hand on
Palm Sunday, must have his hand cut off.”

According to Stowe, in the week before Easter, there were great shows in
London for going to the woods, and fetching into the king’s house a
twisted tree, or _withe_; and the like into the house of every man of
note or consequence.

Palm Sunday remains in the English calendars. It is still customary with
men and boys to go a palming in London early on Palm Sunday morning;
that is, by gathering branches of the willow or sallow with their grey
shining velvet-looking buds, from those trees in the vicinity of the
metropolis: they come home with slips in their hats, and sticking in the
breast button holes of their coats, and a sprig in the mouth, bearing
the “palm” branches in their hands. This usage remains among the
ignorant from poor neighbourhoods, but there is still to be found a
basket woman or two at Covent-garden, and in the chief markets with this
“palm,” as they call it, on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, which they
sell to those who are willing to buy; but the demand of late years has
been very little, and hence the quantity on sale is very small. Nine out
of ten among the purchasers buy it in imitation of others, they care not
why; and such purchasers, being Londoners, do not even know the tree
which produces it, but imagine it to be a “real” palm tree, and “wonder”
they never saw any “palm” trees, and where they grow.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet scented Jonquil. _Narcissus Odorus._
  Dedicated to _St. John_ of Egypt.

  [39] Fosbroke’s British Monach. Brand’s Pop. Antiq. &c.

  [40] From a “Dialogue, concerning the chyefest ceremonyes by the Impes
  of Anti-Christ, 1554,” 12mo. Quoted by Brand.

  [41] Brand.

  [42] Carew.

  [43] Sinclair’s Statist. Acc.


~March 28.~

  _Priscus_, _Malchus_, and _Alexander_, Martyrs, A. D. 260. _St.
  Sixtus_ III. Pope, A. D. 440. _St. Gontran_, King and Confessor, A. D.
  593.


CHRONOLOGY.

On this day in 1380, gunpowder was first used in Europe by the Venetians
against the Genoese. Its power is said by the Germans to have been
discovered accidentally by Berthold Schwartz; but our Roger Bacon who
died in 1278, certainly was acquainted with it. Gunpowder was known in
India very early, and from thence the knowledge of it was obtained by
the Arabians, who employed it in a battle near Mecca so long ago as the
year 690.

1677. Wenceslaus Hollar, the engraver, died at Westminster. His view of
London in Howell’s “Londinopolis,” and the numerous plates he executed
for Dugdale’s “Monasticon,” “Warwickshire,” “St. Paul’s,” “Origines
Juridiciales,” and other works have made him well known to the
topographer and portrait collector; but his “muffs” and “insects” are
particularly beautiful. His style almost peculiar to himself, is known
at a glance by the experienced eye; Gaywood, in portraits, and King, in
views, were inferior artists of the same school. Merian, in some
insects, rivals him formidably. Hollar’s labour was immense as may be
seen from Vertue’s catalogue of his prints; yet he often worked at
fourpence an hour, and perished in poverty.

1801. Sir Ralph Abercrombie died in Egypt. He received his death-wound
on the 21st., during his memorable victory over the French at
Alexandria.

1802. Pallas, a new planet, was discovered by Dr. Olbers, of Bremen in
Germany.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lesser Leopardsbane. _Doronicum Plantagineum._
  Dedicated to _St. Priscus_.


~March 29.~

  _Sts. Jonas_, _Barachisius_, &c. A. D. 327. _Sts. Armogastes_,
  _Archinimus_, and _Saturus_, A. D. 457. _St. Eustasius_, or
  _Eustachius_, Abbot, A. D. 625. _St. Gundleus_, a Welsh King, 5th
  Cent. _St. Mark_, Bishop, 4th Cent.


CHRONOLOGY.

1315. Raymond Lulle, the most celebrated chemist and alchymist of his
time, was stoned to death by the natives of Mauritania, whither he had
gone on a religious mission, at the age of eighty. His attention was
directed to chemistry by the power of love. A lady, very handsome, with
whom he was passionately enamoured, refused to marry him. One day, when
he renewed his solicitation, she showed her bosom inflamed by a cancer.
Young Lulle instantly took leave, with the resolution to cure, and if
possible, conquer the heart of his mistress. He searched with all the
ardour, which affection and compassion could inspire, into the secrets
of medicine and chemistry, and had the good fortune to cure, and to
marry her. After her death he attached himself to the church. The
inhabitants of the island of Majorca, where he was born, in 1236, revere
him as a martyr.

1461. The battle which decided the claims of the houses of York and
Lancaster was fought between Towton and Saxton, two villages near York.
It commenced in a snow storm at day break, was contested with fearful
obstinacy till three in the afternoon, and terminated in a deluge of
blood. Eight and thirty thousand human beings were left dead on the
field; of whom the heralds appointed to number the slain, returned that
twenty-eight thousand were Lancastrians. Edward, duke of York, who won
the day, rode from the scene of carnage to York, where he ordered the
death of several prisoners; while Henry VI. of Lancaster, who lost the
crown, escaped with great difficulty to the borders.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Oxelip. _Primula elatior._
  Dedicated to _St. Eustasius_.
  Fumitory. _Fumaria officinalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Jonas_.


~March 30.~

  _St. John Climacus._ _St. Zozimus_, Bishop of Syracuse, A. D. 660.
  _St. Regulus_, or _Rieul_, Bishop of Senlis.


_St. John Climacus_, A. D. 605,

Was caverned as a hermit in a rock near Mount Sinai, in Syria, and
became at seventy-five, abbot and superior-general of all the monks and
hermits of the country. He admired one of the principal citizens of
Alexandria in Egypt, who, petitioning to become a monk, was ordered to
remain without the gate, and manifested his obedience by staying there
for seven years, and begging prayers for his leprous soul of every
passenger. St. John also admired a monkish cook, because he generally
cried while he cooked, and assigned as a reason, that “the fire he
always had before his eyes, reminded him of that fire which will burn
souls for all eternity.”[44] It is related that a woman who had
committed so enormous a sin that she dare not confess it, came to St.
John, who bade her write it, and seal it, and give it to him, and he
would pray for her; this she did, and shortly after St. John died. The
woman sorely afraid that her written secret would be read, wept and
prayed at St. John’s tomb, and begged he would appear and tell her what
he had done with the paper; on a sudden, St. John came forth habited
like a bishop, with a bishop on each side of him, and he said to the
woman, “Why troublest thou me so much, and these saints with me? thou
sufferest us to have no rest: look here, our clothes are all wet with
thy tears.” Then he delivered to her the paper, sealed as she had given
it to him, and said, “See here, look at the seal, open the writing, and
read it.” So she did; and she found all her sin “defaced clean out;” and
instead thereof was written, “All thy sins are forgiven, and put away by
the prayer of St. John, my servant.” Then she returned thanks, and St.
John and his two bishops returned to their sepulchres.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Rough Carameni. _Cardemeni hirsuta._
  Dedicated to _St. John of Climacus_.
  Lesser Daffodil. _Narcissus minor._
  Dedicated to _St. Zozimus_.

  [44] Butler’s Saints.


~March 31.~

  _St. Benjamin_, Deacon, Martyr, A. D. 424. _St. Acacius_, or
  _Achates_, Bishop of Antioch, A. D. 250, or 251. _St. Guy_, A. D.
  1046.


CHRONOLOGY.

1814. On this day the sovereigns who have since formed the holy
alliance, entered Paris at the head of the Russian troops. The
capitulation of this capital was succeeded by the return of the Bourbons
to France.


~Maundy Thursday,~

OR

SHERE THURSDAY.

Maundy Thursday is always the Thursday before Easter; its name has
occasioned some trouble to antiquaries. One writer conceives _maundy_ to
be corrupted from the _mandate_ of Christ to his disciples to break
bread in remembrance of him: or from his other _mandate_, after he had
washed their feet, to _love one another_.[45] With better reason it is
conceived to be derived from the Saxon word _mand_, which afterwards
became _maund_, a name for a basket, and subsequently for any gift or
offering contained in the basket. Thus Shakspeare says, “a thousand
favours from her _maund_ she drew:” and Hall in his satires, speaks of
“a _maund_ charged with household merchandize:” so also Drayton tells of
“a little _maund_ being made of osiers small;” and Herrick says,

    “Behold, for us, the naked graces stay
    With _maunds_ of roses, for to strew the way.”

The same poet speaks of _maundie_ at alms:

    “All’s gone, and death hath taken
          Away from us
          Our _maundie_, thus
    The widdowes stand forsaken.”

Thus then, “_Maundy Thursday_, the day preceding Good Friday, on which
the king distributes alms to a certain number of poor persons at
Whitehall, is so named from the _maunds_ in which the gifts were
contained.”[46]

According to annual custom, on Maundy Thursday, 1814, the royal
donations were distributed at the Chapel Royal, Whitehall. In the
morning, Dr. Carey, the sub-almoner, and Mr. Hanby, the secretary to the
lord high almoner, Mr. Nost, and others belonging to the lord
chamberlain’s office, attended by a party of the yeomen of the guard,
distributed to seventy-five poor women, and seventy-five poor men, being
as many as the king was years old, a quantity of salt fish, consisting
of salmon, cod, and herrings, pieces of very fine beef, five loaves of
bread, and some ale to drink the king’s health. Mr. Hanby gave notice
that in future their cases must be certified by the minister of the
parish, by order of the lord almoner. At three o’clock they assembled
again, the men on one side the chapel, and the women on the other. A
procession entered, of those engaged in the ceremony, consisting of a
party of yeoman of the guard, one of them carrying a large gold dish on
his head, containing 150 bags, with seventy-five silver pennies in each,
for the poor people, which was placed in the royal closet. They were
followed by the sub-almoner in his robes, with a sash of fine linen over
his shoulder and crossing his waist. He was followed by two boys, two
girls, the secretary, and another gentleman, with similar sashes, &c.
&c., all carrying large nosegays. The church evening service was then
performed, at the conclusion of which the silver pennies were
distributed, and woollen cloth, linen, shoes and stockings, to the men
and women, and a cup of wine to drink the king’s health.

Anciently, on Maundy Thursday, the kings and queens of England washed
and kissed the feet of as many poor men and women as they were years
old, besides bestowing their _maundy_ on each. This was in imitation of
Christ washing his disciples’ feet. Queen Elizabeth performed this at
Greenwich, when she was thirty-nine years old, on which occasion the
feet of the same number of poor persons were first washed by the yeomen
of the laundry with warm water and sweet herbs, afterwards by the
sub-almoner, and lastly, by the queen herself; the person who washed,
making each time a cross on the pauper’s foot above the toes, and
kissing it. This ceremony was performed by the queen, kneeling, being
attended by thirty-nine ladies and gentlewomen. Clothes, victuals, and
money were then distributed among the poor.[47] James II. is said to
have been the last of our monarchs who performed this ceremony in
person. It was afterwards performed by the almoner. On the 5th of April,
1731, it being Maundy Thursday, the king being then in his forty-eighth
year, there was distributed at the Banquetting-house, Whitehall, to
forty-eight poor men and forty-eight poor women, boiled beef and
shoulders of mutton, and small bowls of ale, which is called dinner;
after that, large wooden platters of fish and loaves, viz. undressed,
one large old ling, and one large dried cod; twelve red herrings, and
twelve white herrings, and four half quartern loaves. Each person had
one platter of this provision; after which was distributed to them
shoes, stockings, linen and woollen cloth, and leathern bags, with
one-penny, two-penny, three-penny, and four-penny pieces of silver, and
shillings; to each about four pounds in value. His grace, the lord
archbishop of York, lord high almoner, performed the annual ceremony of
washing the feet of the poor in the Royal Chapel, Whitehall, as was
formerly done by the kings themselves.[48]

This day was also called _Shere Thursday_, and by corruption _Chare_
Thursday. Shere Thursday signified that it was the day whereon the
clergy were wont to shere or shear their heads, or get them shorn or
shaven, and to clip their beards against Easter-day.[49] In the
miraculous legend of St. Brandon it is related that he sailed with his
monks to the island of sheep, “and on _sherethursdaye_, after souper, he
wesshe theyr feet and kyssed them lyke as our lorde dyd to his
dyscyples.”[50] Maundy Thursday is nowhere observed in London except, as
before stated, at the Chapel Royal.

  [45] Dunton’s British Apollo.

  [46] Archdeacon Nares’s “Glossary,” wherein the authorities briefly
  cited above are set forth at large.

  [47] Gentleman’s Magazine.

  [48] Lambarde.

  [49] Brand’s Pop. Antiq. Nares’s Glossary, _Chare_ and _shere_.

  [50] Golden Legend.


~Good Friday.~

  A Holiday at all the Public Offices.

This and Christmas-day are the only two close holidays now observed
throughout London, by the general shutting up of shops, and the opening
of all the churches. The dawn is awakened by a cry in the streets of
“Hot-cross-buns; one-a-penny buns, two-a-penny buns; one-a-penny,
two-a-penny, hot-cross-buns!” This proceeds from some little
“peep-o’-day boy,” willing to take the “top of the morning” before the
rest of his compeers. He carries his covered buns in a basket hanging on
one arm, while his other hand is straightened like an open door, at the
side of his mouth, to let forth his childish voice, and he “pipes and
trebles _out_ the sound” to the extremity of his lungs. Scarcely has he
departed before others come; “another and another still succeeds,” and
at last the whole street is in one “common cry of _buns_.” Old men and
young men, young women and old women, big children and little children,
are engaged in this occupation, and “some cry now who never cried
before.” The bun-venders who eclipse the rest in voice and activity, are
young women who drive fruit-barrows--barrows, by the bye, are no more,
but of them by and bye. A couple of these ex-barrow-women trip along,
carrying a wicker clothes-basket between them, in which the
“hot-cross-buns” are covered, first by a clean flannel or green baize,
and outwardly by a clean white cloth, which coverings are slowly and
partially removed, for fear of letting the buns cool, when a customer
stops to buy, or calls them to the door. They continue their lengthened
cry, with a volume of concerted sound, unequalled by other rivals in the
ephemeral Good Friday trade. These scenes and sounds continue till
church-time, and resume in the afternoon. It partially commences on the
evening before Good Friday, but with little success.

Some thirty or forty years ago pastrycooks and bakers vied with each
other for excellence in making hot-cross-buns; the demand has decreased,
and so has the quality of the buns. But the great place of attraction
for bun-eaters at that time was Chelsea; for _there_ were the two
“_royal_ bun-houses.” Before and along the whole length of the long
front of each, stood a flat-roofed, neat, wooden portico or piazza of
the width of the foot-path, beneath which shelter “from summer’s heat
and winter’s cold,” crowds of persons assembled to scramble for a chance
of purchasing “royal hot cross Chelsea buns,” within a reasonable time;
and several hundreds of square black tins, with dozens of hot buns on
each tin, were disposed of in every hour from a little after six in the
morning, till after the same period in the evening of Good Friday.
Those who knew what was good, better than new comers, gave the
preference to the “old _original_ royal bun-house,” which had been a
_bun_-house “ever since it was a house,” and at which “the king himself
once _stopped_,” and who could say as much for the other? This was the
conclusive tale at the door, and from within the doors, of the “old
original bun-house.” Alas! and alack! there is _that_ house _now_; and
there is the house that was opened as its rival; but where are ye who
contributed to their renown and custom, among the apprentices and
journeymen, and the little comfortable tradesmen of the metropolis, and
their wives and children--where are ye? With ye hath the fame of
“Chelsea buns” departed, and the “royal bun-houses” are little more
distinguished than the humble graves wherein ye rest.

       *       *       *       *       *

Formerly “hot-cross-buns” were commonly eaten in London by families at
breakfast, and some families still retain the usage. They are of the
usual form of buns; though they are distinguished from them inwardly by
a sweeter taste, and the flavour of all-spice, and outwardly by the mark
or sign of the cross. The “hot-_cross_-bun” is the most popular symbol
of the Roman catholic religion in England that the reformation has left.
Of the use of the cross, as a mark or sign in papal worship and
devotion, most readers are aware; for it has been insisted on by Roman
catholic writers from the days of Constantine to Alban Butler himself,
who giving example of its great virtue on Good Friday, says, “to add one
more instance, out of many, St. Teresa assures us, in her own life, that
one day the devil, by a phantom, appeared to sit on the letters of her
book, to disturb her at her devotions; but she drove him away _thrice_
by the sign of the cross, and at last sprinkled the book with holy
water; after which he returned no more.”[51] In the houses of some
ignorant people, a Good Friday bun is still kept “for luck,” and
sometimes there hangs from the ceiling a hard biscuit-like cake of open
_cross_-work, baked on a Good Friday, to remain there till displaced on
the next Good Friday by one of similar make; and of this the editor of
the _Every-Day Book_ has heard affirmed, that “it preserves the house
from fire;” “no fire ever happened in a house that had one.” This
undoubtedly is a relic of the old superstition; as is also a vulgar
notion in the west of England, that the straight stripe down the
shoulders of the ass, intersected by the long one from the neck to the
tail, is a _cross_ of honour conferred upon him by Christ, and that
before Christ rode upon the ass, that animal was not so distinguished.

Hot-cross-buns are the ecclesiastical _Eulogiæ_, or consecrated loaves,
bestowed in the church as alms, and to those who from any impediment
could not receive the host. They are made from the dough from whence the
host itself is taken, and are given by the priest to the people after
mass, just before the congregation is dismissed, and are kissed before
they are eaten. They are marked with the cross as our Good Friday buns
are. Winckelman relates this remarkable fact, that at Herculaneum were
found two entire loaves of the same size, a palm and a half, or five
inches in diameter. They were marked by a _cross_, within which were
four other lines; and so the bread of the Greeks was marked from the
earliest periods. Sometimes it had only four lines, and then it was
called _quadra_. This bread had rarely any other mark than a cross,
which was on purpose to divide and break it more easily.[52]

The _Tenebræ_, a Roman catholic service signifying _darkness_, is
performed on and before _Good Friday_, to denote the circumstances and
darkness at the crucifixion. This is partly symbolized by a triangular
candlestick with fourteen yellow wax candles and one white one, seven of
these yellow candles being on one side, the seven other yellow ones on
the other side, and the white wax candle being at the top. The fourteen
yellow candles represent the eleven apostles, the virgin Mary, and the
women that were with her at the crucifixion; the white candle at the top
is to represent Christ. Fourteen psalms are sung, and at the end of each
psalm one of the yellow candles is put out till the whole fourteen are
extinguished, and the white candle alone left alight. After this and the
extinction of the light on the altar, “the white candle is taken down
from the top of the triangular candlestick, and hid under the altar.”
The putting out of the fourteen candles is to denote the flight or
mourning of the apostles and the women; and the hiding of the white
candle denotes that Christ is in the sepulchre; then a noise is made by
beating the desks or books, and by beating the floor with the hands and
feet, and this noise is to represent the earthquake and the splitting of
the rocks at the crucifixion.[53]

In the church of St. Peter’s at Rome on Good Friday, the hundred burning
lamps on the tomb of St. Peter are extinguished, and a stupendous
illuminated cross depends from the immense dome of the cathedral, as if
it hung self-supported. But to relate the papal ceremonies pertaining to
the fast of lent, and its ensuing festival, would fill volumes of this
size, and we hasten from the devices of men to contemplate works which
all his art is incompetent to rival.

    Nature! to me, thou art more beautiful
    In thy most simple forms, than all that man
    Hath made, with all his genius, and his power
    Of combination: for he cannot raise
    One structure, pinnacled, or domed, or gemm’d,
    By architectural rule, or cunning hand,
    Like to the smallest plant, or flower, or leaf,
    Which living hath a tongue, that doth discourse
    Most eloquent of Him, the great Creator
    Of all living things. Man’s makings fail
    To tell of aught but this, that he, the framer
    Sought also to create, and fail’d, because
    No life can he impart, or breath infuse,
    To give inertness being.

  [51] Butler’s Moveable Feasts, 1774, 8vo. p. 379.

  [52] Fosbroke’s Brit. Monach. Herculaneum it will be remembered was
  overwhelmed and destroyed by the volcanic eruption of Mount Vesuvius,
  A. D. 79.

  [53] Butler’s Moveable Feasts.




[Illustration: APRIL.]


        Next came fresh April, full of lustyhed,
        And wanton as a kid whose horne new buds;
        Upon a bull he rode, the same which led
        Europa floting through th’ Argolick fluds:
        His horns were gilden all with golden studs,
        And garnished with garlands goodly dight
        Of all the fairest flowers and freshest buds
        Which th’ earth brings forth; and wet he seem’d in sight
    With waves, through which he waded for his love’s delight.

  _Spenser._

This is the fourth month of the year. Its Latin name is _Aprilis_, from
_aperio_, to open or set forth. The Saxons called it, _Oster_ or
_Eastermonath_, in which month, the feast of the Saxon goddess,
_Eastre_, _Easter_, or _Eoster_ is said to have been celebrated.[54]
April, with us, is sometimes represented as a girl clothed in green,
with a garland of myrtle and hawthorn buds; holding in one hand
primroses and violets, and in the other the zodiacal sign, Taurus, or
the bull, into which constellation the sun enters during this month. The
Romans consecrated the first of April to Venus, the goddess of beauty,
the mother of love, the queen of laughter, the mistress of the graces;
and the Roman widows and virgins assembled in the temple of Virile
Fortune, and disclosing their personal deformities, prayed the goddess
to conceal them from their husbands.[55]

In this month the business of creation seems resumed. The vital spark
rekindles in dormant existences; and all things “live, and move, and
have their being.” The earth puts on her livery to await the call of her
lord; the air breathes gently on his cheek, and conducts to his ear the
warblings of the birds, and the odours of new-born herbs and flowers;
the great eye of the world “sees and shines” with bright and gladdening
glances; the waters teem with life, man himself feels the revivifying
and all-pervading influence; and his

    ---- spirit holds communion sweet
    With the brighter spirits of the sky.

  [54] Sayer’s Disquisitions.

  [55] Lempriere.


~April 1.--All Fools’ Day.~

  _St. Hugh_, Bp. A. D. 1132. _St. Melito_, Bp. A. D. 175. _St.
  Gilbert_, Bp. of Cathness, A. D. 1240.

On the first of April, 1712, Lord Bolingbroke stated, that in the wars,
called the “glorious wars of queen Anne,” the duke of Marlborough had
not lost a single battle--and yet, that the French had carried their
point, the succession to the Spanish monarchy, the pretended cause of
these wars. Dean Swift called this statement “a due donation for ‘_All
Fools’ Day_!’”

On the first of April, 1810, Napoleon married Maria Louisa, archduchess
of Austria, on which occasion some of the waggish Parisians called him
“_un poisson d’Avril_,” a term which answers to our _April fool_. On the
occasion of his nuptials, Napoleon struck a medal, with Love bearing a
thunderbolt for its device.

It is customary on this day for boys to practise jocular deceptions.
When they succeed, they laugh at the person whom they think they have
rendered ridiculous, and exclaim, “_Ah! you April fool!_”

[Illustration: AH! YOU APRIL FOOL!]

_Thirty_ years ago, when buckles were worn in shoes, a boy would meet a
person in the street with--“Sir, if you please, your shoe’s
_unbuckled_,” and the moment the accosted individual looked towards his
feet, the informant would cry--“Ah! you April fool!” _Twenty_ years ago,
when buckles were wholly disused, the urchin-cry was--“Sir, your shoe’s
_untied_;” and if the shoe-wearer lowered his eyes, he was hailed, as
his buckled predecessor had been, with the said--“Ah! you April fool!”
Now, when neither buckles nor strings are worn, because in the year 1825
no decent man “has a _shoe_ to his foot,” the waggery of the day
is--“Sir, there’s something _out_ of your pocket.” “Where?” “There!”
“What?” “Your _hand_, sir--Ah! you April fool!” Or else some lady is
humbly bowed to, and gravely addressed with “Ma’am, I beg your pardon,
but you’ve _something on your face_!” “Indeed, my man! what is it?”
“Your _nose_, ma’am--Ah! you April fool!”

The tricks that youngsters play off on the _first of April_ are various
as their fancies. One, who has yet to know the humours of the day, they
send to a cobbler’s for a pennyworth of the best “stirrup oil;” the
cobbler receives the money, and the novice receives a hearty cut or two
from the cobbler’s strap: if he does not, at the same time, obtain the
information that he is “an April fool,” he is sure to be acquainted with
it on returning to his companions. The like knowledge is also gained by
an errand to some shop for half a pint of “pigeon’s milk,” or an inquiry
at a bookseller’s for the “Life and Adventures of Eve’s Mother.”

    Then, in-door young ones club their wicked wits,
    And almost frighten servants into fits--
    “Oh, John! James! John!--oh, quick! oh! Molly, oh
    Oh, the trap-door! oh, Molly! down below!”
    “What, what’s the matter!” scream, with wild surprise
    John, James, and Molly, while the young ones’ cries
    Redouble till they come; then all the boys
    Shout “Ah! you April fools!” with clamorous noise;
    And little girls enticed down stairs to see,
    Stand peeping, clap their hands, and cry “te-hee!”
    Each gibing boy escapes a different way,
    And meet again some trick, “as good as that,” to play.

  *

Much is written concerning the custom of fool-making on the first of
April, but with this result only, that it is very ancient and very
general.[56] As a better opportunity will occur hereafter, nothing will
be said here respecting “fools” by profession.

The practice of making fools on this day in North Britain, is usually
exercised by sending a person from place to place by means of a letter,
in which is written

    “On the first day of April
    Hunt the _gowk_ another mile.”

This is called “hunting the _gowk_;” and the bearer of the “fools’
errand” is called an “April _gowk_.” Brand says, that _gowk_ is properly
a _cuckoo_, and is used here _metaphorically_ for a fool; this appears
correct; for from the Saxon “_geac_, a cuckoo,” is derived _geck_,[57]
which means “one easily imposed on.” Malvolio, who had been “made a
_fool_” by a letter, purporting to have been written by Olivia, inquires
of her

    “Why have you suffered me to be--
    --Made the most notorious _geck_ and _gull_
    That e’er invention play’d on?”

Olivia affirms, that the letter was not written by her, and exclaims to
Malvolio

    “Alas, poor _fool_! how have they baffled thee!”

_Geck_ is likewise derivable “from the Teutonic _geck_, _jocus_.”[58]

The “April fool” is among the Swedes. Toreen, one of their travellers,
says, “We set sail on the first of April, and the wind made _April
fools_ of us, for we were forced to return before Shagen.” On the Sunday
and Monday preceding Lent, people are privileged at Lisbon to play the
_fool_: it is thought very jocose to pour water on any person who
passes, or throw powder in his face; but to do both is the perfection of
wit.[59] The Hindoos also at their Huli festival keep a general holiday
on the 31st of March, and one subject of diversion is to send people on
errands and expeditions that are to end in disappointment, and raise a
laugh at the expense of the persons sent. Colonel Pearce says, that
“high and low join in it; and,” he adds, “the late Suraja Doulah, I am
told, was very fond of making Huli fools, though he was a mussulman of
the highest rank. They carry the joke here (in India) so far, as to send
letters making appointments, in the name of persons, who, it is known,
must be absent from their house at the time fixed upon; and the laugh is
always in proportion to the trouble given.”[60]

The _April fool_ among the French is called “_un poisson d’Avril_.”
Their transformation of the term is not well accounted for, but their
customs on the day are similar to ours. In one instance a “joke” was
carried too far. At Paris, on the 1st of April, 1817, a young lady
pocketed a watch in the house of a friend. She was arrested the same
day, and taken before the correctional police, when being charged with
the fact, she said it was an April trick (_un poisson d’Avril_.) She was
asked whether the watch was in her custody? She denied it; but a
messenger was sent to her apartment, and it was found on the
chimney-place. Upon which the young lady said, she had made the
messenger _un poisson d’Avril_, “an April fool.” The pleasantry,
however, did not end so happily, for the young lady was jocularly
recommended to remain in the house of correction till the 1st of April,
1818, and then to be discharged as _un poisson d’Avril_.[61]

       *       *       *       *       *

It must not be forgotten, that the practice of “making April fool” in
England, is often indulged by persons of maturer years, and in a more
agreeable way. There are some verses that pleasantly exemplify this:[62]

_To a_ LADY, _who threatened to make the_ AUTHOR _an_ APRIL FOOL.

    Why strive, dear girl, to make a fool
      Of one not wise before,
    Yet, having ’scaped from folly’s school,
      Would fain go there no more?

    Ah! if I must to school again,
      Wilt thou my teacher be?
    I’m sure no lesson will be vain
      Which thou canst give to me.

    One of thy kind and gentle looks,
      Thy smiles devoid of art,
    Avail, beyond all crabbed books,
      To regulate my heart.

    Thou need’st not call some fairy elf,
      On any April-day,
    To make thy bard forget himself,
      Or wander from his way.

    One thing he never can forget,
      Whatever change may be,
    The sacred hour when first he met
      And fondly gazed on thee.

    A seed then fell into his breast;
      Thy spirit placed it there:
    Need I, my Julia, tell the rest?
      Thou seest the blossoms here.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Annual Mercury. _Mercurialis annua._
  Dedicated to _St. Hugh_.

  [56] Brand.

  [57] Ash.

  [58] Jamieson, in Nare’s Glossary.

  [59] Southey, quoted in Brand, as also Toreen.

  [60] Asiat. Res. in Brand, from Maurice.

  [61] Morn. Chron. June 17, 1817.

  [62] Cited by Brand from Julia, or Last Follies, 1798, 4to.


~April 2.~

  _St. Francis_ of Paula. _St. Apian_, A. D. 306. _St. Theodosia_, A. D.
  308. _St. Nicetius_, Abp. of Lyons, A. D. 577. _St. Ebba_, Abbess, and
  her companions, A. D. 870, or 874. _B. Constantine_ II. king of
  Scotland, A. D. 874. _St. Bronacha_, or _Bronanna_, Abbess.


_St. Francis_ of Paula

Was a Calabrian, and at fifteen years old shut himself up in a cave, in
a rock on the coast. Before twenty he was joined by two others, and the
people built them three cells; the number increased, and so arose the
order of friar Minims, which means the least of the friars. Constant
abstinence from flesh, and all food made of milk or eggs, was one of
their rules. In 1479, being invited to Sicily, “he was received there as
an angel from heaven, wrought miracles, and built several monasteries.”
He prophesied, held burning coals in his hand without being burnt,
restored his nephew to life, cured people of the plague, received the
host with a cord about his neck on Maundy Thursday, died on the 2d of
April, 1508, aged ninety-one, and was buried till 1562 when the hugonots
burnt his bones with the wood of a crucifix.[63]

Besides this, it is related, that the elements lost their force against
him; that he walked upon fire; entered into a burning oven without harm;
and made a sea voyage on his own cloak instead of a ship, and had a
companion on board with him.[64]

According to another account he was much worried by the devil. Once
while he was at prayers the devil called him three times by his own
name. Another time he was so possessed by the fiend, that he had no
other way to get rid of him, than by stripping and beating himself with
a hard cord, crying while he did it, “thus brother ass thou must be
beaten;” after which he ran into the snow and made seven snowballs,
intending to swallow them if the devil had not taken his leave. Then a
whole parcel of devils came one night, and gave him a grievous beating;
this was because he lodged in a cardinal’s palace, and it occasioned him
to shift his lodging. Afterwards, when at prayers, he saw upon the roof
of the house whole companies of these infernals. He was a bird-fancier.
A bird sat singing on a fig-tree by the side of his cell, he called it
to him; the bird came upon his hand, and he said to it--“Sing, my
sister, and praise the Lord,” and the bird sat singing till he gave it
liberty to go away. Going to Venice with his companions, and hearing
birds singing in a wood, he proposed to sing the canonical hours, but
the monks could not hear themselves for the chanters of the grove,
wherefore, he entreated the feathered choir to be silent, and they
remained so till he gave them liberty to proceed. At another place when
he was preaching, he could not be heard for the swallows, which were
making their nests; he said to them--“Sister swallows, it is time for me
to speak; as you’ve said enough, be quiet,” and so they were. It was
customary with him when one of his friars had committed a fault to take
off the friar’s hood, and throw it into the fire, from whence after
staying there a proper time, he commanded it to be restored to the
friar, and the hood was then taken out of the fire without having
sustained injury. More to the like effect, and of equal credibility, is
related of this saint in the _Golden Legend_.


CHRONOLOGY.

1801. Lord Nelson’s victory at Copenhagen, when eighteen sail of the
line were either captured or destroyed.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  White Violet. _Viola alba._
  Dedicated to _St. Francis_ of Paula.

  [63] Butler.

  [64] Ribadeneira.


~Moveable feasts.~

  ⁂ AN ERROR _under the above title having crept into the_ Every-Day
  Book, _at p. 190, and also extended to the_ list _of “Moveable
  feasts,” the reader will please to correct that list, &c. by the
  following statement._

_Shrove Sunday_ is the Sunday next before Shrove Tuesday. It is also
called _Quinquagesima_ Sunday.

_Shrove Tuesday_ is always the seventh Tuesday before _Easter-day_.

_Care, or Carle Sunday_ is the fifth Sunday in Lent, and the second
Sunday before _Easter-day_.

_Maundy Thursday_, also called _Chare_ or _Shere_ Thursday, is the day
before _Good Friday_.

_Good Friday_ is the Friday in Passion-week, and consequently the Friday
next before _Easter-day_.

EASTER-DAY is always the first Sunday after the first _full_ moon, which
happens on or next after the 21st of March; but if the _full_ moon
happens upon a Sunday, _Easter-day_ is the Sunday following.


_Octave or Utas of a Feast._

_The Octave_ or _Utas_ of each feast is always the eighth day after it
occurs; for example, the feast of St. Hillary is the 13th of January,
hence the _octave_ of St. Hillary is the 22d of January.

†⸸†THESE CORRECTIONS _would have been made in the sheet itself, but a
great number of copies having been printed, before the error was
discovered, it became necessary to postpone the rectification._ See NOTE
below.[65]

  [65] Mr. NICOLAS obligingly informs me, that since his “_Notitia
  Historica_” was printed, he has ascertained that the rule laid down
  for _Shrove Tuesday_, in that work, was not correct, and that having
  made some alterations in the event of a second edition being demanded,
  and finding I had cited the part containing the error, he thought it
  right to send me a copy of his corrections, from whence the preceding
  list is formed. There can scarcely be a doubt that a second edition of
  Mr. Nicolas’s “_Notitia Historica_” will be required speedily, because
  the series of Tables, Calendars, and miscellaneous information which
  it contains must be eminently useful, not only to the legal
  profession, antiquaries, and every historical and topographical
  inquirer, but to general readers, many of whom daily suffer
  inconvenience without such a source of reference. W. H.


~Easter.~

EASTER-DAY is distinguished by its peculiar name, through our Saxon
ancestors, who at this season of the year held a great festival, in
honour of the goddess Eastor, probably the Astarte of the eastern
nations. The French call this festival _Paques_, derived from the Greek
_pascha_, which is also derived from the Hebrew _pesech_, meaning
passover; and whence we have the English word _paschal_, applied to the
lamb, which formed part of the evening meal, the last of which our
saviour partook, before his death, with his twelve missionaries. In
Cambridgeshire the word pasch is still in use, and applied to a flower
which appears at this time on the Gogmagog hills and its environs. The
day is of importance in a civil, as well as in a religious, light; for
on this day depend the openings of our courts of law, which take place
after it, and the festivals of the church are arranged in conformity to
it. By the act of parliament on this subject, and the rule given in
conformity to it in the “Common Prayer-Book,” which of course every
body has an opportunity of seeing, “EASTER-DAY _is always the first_
Sunday _after the_ Full Moon, _which happens upon, or next after, the
twenty-first day of_ March; _and if the Full Moon happen upon a Sunday_,
Easter-day _is the Sunday after._”

One would think, that when such precise directions had been given, and
the state of the moon on any day is so clearly and easily ascertained,
that there would be no difficulty in following them; but experience has
proved that contrary deviations from the act of parliament have been
numerous. These have been pointed out at various times, but without any
effect on the public. In the year 1735, Henry Wilson, of Tower-hill,
styling himself mathematician, denounced the errors on this subject in a
very ingenious work, entitled “The regulation of Easter, or the cause of
the errours and differences contracted in the calculation of it,
discovered and duly considered, showing--The frequency and consequence
of that errour, with the cause from whence it proceeds, and a method
proposed for rectifying it, and reconciling the differences about it,
and for restoring the time of celebrating that great solemnity in its
primitive certainty and exactness, and that without the difficulty and
confusion which some have objected would attend such a regulation.” 8vo.

Within these few years an error in the observance of Easter took place,
and on all the almanacs fixing an improper day for its observance, a
memorial was presented to the lords in council and to the prince regent,
humbly soliciting their interference on this subject. It was noticed
also by Mr. Frend, in his “Evening Amusements;” and a clergyman of
Oxford published a pamphlet on the occasion. There was also, we believe,
one clergyman, who, disregarding the almanac, obeyed the rubric, and
read the services for Easter-day, and the Sundays depending on it, on
very different days from those adopted in other churches. It was
remarkable also, that in that very year, judge Garrow arrived at
Gloucester a short time after twelve o’clock at night, of the day on
which the assizes were to commence, and the high-sheriff very properly
representing his scruples, on the legality of then commencing the
assizes, they were delayed till the opinion of the judges could be
taken, and the consequence was, the issuing of a new writ. Thus the
difference of a few minutes was considered fatal to the opening of a
country court, though the courts of law at Westminster had been opened a
few months before, when a much greater error had taken place with
respect to Easter-day, on which, as before observed, the opening of
those courts depends.

To understand this subject we must refer back to the origin of this
festival, instituted in honour of the resurrection of our saviour, which
took place on the third day after his execution as a malefactor. Friday
had been fixed upon as the day of commemorating his death, and as that
took place on the day of full moon, the first full moon after the
twenty-first of March was fixed upon as the regulator of the festival.
The great point had in view was to prevent the festival of Easter-day
from being observed on the day of a full moon, but as near to it as
circumstances would admit, and in consequence there is a great
difference in the times of observing this festival; it being specially
provided, however, that it should happen _after_ a full moon. The Jews
observe their passover by juster rules; the day for the celebration of
it taking place on different days of the week: but the Christians having
fixed on Friday for the celebration of the fast on the death of our
saviour, the Easter-day, on the following Sunday, was accommodated to
it, and both were so fixed, that there could not be a full moon on the
Easter-day, nor for some weeks after it.

In this year, 1825, the full moon occurs at twenty-three minutes past
six in the morning of the _third_ of April; consequently, according to
the act of parliament, and the rubric of the church, Easter-day ought to
be celebrated on the _tenth_, and the courts of law ought to open, or
Easter term begin, on the twenty-seventh; but our almanac-makers thought
good to fix Easter-day on the _third_, and consequently Easter term is
placed by them on the _twentieth_, on which day it is presumed that
judicial proceedings will commence.

Easter-day is observed all over Christendom with peculiar rites. In the
catholic church high mass is celebrated, the host is adored with the
greatest reverence, and both Catholics and Protestants might be led from
it, to a more particular attention to the circumstances attending its
form and substance. The _host_, derived from the Latin word _hostia_,
meaning a victim, is a consecrated wafer, of a circular form, composed
of flour and water. Both substance and form are regulated by custom of
very ancient date. On the night before his execution, our saviour took
bread, and blessing it, divided it among his missionaries; but the bread
he took was not ordinary bread, but unleavened bread, such as is used by
the Jews during the passover week in the present days. This bread is
composed of merely flour and water, no leaven during the festival of
their passover being permitted to enter the house of a Jew. It is a kind
of biscuit of a circular form, and the _host_ thus, by its form and
substance, brings us back to the recollection of the Catholics, and the
rite celebrated by our saviour. It is the representation of the Jewish
cake, or unleavened bread, which is to this day eaten by that nation
during the passover week.

The Protestants have deviated from this custom, and in their churches
use leavened bread, without any regard to form, and they cut it with a
knife into small pieces, forgetting that our saviour broke the bread;
but some use leavened bread, and, as they cannot break it, they attempt
to imitate our saviour’s action by tearing it in pieces.

For those who wish to have a more comprehensive view of this subject,
the following works are recommended: Cardinal Bona on the mass; Dean
Comber on the liturgy; and above all, the Hebrew ritual, which is
translated into English, and to which both Catholics and Protestants are
indebted for greater part of their services.[66]

  [66] This article on “Easter” is _communicated_ by the gentleman who
  favoured the editor with the account of the “Vernal Equinox,” at p.
  375.


~April 3.~

  1825. EASTER SUNDAY. _The Resurrection._

  _Sts. Agape_, _Chionia_, and _Irene_, Sisters, and their Companions,
  A. D. 304; _St. Richard_. _St. Ulpian._ _St. Nicetas_, Abbot, A. D.
  824.


_St. Richard de Wiche_

Was born at Wiche, near Worcester; studied at Oxford, Paris, and
Bologna; became chancellor to the diocese of Canterbury; and was
consecrated bishop of Chichester in 1245, against the desire of Henry
III who seized his temporalities. These he regained by replevin, and
pleading his cause against the king’s deputies before Innocent IV at
Rome, a papal decree confirmed his election. Among his clergy he was a
strict disciplinarian, and a friend and comforter to the poor. Preaching
a crusade, according to the fashion of those times, against the
Saracens, he fell sick, and died in the hospital at Dover, called
God’s-house, in 1253, in the fifty-sixth year of his age, and in the
ninth of his episcopal functions. This is a brief character of an
exemplary prelate, but the credulous Butler chooses to affirm, that
three dead persons were restored to life, and other miraculous cures
were worked at his tomb. Father Porter gossips a story of a miraculous
flow of unction at his consecration; of a dead-born child having been
brought to life by his dead merits; and of the touch of his old clothes
having cured the diseased, with other performances, “which moved pope
Boniface IV. to enrol him into the number of the canonized saincts.”
Such wonders have never been performed in our days, and hence late popes
have not been able to make saints. If bibles could be suppressed, and
the printing-press destroyed, miracles and canonizations would “come in”
again.

       *       *       *       *       *

For particulars respecting _Easter-day_ and _Easter Monday_, see _Easter
Tuesday_, 5th of APRIL.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Evergreen Alkanet. _Anchusa sempervirus._
  Dedicated to _St. Agape_.


~April 4.~

  _St. Isidore_, Bishop of Seville, A. D. 636 _St. Plato_, Abbot, A. D.
  813.

  EASTER MONDAY

  Holiday at the Public Offices; except Excise, Custom, and Stamp.


CHRONOLOGY.

1774. Oliver Goldsmith died: he was born in Ireland, November 29th,
1728.

1802. Lloyd, lord Kenyon, lord chief-justice of England, died, aged 69.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Red Crown Imperial. _Fritillaria Imperialis._
  Dedicated to _St Isidore._


~April 5.~

  _St. Vincent Ferrer_, A. D. 1419. _St. Gerald_, Abbot, A. D. 1095.
  _St. Tigernach_, Bishop in Ireland, A. D. 550. _St. Becan_, Abbot.

  EASTER TUESDAY.

  Holidays at the Public Offices; except Excise, Stamp, and Custom.


CHRONOLOGY.

1605. John Stow, the antiquary, died, aged 80. He was a tailor.

1800. The rev. William Mason died. He was born at Hull, in Yorkshire, in
1725.

1804. The rev. William Gilpin, author of “Picturesque Tours,” “Remarks
on Forest Scenery,” an “Essay on Prints,” &c. died aged 80.

1811. Robert Raikes, of Gloucester, died, aged 76. He was the originator
of sunday-schools, and spent his life in acts of kindness and
compassion; promoting education as a source of happiness to his fellow
beings, and bestowing his exertions and bounty to benefit the helpless.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Crown Imperial. _Fritillaria Imperialis Lutea._
  Dedicated to _St. Vincent Ferrer_.


~Easter Customs.~


_Dancing of the Sun._

The day before Easter-day is in some parts called “Holy Saturday.” On
the evening of this day, in the middle districts of Ireland, great
preparations are made for the finishing of Lent. Many a fat hen and
dainty piece of bacon is put in the pot by the cotter’s wife about eight
or nine o’clock, and woe be to the person who should taste it before the
cock crows. At twelve is heard the clapping of hands, and the joyous
laugh, mixed with “_Shidth or mogh or corries_,” i. e. _out with the
Lent_: all is merriment for a few hours, when they retire, and rise
about four o’clock _to see the sun dance_ in honour of the resurrection.
This ignorant custom is not confined to the humble labourer and his
family, but is scrupulously observed by many highly respectable and
wealthy families, different members of whom I have heard assert
positively that they had seen the sun dance on Easter morning.[67]

It is inquired in Dunton’s “Athenian Oracle,” “Why does the sun at his
rising play more on Easter-day than Whit-Sunday?” The question is
answered thus:--“The matter of fact is an old, weak, superstitious
error, and the sun neither plays nor works on Easter-day more than any
other. It is true, it may sometimes happen to shine brighter that
morning than any other; but, if it does, it is purely accidental. In
some parts of England they call it the lamb-playing, which they look
for, as soon as the sun rises, in some clear or spring water, and is
nothing but the pretty reflection it makes from the water, which they
may find at any time, if the sun rises clear, and they themselves early,
and unprejudiced with fancy.” The folly is kept up by the fact, that no
one can view the sun steadily at any hour, and those who choose to look
at it, or at its reflection in water, see it apparently move, as they
would on any other day. Brand points out an allusion to this vulgar
notion in an old ballad:--

    But, Dick, she _dances_ such away!
    No _sun_ upon an _Easter day_
      Is half so fine a sight.

Again, from the “British Apollo,” a presumed question to the sun himself
upon the subject, elicits a suitable answer:

      _Q._ Old wives, Phœbus, say
           That on Easter-day
    To the music o’ th’ spheres you do caper;
           If the fact, sir, be true,
           Pray let’s the cause know,
    When you have any room in your paper.

      _A_. The old wives get merry
           With <DW74>’d ale or sherry,
    On Easter, which makes them romance;
           And whilst in a rout
           Their brains whirl about,
    They fancy we caper and dance.

A bit of smoked glass, such as boys use to view an eclipse with, would
put this matter steady to every eye but that of wilful self-deception,
which, after all, superstition always chooses to see through.


_Lifting._

Mr. Ellis inserts, in his edition of Mr. Brand’s “Popular Antiquities,”
a letter from Mr. Thomas Loggan of Basinghall-street, from whence the
following extract is made: Mr. Loggan says, “I was sitting alone last
Easter Tuesday, at breakfast, at the Talbot in Shrewsbury, when I was
surprised by the entrance of all the female servants of the house
handing in an arm-chair, lined with white, and decorated with ribbons
and favours of different colours. I asked them what they wanted, their
answer was, they came to _heave_ me; it was the custom of the place on
that morning, and they hoped I would take a seat in their chair. It was
impossible not to comply with a request very modestly made, and to a set
of nymphs in their best apparel, and several of them under twenty. I
wished to see all the ceremony, and seated myself accordingly. The group
then lifted me from the ground, turned the chair about, and I had the
felicity of a salute from each. I told them, I supposed there was a fee
due upon the occasion, and was answered in the affirmative; and, having
satisfied the damsels in this respect, they withdrew to heave others. At
this time I had never heard of such a custom; but, on inquiry, I found
that on Easter Monday, between nine and twelve, the men heave the women
in the same manner as on the Tuesday, between the same hours, the women
heave the men.”

[Illustration: ~Lifting--an Easter Custom.~]

In Lancashire, Staffordshire, Warwickshire, and some other parts of
England there prevails this custom of _heaving_ or _lifting_ at
Easter-tide. This is performed mostly in the open street, though
sometimes it is insisted on and submitted to within the house. People
form into parties of eight or a dozen or even more for the purpose, and
from every one _lifted_ or _heaved_ they extort a contribution. The
late Mr. Lysons read to the Society of Antiquaries an extract from a
roll in his custody, as keeper of the records in the tower of London,
which contains a payment to certain ladies and maids of honour for
taking king Edward I. in his bed at Easter; from whence it has been
presumed that he was _lifted_ on the authority of that custom, which is
said to have prevailed among all ranks throughout the kingdom. The
usage is a vulgar commemoration of the resurrection which the festival
of Easter celebrates.

_Lifting_ or _heaving_ differs a little in different places. In some
parts the person is laid horizontally, in others placed in a sitting
position on the bearers’ hands. Usually, when the _lifting_ or _heaving_
is within doors, a chair is produced, but in all cases the ceremony is
incomplete without three distinct elevations.

A Warwickshire correspondent, L. S., says, Easter Monday and Easter
Tuesday were known by the name of _heaving-day_, because on the former
day it was customary for the men to heave and kiss the women, and on the
latter for the women to retaliate upon the men. The women’s
_heaving-day_ was the most amusing. Many a time have I passed along the
streets inhabited by the lower orders of people, and seen parties of
jolly matrons assembled round tables on which stood a foaming tankard of
ale. There they sat in all the pride of absolute sovereignty, and woe to
the luckless man that dared to invade their prerogatives!--as sure as he
was seen he was pursued--as sure as he was pursued he was taken--and as
sure as he was taken he was heaved and kissed, and compelled to pay
sixpence for “leave and license” to depart.

Conducted as _lifting_ appears to have been by the blooming lasses of
Shrewsbury, and acquitted as all who are actors in the usage any where
must be, of even the slightest knowledge that this practice is an absurd
performance of the resurrection, still it must strike the reflective
mind as at least an absurd custom, “more honored i’ the breach than the
observance.” It has been handed down to us from the bewildering
ceremonies of the Romish church, and may easily be discountenanced into
disuse by opportune and mild persuasion. If the children of ignorant
persons be properly taught, they will perceive in adult years the gross
follies of their parentage, and so instruct their own offspring, that
not a hand or voice shall be lifted or heard from the sons of labour, in
support of a superstition that darkened and dismayed man, until the
printing-press and the reformation ensured his final enlightenment and
emancipation.


_Easter Eggs._

Another relic of the ancient times, are the eggs which pass about at
Easter week under the name of _pask_, _paste_, or _pace_ eggs. A
communication introduces the subject at once.

_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

  19th March, 1825.

A perusal of the _Every-Day Book_ induces me to communicate the
particulars of a custom still prevalent in some parts of Cumberland,
although not as generally attended to as it was twenty or thirty years
ago. I allude to the practice of sending reciprocal presents of eggs, at
Easter, to the children of families respectively, betwixt whom any
intimacy subsists. For some weeks preceding Good Friday the price of
eggs advances considerably, from the great demand occasioned by the
custom referred to.

The modes adopted to prepare the eggs for presentation are the
following: there may be others which have escaped my recollection.

The eggs being immersed in hot water for a few moments, the end of a
common tallow-candle is made use of to inscribe the names of
individuals, dates of particular events, &c. The warmth of the egg
renders this a very easy process. Thus inscribed, the egg is placed in a
pan of hot water, saturated with cochineal, or other dye-woods; the part
over which the tallow has been passed is impervious to the operation of
the dye; and consequently when the egg is removed from the pan, there
appears no discolouration of the egg where the inscription has been
traced, but the egg presents a white inscription on a  ground.
The colour of course depends upon the taste of the person who prepared
the egg; but usually much variety of colour is made use of.

Another method of ornamenting “pace eggs” is, however, much neater,
although more laborious, than that with the tallow-candle. The egg being
dyed, it may be decorated in a very pretty manner, by means of a
penknife, with which the dye may be scraped off, leaving the design
white, on a  ground. An egg is frequently divided into
compartments, which are filled up according to the taste and skill of
the designer. Generally one compartment contains the name and (being
young and unsophisticated) also the age of the party for whom the egg is
intended. In another is, perhaps, a landscape; and sometimes a cupid is
found lurking in a third: so that these “pace eggs” become very useful
auxiliaries to the missives of St. Valentine. Nothing was more common in
the childhood of the writer, than to see a number of these eggs
preserved very carefully in the corner-cupboard; each egg being the
occupant of a deep, long-stemmed ale-glass, through which the
inscription could be read without removing it. Probably many of these
eggs now remain in Cumberland, which would afford as good evidence of
dates in a court of justice, as a tombstone or a family-bible.

It will be readily supposed that the majority of pace eggs are simply
dyed; or dotted with tallow to present a piebald or bird’s-eye
appearance. These are designed for the junior boys who have not begun to
participate in the pleasures of “a bended bow and quiver full of
arrows;”--a flaming torch, or a heart and a true-lover’s knot. These
plainer specimens are seldom promoted to the dignity of the ale-glass or
the corner-cupboard. Instead of being handed down to posterity they are
hurled to swift destruction. In the process of dying they are boiled
pretty hard--so as to prevent inconvenience if crushed in the hand or
the pocket. But the strength of the shell constitutes the chief glory of
a pace egg, whose owner aspires only to the conquest of a rival youth.
Holding his egg in his hand he challenges a companion to give blow for
blow. One of the eggs is sure to be broken, and its shattered remains
are the spoil of the conqueror: who is instantly invested with the title
of “a cock of one, two, three,” &c. in proportion as it may have
fractured his antagonist’s eggs in the conflict. A successful egg, in a
contest with one which had previously gained honours, adds to its number
the reckoning of its vanquished foe. An egg which is a “cock” of ten or
a dozen, is frequently challenged. A modern pugilist would call this a
set-to for the championship. Such on the borders of the Solway Frith
were the youthful amusements of Easter Monday.

Your very proper precaution, which requires the names of correspondents
who transmit notices of local customs, is complied with by the addition
of my name and address below. In publication I prefer to appear only as
your constant reader.

  J. B.

A _notice_ below, the editor hopes will be read and taken by the reader,
for whose advantage it is introduced, in good part.[68]

_Pasch eggs_ are to be found at Easter in different parts of the
kingdom. A Liverpool gentleman informs the editor, that in that town and
neighbourhood they are still common, and called _paste_ eggs. One of his
children brought to him a _paste_ egg at Easter, 1824, beautifully
mottled with brown. It had been purposely prepared for the child by the
servant, by being boiled hard within the coat of an onion, which
imparted to the shell the admired colour. Hard boiling is a chief
requisite in preparing the _pasch_ egg. In some parts they are variously
 with the juices of different herbs, and played with by boys,
who roll them on the grass, or toss them up for balls. Their more
elegant preparation is already described by our obliging correspondent,
J. B.

The terms _pace_, _paste_, or _pasch_, are derived from _paschal_,
which is a name given to Easter from its being the _paschal_ season.
Four hundred eggs were bought for eighteen-pence in the time of Edward
I., as appears by a royal roll in the tower; from whence it also appears
they were purchased for the purpose of being boiled and stained, or
covered with leaf gold, and afterwards distributed to the royal
household at Easter. They were formerly consecrated, and the ritual of
pope Paul V. for the use of England, Scotland, and Ireland, contains the
form of consecration.[69] On Easter eve and Easter day, the heads of
families sent to the church large chargers, filled with the hard boiled
eggs, and there the “creature of eggs” became sacred by virtue of holy
water, crossing, and so on.


_Ball. Bacon. Tansy Puddings._

Eating of _tansy pudding_ is another custom at Easter derived from the
Romish church. Tansy symbolized the bitter herbs used by the Jews at
their paschal; but that the people might show a proper abhorrence of
Jews, they ate from a gammon of bacon at Easter, as many still do in
several country places, at this season, without knowing from whence this
practice is derived. Then we have Easter _ball-play_, another
ecclesiastical device, the meaning of which cannot be quite so clearly
traced; but it is certain that the Romish clergy abroad played at ball
in the church, as part of the service; and we find an archbishop joining
in the sport. “A ball, not of size to be grasped by one hand only, being
given out at Easter, the dean and his representatives began an
antiphone, suited to Easter-day; then taking the ball in his left hand,
he commenced a dance to the tune of the antiphone, the others dancing
round hand in hand. At intervals, the ball was bandied or passed to each
of the choristers. The organ played according to the dance and sport.
The dancing and antiphone being concluded, the choir went to take
refreshment. It was the privilege of the lord, or his _locum tenens_, to
throw the ball; even the archbishop did it.”[70] Whether the dignified
clergy had this amusement in the English churches is not authenticated;
but it seems that “boys used to claim hard _eggs_, or small money, at
Easter, in exchange for the ball-play before mentioned.”[71] Brand
cites the mention of a lay amusement at this season, wherein both tansy
and ball-play is referred to.

_Stool-ball._

    At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play,
      For sugar, cakes, or wine.
    Or for a tansy let us pay,
      The loss be thine or mine.
    If thou, my dear, a winner be
      At trundling of the ball,
    The wager thou shall have, and me
      And my misfortunes all.

  1679.

Also, from “Poor Robin’s Almanack” for 1677, this Easter verse, denoting
the sport at that season:

    Young men and maids,
      Now very brisk,
    At barley-break and
      Stool-ball frisk.

A _ball_ custom now prevails annually at Bury St. Edmund’s, Suffolk. On
Shrove Tuesday, Easter Monday, and the Whitsuntide festivals, twelve old
women side off for a game at trap-and-ball, which is kept up with the
greatest spirit and vigour until sunset. One old lady, named Gill,
upwards of sixty years of age, has been celebrated as the “mistress of
the sport” for a number of years past; and it affords much of the good
old humour to flow round, whilst the merry combatants dexterously hurl
the giddy ball to and fro. Afterwards they retire to their homes, where

    “Voice, fiddle, or flute,
    No longer is mute,”

and close the day with apportioned mirth and merriment.[72]

Corporations formerly went forth to play at ball at Easter. Both then
and at Whitsuntide, the mayor, aldermen, and sheriff of
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, with a great number of the burgesses, went yearly
to the Forth, or little mall of the town, with the mace, sword, and cap
of maintenance, carried before them, and patronised the playing at
hand-ball, dancing, and other amusements, and sometimes joined in the
ball-play, and at others joined hands with the ladies.

There is a Cheshire proverb, “When the daughter is stolen, shut the
Pepper-gate.” This is founded on the fact that the mayor of Chester had
his daughter stolen as she was playing at ball with other maidens in
Pepper-street; the young man who carried her off, came through the
Pepper-gate, and the mayor wisely ordered the gate to be shut up:[73]
agreeable to the old saying, and present custom agreeable thereto, “When
the steed’s stolen, shut the stable-door.” Hereafter it will be seen
that persons quite as dignified and magisterial as mayors and aldermen,
could compass a holiday’s sport and a merry-go-round, as well as their
more humble fellow subjects.


_Clipping the Church at Easter._

L. S., a Warwickshire correspondent, communicates this Easter custom to
the _Every-Day Book_:

“When I was a child, as sure as Easter Monday came, I was taken ‘_to see
the children clip the churches_.’ This ceremony was performed, amid
crowds of people and shouts of joy, by the children of the different
charity-schools, who at a certain hour flocked together for the purpose.
The first comers placed themselves hand in hand with their backs against
the church, and were joined by their companions, who gradually increased
in number, till at last the chain was of sufficient length completely to
surround the sacred edifice. As soon as the hand of the last of the
train had grasped that of the first, the party broke up, and walked in
procession to the other church, (for in those days Birmingham boasted
but of two,) where the ceremony was repeated.”


_Old Easter Customs in Church._

In the celebration of this festival, the Romish church amused our
forefathers by theatrical representations, and extraordinary dramatic
worship, with appropriate scenery, machinery, dresses, and decorations.
The exhibitions at Durham appear to have been conducted with great
effect. In that cathedral, over our lady of Bolton’s altar, there was a
marvellous, lively, and beautiful image of the picture of our lady,
called the lady of Bolton, which picture was made to open with _gimmes_,
(or linked fastenings,) from the breast downward; and within the said
image was wrought and pictured the image of our saviour marvellously
finely gilt, holding up his hands, and betwixt his hands was a large
fair crucifix of Christ, all of gold; the which crucifix was ordained to
be taken forth every _Good Friday_, and every man did _creep_ unto it
that was in the church at that time; and afterwards it was hung up again
within the said image. Every principal day the said image of our lady of
Bolton, was opened, that every man might see pictured within her, the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, most curiously and finely gilt; and
both the sides within her were very finely varnished with green varnish,
and flowers of gold, which was a goodly sight for all the beholders
thereof. On _Good Friday_, there was marvellous solemn service, in which
service time, after the _Passion_ was sung, two of the ancient monks
took a goodly large crucifix, all of gold, of the picture of our saviour
Christ nailed upon the cross, laying it upon a velvet cushion, having
St. Cuthbert’s arms upon it, all embroidered with gold, bringing it
betwixt them upon the cushion to the lowest steps in the choir, and
there betwixt them did hold the said picture of our saviour, sitting on
either side of it. And then one of the said monks did rise, and went a
pretty space from it, and setting himself upon his knees with his shoes
put off, very reverently he _crept upon his knees_ unto the said cross,
and most reverently did kiss it; and after him the other monk did so
likewise; and then they sate down on either side of the said cross,
holding it betwixt them. Afterward, the prior came forth of his stall,
and did sit him down upon his knees with his shoes off in like sort, and
did _creep_ also unto the said cross, and all the monks after him did
_creep_ one after another in the same manner and order; in the mean
time, the whole choir singing a hymn. The service being ended, the said
two monks carried the cross to the _sepulchre_ with great reverence.[74]

The _sepulchre_ was erected in the church near the altar, to represent
the tomb wherein the body of Christ was laid for burial. At this tomb
there was a grand performance on Easter-day. In some churches it was
ordained, that Mary Magdalen, Mary of Bethany, and Mary of Naim, should
be represented by three deacons clothed in dalmaticks and amesses, with
their heads in the manner of women, and holding a vase in their hands.
These performers came through the middle of the choir, and hastening
towards the sepulchre, with downcast looks, said together this verse,
“Who will remove the stone for us?” Upon this a boy, clothed like an
angel, in albs, and holding a wheat ear in his hand, before the
sepulchre, said, “Whom do you seek in the sepulchre?” The Maries
answered, “Jesus of Nazareth who was crucified.” The boy-angel answered,
“He is not here, but is risen;” and pointed to the place with his
finger. The boy-angel departed very quickly, and two priests in tunics,
sitting without the sepulchre, said, “Woman, whom do ye mourn for? Whom
do ye seek?” The middle one of the women said, “Sir, if you have taken
him away, say so.” The priest, showing the cross, said, “They have taken
away the Lord.” The two sitting priests said, “Whom do ye seek, women?”
The Maries, kissing the place, afterwards went from the sepulchre. In
the mean time a priest, in the character of Christ, in an alb, with a
stole, holding a cross, met them on the _left_ horn of the altar, and
said, “Mary!” Upon hearing this, the mock Mary threw herself at his
feet, and, with a loud voice, cried _Cabboin_. The priest representing
Christ replied, nodding, “_Noli me tangere_,” _touch me not_. This being
finished, he again appeared at the _right_ horn of the altar, and said
to them as they passed before the altar, “Hail! do not fear.” This being
finished, he concealed himself; and the women-priests, as though joyful
at hearing this, bowed to the altar, and turning to the choir, sung
“Alleluia, the Lord is risen.” This was the signal for the bishop or
priest before the altar, with the censer, to begin and sing aloud, _Te
Deum_.[75]

The _making of the sepulchre_ was a practice founded upon ancient
tradition, that the second coming of Christ would be on Easter-eve; and
_sepulchre-making_, and watching it, remained in England till the
reformation. Its ceremonies varied in different places. In the abbey
church of Durham it was part of the service upon Easter-day, betwixt
three and four o’clock in the morning, for two of the eldest monks of
the quire to come to the sepulchre, set up upon Good Friday after the
Passion, which being covered with red velvet, and embroidered with gold,
these monks, with a pair of silver censers, censed the sepulchre on
their knees. Then both rising, went to the sepulchre, out of which they
took a marvellous beautiful image of the resurrection, with a cross in
the hand of the image of Christ, in the breast whereof was inclosed, in
bright crystal, the _host_, so as to be conspicuous to the beholders.
Then, after the elevation of the said picture, it was carried by the
said two monks, upon a velvet embroidered cushion, the monks singing the
anthem of _Christus resurgens_. They then brought it to the high altar,
setting it on the midst thereof, and the two monks kneeling before the
altar, censed it all the time that the rest of the quire were singing
the anthem, which being ended, the two monks took up the cushion and
picture from the altar, supporting it betwixt them, and proceeded in
procession from the high altar to the south quire door, where there were
four ancient gentlemen belonging to the quire, appointed to attend their
coming, holding up a rich canopy of purple velvet, tasselled round about
with red silk and gold fringe; and then the canopy was borne by these
“ancient gentlemen,” over the said images with the host carried by the
two monks round about the church, the whole quire following, with
torches and great store of other lights; all singing, rejoicing, and
praying, till they came to the high altar again; upon which they placed
the said image, there to remain till _Ascension-day_, when another
ceremony was used.

In Brand’s “Antiquities,” and other works, there are many items of
expenses from the accounts of different church-books for making the
sepulchre for this Easter ceremony. The old Register Book of the
brethren of the Holy Trinity of St. Botolph without Aldersgate, now in
the possession of the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, contains the
following entries concerning the _sepulchre_ in that church:--“Item, to
the wexchaundeler, for makyng of the _Sepulcre_ light iii times, and of
other dyvers lights that longyn to the trynite, in dyvers places in the
chirche, lvii^{s}. 10^{d}.” In An. 17 Henry VI. there is another “Item,
for xiii tapers unto the lyght about the _Sepulcre_, agenst the ffeste
of Estern, weying lxxviii lb. of the wich was wasted xxii lb.” &c. In
Ann. 21 & 22 K. Henry VI. the fraternity paid for wax and for lighting
of the sepulchre “both yers, xx^{s}. viii^{d}.” and they gathered in
those years for their sepulchre light, xlv^{s}. ix^{d}. This gathering
was from the people who were present at the representation; and when
the value of money at that time is considered, and also that on the same
day every church in London had a _sepulchre_, each more or less
attractive, the sum will not be regarded as despicable.

The only theatres for the people were churches, and the monks were
actors; accordingly, at Easter, plays were frequently got up for popular
amusement. Brand cites from the churchwardens’ accounts of Reading, set
forth in Coate’s history of that town, several items of different sums
paid for nails for the sepulchre; “for rosyn to the Resurrection play;”
for setting up of poles for the scaffold whereon the plays were
performed; for making “a Judas;” for the writing of the plays
themselves; and for other expenses attending the “getting up” of the
representations. Though the subjects exhibited were connected with the
incidents commemorated by the festival, yet the most splendid shows must
have been in those churches which performed the resurrection at the
_sepulchre_ with a full _dramatis personæ_ of monks, in dresses
according to the characters they assumed.

Mr. Fosbroke gives the “properties” of the sepulchre show belonging to
St. Mary Redcliff’s church at Bristol, from an original MS. in his
possession formerly belonging to Chatterton, viz. “Memorandum:--That
master Cannings hath delivered, the 4th day of July, in the year of our
Lord 1470, to master Nicholas Pelles, vicar of Redclift, Moses Conterin,
Philip Berthelmew, and John Brown, procurators of Redclift beforesaid, a
new Sepulchre, well guilt with fine gold, and a civer thereto; an image
of God Almighty rising out of the same Sepulchre, with all the ordinance
that longeth thereto; that is to say, a lath made of timber and iron
work thereto. Item, hereto longeth Heven, made of timber and stained
cloths. Item, Hell made of timber and iron work thereto, with Devils the
number of thirteen. Item, four knights armed, keeping the Sepulchre,
with their weapons in their hands; that is to say, two spears, two axes,
with two _shields_. Item, four pair of Angel’s wings, for four Angels,
made of timber, and well-painted. Item, the Fadre, the crown and visage,
the _ball_ with a cross upon it, well gilt with fine gold. Item, the
Holy Ghost coming out of Heven into the Sepulchre. Item, longeth to the
four Angels, four _Perukes_.” The lights at the sepulchre shows, and at
Easter, were of themselves a most attractive part of the Easter
spectacle. The _paschal_ or great Easter taper at Westminster Abbey was
three hundred pounds’ weight. Sometimes a large wax light called a
_serpent_ was used; its name was derived from its spiral form, it being
wound round a rod. To light it, fire was struck from a flint consecrated
by the abbot. The _paschal_ in Durham cathedral was square wax, and
reached to within a man’s length of the roof, from whence this waxen
enormity was lighted by “a fine convenience.” From this superior light
all others were taken. Every taper in the church was purposely
extinguished in order that this might supply a fresh stock of
consecrated light, till at the same season in the next year a similar
parent torch was prepared.[76]


EASTER IN LONDON.

Easter Monday and Tuesday, and Greenwich fair, are renowned as
“holidays” throughout most manufactories and trades conducted in the
metropolis. On Monday, Greenwich fair commences. The chief attraction to
this spot is the park, wherein stands the Royal Observatory on a hill,
adown which it is the delight of boys and girls to pull each other till
they are wearied. Frequently of late this place has been a scene of rude
disorder. But it is still visited by thousands and tens of thousands
from London and the vicinity; the lowest join in the hill sports; others
regale in the public-houses; and many are mere spectators, of what may
be called the humours of the day.

On _Easter Monday_, at the very dawn of day, the avenues from all parts
towards Greenwich give sign of the first London festival in the year.
Working men and their wives; ’prentices and their sweethearts;
blackguards and bullies; make their way to this fair. Pickpockets and
their female companions go later. The greater part of the sojourners are
on foot, but the vehicles for conveyance are innumerable. The regular
and irregular stages are, of course, full inside and outside.
Hackney-coaches are equally well filled; gigs carry three, not including
the driver; and there are countless private chaise-carts, public
pony-chaises, and open accommodations. Intermingled with these,
town-carts, usually employed in carrying goods, are now fitted up, with
boards for seats; hereon are seated men, women, and children, till the
complement is complete, which is seldom deemed the case till the horses
are overloaded. Now and then passes, like “some huge admiral,” a
full-sized coal-waggon, laden with coal-heavers and their wives, and
shadowed by spreading boughs from every tree that spreads a bough; these
solace themselves with draughts of beer from a barrel aboard, and derive
amusement from criticising walkers, and passengers in vehicles passing
their own, which is of unsurpassing size. The six-mile journey of one of
these machines is sometimes prolonged from “dewy morn” till noon. It
stops to let its occupants see all that is to be seen on its passage;
such as what are called the “Gooseberry fairs,” by the wayside, whereat
heats are run upon half-killed horses, or spare and patient donkeys.
Here are the bewitching sounds to many a boy’s ears of “A halfpenny ride
O!” “A halfpenny ride O!”; upon that sum “first had and obtained,” the
immediately bestrided urchin has full right to “work and labour” the bit
of life he bestraddles, for the full space or distance of fifty yards,
there and back; the returning fifty being done within half time of the
first. Then there is “pricking in the belt,” an old exposed and still
practised fraud. Besides this, there are numberless invitations to take
“a shy for a halfpenny,” at a “bacca box, full o’ ha’pence,” standing on
a stick stuck upright in the earth at a reasonable distance for
experienced throwers to hit, and therefore win, but which is a mine of
wealth to the costermonger proprietor, from the number of unskilled
adventurers.

Greenwich fair, of itself, is nothing; the congregated throngs are every
thing, and fill every place. The hill of the Observatory, and two or
three other eminences in the park, are the chief resort of the less
experienced and the vicious. But these soon tire, and group after group
succeeds till evening. Before then the more prudent visitors have
retired to some of the numerous houses in the vicinage of the park,
whereon is written, “Boiling water here,” or “Tea and Coffee,” and where
they take such refreshment as these places and their own bundles afford,
preparatory to their toil home after their pleasure.

At nightfall, “Life in London,” as it is called, is found at Greenwich.
Every room in every public-house is fully occupied by drinkers, smokers,
singers and dancers, and the “balls” are kept up during the greater part
of the night. The way to town is now an indescribable scene. The
vehicles congregated by the visitors to the fair throughout the day
resume their motion, and the living reflux on the road is dense to
uneasiness. Of all sights the most miserable is that of the poor
broken-down horse, who having been urged three times to and from
Greenwich with a load thither of pleasure-seekers at sixpence per head,
is now unable to return, for the fourth time, with a full load back,
though whipped and lifted, and lifted and whipped, by a reasoning
driver, who declares “the _hoss_ did it last fair, and why shouldn’t he
do it again.” The open windows of every house for refreshment on the
road, and clouds of tobacco-smoke therefrom, declare the full stowage of
each apartment, while jinglings of the bells, and calls “louder and
louder yet,” speak wants and wishes to waiters, who disobey the
instructions of the constituent bodies that sent them to the bar. Now
from the wayside booths fly out corks that let forth “pop” and
“ginger-beer,” and little party- lamps give something of a
joyous air to appearances that fatigue and disgust. Overwearied children
cry before they have walked to the halfway house; women with infants in
their arms pull along their tipsey well-beloveds, others endeavour to
wrangle or drag them out of drinking rooms, and, until long after
midnight, the Greenwich road does not cease to disgorge incongruities
only to be rivalled by the figures and exhibitions in Dutch and Flemish
prints.

       *       *       *       *       *

While this turmoil, commonly called pleasure-taking, is going on, there
is another order of persons to whom Easter affords real recreation. Not
less inclined to unbend than the frequenters of Greenwich, they seek and
find a mode of spending the holiday-time more rationally, more
economically, and more advantageously to themselves and their families.
With their partners and offspring they ride to some of the many pleasant
villages beyond the suburbs of London, out of the reach of the harm and
strife incident to mixing with noisy crowds. Here the contented groups
are joined by relations or friends, who have appointed to meet them, in
the quiet lanes or sunny fields of these delightful retreats. When
requisite, they recruit from well-stored junket baskets, carried in
turn; and after calmly passing several hours in walking and sauntering
through the open balmy air of a spring-day, they sometimes close it by
making a good comfortable tea-party at a respectable house on their way
to town. Then a cheerful glass is ordered, each joins in merry
conversation, or some one suspected of a singing face justifies the
suspicion, and “the jocund song goes round,” till, the fathers being
reminded by the mothers, more than once possibly, that “it’s getting
late,” they rise refreshed and happy, and go home. Such an assembly is
composed of honest and industrious individuals, whose feelings and
expressions are somewhat, perhaps, represented below.

INDEPENDENT MEN

A HOLIDAY SONG.

    We’re independent men, with wives, and sweethearts, by our side,
    We’ve hearts at rest, with health we’re bless’d, and, being Easter
         tide,
    We make our _spring-time_ holiday, and take a bit of pleasure,
    And gay as May, drive care away, and give to mirth our leisure.

    It’s for our good, that thus, my boys, we pass the hours that stray,
    We’ll have our frisk, without the risk of squabble or a fray;
    Let each enjoy his pastime so, that, without fear or sorrow,
    When all his fun is cut and run, he may enjoy to-morrow.

    To-morrow may we happier be for happiness to-day,
    That child or man, no mortal can, or shall, have it to say,
    That we have lost both cash and time, and been of sense bereft,
    For what we’ve spent we don’t relent, we’ve time and money left.

    And we will husband both, my boys, and husband too our wives;
    May sweethearts bold, before they’re old, be happy for their lives;
    For good girls make good wives, my boys, and good wives make men
         better,
    When men are just, and scorning trust, each man is no man’s debtor.

    Then at this welcome season, boys, let’s welcome thus each other,
    Each kind to each, shake hands with each, each be to each a brother;
    Next Easter holiday may each again see flowers springing,
    And hear birds sing, and sing himself, while merry bells are
         ringing.

  *

The clear open weather during the Easter holidays in 1825, drew forth a
greater number of London holiday keepers than the same season of many
preceding years. They were enabled to indulge by the full employment in
most branches of trade and manufacture; and if the period was spent not
less merrily, it was enjoyed more rationally and with less excess than
before was customary. Greenwich, though crowded, was not so abundant of
boisterous rudeness. “It is almost the only one of the popular
amusements that remains: Stepney, Hampstead, Westend, and Peckham fairs
have been crushed by the police, that ‘stern, rugged nurse’ of national
morality; and although Greenwich fair continues, it is any thing but
what it used to be. Greenwich, however, will always have a charm: the
fine park remains--trees, glades, turf, and the view from the
observatory, one of the noblest in the world--before you the towers of
these palaces built for a monarch’s residence, now ennobled into a
refuge from life’s storms for the gallant defenders of their country,
after their long and toilsome pilgrimage--then the noble river; and in
the distance, amidst the din and smoke, appears the ‘mighty heart’ of
this mighty empire; these are views worth purchasing at the expense of
being obliged to visit Greenwich fair in this day of its decline.
‘Punch’ and his ‘better half’ seemed to be the presiding deities in the
fair, so little of merriment was there to be found. In the park,
however, the scene was different; it was nearly filled with persons of
all ages: the young came there for amusement, to see and be seen--the
old to pay their customary annual visit. On the hills was the usual
array of telescopes; there were also many races, and many sovereigns in
the course of the day changed hands on the event of them; but one race
in particular deserves remark, not that there was any thing in the
character, appearance, or speed of the competitors, to distinguish them
from the herd of others; the circumstances in it that afforded amusement
was the dishonesty of the stakeholder, who, as the parties had just
reached the goal, scampered off with the stakes, amidst the shouts of
the by-standers, and the ill-concealed chagrin of the two gentlemen who
had foolishly committed their money to the hands of a stranger.”[77]

According to annual custom on Easter Monday, the minor theatres opened
on that day for the season, and were thronged, as usual, by spectators
of novelties, which the Amphitheatre, the Surrey theatre,
Sadler’s-wells, and other places of dramatic entertainment, constantly
get up for the holiday-folks. The scene of attraction was much extended,
by amusements long before announced at distant suburbs. At half-past
five on Monday afternoon, Mr. Green accompanied by one of his brothers,
ascended in a balloon from the Eagle Tavern, the site of the still
remembered “Shepherd and Shepherdess,” in the City-road. “The atmosphere
being extremely calm, and the sun shining brightly, the machine, after
it had ascended to a moderate height, seemed to hang over the city for
nearly half an hour, presenting a beautiful appearance, as its sides
glistened with the beams of that orb, towards which it appeared to be
conveying two of the inhabitants of a different planet.” It descended
near Ewell in Surrey. At a distance of ten miles from this spot, Mr.
Graham, another aërial navigator, let off another balloon from the Star
and Garter Tavern, near Kew-bridge. “During the preparations, the
gardens began to fill with a motley company of farmers’ families, and
tradesmen from the neighbourhood, together with a large portion of city
folks, and a small sprinkle of some young people of a better dressed
order. The fineness of the day gave a peculiar interest to the scene,
which throughout was of a very lively description. Parties of ladies,
sweeping the ‘green sward,’ their gay dresses, laughing eyes, and the
cloudless sky, made every thing look gay. Outside, it was a multitude,
as far as the eye could see on one side. The place had the appearance of
a fair, booths and stalls for refreshments being spread out, as upon
these recreative occasions. Carts, drays, coaches, and every thing which
could enable persons the better to overlook the gardens, were put into
eager requisition, and every foot of resting-room upon Kew-bridge had
found an anxious and curious occupant. In the mean time, fresh arrivals
were taking place from all directions, but the clouds of dust which
marked the line of the London-road, in particular, denoted at once the
eagerness and numbers of the new comers. A glimpse in that direction
showed the pedestrians, half roasted with the sun, and half suffocated
with the dust, still keeping on their way towards the favoured spot.
About five o’clock, Mr. Graham having seated himself in the car of his
vehicle, gave the signal for committing the machine to its fate. She
swung in the wind for a moment, but suddenly righting, shot up in a
directly perpendicular course, amidst the stunning shout of the
assembled multitude, Mr. Graham waving the flags and responding to their
cheers. Nothing could be more beautiful than the appearance of the
balloon at the distance of about a mile from the earth, for from
reflecting back the rays of the sun, it appeared a solid body of gold
suspended in the air. It continued in sight nearly an hour and a half;
and the crowd, whose curiosity had brought them together, had not
entirely dispersed from the gardens before seven o’clock. On the way
home they were gratified with the sight of Mr. Green’s balloon, which
was seen distinctly for a considerable time along the Hammersmith-road.
The shadows of evening were lengthening, and

        ------ midst falling dew,
      While glow the Heavens with the last steps of day,
    Far through their rosy depths it did pursue
      Its solitary way.”[78]


SPITAL SERMONS.

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.

  COMMUNICATIONS have been received in great numbers from anonymous
  correspondents, but the information many of them contain, however
  interesting or true, can never interest the readers of the _Every-Day
  Book_, for this reason, that information will not on any account be
  inserted, which is not verified by the contributor’s name and
  residence: as every contributor may have his name inserted or not, as
  he pleases, so no one can object to satisfy the editor, that the facts
  communicated are from responsible sources. The precaution is
  necessary; and it may be proper to add, that all contributions with
  quotations from an “old book,” “an excellent author,” “a work of
  authority,” and so forth, are _useless_, when contributors forget to
  mention names and title-pages.

  This is the _first_ time that a notice to correspondents has appeared
  within the columns of the _Every-Day Book_, and it is designed to be
  the _last_. Such intimations cannot be inserted without injury to the
  uniform appearance of the work; but they are printed on the wrappers
  of the _Monthly Parts_.

  COMMUNICATIONS of local usages or customs, or other useful and
  agreeable particulars, are earnestly and respectfully solicited; and
  extracts, or permission to extract, from scarce works and original
  manuscripts, will be highly esteemed. The favours of correspondents
  with real names and addresses are obviously the most valuable, and
  will receive marked regard.

  W. HONE.

  45, _Ludgate-hill_,

  _31st March, 1825_.

  [69] Brand.

  [70] Fosbroke’s Brit. Monach. from Du Cange.

  [71] Ibid.

  [72] Communicated to the _Every-Day Book_ by S. R.

  [73] Drake’s Shakspeare, from Fuller’s Worthies.

  [74] Hone’s Ancient Mysteries described, from Davies’s Rites, &c.

  [75] Fosbroke’s Brit. Monach. from Du Cange.

  [76] Fosbroke’s Brit. Monach.

  [77] British Press.

  [78] Morning Herald.

  [79] Wilson’s History of Christ’s Hospital.

  [80] Archdeacon Butler had been selected by Dr. Parr to pronounce the
  last appointed words over his remains, and he justified the selection.
  Dr. Butler’s sermon at the funeral of Dr. Parr, has the high merit of
  presenting a clear outline of this great man’s character, and from its
  pages these passages are culled and thrown together. “His learning was
  the most profound, and the most varied and extensive, of any man of
  his age. He has left a chasm in the literature of his country, which
  none of us shall ever see filled up. As a classical scholar he was
  supreme--deeply versed in history, especially that of his own country;
  in metaphysics and moral philosophy not to be excelled; in theology he
  had read more extensively and thought more deeply, than most of those
  who claim the highest literary fame in that department. He was well
  read in controversy, though he loved not controversialists; for his
  benevolent and tolerating spirit was shocked by any thing like rancour
  among men who believe a gospel of love, and worship a God of love, and
  yet can let loose the malignant and vindictive passions, in their
  religious disputes, against each other. In politics his ardent love of
  freedom, his hatred of oppression, and his invincible spirit, joined
  to the most disinterested and incorruptible integrity, and the most
  resolute independence, even in the days of poverty and privation, made
  him always a prominent and conspicuous character. Caution he despised,
  it was not a part of his noble and fearless nature. What he thought
  greatly, he uttered manfully; and such a mighty master of language
  when speaking or writing on civil and religious liberty, carried away
  his hearers with the same resistless torrent of eloquence by which
  himself was swept along.” Such is the testimony to Dr. Parr’s talents,
  by one “differing from him on many political points, and on some
  theological questions.” More to the same effect might be adduced on
  the same competent authority; but, if the preacher, like him of whom
  he discoursed, “loved his friend well, he loved truth better;” and
  hence Dr. Butler has honestly and faithfully sketched a few
  inconsiderable weaknesses, which, to a correct judgment, enlarge the
  nobility, and heighten the splendour of Dr. Parr’s heart and mind.
  Undeviating eulogy is praiseless praise.

  [81] Stowe.

  [82] Maitland.

  [83] Stowe.

  [84] Ned Ward in his Dancing School.

  [85] Letters from a late eminent prelate.

  [86] Salisbury Gazette, January 8, 1818.


~April 6.~

OLD LADY-DAY.

  _St. Sixtus_ I., Pope, 2d Cent. 120 _Persian Martyrs_, A. D. 345. _St.
  Celestine_, Pope, A. D. 432. _St. William_, Abbot of Eskille, A. D.
  1203. _St. Prudentius_, Bp. A. D. 861. St. Celsus, in Irish _Ceallach_
  Abp. A. D. 1129.


CHRONOLOGY.

1348. Laura de Noves died. She was born in 1304, and is celebrated for
having been beloved by Petrarch, and for having returned his passion by
indifference. He fostered his love at Vaucluse, a romantic spot,
wherein he had nothing to employ him but recollection of her charms, and
imagination of her perfections. These he immortalized in sonnets while
she lived; Petrarch survived her six and thirty years.

Francis I., who compared a court without ladies to a spring without
flowers, caused Laura’s tomb to be opened, and threw verses upon her
remains complimentary to her beauty, and the fame she derived from her
lover’s praises.

1803. Colonel Montgomery and captain Macnamara quarrelled and fought a
duel at Primrose-hill, because their dogs quarrelled and fought in
Hyde-park. Captain Macnamara received colonel Montgomery’s ball in the
hip, and colonel Montgomery received captain Macnamara’s ball in the
heart. This exchange of shots being according to the laws of duelling
and projectiles, Colonel Montgomery died on the spot. Captain Macnamara
was tried at the Old Bailey, and, as a man of honour, was acquitted by a
jury of men of honour. The laws of England and the laws of Christianity
only bind honourable men; men of honour govern each other by the
superior power of sword and pistol. The humble suicide is buried with
ignominy in a cross road, and a finger-post marks his grave for public
scorn; the proud and daring duellist reposes in a christian grave
beneath marble, proud and daring as himself.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Starch Hyacinth. _Hyacinthus racemosus._
  Dedicated to _St. Sixtus_ I.


~April 7.~

  _St. Aphraates_, 4th Cent. _St. Hegesippus_, A. D. 180. _St. Aibert_,
  A. D. 1140. _B. Herman Joseph_, A. D. 1226. _St. Finan_ of
  Keann-Ethich.


CHRONOLOGY.

1520. Raphael d’Urbino died on the anniversary of his birth-day which
was in 1483.

1807. Lalande, the astronomer, died at Paris, aged 70.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Wood Anemony. _Anemone Nemorosa._
  Dedicated to _St. Aphraates_.


~April 8.~

  _St. Dionysius_, Bp. of Corinth, 2d Cent. _St. Ædesius_, A. D. 306.
  _St. Perpetuus_, Bp. A. D. 491. _St. Walter_, Abbot, A. D. 1099. _B.
  Albert_, Patriarch of Jerusalem, A. D. 1214.


CHRONOLOGY.

1341. The expression of Petrarch’s passion for Laura, gained him such
celebrity, that he had a crown of laurels placed upon his head, in the
metropolis of the papacy, amidst cries from the Roman people, “Long live
the poet!”

1364. John, king of France, who had been brought prisoner to England by
Edward, the Black Prince, in his captivity, died at the Savoy-palace, in
the Strand.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Ground Ivy. _Glecoma hederacea._
  Dedicated to _St. Dionysius_.


~April 9.~

  _St. Mary_ of Egypt, A. D. 421. _The Massylitan Martyrs_ in Africa.
  _St. Eupsychius._ _The Roman Captives_, Martyrs in Persia, year of
  Christ 362, of Sapor 53. _St. Waltrude_, or _Vautrude_, commonly
  called _Vaudru_, Widow, A. D. 686. _St. Gaucher_, or _Gautier_, Abbot,
  A. D. 1130. _St. Dotto_, Abbot.


CHRONOLOGY.

1483. The great lord Bacon died, aged 66. He fell from distinguished
station to low estate, by having cultivated high wisdom at the expense
of every day wisdom. “Lord Bacon,” says Rushworth, “was eminent over all
the christian world for his many excellent writings. He was no admirer
of money, yet he had the unhappiness to be defiled therewith. He
treasured up nothing for himself, yet died in debt.” His connivance at
the bribery of his servants made them his master and wrought his ruin.
The gifts of suitors in the chancery rendered him suspected, but his
decrees were so equitable that no one was ever reversed for its
injustice.

Let him who lacking wisdom desires to know, and who willing to be taught
will patiently learn, make himself master of “Bacon’s Essays.” It is a
book more admired than read, and more read than understood, because of
higher thought than most readers dare to compass. He who has achieved
the “Essays” has a master-key to Bacon’s other works, and consequently
every department of English literature.

1747. Lord Lovat was executed on Tower-hill, for high treason, at the
age of 90. He was a depraved, bad man; and the coolness with which he
wrought his profligate purposes, throughout an abandoned life, he
carried to the scaffold.

1807. John Opie, the artist, died. He was born in Cornwall in 1761;
self-taught in his youth he attained to high rank as an English
historical painter, and at his death was professor of painting at the
Royal Academy.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Red Polyanthus. _Primula polyantha rubra._
  Dedicated to _St. Mary_.


~April 10.~

  _St. Bademus_, Abbot, A. D. 376. _B. Mechtildes_, Virgin and Abbess,
  after 1300.

  LOW SUNDAY.

The Sunday after Easter-day is called _Low_ Sunday, because it is
Easter-day repeated, with the church-service somewhat abridged or
_lowered_ in the ceremony from the pomp of the festival the Sunday
before.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Pale Violet. _Viola Tonbrigens._
  Dedicated to _St. Mechtildes_.


~April 11.~

  _St. Leo the Great_, Pope, A. D. 461. _St. Antipas._ _St. Guthlake_,
  A. D. 714. _St. Maccai_, Abbot. _St. Aid_ of Eacharaidh, Abbot.


CHRONOLOGY.

1713. The celebrated peace of Utrecht was concluded, and with it
concluded the twelve years’ war for the succession to the throne of
Spain.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Dandelion. _Taraxacum Dens Leonis._
  Dedicated to _St. Leo_.


~April 12.~

  _St. Sabas_, A. D. 372. _St. Zeno_, Bp. A. D. 380. _St. Julius_, Pope,
  A. D. 352. _St. Victor_, of Braga.


CHRONOLOGY.

65. Seneca, the philosopher, a native of Corduba in Spain, died at Rome,
in the fifty-third year of his age. His moral writings have secured
lasting celebrity to his name. He was preceptor to Nero, who, in the
wantonness of power when emperor, sent an order to Seneca to destroy
himself. The philosopher complied by opening his veins and taking
poison. During these operations he conversed calmly with his friends,
and his blood flowing languidly he caused himself to be placed in a hot
bath, till Nero’s soldiers becoming clamorous for quicker extinction of
his life, it was necessary to carry him into a stove and suffocated him
by steam.[87] A distinguished French writer[88] quotes a passage from
Seneca remarkable for its christian spirit; but this passage is cited at
greater length by a living English author,[89] in order to show that
Seneca was acquainted with christian principles, and in reality a
christian.

We may almost be sure that it was impossible for Paul to have preached
“in his own hired house,” at Rome, without Seneca having been attracted
thither as an auditor, and entered into personal communication with the
apostle. There exists a written correspondence said to have passed
between Paul and Seneca, which, so far as regards Seneca’s epistles,
many learned men have supposed genuine.


NERO.

While Nero followed Seneca’s advice, Rome enjoyed tranquillity. This
emperor, who was tyrannical to a proverb, commenced his reign by acts of
clemency, his sole object seemed to be the good of his people. When
required to sign a list of malefactors, authorizing their execution, he
exclaimed, “I wish to heaven I could not write.” He rejected flatterers;
and when the senate commended the justice of his government, he desired
them to keep their praises till he deserved them. Such conduct and
sentiments were worthy the pupil of Seneca, and the Romans imagined
their happiness secure. But Nero’s sensual and tyrannical disposition,
which had been repressed only for a time, soon broke forth in acts of
monstrous cruelty. He caused his mother Agrippa to be assassinated, and
divorced his wife Octavia, whom he banished to Campania. The people,
enraged at his injustice toward the empress, so openly expressed their
indignation that he was compelled to recall her, and she returned to the
capital amidst shouts of exultation.

[Illustration: ~The Empress Octavia’s return from Exile.~]

The popular triumph was of short duration. Scarcely had Octavia resumed
her rank, when Nero, under colour of a false and infamous charge, again
banished her. Never exile filled the hearts of the beholders with more
affecting compassion. The first day of Octavia’s nuptials was the
commencement of her funeral. She was brought under a sad and dismal
roof, from whence her father and brother had been carried off by poison.
Though a wife, she was treated as a slave, and now she suffered the
imputation of a crime more piercing than death itself. Add to this, she
was a tender girl in the twentieth year of her age, surrounded by
officers and soldiery devoted to her husband’s will, and whom she viewed
as sad presages of his ferocious purposes. Almost bereft of life by her
fears, and yet unwilling to surrender herself to the rest of the grave,
she passed the interval of a few days in unspeakable terror. At length
it was announced to her that she must die; but while she implored that
at least her life might be spared, and conjured Nero to remember the
relationship which before marriage they had borne to each other, by
descent from a revered ancestor, she only exemplified the utter
inefficacy of crouching to a truculent tyrant. Her appeals were answered
by the seizure of her person, and the binding of her limbs; her veins
were opened, but her blood, stagnant through fear, issued slowly, and
she was stifled in the steam of a boiling bath. “For this execution the
senate decreed gifts and oblations to the temples; a circumstance,” says
Tacitus, “which I insert with design, that whoever shall, from me or any
other writer, learn the events of those calamitous times, he may hold it
for granted, that as often as sentences of murder and banishment were
pronounced by the prince, so often were thanksgivings by the fathers
paid to the deities.” Every decree of the senate was either a new flight
of flattery, or the dregs of excessive tameness and servitude.

[Illustration: ~Nero and the Roman Senate.~]

From this moment Nero butchered without distinction all he pleased, upon
any idle pretence, and after an indiscriminate slaughter of men signal
in name and quality, he became possessed with a passion to hew down
virtue itself. His crimes would be incredible if they were not so
enormous that it is scarcely possible imagination could invent
atrocities of so foul a nature. He had attained to such indulgence in
bloodshed, that the dagger itself was dedicated by him in the capitol,
and inscribed to _Jupiter Vindex_, Jove the Avenger. Yet to this monster
one of the consuls elect proposed that a temple should be raised at the
charge of the state, and consecrated to the deified Nero as to one who
soared above mortality, and was therefore entitled to celestial worship.
This, though designed as a compliment to the tyrant, was construed into
an omen of his fate, “since to princes,” says Tacitus, “divine honours
are never paid till they have finally forsaken all commerce with men,”
or, in other words, have ceased to be useful to them. Suetonius relates,
that somebody in conversation saying, “When I am dead let fire devour
the world”--“Nay,” rejoined Nero, “let it be whilst I am living;” and
then he set Rome on fire, in so barefaced a manner, that many of the
consular dignitaries detected the incendiaries with torches and tow in
their own houses, and dared not touch them because they were officers of
Nero’s bedchamber. The fire, during six days and seven nights, consumed
a prodigious number of stately buildings, the public temples, and every
thing of antiquity that was remarkable and worthy of preservation. The
common people were driven by this conflagration to the tombs and
monuments for shelter; and Nero himself beheld the flames from a tower
on the top of Mæcenas’s house, and sung a ditty on the destruction of
Troy, in the dress which he used to perform in on the public stage. This
atrocious want of feeling occasioned the saying--“Nero fiddled while
Rome was burning.” To divert the hideousness of this crime from
himself, he transferred the guilt to the Christians. To their death and
torture were added cruel derision and sport; “for,” says Tacitus,
“either they were disguised in the skins of savage beasts, and exposed
to expire by the teeth of devouring dogs; or they were hoisted up alive
and nailed to crosses; or wrapt in combustible vestments, and set up as
torches, that when the day set, they might be kindled to illuminate the
night.” For this tragical spectacle Nero lent his own gardens, and
exhibited at the same time the public diversions of the circus,
sometimes driving a chariot in person, and at intervals standing as a
spectator amongst the vulgar in the habit of a charioteer; and hence
towards the miserable sufferers popular commiseration arose, as for
people who were doomed to perish to gratify the bloody spirit of one
man. At length, while plotting new and uncommon barbarities, an
insurrection broke out amongst the troops, and the senate, who had
truckled to his wishes, and made him a tyrant by submitting to be
slaves, took heart and issued a decree against him. He committed
suicide, under circumstances of such mental imbecility, that his death
was as ludicrous as his life was horrible.

1765. Dr. Edward Young, author of the “Night Thoughts,” died.

1782. Admiral Rodney defeated the French fleet under count de Grasse, in
the West Indies.

1814. A general illumination in London, on three successive nights, for
the termination of the war with France.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Saxifrage. _Saxifraga crassifolia._
  Dedicated to _St. Zeno_.

       *       *       *       *       *

~An Epitaph.~

(_Written on a chimney-board._)

  Here lie entombed
  THE ASHES
  of a
  BRIGHT AND SHINING GENIUS,
  who
  in his youth it is confessed
  discovered some sparks
  of a light and volatile nature,
  but was in maturity
  of a steady and a grateful disposition
  and diffusive benevolence.
  Though naturally of a warm temper,
  and easily stirred up,
  yet was he a shining example
  of fervent and unreserved benignity.
  For though he might have been
  the most dangerous and dreadful
  of enemies,
  yet was he the best and warmest of
  friends.
  Nor did he ever look cool
  even on his worst foes,
  though his friends too often,
  and shamefully indeed,
  turned their backs upon him.
  Oh! undeserving and licentious times,
  when such illustrious examples
  are wantonly made light of!
  Such resplendent virtue
  basely blown upon!
  Though rather a promoter of a cheerful glass
  in others,
  and somewhat given to smoking,
  yet was he himself never seen
  in liquor,
  which was his utter abhorrence.
  Raking,
  which ruins most constitutions,
  was far from spoiling his,
  though it often threw him
  into inflammatory disorders.
  His days, which were short,
  were ended by a gentle decay,
  his strength wasted,
  and his substance spent.
  A temporal period
  was put to his finite existence,
  which was more immediately effected
  by his being seized
  with a severe cold,
  and no help administered,
  in some of the warm days
  of the fatal month of
  May.
  His loss and cheerful influence
  are often and feelingly regretted
  by his sincere admirers,
  who erected this monument
  in memory
  of his endearing virtue,
  till that grateful and appointed day,
  when
  the dormant powers
  of his more illustrious nature
  shall be again called forth:
  When,
  inflamed with ardour,
  and with resplendence crowned,
  he shall again rise
  with
  songs of joy and triumph
  o’er the grave.

  [87] Lempriere.

  [88] Bayle, Art. Pericles, _note_.

  [89] Dr. John Jones, “On the Truth of the Christian Religion.”


~April 13.~

  Oxford and Cambridge Terms _begin_.

  _St. Hermenegild_, Martyr, A. D. 586. _St. Guinoch_, about 838. _St.
  Caradoc_, A. D. 1124.


CHRONOLOGY.

1517. Cairo taken by the sultan Selim, who thus became sole master of
Egypt.

1748. The rev. Christopher Pitt, translator of Virgil, died at Blandford
in Dorsetshire, where he was born in 1699.

1814. Charles Burney, Mus.D. F.R.S. &c. author of the “History of
Music,” and other works, which stamp his literary ability, and his
scientific character as a musician, died at Chelsea, aged 88.


CAMBRIDGE EXAMINATION.

A good-humoured _jeu d’esprit_, intended to produce nothing but
corresponding good humour in the persons whose names are mentioned,
appeared in _The Times_ on the 25th of January, 1816. This being the
first day of Cambridge Term, the “freshmen” who have seen recent
imitations may be much amused by perusal of the original witticism.

_Parody of a Cambridge Examination._

UTOPIA UNIVERSITY.

UNDECEMBER 9657.

1. Give a comparative sketch of the principal English theatres, with the
dates of their erection, and the names of the most eminent
candle-snuffers at each. What were the stage-boxes? What were the
offices of prompter--ballet-master--and scene-shifter? In what part of
the theatre was the one-shilling gallery? Distinguish accurately between
operas and puppet-shows.

2. Where was Downing-street? Who was prime-minister when Cribb defeated
Molineux--and where did the battle take place? Explain the terms
milling--fibbing--cross buttock--neck and crop--bang up--and--prime.

3. Give the dates of all the parliaments from their first institution to
the period of the hard frost on the Thames. In what month of what year
was Mr. Abbot elected Speaker? Why was he called “_the little man in the
wig_?” When the Speaker was out of the chair, where was the mace put?

4. Enumerate the principal houses of call in and about London, marking
those of the Taylors, Bricklayers, and Shoemakers, and stating from
what Brewery each house was supplied with Brown Stout. Who was the
tutelary Saint of the Shoemakers? At what time was his feast celebrated?
Who was Saint Swithin? Do you remember any remarkable English proverb
respecting him?

5. Give a ground plan of Gilead-house. Mention the leading topics of the
Guide to Health, with some account of the Anti-Impetigines--Daffy’s
Elixir--Blaine’s Distemper Powders--Ching’s Worm Lozenges--and Hooper’s
Female Pills.

6. Give characters of Wat Tyler, Jack Cade, and sir Francis Burdett. Did
the latter return from the Tower by water or land? On what occasion did
Mr. Lethbridge’s “hair stand on _ind_”? Correct the solecism, and give
the reason of your alteration.

7. Enumerate the roads on which double toll was taken on the Sundays.
Did this custom extend to Christmas-day and Good Friday? Who was
toll-taker at Tyburn, when Mrs. Brownrigg was executed?

8. Distinguish accurately between Sculls and Oars--Boat,
and Punt--Jack-ass, and Donkey--Gauger, Exciseman, and
Supervisor--Pantaloons, Trowsers, Gaiters, and Over-alls.--At what place
of education were any of these forbidden? Which? and Why?

9. Express the following words in the Lancashire, Derbyshire, London,
and Exmoor dialects--Bacon--Poker--You--I--Doctor--and Turnpike-gate.

10. Mention the principal Coach Inns in London, with a correct list of
the Coaches which set out from the Bolt-in-Tun. Where were the chief
stands of Hackney Coaches?--and what was the No. of that in which the
Princess Charlotte drove to Connaught-house? To what stand do you
suppose this removed after it set her down?

11. Give a succinct account, with dates, of the following
persons--Belcher--Mr. Waithman--Major Cartwright--Martin Van
Butchell--and Edmund Henry Barker.

12. Draw a Map of the Thames with the surrounding country,
marking particularly Wapping, Blackwall, Richmond, and the
Isle of Dogs. Distinguish between Newcastle-on-Tyne, and
Newcastle-under-Line--Gloucester and Double Gloucester--and the two
Richmonds. What celebrated teacher flourished at one of them?--and who
were his most eminent disciples?

13. What were the various sorts of paper in use amongst the English? To
what purpose was _whited-brown_ chiefly applied? What was size?
Distinguish between this and college Sizings, and state the ordinary
expense of papering a room.

14. “For every one knows little _Matt’s_ an M.P.” Frag. Com. Inc. ap.
Morn. Chron. vol. 59, p. 1624.

What reasons can you assign for the general knowledge of this fact?
Detail at length, the ceremony of chairing a Member. What were the
Hustings? Who paid for them? Explain the abbreviations--Matt.
M.P.--Tom--Dick--F.R.S.--L.L.D.--and A.S.S.

15. What was the distinguishing title of the Mayors of London? Did any
other city share the honour? Give a list of the Mayors of London from
Sir Richard Whittington to Sir William Curtis, with an account of the
Cat of the first, and the Weight of the last. What is meant by Lord
Mayor’s day? Describe the _Apothecaries_’ Barge, and give some account
of Marrow-bones and Cleavers.

16. When was Spyring and Marsden’s Lemon Acid invented? Distinguish
between this and Essential Salt of Lemons. Enumerate the principal
Patentees, especially those of Liquid Blacking.

17. Scan the following lines--

      But for shaving and tooth-drawing,
      Bleeding, cabbaging and sawing,
    Dicky Gossip, Dicky Gossip is the man!

What is known of the character and history of Dicky Gossip?

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Green Narcisse. _Narcissus Viridiflorus._
  Dedicated to _St. Hermenigild_.


~April 14.~

  _Sts. Tiburtius_, _Valerian_, and _Maximus_, A. D. 229. _Sts. Carpus_,
  Bishop, _Papylus_, and _Agathodorus_, A. D. 251. _Sts. Antony_,
  _John_, and _Eustachius_, A. D. 1342. _St. Benezet_, or _Little
  Bennet_, A. D. 1184. _B. Lidwina_, or _Lydwid_, A. D. 1433.


CHRONOLOGY.

1471. The battle of Barnet was fought in the wars between the houses of
York and Lancaster, and the earl of Warwick, called “the king-maker,”
was slain on the field.

1685. Thomas Otway, the dramatic poet, died, at a public-house in the
Minories, of want, by swallowing bread too eagerly which he had received
in charity.

1759. George Frederick Handel, the illustrious musician, died. He was
born at Halle, in Saxony, in 1684.

1793. Tobago, in the West Indies, taken by the English.

1809. Beilby Porteus, bishop of London, died at Fulham, aged 78.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Borage. _Borago Officinalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Lidwina_.


THE SEASON.

The Floral appearances of the year are accurately described by Dr.
Forster in his “Perennial Calendar.” He says, “In order to ascertain the
varieties in the seasons, as indicated by the flowering of plants, we
ought to become accurately acquainted with their natural periods, and
the average time of flowering which belongs to each species. I have of
late made an artificial division of the seasons of different plants into
six distinct periods, to each of which respectively a certain number of
species belong. Dividing then the reign of the goddess of blooms into
six principal portions, we shall begin with the first in the order of
phenomena. The Primaveral Flora may be said to commence with the first
breaking of the frost before February; it comprehends the snowdrop, the
crocus, the coltsfoot, all the tribe of daffodils, narcissi, jonquils,
and hyacinths, the primrose, cyclamen, heartsease, violet, cowslip,
crown imperial, and many others. The Equinox being also past, and the
leaves beginning to bud forth amidst a display of blossoms on the trees,
another period may be said to begin, and May ushers in the Vernal Flora,
with tulips, peonies, ranunculi, monkey poppy, goatsbeards, and others:
at this time, the fields are bespangled with the golden yellow of the
crowfoot, or blue with the harebells. The whole bosom of earth seems
spread with a beautiful carpet, to soften the path of Flora, at this
delicious season. By and bye, towards the middle of June, the approach
of the Solstice is marked by another set of flowers; and the scarlet
lychnis, the various poppies, the lilies and roses, may be said to
constitute the Solstitial Flora. As the year declines, the Aestival
Flora, corresponding to the Vernal, paints the garish eyes of the
dog-days with sunflowers, China asters, tropoeoli, African marigolds,
and other plants which love heat. The Autumnal Flora, answering to the
Primaveral, then introduces Michaelmas daisies, starworts, and other
late blowing plants, with their companions, fungi and mushrooms, till at
length bleak winter shows only a few hellebores, aconites, and mosses,
belonging to the Hibernal Flora of this dreary season. Thus, in this our
temperate climate, have we a round of botanical amusements all the year,
and the botanist can never want for sources of recreation. How different
must be the order of phenomena about the poles of the earth, where
summer and winter are synonymous with day and night, of which Kirke
White has given us a very fine description:--

_On the North Pole._

      Where the North Pole, in moody solitude,
        Spreads her huge tracts and frozen wastes around,
      There ice rock piled aloft, in order rude,
        Form a gigantic hall; where never sound
        Startled dull Silence’ ear, save when, profound
      The smoke frost muttered: there drear Cold for aye
        Thrones him,--and fixed on his primæval mound,
      Ruin, the giant, sits; while stern Dismay
    Stalks like some woe-struck man along the desert way.

      In that drear spot, grim Desolation’s lair,
        No sweet remain of life encheers the sight;
      The dancing heart’s blood in an instant there
        Would freeze to marble, Mingling day and night,
      (Sweet interchange which makes our labours light,)
        Are there unknown; while in the summer skies,
        The sun rolls ceaseless round his heavenly height,
      Nor ever sets till from the scene he flies,
    And leaves the long bleak night of half the year to rise.”


~April 15.~

  _St. Peter Gonzales_, or _Telm_, or _Elm_, A. D. 1246. _Sts.
  Basilissa_ and _Anastasia_, 1st Cent. _St. Paternus_, Bishop, or
  _Patier_, _Pair_, or _Foix_, 6th Cent. _St. Munde_, Abbot, A. D. 962.
  _St. Ruadhan_, A. D. 584.


NATURAL HISTORY.

  _Average day of arrival of Spring Birds from a Twenty years’ Journal._

April 3. Smallest Willow Wren. _Ficaria pinetorum_ arrives.

April 10. Common Willow Wren. _Ficaria Salicum_ arrives.

April 14. Called _First Cuckoo Day_ in Sussex. The Cuckoo, _cuculus
canorus_, sometimes heard.

April 15. Called _Swallow Day_. The Chimney Swallow, _Hirundo rustica_,
arrives.

April 19. The Sand Swallow. _Hirundo riparia_ arrives.

April 20. The Martin. _Hirundo terbica_ sometimes seen.

April 21. The Cuckoo, commonly heard.

April 30. The Martin, commonly seen.

The other vernal birds arrive between the 15th and 30th of the
month.[90]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Green Stitchwort. _Stellaria holostea._
  Dedicated to _St. Peter Gonzales_.

AN APRIL DAY.

_Original._

    Dear Emma, on that infant brow,
      Say, why does disappointment low’r?
    Ah! what a silly girl art thou,
      To weep to see a summer show’r!

    O, dry that unavailing tear,
      The promis’d visit you shall pay;
    The sky will soon again be clear,
      For ’tis, my love, an April day.

    And see, the sun’s returning light
      Away the transient clouds hath driv’n,
    The rainbow’s arch with colours bright
      Spreads o’er the blue expanse of heav’n;

    The storm is hush’d, the winds are still,
      A balmy fragrance fills the air;
    Nor sound is heard, save some clear rill
      Meandering thro’ the vallies fair.

    Those vernal show’rs that from on high
      Descend, make earth more fresh and green;
    Those clouds that darken all the air
      Disperse, and leave it more serene

    And those soft tears that for awhile
      Down sorrow’s faded cheek may roll,
    Shall sparkle thro’ a radiant smile,
      And speak the sunshine of the soul!

    While yet thy mind is young and pure,
      This sacred truth, this precept learn--
    That He who bids thee all endure,
      Bids sorrow fly, and hope return.

    His chast’ning hand will never break
      The heart that trusts in Him alone;
    He never, never will forsake
      The meanest suppliant at his throne.

    The world, that with unfeeling pride
      Sees vice to virtue oft preferr’d,
    From thee, alas! may turn aside--
      O, shun the fawning, flatt’ring herd!

    And while th’ Eternal gives thee health
      With joy thy daily course to run,
    Let wretches hoard their useless wealth,
      And Heav’n’s mysterious will be done.

    With fair Religion, woo content,
      ’Twill bid tempestuous passions cease;
    And know, my child, the life that’s spent
      In pray’r and praise, must end in peace.

    The dream of Life is quickly past,
      A little while we linger here;
    And tho’ the Morn be overcast,
      The Ev’ning may be bright and clear.

  _Islington._

  D. G.

_An Evening in Spring._

                      Now the noon,
    Wearied with sultry toil, declines and falls
    Into the mellow eve:--the west puts on
    Her gorgeous beauties--palaces and halls
    And towers, all carved of the unstable cloud
    Welcome the calmy waning monarch--he
    Sinks gently ’midst that glorious canopy
    Down on his couch of rest--even like a proud
    King of the earth--the ocean.

  _Bowring._

  [90] _Communicated_ by a scientific gentleman, whose daily
  observations and researches in Natural History, stamp value upon his
  contributions.


~April 16.~

  _Eighteen Martyrs of Saragossa_, and _St. Encratis_, or _Engratia_, A.
  D. 304. _St. Turibius_, Bp. 420. _St. Fructuosus_, Abp. A. D. 665.
  _St. Druon_, or _Drugo_, A. D. 1186. _St. Joachim_ of Sienna, A. D.
  1305. _St. Mans_, or _Magnus_, A. D. 1104.


  “_The Venerable_
  BENEDICT JOSEPH LABRE,
  _Who died in the odour of sanctity_,
  On the 16th of April, 1783.”

If such a creature as the _venerable_ B. J. Labre can be called a man,
he was one of the silliest that ever lived to creep and whine, and one
of the dirtiest that ever “died in the odour of sanctity;” and yet, for
the edification of the English, his life is translated from the French
“by the rev. M. James Barnard, ex-president of the English college at
Lisbon and Vicar General of the London district.”

From this volume it appears that Labre was born at Boulogne, on the
26th of March, 1748. When a child he would not play as other children
did, but made little oratories, and “chastised his body.” Having thus
early put forth “buds of self-denial and self-contempt,” he was taught
Latin, educated superior to his station, did penance, made his first
general confession, and found his chief delight at the feet of altars.
At sixteen years old, instead of eating his food he gave it away out of
the window, read pious books as he walked, turned the house of his
uncle, a priest, into “a kind of monastery,” observed religious poverty,
monkish silence, and austere penance, and, by way of humility, performed
abject offices for the people of the parish, fetched provender for their
animals, took care of their cattle, and cleaned the stalls. The aversion
which he entertained against the world, induced him to enter into a
convent of Carthusians; there he discovered that he disliked profound
retirement, and imagined he should not be able to save his soul unless
he embraced an order more austere. Upon this he returned home, added
extraordinary mortifications to his fasts and prayers, instead of
sleeping on his bed lay on the floor, and told his mother he wished to
go and live upon roots as the anchorets did. All this he might have done
in the Carthusian convent, but his brain seems to have been a little
cracked, for he resolved to go into another Carthusian convent, the
prior of which would not admit him till he had studied ‘philosophy’ for
a year, and learned the Gregorian chant. Church music was very agreeable
to him--but it was not so with regard to _logic_; “notwithstanding all
his efforts, he was never able to conquer his repugnance to this branch
of study;” yet he somehow or other scrambled through an examination; got
admitted into the convent; “thought its rules far too mild for such a
sinner as he looked upon himself to be;” and after a six weeks’ trial,
left it in search of admission into the order of La Trappe, as the most
rigid of any that he knew. The Trappists would not have him; this
refusal he looked upon as a heavenly favour, because the monastery of
Sept-Fonts surpassed La Trappe in severe austerities and discipline, and
there he became a “novice” till the life he fancied, did not agree with
him. “Having a long time before quitted his father’s house he could not
think of returning to it again;” and at two and twenty years of age he
knew not what to do. His biographer says, that “little fit for the
cloister, and still less fit for the world, he was destitute of the
means of getting a livelihood; and being now persuaded of what were the
designs of God concerning him, he resolved to follow the conduct, the
light, and inspirations of the holy spirit, and to submit himself to all
the sufferings and afflictions which might await him.” If in this
condition some one had compelled him to eat a good dinner every day,
made him go to bed at a proper hour and take proper rest, and then set
him on horseback and trotted him through the fresh air and sun-shine
every forenoon, he might have been restored; or if his parents, as in
duty they ought, had bound him apprentice at a proper age to a good
trade, he might have been an useful member of society. These thoughts,
however, never appear to have entered Labre’s head, and in the dilemma
represented “his love of humility, poverty, and a penitential life,
presented to his zealous mind the practice of that kind of piety which
he afterwards put in execution.” His first step to this was writing a
farewell letter to his parents, on the 31st of August, 1770, “and from
that time they never received any account of him till after his death.”
His next steps were pilgrimages. First he went to Loretto “from tender
devotion to the Blessed Virgin, whom he looked on as his mother;” next
to Assissium the birthplace of St. Francis, where he, “according to
custom, got a small blessed cord which he constantly wore;” then he went
to Rome where he sojourned for eight or nine months and wept “in the
presence of the tomb of the holy apostles;” afterwards “he visited the
tomb of St. Romuald at Fabrieno, where the inhabitants immediately began
to look upon him as a saint;” from thence he returned to Loretto; he
then journeyed to Naples, and had the pleasure of seeing the blood of
St. Januarius which would not liquify when the French entered Naples,
till the French general threatened the priests who performed the miracle
that the city would suffer, if the saint remained obstinate; “and in
short,” says the rev. Vicar General of the London district, “there was
hardly any famous place of devotion in Europe which was not visited by
this servant of God;”--the Vicar General’s sentence had concluded better
with the words “this _slave_ of _superstition_.” To follow Labre’s other
goings to and fro would be tedious, suffice it to say that at one of his
Loretto trips some people offered him an abode, in order to save him the
trouble of going every night to a barn at a great distance; but as they
had prepared a room for him with a bed in it he thought this lodging was
too sumptuous; and he therefore retired into a hole “cut out of the rock
under the street.” Labre at last favoured the city of Rome by his fixed
residence, and sanctified the amphitheatre of Flavian by making his home
in a hole of the ancient ruins.

In this “hole of sufficient depth to hold and shelter him in a tolerable
degree from the weather,” he deposited himself every night for several
years. He employed the whole of every day, “sometimes in one church and
sometimes in another, praying most commonly upon his knees, and at other
times standing, and always keeping his body as still as if he were a
statue.” Labre’s daily exercise in fasting and lifelessness reduced him
to a helpless state, that a beggar had compassion on him, and gave him a
recommendation to an hospital, where “by taking medicines proper for his
disorder, and more substantial food, he soon grew well;” but relapsing
into his “constant, uniform, and hidden life,” he became worse. This
opportunity of exhibiting Labre’s virtues is not neglected by his
biographer, who minutely informs us of several particulars. 1st. He was
so careful to observe the law of silence, that in the course of a whole
month, scarcely any one could hear him speak so much as a few words.
2dly. He lived in the midst of Rome, as if he had lived in the midst of
a desert. 3dly. He led a life of the greatest self-denial, destitute of
every thing, disengaged from every earthly affection, unnoticed by all
mankind, desiring no other riches than poverty, no other pleasures than
mortification, no other distinction than that of being the object of
universal contempt. 4thly. He indulged in rigorous poverty, exposed to
the vicissitudes and inclemencies of the weather, without shelter
against the cold of winter or the heat of summer, wearing old clothes,
or rather rags, eating very coarse food, and for three years living in
the “hole in the wall.” 5thly. To his privations of all worldly goods,
he joined an almost continual abstinence, frequent fasts, nightly
vigils, lively and insupportable pains from particular mortifications,
and two painful tumours which covered both his knees, from resting the
whole weight of his body on them when he prayed. 6thly. “He looked upon
himself as one of the greatest of sinners;” and this was the reason why
“he chose to lead a life of reproach and contempt,” why he herded “among
the multitude of poor beggars,” “why he chose to cover himself with rags
and tatters instead of garments, why he chose to place a barrier of
disgust between himself and mankind,” why “he abandoned himself to the
bites of disagreeable insects,” and why he coveted to be covered with
filthy blotches.

Labre’s biographer, who was also his confessor, says that his
“appearance was disagreeable and forbidding; his legs were half naked,
his clothes were tied round the waist with an old cord, his head was
uncombed, he was badly clothed and wrapped up in an old and ragged coat,
and in his outward appearance he seemed to be the most miserable beggar
that I had ever seen.” His biographer further says, “I never heard his
confession but in a confessional, on purpose that there might be some
kind of separation between us.” The holy father’s lively reason for this
precaution, any history of insects with the word “pediculus” will
describe accurately.

[Illustration]

Thus Labre lived and died; and here it might be supposed would end his
memoirs. But, no. In whatever odour he lived, as he “died in the odour
of sanctity,” an enthusiasm seized some persons to touch Labre dead,
who, when living, was touchless. Labre being deceased, was competent to
work miracles; accordingly he stretched out his left hand, and laid hold
on the board of one of the benches. On Easter-day being a holiday, he
worked more miracles, and wonders more wonderful than ever were wondered
in our days, as may be seen at large, in the aforesaid volume,
entitled--“The Life of the venerable Benedict Joseph Labre, who died at
Rome, in the odour of sanctity.” The portrait, from which the engraving
on this page is taken, was published immediately after his death by Mr.
Coghlan, Catholic bookseller, Duke-street, Grosvenor-square, from a
drawing in his possession.


_Miracle at Somers Town._

The authenticity of the following extraordinary fact can be verified.
Mr. H----, a middle-aged gentleman, long afflicted by various
disorders, and especially by the gout, had so far recovered from a
severe attack of the latter complaint, that he was enabled to stand, yet
with so little advantage, that he could not walk more than fifty yards,
and it took him nearly an hour to perform that distance. While thus
enfeebled by suffering, and safely creeping in great difficulty, on a
sunny day, along a level footpath by the side of a field near Somers
Town, he was alarmed by loud cries, intermingled with the screams of
many voices behind him. From his infirmity, he could only turn very
slowly round, and then, to his astonishment, he saw, within a yard of
his coat-tail, the horns of a mad bullock; when, to the equal
astonishment of its pursuers, this unhappy gentleman instantly leaped
the fence, and overcome by terror, continued to run with amazing
celerity nearly the whole distance of the field, while the animal kept
its own course along the road. The gentleman, who had thus miraculously
recovered the use of his legs, retained his power of speed until he
reached his own house, where he related the miraculous circumstance; nor
did his quickly-restored faculty of walking abate, until it ceased with
his life several years afterwards. This “miraculous cure” can be
attested by his surviving relatives.

[Illustration: ~Somers Town Miracle.~]


THE KALEIDOSCOPE.

In April, 1818, London was surprised by the sudden appearance of an
optical instrument for creating and exhibiting beautiful forms, which
derives its name from καλος _beautiful_, ειδος _a form_, and σκοπεω _to
see_. The novelty was so enchanting, that opticians could not
manufacture kaleidoscopes fast enough, to meet the universal desire for
seeing the delightful and ever-varying combinations, presented by each
turn of the magical cylinder.

The kaleidoscope was invented by Dr. Brewster, to whom, had its
exclusive formation been ensured, it must have produced a handsome
fortune in the course of a single year. Unhappily, that gentleman was
deprived of his just reward by fraudful anticipation.[91] He says, “I
thought it advisable to secure the exclusive property of it by a patent;
but in consequence of one of the patent instruments having been
exhibited to one of the London opticians, the remarkable properties of
the kaleidoscope became known before any number of them could be
prepared for sale. The sensation excited in London by this premature
exhibition of its effects is incapable of description, and can be
conceived only by those who witnessed it. It may be sufficient to
remark, that, according to the computation of those who were best able
to form an opinion on the subject, no fewer than two hundred thousand
instruments have been sold in London and Paris during three months.”

_The Kaleidoscope._

    Mystic trifle, whose perfection
    Lies in multiplied reflection,
    Let us from thy sparkling store
    Draw a few reflections more:
    In thy magic circle rise
    All things men so dearly prize,
    Stars, and crowns, and glitt’ring things,
    Such as grace the courts of kings;
    Beauteous figures ever twining,--
    Gems with brilliant lustre shining;
    Turn the tube;--how quick they pass--
    Crowns and stars prove broken glass!

    Trifle! let us from thy store
    Draw a few reflections more;
    Who could from thy outward case
    Half thy hidden beauties trace?
    Who from such exterior show
    Guess the gems within that glow?
    Emblem of the mind divine
    Cased within its mortal shrine!

    Once again--the miser views
    Thy sparkling gems--thy golden hues--
    And, ignorant of thy beauty’s cause,
    His own conclusions sordid draws;
    Imagines thee a casket fair
    Of gorgeous jewels rich and rare;--
    Impatient his insatiate soul
    To be the owner of the whole,
    He breaks thee ope, and views within
    Some bits of glass--a tube of tin!
    Such are riches, valued true--
    Such the illusions men pursue!

  W. H. M.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Tulip. _Tulipa Sylvestris._
  Dedicated to _St. Joachim_ of Sienna.

  [91] Brewster’s Hist. of the Kaleidoscope.


~April 17.~

  _St. Anicetus_, Pope, 2d. Cent. _St. Stephen_, Abbot, A. D. 1134. _St.
  Simeon_, Bishop, and other Martyrs, A. D. 341.


  Hock,
  OR
  HOKE DAY OR TIDE.

Antiquaries are exceedingly puzzled respecting the derivation of this
annual festival, which commenced the fifteenth day after Easter, and was
therefore a movable feast dependent upon Easter.[92] Though Matthew
Paris, who is the oldest authority for the word Hoke-_day_, says it is
“quindena paschæ,” yet Mr. Douce assigns convincing reasons for taking
it as the second _Tuesday_ after Easter. At Hock-_tide_, which seems to
have included Monday and Tuesday, collections of Hock-money were made in
various parishes by the churchwardens, until the Reformation.[93]
Tuesday was the principal day. Hock Monday was for the men, and Hock
Tuesday for the women. On both days the men and women alternately, with
great merriment, intercepted the public roads with ropes, and pulled
passengers to them, from whom they exacted money to be laid out for
pious uses; Monday probably having been originally kept as only the
vigil or introduction to the festival of Hock-day. Mr. Brand
unaccountably, because inconsistently with his previous representations
respecting the antiquity of the custom of heaving at Easter, derives
that custom from the men and women _Hocking_ each other, and collecting
money at Hock-tide.

It is a tradition that this festival was instituted to commemorate the
massacre of the Danes in England, under Etheldred, in the year 1002; a
supposition however wholly unsupportable, because that event happened on
the feast of St. Brice, in the month of November. Another and more
reasonable opinion is, that the institution celebrated the final
extinction of the Danish power by the death of Hardicanute, on the sixth
day before the ides of June, 1042.[94] Yet, in relation to the former
event, “certain good-hearted men of Coventry” petitioned, “that they
might renew their old storial show” of the Hock-tide play before queen
Elizabeth, when she was on a visit to the earl of Leicester, at his
castle of Kenilworth, in July, 1575. According to “Laneham’s Letter,”
this “storial show” set forth how the Danes were for quietness borne,
and allowed to remain in peace withal, until on the said St. Brice’s
night they were “all despatched and the realm rid;” and because the
matter did show “in action and rhymes” how valiantly our English women,
for love of their country, behaved, the “men of Coventry” thought it
might move some mirth in her majesty. “The thing,” said they, “is
grounded in story, and for pastime (was) wont to be played in our city
yearly without ill example of manners, papistry, or any superstition:”
and they knew no cause why it was then of late laid down, “unless it was
by the zeal of certain of their preachers; men very commendable for
their behaviour and learning, and sweet in their sermons, but somewhat
too sour in preaching away their pastime.” By license, therefore, they
got up their Hock-tide play at Kenilworth, wherein “capt. Cox,” a person
here indescribable without hindrance to most readers, “came marching on
valiantly before, clean trussed and garnished above the knee, all fresh
in a velvet cap, flourishing with his ton-sword, and another
fence-master with him, making room for the rest. Then proudly came the
Danish knights on horseback, and then the English, each with their
alder-pole martially in their hand.” The meeting at first waxing warm,
then kindled with courage on both sides into a hot skirmish, and from
that into a blazing battle with spear and shield; so that, by outrageous
races and fierce encounters, horse and man sometimes tumbled to the
dust. Then they fell to with sword and target, and did clang and bang,
till, the fight so ceasing, afterwards followed the foot of both hosts,
one after the other marching, wheeling, forming in squadrons, triangles,
and circles, and so winding out again; and then got they so grisly
together, that inflamed on each side, twice the Danes had the better,
but at the last were quelled, and so being wholly vanquished, many were
led captive in triumph by our English women. This matter of good pastime
was wrought under the window of her highness, who beholding in the
chamber delectable dancing, and therewith great thronging of the people,
saw but little of the Coventry play; wherefore her majesty commanded it
on the Tuesday following, to have it full out, and being then
accordingly presented, her highness laughed right well. Then too, played
the “good-hearted men of Coventry” the merrier, and so much the more,
because her majesty had given them two bucks, and five marks in money;
and they prayed for her highness long happily to reign, and oft to come
thither, that oft they might see her; and rejoicing upon their ample
reward, and triumphing upon their good acceptance, vaunted their play
was never so dignified, nor ever any players before so beatified.[95]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Fravi’s Cowl. _Arum Arisarum._
  Dedicated to _St. Stephen_ of Citeaux.

  [92] Nares’s Glossary.

  [93] See large extracts from their accounts, in Brand, &c.

  [94] Allen’s Hist. of Lambeth.

  [95] Concerning the Coventry Hock-tide play, it is reasonable to
  expect curious information from a forthcoming “Dissertation on the
  Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries, anciently performed at Coventry,
  chiefly with reference to the vehicle, characters, and dresses of the
  actors,” by Mr. Thomas Sharp, of Coventry, who, with access to the
  corporation manuscripts, and to other sources hitherto unexplored,
  and, above all, with the requisite knowledge and qualifications, will
  probably throw greater light on the obsolete drama, than has devolved
  upon it from the labours of any preceding antiquary.


~April 18.~

  _St. Apollonius_, A. D. 186. _St. Galdin_, Abp. 1176. _St. Laserian_,
  or _Molaisre_, Bp. of Leighlin, A. D. 638.


CHRONOLOGY.

1689. The infamous judge Jefferies died in the Tower, whither he had
been committed by the lords of the council, after he had been taken in
the disguise of a common sailor for the purpose of leaving England. He
was born at Acton, near Wrexham, in Denbighshire, and being raised to
the bench, polluted its sanctity by perversions of the law. His habits
and language were vulgar and disgusting. John Evelyn says, “I went this
day to a wedding of one Mrs. Castle, to whom I had some obligation: and
it was to her fifth husband, a lieutenant-colonel of the city. She was
the daughter of one Bruton, a broom-man, by his wife, who sold
kitchen-stuff in Kent-street, whom God so blessed, that the father
became very rich, and was a very honest man; and this daughter was a
jolly, friendly woman. There were at the wedding the lord mayor, the
sheriff, several aldermen, and persons of quality; above all sir George
Jefferies, newly made lord chief justice of England, who, with Mr.
justice Withings, danced with the bride, and were exceeding merry! These
great men spent the rest of the afternoon, till eleven at night, in
drinking healths, taking tobacco, and talking much beneath the gravity
of judges that had but a day or two before condemned Mr. Algernon
Sidney, who was executed the 7th of Dec. 1683, on Tower-hill, on the
single witness of that monster of a man, lord Howard of Escrick, and
some sheets of paper taken in Mr. Sidney’s study, pretended to be
written by him, but not fully proved.” James II. found Jefferies a fit
instrument for his arbitrary purposes. After the defeat of the duke of
Monmouth in the west, he employed the most sanguinary miscreants, and
Jefferies among the rest, to wreak his vengeance on the deluded people.
Bishop Burnet says, that Jefferies’s behaviour was brutally disgusting,
beyond any thing that was ever heard of in a civilized nation; “he was
perpetually either drunk or in a rage, liker a fury than the zeal of a
judge.” He required the prisoners to plead guilty, on pretence of
showing them favour; but he afterwards showed them no mercy, hanging
many immediately. He hanged in several places about six hundred persons.
The king had a daily account of Jefferies’ proceedings, which he took
pleasure to relate in the drawing-room to foreign ministers, and at his
table he called it Jefferies’s campaign. Upon Jefferies’ return, he
created him a peer of England, by the title of earl of Flint. During
these “_bloody assizes_,” the lady Lisle, a noble woman of exemplary
character, whose husband had been murdered by the Stuart party, was
tried for entertaining two gentlemen of the duke of Monmouth’s army; and
though the jury twice brought her in not guilty, Jefferies sent them out
again and again, until, upon his threatening to attaint them of treason,
they pronounced her guilty. Jefferies, before he tried this lady, got
the king to promise that he would not pardon her, and the only favour
she obtained was the change of her sentence from burning to beheading.
Mrs. Gaunt, a widow, near Wapping, who was a Baptist, and spent her time
in acts of charity, was tried on a charge of having hid one Burton, who,
hearing that the king had said that he would sooner pardon rebels than
those who harboured them, accused his benefactress of having saved his
life. She was burned at the stake. The excellent William Penn, the
Quaker, saw her die, and related the manner of her death to Burnet. She
laid the straw about her for her burning speedily, and behaved herself
so heroically, that all melted into tears. Six men were hanged at
Tyburn, on the like charge, without trial. At length, the bloody and
barbarous executions were so numerous, that they spread horror
throughout the nation. England was an _acaldema_: the country, for sixty
miles together, from Bristol to Exeter, had a new and terrible sort of
sign-posts or gibbets, bearing the heads and limbs of its butchered
inhabitants. Every soul was sunk in anguish and terror, sighing by day
and by night for deliverance, but shut out of all hope, till the arrival
of the prince of Orange, on whom the two houses of parliament bestowed
the crown. Jefferies had attained under James II. to the high office of
lord chancellor.

1794. Died Charles Pratt, earl Camden, born in 1713. As chief justice of
the common pleas, he was distinguished for having discharged the
celebrated John Wilkes from the tower. By that decision, general
warrants were pronounced illegal; and for so great a service to his
country, lord Camden received the approbation of his fellow citizens;
they conferred on him the freedom of their cities, and placed his
picture in their corporation-halls. He was equally distinguished for
opposing the opinion of prerogative lawyers in matters of libel. At his
death he was lord president of the council. Firm of purpose, and mild in
manners, he was a wise and amiable man. It is pleasantly related of him,
that while chief justice, being upon a visit to lord Dacre, at Alveley,
in Essex, he walked out with a gentleman, a very absent man, to a hill,
at no great distance from the house, upon the top of which stood the
stocks of the village. The chief justice sat down upon them; and after a
while, having a mind to know what the punishment was, he asked his
companion to open them and put him in. This being done, his friend took
a book from his pocket, sauntered on, and so completely forgot the judge
and his situation, that he returned to lord Dacre’s. In the mean time,
the chief justice being tired of the stocks, tried in vain to release
himself. Seeing a countryman pass by, he endeavoured to move him to let
him out, but obtained nothing by his motion. “No, no, old gentleman,”
said the countryman, “you was not set there for nothing;” and left him,
until he was released by a servant of the house despatched in quest of
him. Some time after he presided at a trial in which a charge was
brought against a magistrate for false imprisonment, and for setting in
the stocks. The counsel for the magistrate, in his reply, made light of
the whole charge, and more especially setting in the stocks, which he
said every body knew was no punishment at all. The chief justice rose,
and leaning over the bench, said, in a half-whisper, “Brother, have you
ever been in the stocks?” “Really, my lord, never.”--“Then I have,” said
the judge, “and I assure you, brother, it is no such trifle as you
represent.”

1802. Dr. Erasmus Darwin died. He was born at Newark in Nottinghamshire,
in 1732, and attained to eminence as a physician and a botanist. His
decease was sudden. Riding in his carriage, he found himself mortally
seized, pulled the check-string, and desired his servant to help him to
a cottage by the road-side. On entering, they found a woman within, whom
the doctor addressed thus, “Did you ever see a man die?”--“No,
sir.”--“Then now you may.” The terrified woman ran out at the door, and
in a few minutes Darwin was no more. He strenuously opposed the use of
ardent spirits, from conviction that they induced dreadful maladies,
especially gout, dropsy, and insanity; hence his patients were never
freed from his importunities, and the few who had courage to persevere
benefited by his advice.


THE MAID SERVANT.

Holidays being looked forward to with unmixed delight by all whose
opportunities of enjoying them are dependent upon others, a sketch of
character at such a season may amuse those whose inclination is not
sufficiently strong to study the original, and just enough to feel
pleasure in looking at the picture. The outline and finishing of that
which is here exhibited prove it the production of a master hand.

“The maid servant must be considered as young, or else she has married
the butcher, the butler, or her cousin, or has otherwise settled into a
character distinct from her original one, so as to become what is
properly called the domestic. The maid servant, in her apparel, is
either slovenly or fine by turns, and dirty always; or she is at all
times snug and neat, and dressed according to her station. In the latter
case, her ordinary dress is black stockings, a stuff gown, a cap, and
neck-handkerchief pinned corner-wise behind. If you want a pin, she just
feels about her, and has always one to give you. On Sundays and
holidays, and perhaps of afternoons, she changes her black stockings for
white, puts on a gown of a better texture and fine pattern, sets her cap
and her curls jauntily, and lays aside the neck-handkerchief for a high
body, which, by the way, is not half so pretty. There is something very
warm and latent in the handkerchief,--something easy, vital, and genial.
A woman in a high-bodied gown, made to fit her like a case, is by no
means more modest, and is much less tempting. She looks like a figure at
the head of a ship. We could almost see her chucked out of doors into a
cart with as little remorse as a couple of sugar-loaves. The tucker is
much better, as well as the handkerchief; and is to the other, what the
young lady is to the servant. The one always reminds us of the Sparkler
in the ‘Guardian;’ the other of Fanny in ‘Joseph Andrews.’ But to
return:--The general furniture of her ordinary room, the kitchen, is not
so much her own as her master’s and mistress’s, and need not be
described; but in a drawer of the dresser of the table, in company with
a duster and a pair of snuffers, may be found some of her property, such
as a brass thimble, a pair of scissars, a thread-case, a piece of wax
candle much wrinkled with the thread, an odd volume of ‘Pamela,’ and
perhaps a sixpenny play, such as ‘George Barnwell,’ or Mrs. Behn’s
‘Oroonoko.’ There is a piece of looking-glass also in the window. The
rest of her furniture is in the garret, where you may find a good
looking-glass on the table; and in the window a Bible, a comb, and a
piece of soap. Here stands also, under stout lock and key, the mighty
mystery--the box,--containing among other things her clothes, two or
three song-books, consisting of nineteen for the penny; sundry tragedies
at a half-penny the sheet: the ‘Whole Nature of Dreams laid open,’
together with the ‘Fortune-teller,’ and the ‘Account of the Ghost of
Mrs. Veal;’ ‘the story of the beautiful Zoa who was cast away on a
desert island, showing how,’ &c.: some half-crowns in a purse, including
pieces of country money, with the good countess of Coventry on one of
them riding naked on the horse; a silver penny wrapped up in cotton by
itself; a crooked sixpence, given her before she came to town, and the
giver of which has either forgotten her or been forgotten by her, she is
not sure which; two little enamel boxes, with looking-glass in the lids,
one of them a fairing, the other ‘a trifle from Margate;’ and lastly,
various letters, square and ragged, and directed in all sorts of
spelling, chiefly with little letters for capitals. One of them, written
by a girl who went to a day school with her, is directed ‘miss.’--In her
manners, the maid servant sometimes imitates her young mistress; she
puts her hair in papers, cultivates a shape, and occasionally contrives
to be out of spirits. But her own character and condition overcome all
sophistications of this sort; her shape, fortified by the mop and
scrubbing-brush, will make its way; and exercise keeps her healthy and
cheerful. From the same cause her temper is good; though she gets into
little heats when a stranger is over saucy, or when she is told not to
go so heavily down stairs, or when some unthinking person goes up her
wet stairs with dirty shoes--or when she is called away often from
dinner; neither does she much like to be seen scrubbing the
street-door-steps of a morning; and sometimes she catches herself
saying, ‘drat that butcher,’ but immediately adds, ‘God forgive me.’ The
tradesmen indeed, with their compliments and arch looks, seldom give her
cause to complain. The milkman bespeaks her good humour for the day
with--‘Come, pretty maids.’ Then follow the butcher, the baker, the
oilman, &c. all with their several smirks and little loiterings; and
when she goes to the shops herself, it is for her the grocer pulls down
his string from its roller with more than ordinary whirl, and tosses, as
it were, his parcel into a tie,--for her, the cheesemonger weighs his
butter with half a glance, cherishes it round about with his patties,
and dabs the little piece on it to make up, with a graceful jerk. Thus
pass the mornings between working, and singing, and giggling, and
grumbling, and being flattered. If she takes any pleasure unconnected
with her office before the afternoon, it is when she runs up the
area-steps, or to the door to hear and purchase a new song, or to see a
troop of soldiers go by; or when she happens to thrust her head out of a
chamber window at the same time with a servant at the next house, when a
dialogue infallibly ensues, stimulated by the imaginary obstacles
between. If the maid-servant is wise, the best part of her work is done
by dinner time; and nothing else is necessary to give perfect zest to
the meal. She tells us what she thinks of it, when she calls it ‘a bit
o’ dinner.’ There is the same sort of eloquence in her other phrase, ‘a
cup o’ tea;’ but the old ones, and the washerwomen, beat her at that.
After tea in great houses, she goes with the other servants to hot
cockles, or What-are-my-thoughts like, and tells Mr. John to ‘have done
then;’ or if there is a ball given that night, they throw open all the
doors, and make use of the music up stairs to dance by. In smaller
houses, she receives the visit of her aforesaid cousin; and sits down
alone, or with a fellow maid servant, to work; talks of her young
master, or mistress, Mr. Ivins (Evans): or else she calls to mind her
own friends in the country, where she thinks the cows and ‘all _that_’
beautiful, now she is away. Meanwhile, if she is lazy, she snuffs the
candle with her scissars; or if she has eaten more heartily than usual,
she sighs double the usual number of times, and thinks that tender
hearts were born to be unhappy. Such being the maid-servant’s life in
doors, she scorns, when abroad, to be any thing but a creature of sheer
enjoyment. The maid-servant, the sailor, and the school-boy, are the
three beings that enjoy a holiday beyond all the rest of the world: and
all for the same reason,--because their inexperience, peculiarity of
life, and habit of being with persons or circumstances or thoughts above
them, give them all, in their way, a cast of the romantic. The most
active of money-getters is a vegetable compared with them. The
maid-servant when she first goes to Vauxhall, thinks she is in heaven. A
theatre is all pleasure to her, whatever is going forward, whether the
play, or the music, or the waiting which makes others impatient, or the
munching of apples and gingerbread nuts, which she and her party
commence almost as soon as they have seated themselves. She prefers
tragedy to comedy, because it is grander, and less like what she meets
with in general; and because she thinks it more in earnest also,
especially in the love scenes. Her favourite play is ‘Alexander the
Great, or the Rival Queens,’ Another great delight is in going a
shopping. She loves to look at the patterns in the window, and the fine
things labelled with those corpulent numerals of ‘only 7s.’--‘only 6s.
6d.’ She has also, unless born and bred in London, been to see my lord
mayor, the fine people coming out of court, and the ‘beasties’ in the
tower; and at all events she has been to Astley’s and the Circus, from
which she comes away equally smitten with the rider, and sore with
laughing at the clown. But it is difficult to say what pleasure she
enjoys most. One of the completest of all is the fair, where she walks
through an endless round of noise, and toys, and gallant apprentices,
and wonders. Here she is invited in by courteous, well dressed people as
if she were the mistress. Here also is the conjuror’s booth, where the
operator himself, a most stately and genteel person all in white, calls
her ‘ma’am;’ and says to John by her side, in spite of his laced hat,
‘Be good enough, sir, to hand the card to the lady.’ Ah! may her cousin
turn out as true as he says he is; or may she get home soon enough, and
smiling enough, to be as happy again next time.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Musk Narcisse. _Narcissus moschatus._
  Dedicated to _St. Apollonius_.


~April 19.~

  _St. Leo_ IX. Pope, A. D. 1054. _St. Elphege_, A. D. 1012. _St.
  Ursmar_, Bp. A. D. 713.


_St. Elphege._

This saint’s name in the church of England calendar is _Alphege_. He was
brought up at the monastery of Deerhurst, in Gloucestershire; afterwards
he built himself a lonely cell in the abbey of Bath, where he became
abbot, and corrected the “little junketings” and other irregularities
of the monks. St. Dunstan being warned in a vision, drew him from
thence, and gave him episcopal ordination. In 1006, he became bishop of
Winchester, and was afterwards translated to the see of Canterbury. On
the storming of that city by the Danes, he endeavoured to allay their
fury, but they burnt his cathedral, decimated his monks, and carrying
Alphege prisoner to Canterbury, there slew him on this day in 1012.[96]

It is storied, that when St. Alphege was imprisoned at Greenwich, the
devil appeared to him in likeness of an angel, and tempted him to follow
him into a dark valley, over which he wearily walked through hedges and
ditches, till at last being in a most foul mire the devil vanished, and
a real angel appeared and told St. Alphege to go back to prison and be a
martyr, which he did. Then after his death, an old rotten stake was
driven into his body, and those who drave it said, that if on the morrow
the stake was green and bore leaves they would believe; whereupon the
stake flourished and the drivers thereof repented as they said they
would, and the body being buried at St. Paul’s church, in London, worked
miracles.[97]

In commemoration of this saint was put up in Greenwich church the
following inscription: “This church was erected and dedicated to the
glory of God, and the memory of Saint Alphege, archbishop of Canterbury,
here slain by the Danes.”


CHRONOLOGY.

1739. Died, Dr. Nicholas Saunderson, Lucasian professor of mathematics.
He was born in 1659, at Thurlston, in Yorkshire, lost his sight from the
small pox when twelve months old, and became so proficient in the
science of certainties, that his eminence has rarely been equalled.

1775. The American war commenced at Lexington.

1791. Dr. Richard Price died. He was born in Glamorganshire in 1732.
Revered for the purity of his private character, he is celebrated for
his religious, moral, mathematical, and political works throughout
Europe.

1824. Lord Byron died. A letter taken from a newspaper several years
ago,[98] relative to the residence of this distinguished character in
the island of Mitylene, seems to have escaped editorial inquiry, and is
therefore subjoined. If authentic, it is, in some degree, an
interesting memorial.

  Mr. Editor,

In sailing through the Grecian Archipelago, on board one of his
majesty’s vessels, in the year 1812, we put into the harbour of
Mitylene, in the island of that name. The beauty of this place, and the
certain supply of cattle and vegetables always to be had there, induce
many British vessels to visit it, both men of war and merchantmen; and
though it lies rather out of the track for ships bound to Smyrna, its
bounties amply repay for the deviation of a voyage. We landed, as usual,
at the bottom of the bay, and whilst the men were employed in watering,
and the purser bargaining for cattle with the natives, the clergyman and
myself took a ramble to a cave, called Homer’s School, and other places,
where we had been before. On the brow of Mount Ida (a small monticole so
named) we met with and engaged a young Greek as our guide, who told us
he had come from Scio with an English lord, who left the island four
days previous to our arrival, in his felucca. “He engaged me as a
pilot,” said the Greek, “and would have taken me with him, but I did not
choose to quit Mitylene, where I am likely to get married. He was an
odd, but a very good man. The cottage over the hill, facing the river,
belongs to him, and he has left an old man in charge of it; he gave
Dominick, the wine trader, six hundred zechines for it, (about 250_l._
English currency,) and has resided there about fourteen months, though
not constantly; for he sails in his felucca very often to the different
islands.”

This account excited our curiosity very much, and we lost no time in
hastening to the house where our countryman had resided. We were kindly
received by an old man, who conducted us over the mansion. It consisted
of four apartments on the ground floor: an entrance hall, a
drawing-room, a sitting parlour, and a bed room, with a spacious closet
annexed. They were all simply decorated: plain green-stained walls,
marble tables on either side, a large myrtle in the centre, and a small
fountain beneath, which could be made to play through the branches by
moving a spring fixed in the side of a small bronze Venus in a leaning
posture; a large couch or sopha completed the furniture. In the hall
stood half a dozen English cane chairs, and an empty bookcase: there
were no mirrors, nor a single painting. The bed-chamber had merely a
large mattrass spread on the floor, with two stuffed cotton quilts and a
pillow--the common bed throughout Greece. In the sitting room we
observed a marble recess, formerly, the old man told us, filled with
books and papers, which were then in a large seaman’s chest in the
closet: it was open, but we did not think ourselves justified in
examining the contents. On the tablet of the recess lay Voltaire’s,
Shakspeare’s, Boileau’s, and Rousseau’s works, complete; Volney’s “Ruins
of Empires;” Zimmerman, in the German language; Klopstock’s “Messiah;”
Kotzebue’s novels; Schiller’s play of the “Robbers;” Milton’s “Paradise
Lost,” an Italian edition, printed at Parma in 1810; several small
pamphlets from the Greek press at Constantinople, much torn. Most of
these books were filled with marginal notes, written with a pencil, in
Italian and Latin. The “Messiah” was literally scribbled all over, and
marked with slips of paper, on which also were remarks.

The old man said, “the lord had been reading these books the evening
before he sailed, and forgot to place them with the others; but,” said
he, “there they must lie until his return; for he is so particular, that
were I to move one thing without orders, he would frown upon me for a
week together: he is otherwise very good. I once did him a service, and
I have the produce of this farm for the trouble of taking care of it,
except twenty zechines, which I pay to an aged Armenian, who resides in
a small cottage in the wood, and whom the lord brought here from
Adrianople; I don’t know for what reason.”

The appearance of the house externally was pleasing. The portico in
front was fifty paces long and fourteen broad, and the fluted marble
pillars with black plinths and fret-work cornices, (as it is now
customary in Grecian architecture,) were considerably higher than the
roof. The roof, surrounded by a light stone balustrade, was covered by a
fine Turkey carpet, beneath an awning of strong coarse linen. Most of
the house-tops are thus furnished, as upon them the Greeks pass their
evenings in smoking, drinking light wines, such as “lachryma Christi,”
eating fruit, and enjoying the evening breeze.

On the left hand, as we entered the house, a small streamlet glided
away; grapes, oranges, and limes were clustering together on its
borders, and under the shade of two large myrtle bushes, a marble seat,
with an ornamental wooden back, was placed, on which, we were told, the
lord passed many of his evenings and nights, till twelve o’clock,
reading, writing, and talking to himself. “I suppose,” said the old man,
“praying; for he was very devout, and always attended our church twice a
week, besides Sundays.”

The view from this seat was what may be termed “a bird’s eye view.” A
line of rich vineyards led the eye to Mount Calcla, covered with olive
and myrtle-trees in bloom, and on the summit of which an ancient Greek
temple appeared in majestic decay. A small stream issuing from the
ruins, descended in broken cascades, until it was lost in the woods near
the mountain’s base. The sea, smooth as glass, and an horizon unshaded
by a single cloud, terminates the view in front; and a little on the
left, through a vista of lofty chesnut and palm-trees, several small
islands were distinctly observed, studding the light blue wave with
spots of emerald green. I seldom enjoyed a view more than I did this;
but our inquiries were fruitless as to the name of the person who had
resided in this romantic solitude; none knew his name but Dominick, his
banker, who had gone to Candia. “The Armenian,” said our conductor,
“could tell, but I am sure he will not.”--“And cannot you tell, old
friend?” said I.--“If I can,” said he, “I dare not.” We had not time to
visit the Armenian, but on our return to the town we learnt several
particulars of the isolated lord. He had portioned eight young girls
when he was last upon the island, and even danced with them at the
nuptial feast. He gave a cow to one man, horses to others, and cotton
and silk to the girls who live by weaving these articles. He also bought
a new boat for a fisherman who had lost his own in a gale, and he often
gave Greek Testaments to the poor children. In short, he appeared to us,
from all we collected, to have been a very eccentric and benevolent
character. One circumstance we learnt which our old friend at the
cottage thought proper not to disclose. He had a most beautiful
daughter, with whom the lord was often seen walking on the sea-shore,
and he had bought her a pianoforte, and taught her himself the use of
it.

Such was the information with which we departed from the peaceful isle
of Mitylene; our imaginations all on the rack, guessing who this rambler
in Greece could be. He had money, it was evident: he had philanthropy of
disposition, and all those eccentricities which mark peculiar genius.
Arrived at Palermo, all our doubts were dispelled. Falling in with Mr.
Foster, the architect, a pupil of Wyatt’s, who had been travelling in
Egypt and Greece, “The individual,” said he, “about whom you are so
anxious, is lord Byron; I met him in my travels on the island of
Tenedos, and I also visited him at Mitylene.”--We had never then heard
of his lordship’s fame, as we had been some years from home; but “Childe
Harold” being put into our hands, we recognised the recluse of Calcla in
every page. Deeply did we regret not having been more curious in our
researches at the cottage, but we consoled ourselves with the idea of
returning to Mitylene on some future day; but to me that day will never
return.

  * * * *  JOHN MITFORD.

       *       *       *       *       *

The names of Byron and Moore are associated for their attainments; they
were kindred in their friendship. The last lines, written by lord Byron,
on his native soil, were addressed to Mr. Moore:

      My boat is on the shore,
    And my bark is on the sea;
      But ere I go, TOM MOORE,
    Here’s a double health to thee.

      Here’s a sigh for those I love,
    And a smile for those I hate,
      And, whatever sky’s above,
    Here’s a heart for any fate.

      Though the ocean roars around me,
    It still shall bear me on;
      Though a desert should surround me
    It hath springs that may be won.

      Were it the last drop in the well,
    As I gasped on the brink,
      Ere my fainting spirits fell,
    ’Tis to thee that I would drink.

      In that water, as this wine,
    The libation I would pour
      Should be--Peace to thee and thine,
    And a health to thee, TOM MOORE.

Forbearing to estimate him whom the low and the lofty alike assume to
measure, a passage from his own pen may fitly conclude this notice:--

                                     Beautiful!
    How beautiful is all this visible world!
    How glorious in its action and itself;
    But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we,
    Half dust, half deity, alike unfit
    To sink or soar, with our mix’d essence make
    A conflict of its elements, and breathe
    The breath of degradation and of pride,
    Contending with low wants and lofty will
    Till our mortality predominates,
    And men are--what they name not to themselves,
    And trust not to each other.

  _Byron._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Ursine Garlick. _Allium Ursinum._
  Dedicated to _St. Leo_ IX., Pope.

  [96] Butler.

  [97] Golden Legend.

  [98] Observer, Nov. 15, 1818.


~April 20.~

  _St. Agnes_, of Monte Pulciano, A. D. 1317. _St. Serf_, or _Servanus_,
  Bp. 5th Cent. _St. James_ of Sclavonia, or Illyricum, A. D. 1485.

  Easter Term, 1825, _begins_.

On this day the sun enters Taurus ♉ or the bull, at 9 h. 50 m. A. M., at
which period black cattle produce their offspring, and hence probably
the sign is represented by the male animal. The Greeks affirmed it to be
the bull into which Jupiter metamorphosed himself, when he visited
Europa, but this sign was figured and worshipped throughout the East as
the god _Apis_, or a symbol of the sun, before the Greek zodiac existed.


SEASONABLE DESIRES.

With the incoming of spring there is an outgoing from town, or a wish to
do so. We all love what nature proffers to our enjoyment. Now--the
humble tenant of the lofty attic in the metropolis, cultivates a few
flowers in garden pots, within the ridge of the parapet that bounds the
eye from all things but sky and clouds; and when he can, walks with his
wife in search of fields where grass grows and cattle feed. Now--the
better conditioned take a trip a few miles beyond the suburbs, and all
manifest hopes or wishes for prolonged enjoyment of the country in the
approaching summer. Now--ready furnished cottages and lodgings, which
have been “to let” throughout the winter in the villages near the
metropolis, find admirers, and some of them find occupiers. Now--the
good wife reminds her good man--“My dear it’s very hard, after so many
years not to be able to afford a little comfort at last--we can’t, you
know, live in this way for ever. What a charming day this is. Let us see
and get a little place just a little way from town against the fine
weather comes; the walk there and back will do _you_ good; it will do us
_all_ good; and the expense won’t be miss’d in the long run.” Now the
thoughtful and thrifty, and the unthoughtful and the unthrifty, of
certain and uncertain income, begin to plan or scheme where to go “after
parliament’s up,” or in what neighbourhood, or on what site, to hire or
build a house suitable to their real or imaginary wants. Now, in other
words, “all the world” in London is thinking how or where “to go out of
town by and bye.”

    I who a country life admire,
    And ne’er of rural prospects tire,
    Salute my friend who loves the town,
    And hates to see a country clown.
    Tho’ we almost congenial be,
    In this howe’er we disagree;
    You’re fond of bustle, din, and smoke,
    And things that always me provoke,
    Whilst I clear rivulets extol,
    That o’er their pebbly channels roll,
    Rude mossy rocks that nodding stand;
    Rich corn that’s waving o’er the land,
    Thick shady groves where zephyrs play
    And cool the sultry heat of day;
    I’m fond of every rustic sport,
    And hate--detest a venal court.
    Whene’er I quit the noisy town,
    And to my rural spot get down,
    I find myself quite at my ease,
    And can do whatsoe’er I please;
    Sometimes I study, sometimes ride,
    Or stroll along the river’s side,
    Or saunter through some fertile mead,
    Where lowing herds in plenty feed;
    Or rest upon a bank of flowers,
    And pass, ’midst innocence, my hours.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Spring Snowflake. _Leucojum vernum._
  Dedicated to _St. Agnes_ of Monte Pulciano.


~April 21.~

  _St. Anselm._ _St. Anastasius_, the Sinaite, A. D. 678. _St.
  Anastasius_ I., Patriarch, A. D. 598. _St. Anastasius_, the younger,
  A. D. 610. _St. Beuno_, or _Beunor_, Abbot of Clynnog, A. D. 616. _St.
  Eingan_, or _Eneon_, A. D. 590. _St. Malrubius_, A. D. 721.


_St. Anselm._

Was born at Aoust in Piedmont, and was made archbishop of Canterbury, by
William Rufus, in 1093. Butler gives a circumstantial account of his
life and writings, from whence it appears that Anselm was a learned and
skilful theologian, and conducted his affairs with great circumspection
and obedience to the papal see under William I. and II., and Henry I.;
and that he died on the 21st of April, 1109, aged seventy-six: he says,
“We have authentic accounts of many admirable miracles wrought by this
saint.”


CHRONOLOGY.

753. B. C. Romulus commenced the foundations of Rome; on this day his
brother Remus was slain by Romulus or his workmen, for having ridiculed
the slenderness of the walls. Thus raised in blood they became the
sanctuary of refugees and criminals, and to increase the population
neighbouring females were forcibly dragged within its boundaries.

323. B. C. Alexander the Great, son of Philip of Macedon died. When a
boy he tamed Bucephalus, a horse which none of the courtiers could
manage, and Philip wept that the kingdom of Macedonia would be too small
for such a son. He was under Aristotle for five years; after the
assassination of his father, he slew his murderers, succeeded him in the
sovereignty, conquered Thrace and Illyricum, destroyed Thebes, became
chief commander of all the forces of Greece, conquered Darius and all
Minor Asia, subdued Egypt, Media, Syria, and Persia, visited the temple
of Jupiter Ammon, bribed the priests to salute him as the son of that
god, exacted divine honours from his army, spread his conquests over
India, invaded Scythia, visited the Indian ocean, and laden with the
spoils of India, returned to Babylon, where he died of drunkenness, in
the thirty-second year of his age. After his death, all his family and
infant children were put to death, his generals quarrelled for the
empire, and bloody wars distributed the prize in shares to the
sanguinary winners.

1142. Peter Abelard, a learned doctor of the church died, aged
sixty-three. He was the celebrated lover of the no less celebrated
Heloise, the niece of a canon, who placed her under Abelard to be taught
philosophy, of whom she learned the art of love; and preferring an
infamous reputation to the bonds of wedlock, caused her tutor’s ruin.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cyprus Narcisse. _Narcissus Orientalis albus._
  Dedicated to _St. Anselm_.


~April 22.~

  _Sts. Sotor_ and _Caius_, Popes, 2d Cent. _St Caius_, Pope, A. D. 296.
  _Sts. Azades, Tharba, &c._, Martyrs in Persia, A. D. 341. _Sts.
  Epipodius_ and _Alexander_, 2d Cent. _St. Theodorus_, of Siceon,
  Bishop, A. D. 613. _St. Opportuna_, Abbess, A. D. 770. _St. Leonides_,
  A. D. 202. _St. Rufus_, or _Rufin_, of Glendaloch.


ROOKS.--_An Anecdote._

Amongst the _deliramenta_ of the learned, which have amused mankind, the
following instance merits a conspicuous rank. Some years ago, there were
several large elm trees in the college garden, behind the ecclesiastical
court, Doctors Commons, in which a number of rooks had taken up their
abode, forming in appearance a sort of _convocation_ of aërial
ecclesiastics. A young gentleman, who lodged in an attic, and was their
close neighbour, frequently entertained himself with thinning this covey
of black game, by means of a cross-bow. On the opposite side lived a
curious old civilian, who, observing from his study, that the rooks
often dropt senseless from their perch, or as it may be said, without
using a figure, _hopp’d the twig_, making no sign, nor any sign being
made to his vision to account for the phenomenon, set his wits to work
to consider the cause. It was probably during a _profitless_ time of
peace, and the doctor having plenty of leisure, weighed the matter over
and over, till he was at length fully satisfied that he had made a great
ornithological discovery, that its promulgation would give wings to his
Fame, and that he was fated by means of these rooks to say,

    “Volito vivus per ora virum.”

His goose-quill and foolscap were quickly in requisition, and he
actually wrote _a treatise_, stating circumstantially what he himself
had seen, and in conclusion, giving it as the settled conviction of his
mind, that _rooks_ were subject to the _falling sickness_![99]


SPARROWS.

Country churchwardens and overseers are encouraged by farmers to offer
rewards for the destruction of these merry twitterers, under the notion
that they are fell destroyers of their grain. Mr. Bewick has taken some
interest in their behalf, by stating a plain fact. He says:

“Most of the smaller birds are supported, especially when young, by a
provision of caterpillars, small worms and insects; on these they feed,
and thus they contribute to preserve the vegetable world from
destruction. This is contrary to the commonly received opinion, that
birds, particularly SPARROWS, do much mischief in destroying the labours
of the gardener and husbandman. It has been observed, ‘that a SINGLE
PAIR OF SPARROWS, during the time they are feeding their young, will
destroy about FOUR THOUSAND CATERPILLARS WEEKLY!’ They likewise feed
their young with butterflies and other winged insects, each of which, if
not destroyed in this manner, would be productive of several hundreds of
caterpillars. Let us not condemn a whole species of animals, because, in
some instances, we have found them troublesome or inconvenient. Of this
we are sufficiently sensible; but the uses to which they are
subservient, in the grand economical distribution of nature, we cannot
so easily ascertain. We have already observed that, in the destruction
of caterpillars, sparrows are eminently serviceable to vegetation, and
in this respect alone, there is reason to suppose, sufficiently re-pay
the destruction they make in the produce of the garden or the field. The
great table of nature is spread alike to all, and is amply stored with
every thing necessary for the support of the various families of the
earth: it is owing to the superior intelligence and industry of man,
that he is enabled to appropriate so large a portion of the best gifts
of providence for his own subsistence and comfort; let him not then
think it waste, that, in some instances, creatures inferior to him in
rank are permitted to partake with him, nor let him grudge them their
scanty pittance; but, considering them only as the tasters of his full
meal, let him endeavour to imitate their cheerfulness, and lift up his
heart in grateful effusions to HIM, ‘who filleth all things with
plenteousness.’”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Wood Crowfoot. _Rununculus Auricomus._
  Dedicated to _St. Rufus_.

  [99] Morn. Chron., Sept. 3, 1818.


~April 23.~

  _St. George._ _St. Adalbert_, Bp. A. D. 997. _St. Gerard_, Bp. A. D.
  994. _St. Ibar_, or _Ivor_, Bp. in Ireland, about 500.


ST. GEORGE the Martyr,

_Patron of England_.

Who was St. George? Butler says that the Greeks long distinguished him
by the title of “The Great Martyr;” that, among other churches, five or
six were formerly dedicated to him at Constantinople; that he “seems” to
have been the founder of the church of St. George over “his tomb” in
Palestine; that one of his churches in Constantinople gave to the
Hellespont the name of “the Arm of St. George;” that he is honoured as
principal patron of saints by several eastern nations, particularly “the
Georgians;” that the Byzantine historians relate battles gained, and
miracles won, by his intercession; that he was celebrated in France in
the sixth century; that his office is found in the sacramentary of the
(credulous) pope Gregory the Great; that certain of his (presumed)
relics were placed in a church at Paris, on its consecration to St.
Vincent; that “he is said to have been a great soldier;” that he was
chosen by our ancestors the tutelar saint of England, under the first
Norman kings; that the council at Oxford in 1222, commanded his feast to
be kept a holiday of the lesser rank; that under his name and ensign our
Edward III. instituted the most noble order of knighthood in Europe;
that this institution was fifty years before that of St. Michael by
Louis XI. of France, eighty years before the order of the Golden Fleece
by Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy, one hundred and ninety years
before that of St. Andrew by James I. of Scotland, and one hundred and
forty years before the order of St. George by the emperor Frederick IV.;
and that “the extraordinary devotion of all Christendom to this saint is
an authentic proof how glorious his triumph and name have always been in
the church.” Still who _was_ St. George?

[Illustration: ~St. George and the Dragon.~]

It is related of St. George,[100] that he arrived at a city of Lybia
called Sylene. Near this city was a stagnant lake or pond like a sea,
wherein dwelt a dragon, who was so fierce and venomous, that he
terrified and poisoned the whole country. The people therefore assembled
to slay him; but when they saw him, his appearance was so horrible,
that they fled. Then the dragon pursued them even to the city itself,
and the inhabitants were nearly destroyed by his very breath, and
suffered so much, that they were obliged to give him two sheep every day
to keep him from doing them harm. At length the number of sheep became
so small, that they could only give him one sheep every day, and they
were obliged to give him a man instead of the other: at last, because
all the men might not be eaten up, a law was made that they should draw
lots to give him the youth and infants of all ranks, and so the dragon
was fed with young gentlefolks and poor people’s children, till the lot
fell upon the king’s daughter. Then the king was very sorry, and begged
the people to take his gold and silver instead of his daughter, which
the people would not accept, because it was according to his own law;
and the king wept very much, and begged of the people to give the
princess eight days before she should be given to the dragon to be
devoured, and the people consented. And when the eight days were gone,
the king caused his daughter to be richly dressed as if she were going
to her bridal, and having kissed her, he gave her his blessing, and the
people led her to where the dragon was. St. George had just come; when
he saw the princess, and demanding why she was there, she answered, “Go
your way, fair young man, that you perish not also.” Then again St.
George demanded the reason of her being there, and why she wept, and
endeavoured to comfort her; and when she saw he would not be satisfied,
she told him. Upon this St. George promised to deliver her; but she
could not believe he had power to do her so great a service, and
therefore again begged him to go away. And while they were talking the
dragon appeared, and began to run towards them; but St. George being on
horseback, drew his sword and signed himself with the cross, and rode
violently, and smiting the dragon with his spear, wounded him so sorely
that he threw him down. Then St. George called to the princess, to bind
her girdle about the dragon’s neck, and not to be afraid; and when she
had done so, “the dragon folowed as it had been a meke beest and
debonayre;” and she led him into the city, which when the people saw,
they fled for fear to the mountains and vallies, till, being encouraged
by St. George, they returned, and he promised to slay the dragon if they
would believe and be baptized. Then the king was baptized, with upwards
of 15,000 men, besides women and children, and St. George slew the
dragon, and cut off his head; and the people took four carts and drew
the body with oxen out of the city; and the king built a church, and
dedicated it to our Lady and St. George--“This blyssyd & holy martyr
saynt George, is patron of this realme of englond, & the crye of men of
warre. In the worshyp of whom is founded the noble ordre of the gartre,
& also a noble college in the castel of wyndsore by kynges of englonde,
in whiche college is the hert of saint George, which Sygysmond the
emperour of almayne[101] brought, & gave it for a grete & precyous
relyke to kynge Henry the fyfth; & also the sayd Sygismond was a broder
of the said garter, & also there is a pece of his heed.”

Butler informs us, that St. George, was born in Cappadocia; that he went
with his mother into Palestine, of which country she was a native, where
she had a considerable estate, “which fell to her son George,” who was a
soldier, and became “a tribune or colonel in the army,” wherein he was
further promoted by the emperor Dioclesian, to whom he resigned his
commissions and posts when that emperor waged war against the christian
religion, and who threw him into prison for remonstrating against bloody
edicts, and caused him to be beheaded. This is all that Butler relates
of him, and this on the authority of what he calls “the account given to
us by Metaphrastes.” According also to Butler, St. George became the
patron of the military because he had been military himself, and his
apparition encouraged “the christian army in the holy war before the
battle of Antioch,” which proved fortunate under Godfrey of Bouillon;
and also because his apparition inspirited Richard I. in his expedition
against the Saracens. “St. George,” says Butler, “is usually painted on
horseback, and tilting at a dragon under his feet; but this is no more
than an emblematical figure, purporting that, by his faith and christian
fortitude, he conquered the devil, called the dragon in the Apocalypse.”
This is very easily said, but not so easily proved, nor has Butler in
any way attempted to prove it. To this assertion may be opposed the
fact, that St. Michael is also represented killing a dragon; and the
present writer presumes to think, that unless there be any valid
objection to mounting an angel on horseback, the well-known legend of
this archangel supplies the clue to the pictorial representation of St.
George; or, in plain words, that St. George and the dragon are neither
more nor less than St. Michael contending with the devil. Concerning
this device, however, more cannot be observed without excluding curious
particulars.

There are many old ballads in honour of the patron saint of England and
his feat. The ballad of “St. George and the Dragon,” which is not the
oldest, begins with the first and ends with the last of the following
verses, and places him above sir Bevis of Hampton, and other heroes of
mighty doings in our old romances.

    Why should we boast of Arthur and his Knights,
    Knowing how many Men have performed Fights?
    Or why should we speak of Sir Lancelot de Lake,
    Of Sir Tristram du Leon, that fought for Ladies Sake?
    Read in old stories, and there you shall see,
    How St. George, St. George, he made the Dragon flee.

        St. George he was for England, St. Dennis was for France;
        Sing _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Mark Anthony, I’ll warrant ye, play’d Feats with Ægypt’s Queen;
    Sir Eglemore, that valiant Knight, the like was never seen;
    Grim Gorgon’s Might was known in Fight; old Bevis most Men frighted;
    The Mirmidons and Prester Johns; why were not these Men knighted?
    Brave Spinola took in Breda, Nassau did it recover;
    But St. George, St. George, turn’d the Dragon over and over.

        St. George he was for England, St. Dennis was for France;
        Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.[102]

This latter verse is a modern interpolation. Percy gives a purer
version of the old ballad.[103]

In the romance of the “Seven Champions of Christendom,” St. George’s
performances exceed that of the other champions; the ballad, bearing the
same title, distinguishes him in like manner, and it is there sung, that
in his fight with the dragon,

    When many hardy Strokes he’d dealt,
      And could not pierce his Hide,
    He run his Sword up to the Hilt,
      In at the Dragon’s Side;
    By which he did his Life destroy,
      Which cheer’d the drooping King;
    This caus’d an universal Joy,
      Sweet Peals of Bells did ring.[104]

Saint George was the ancient English war-cry.[105] Shakspeare so uses it
in his “Richard III.;” he makes Richmond conclude his address to his
soldiery, with

    Sound, drums and trumpets, bold and cheerfully,
    God and _Saint George_, Richmond and victory.

So also Richard, after he receives the news of Stanley’s defection,
exclaims,

    Advance our standards, set upon our foes!
    Our _ancient word of courage_, fair Saint George,
    Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
    Upon them!

In the 10th year of king Henry VII. the Irish were prohibited from using
their favourite battle-cry of _Aboo_, or _Aber_. Every native of that
country was enjoined against using that word, or “other words like or
otherwise contrary to the king’s laws, his crown and dignity and peace,
but to call on St. George, or the name of his Sovereign Lord, the King
of England, for the time being,” &c.[106] There is also this injunction
to the English in an old art of war: “Item that all souldiers entering
into battaile, assault, skirmish, or other faction of armes, shall have
for their common cry and word, _St. George forward_, or, _Upon them St.
George_, whereby the soldier is much comforted, and the enemie dismaied
by calling to minde the ancient valour of England, which with that name
has so often been victorious.”[107] So much for the present concerning
St. George.

His majesty, king George IV., who was born on the 12th of August,
changed the annual celebration of his birth-day, to St. George’s-day.

The mail-coaches, according to annual custom on the king’s birth-day, go
in procession from Millbank to Lombard-street. At about twelve o’clock,
the horses belonging to the different mails, with new harness, and the
postmen and postboys on horseback, arrayed in their new scarlet coats
and jackets, proceed from Lombard-street to Millbank, and there dine. At
this place the coaches are fresh painted; from thence the procession
being arranged begins to move about five o’clock in the afternoon,
headed by the general postmen on horseback. The mails follow them,
filled with the wives and children, friends and relations, of the
coachmen and guards; while the postboys sounding their bugles and
cracking their whips, bring up the rear. From the commencement of the
procession, the bells of the different churches ring out merrily, and
continue their rejoicing peals till it arrives at the General
Post-office in Lombard-street, from whence they sparkle abroad to all
parts of the kingdom. Great crowds assemble to witness the cavalcade as
it passes through the principal streets of the metropolis, viz.
Parliament-street, the Strand, Fleet-street, Ludgate-hill, St. Paul’s
church-yard, and Cheapside. The clean and cheerful appearance of the
coachmen and guards, each with a large bouquet of flowers in his bright
scarlet coat, the beauty of the cattle, and the general excellence of
the equipment, present a most agreeable spectacle to every eye and mind,
that can be gratified by seeing and reflecting on the advantages derived
to trade and social intercourse by this magnificent establishment.

On the same day the Society of Antiquaries, by their charter of
incorporation, meet at their apartments in Somerset-place, to elect a
president, council, and other officers for the year ensuing, and dine
together, according to annual custom.


CHRONOLOGY.

1616. Miguel Cervantes de Saavedra, the celebrated Spanish author, died.
Cervantes was born in 1549; he is best known in England by his “Don
Quixote,” which has rendered him popular throughout Europe.

1616. On the same day with Cervantes in Spain, Shakspeare died in
England. It was the anniversary of his birth-day, whereon he had
completed the fifty-second year of his age. Who is qualified to praise
him, whose supereminent genius all men acknowledge and reverence? To his
greatness he added a quality it is seldom allied with. “No man had ever
fewer enemies alive or dead; and this is the more remarkable as he was
himself prone to parody, and must therefore have mortified many of his
contemporaries.”[108]

    Goodness and he fill up one monument.


_Shakspeare’s Jest Book._

Under this title a book was reprinted in 1815, from one lately
discovered bearing the title of

  ¶ A. C. Mery Talys.

Referring to the preface of the reprint for its value in support of the
opinion corroborated by other reprints, that Shakspeare was destitute of
the learning attributed to him by some writers, an extract (with the
spelling modernized) is taken from it as a specimen of the wit, and
morals which amused our ancestors.


_Of the woman that followed her fourth husband’s bier and wept._

A woman there was which had four husbands. It fortuned also that her
fourth husband died and was brought to church upon the bier, whom this
woman followed, and made great moan, and waxed very sorry, insomuch that
her neighbours thought she would swoon and die for sorrow; wherefore one
of her gossips came to her and spake to her in her ear, and bade her for
God’s sake comfort herself and refrain that lamentation, or else it
would hurt her, and peradventure put her in jeopardy of her life. To
whom this woman answered and said “I wys good gossip I have great cause
to mourn if ye knew all, for I have buried three husbands beside this
man, but I was never in the case that I am now, for there was not one of
them but when that I followed the corse to church, yet I was sure of
another husband, before the corse came out of my house; and now I am
sure of no other husband, and therefore ye may be sure I have great
cause to be sad and heavy.”

By this tale ye may see, that the old proverb is true, that it is as
great a pity to see a woman weep, as a goose to go barefoot.

If the moral deduced by the story-teller from the tale just related is
satirical on the sex, it should be remembered, that he wrote at a period
when jokes were homely, and less felt than in our refined times. To talk
now of “no joke like a _true_ joke” is scarcely passable, unless the
application be in itself true, and then it is no longer a joke.


WIND.

A resident on the banks of the Thames at Kingston observes, that when
the swan flies any distance _against the wind_, however serene and fine
the weather may appear, a wind, amounting almost to a hurricane, is
always certain to ensue within twenty-four hours afterwards, and
generally within twelve. If they fly _with the wind_, which rarely
occurs, it seems to be merely for their amusement, or for reaching some
certain spot in a quicker way than floating down the tide, and in this
case no change takes place. The gale is usually unaccompanied by wet,
though sometimes a heavy shower will be brought up with it.[109]


RAIN.

According to our old works on husbandry, we have many prognostics of
rain from the motions of animals. One of them observes thus: “In a herd
of cows, as they are on their march towards their pastures in a morning,
if the bull lead the van, and keep back his company that they go not
before him, it is a prognostic of rainy or tempestuous weather; but if
he be careless and let them go at random, the contrary. Or if they eat
more than ordinary, or lick their hoofs all about, rain follows
forthwith. If they run to and fro, flinging and kicking, and extending
their tails, tempests usually follow.”[110]

The same writer says that, “If the swallow fly low, and near the waters,
it presageth rain: the coming of the swallow is a true presage of the
spring.” It has been already remarked, that the 15th of April, from the
usual appearance of this remarkable bird about that time, is called
“swallow-day.”


[Illustration: ~The Swallow.~]

The preceding engraving is copied from one which illustrates a
scientific and agreeable investigation concerning the harbinger of
spring, by Dr. Forster; from which dissertation the following
interesting particulars are also derived.[111]

The swallow makes its first appearance in Great Britain, early in
spring; remains with us during summer, and disappears in autumn. The
four species which inhabit this island, are also found during summer, in
almost every other region in Europe and Asia, where their manners and
habits are nearly the same as in this country. In the more southern
parts of the Continent, they appear somewhat earlier than in England.
The distinguishing marks of the swallow tribe are--a small bill; a wide
mouth; a head rather large in proportion to the bulk of the body, and
somewhat flattish; a neck scarcely visible; a short, broad, and cloven
tongue; a tail mostly forked; short legs; very long wings; a rapid and
continued flight.

The house or Chimney Swallow, _hirundo rustica_, (figured above) is the
most common, as well as the best known. Its length is about six inches,
its breadth from tip to tip of the wings, when extended, about twelve
inches; the upper parts of its body and wings are black; the under parts
whitish ash-colour; the head black; the forehead and chin marked with a
red spot; the tail very much forked. It generally arrives earlier than
the rest of its genus, and mostly before the middle of April. It builds
its nest in chimnies, at the distance of about a foot from the top, or
under the roofs of barns and outhouses, has commonly two broods in the
year, and usually disappears in the latter end of September, or
beginning of October. Like all birds of the swallow tribe, it is
perpetually on the wing, and lives upon insects, which it catches
flying. It has been calculated from the velocity of this bird on the
wing, and its flight in the air for fourteen or fifteen hours together,
in search of food, that it flies from two to three hundred miles in that
time. As previously observed by an early writer, before rain it may
often be seen skimming round the edge of a lake or river, and not
unfrequently dipping the tips of its wings, or under part of its body
into the water, as it passes over its surface. Dr. Forster cites Aratus
and Virgil in corroboration, that ancient authors had observed the same
fact. He describes the Martin, or Martlett, _hirundo urbica_, as being
rather less than the swallow, and as easily distinguishable from it, by
the bright white colour of all the under parts of the body. This species
usually makes its first appearance early in May, though sometimes
sooner, and leaves us towards the latter end of October. It builds
under the eaves of houses, in crags of rocks and precipices near the
sea, has oftentimes three broods in the year, and constructs its curious
nest like that of the swallow, with mud and straw, lined with feathers
on the inside. He says that the Swift, _hirundo apus_, is the largest of
the genus, being seven inches in length, and nearly eighteen in breadth,
when its wings are extended, and that it is of a sooty black colour,
with a whitish spot on its breast. It arrives towards the middle of May,
and departs about the middle of August. It builds in holes of rocks, in
ruined towers, and under the tiling of houses; and has only one brood in
the year. He observes of the Bank or Sand Martin, _hirundo riparia_,
that it is the smallest of the genus, is of a dusky brown colour above,
and whitish beneath; and that it builds its nest in holes, which it
bores in banks of sand, and is said to have only one brood in the year.

No subject has more engaged the attention of naturalists, in all ages,
than the brumal retreat of the swallow; neither is there any subject on
which more various and contrary opinions have been entertained. Some
have supposed that they retire at the approach of winter to the inmost
recesses of rocks and mountains, and that they there remain in a torpid
state until spring. Others have conjectured that these birds immerse
themselves in the water at the approach of winter, and that they remain
at the bottom in a state of torpidity, until they are again called forth
by the influence of the vernal sun. Dr. Forster admits that there are
several instances on record of their having been found in such
situations, clustered together in great numbers, and that, on being
brought before the fire, they have revived and flown away. But he thinks
that few of the accounts were well authenticated; and that the
celebrated John Hunter and Mr. Pearson clearly prove, from various
experiments, that these birds cannot continue long under water without
being drowned. The doctor does not deny that swallows have occasionally
been found under water; but he attributes their having been found in
such situations to mere accident. As it is well known that, towards the
latter end of autumn, swallows frequently roost by the sides of lakes
and rivers; he therefore supposes that a number of these birds had
retired to roost on the banks of some shallow and muddy river at low
tide; that they had been induced by the cold to creep among the reeds or
rushes which might grow in the shallow parts of the river, and that
while in that situation, driven into a state of torpidity by the cold,
they had been overwhelmed, and perhaps washed into the current, by the
coming in of the tide. He alludes to occasional instances of other birds
besides swallows having been found in a state of torpor during winter,
and imagines that fishermen had availed themselves of the coming in of
the tide to catch fish, and that the swallows, before supposed to have
been carried into the current, coming in contact with their nets, were
consequently drawn out by them, and, not having been long under water,
were not completely drowned. There are several circumstances which seem
to favour the opinion, that these birds remain concealed during winter
in this country. Among others, the most striking is, that swallows,
_hirundines rusticae_, as well as martins, _hirundines urbicae_, have
sometimes appeared very late in autumn, a considerable time after they
were all supposed to have taken their departure; and that they have
likewise been found concealed in the crevices of rocks, in holes of old
decayed trees, in old ruined towers, and under the thatch of houses. Dr.
Forster further presumes, that those birds, which have been found in a
state of torpidity, had, owing to some accident, been hatched later in
the year than ordinary, and consequently had not acquired sufficient
strength to undergo the fatigue of a long journey upon the wing, at the
time when the migration of the rest of their species took place; and
that to shelter themselves from the inclemency of the weather, they had
sought retreats wherein, from cold and hunger, they had sunk into a
state of torpidity. “For several years past,” says Dr. Forster, “I have
observed that chimney swallows have appeared first in cold weather. I
have sometimes seen them as early as April the 2d, when the mercury in
the thermometer has been below the freezing point. On the other hand, I
have often taken notice, that during a continuance of mild weather for
the space of a fortnight, in the month of April, not so much as one
swallow has appeared.” He remarks, that towards the latter end of
September, swallows, as well as martins, congregate in great numbers,
and are frequently seen sitting on the tops of houses, and on rocks
near the sea. These meetings usually continue for several days, after
which they suddenly disappear. They seldom perch on trees, except in
autumn, shortly previous to their disappearance, and they then choose
dead trees in preference. They sometimes sit on trees earlier in summer,
when the weather has been very cold.

Swifts begin to assemble in large bodies previous to their departure,
early in July: their numbers daily increase, and they soar higher in the
air, with shriller cries, and fly differently from their usual mode.
Such meetings continue till towards the middle of August, after which
they are seldom seen. Sand martins likewise flock together in autumn.
Some years ago they appeared in great numbers in London and its
neighbourhood. Dr. Forster clearly shows that swallows are birds of
passage, and produces the accounts of mariners, who had seen these birds
many hundred miles out at sea, and on whose ships they had alighted to
rest, almost exhausted with fatigue and hunger. By this means we may be
enabled, in some measure, to determine to what quarter of the globe they
retire, when they leave Europe in autumn. Adanson, in his “Voyage to
Senegal,” relates, that on the 6th of October, being about fifty leagues
from the coast, between the island of Goree and Senegal, four swallows
alighted on the shrouds of his ship, which he easily caught, and knew to
be European swallows. He adds, that they never appear at Senegal, until
the winter season, and that they do not build nests as in Europe, but
roost every night on the sand by the sea shore. Sir Charles Wager, first
lord of the admiralty, relates, that in one of his voyages home, as he
came into soundings of our channel, a great flock of swallows settled on
his rigging: every rope was covered with them: they hung on one another
like a swarm of bees: the decks and carvings were filled with them: they
seemed spent and famished, and, to use his own expression, were only
feathers and bones; but, recruited with a night’s rest, they resumed
their flight in the morning. A similar circumstance happened to captain
Wright, in a voyage from Philadelphia to London.

There are many anecdotes of sagacity in these birds. For several years
some swallows had built their mud habitations in the window frames of a
house at Beaumaris, in Anglesea. These dry, comfortable, and protected
abodes, were envied by the less favoured sparrows of the same place, who
embraced the opportunity (while the unsuspected swallows were skimming
o’er the wide bosom of the main) and confidently took possession,
thinking also to establish an undoubted settlement by depositing their
eggs; the swallows finding their rightful _mansions_ engrossed by other
tenants, seemed reconciled to the ejectment; but to the astonishment of
the lady residing in the house, no sooner had the sparrows hatched their
young, than the swallows gathered all their forces and plastered up the
entrance of the nest containing the old sparrow and her brood, where
they perished.

In most parts of the country, martins and swallows are considered sacred
birds, and to kill one is deemed a greater sin than the killing of other
equally harmless birds. Children of all ages in the counties of Berks,
Buckingham, and Oxford, repeat the following couplet, which if not
taught, is always sanctioned by their parents:

    The Martin and the Swallow,
    Are God Almighty’s birds to hollow.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Harebell. _Hyacinthus non scriptus._
  Dedicated to _St. George_.

  [100] In the Golden Legend.

  [101] Germany.

  [102] Collection of Old Ballads, 3 vols.

  [103] In his Reliques.

  [104] Coll. Old ballads.

  [105] Fosbroke’s Dict. Antiq., Crabbe’s Techn. Dict.

  [106] Brady’s Clavis Coll.

  [107] Nare’s Glossary, from Warton, &c. which Glossary also see
  further concerning St. George.

  [108] Mr. Gifford, Life of Ben Jonson.

  [109] Athenæum.

  [110] Worlidge’s Mystery of Husbandry.

  [111] Observations on the Brumal Retreat of the Swallow, by Thos.
  Forster, F. L. S. &c. fifth edit. 1817 8vo.


~April 24.~

  _St. Fidelis._ _St. Mellitus_, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 624. _Sts.
  Bona_, or _Beuve_, A. D. 673, and _Doda_, Abbesses. _B. Robert_,
  Abbot, A. D. 1067.


_St. Fidelis._

According to Butler this saint was a missionary among the Calvinists in
Switzerland, was killed by their soldiers in 1622, he and his relics
worked three hundred and five miracles, and he was canonized in 1729 by
pope Benedict XIII.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Blackthorn. _Prunus Spinosa._
  Dedicated to _St. Fidelis_.


~April 25.~

  _St. Mark_, Evangelist. _St. Macull_, or _Macallius_, or _Maughold_,
  5th Cent. _St. Anianus._ _St. Phœbadius_, or _Fiari_, Bp. A. D. 392.
  _St. Ivia_, or _Ivo_, Bp. 7th Cent. _St. Kebius_, Bp. 4th Cent.


_St. Mark._

Mr. Audley says, “It is generally allowed, that Mark, mentioned i Pet.
v. 13. is the Evangelist, but it has been doubted whether he be the same
as John Mark, mentioned in the Acts, and in some of Paul’s epistles. Dr.
Lardner thinks there is but one Mark in the New Testament, John Mark,
the evangelist, and fellow-labourer of Paul, Barnabas and Peter. He was
the son of Mary, a pious woman of Jerusalem, at whose house the
disciples used to meet. It is not known at what period Mark became a
follower of Christ. His gospel was probably written about the year 63 or
64, and it has been said, that Mark going into Egypt first preached the
gospel which he had written, and planted there many churches. He does
appear to have been a martyr; but died in the eighth year of Nero, and
was buried at Alexandria.” Butler says, “It is certain that he was
appointed by St. Peter, bishop of Alexandria,” that he was martyred in
the year 68, and that when he was discovered by his persecutors, he was
“offering to God the prayer of oblation or the mass.” So that we are to
believe from Butler, that there was the “mass” in Mark’s time!


_St. Anianus_, A. D. 86.

Alban Butler gravely quotes the “Acts of St. Mark” to acquaint us that
St. Anianus, whom he calls the second bishop of Alexandria, “was a
shoemaker of that city, whose hand being wounded with an awl, St. Mark
healed when he first entered the city: such was his fervour and progress
in virtue and learning, that St. Mark constituted him bishop of
Alexandria during his absence; and Anianus governed that great church
four years with him, and eighteen years and seven months after his
death.” Robinson lowers the inflation of Butler’s language by stating
that Mark, as he was walking in Alexandria, “burst the stitching of his
shoe, so that he could not proceed till it was repaired; the nearest
cobler was the man; he mended the shoe or sandal, or whatever it was;
the man was taught the gospel by Mark; he taught others; and this was
the first pontiff of Alexandria, that is, the first regular teacher of a
few poor people at Alexandria, who peradventure had no other cathedral
than a garret: a teacher of primitive christianity is not to be
confounded with a patriarch of Alexandria.”[112] This is a very
different picture from that of the “great church” represented by Butler.
In truth, the early christian pastors were poor and lowly men, and hence
the ideas we affix to the denominations which they and their flocks
receive from catholic writers should be derived from plain common-sense
views of their real situations, so far as they can be ascertained.


SHOES AND SANDALS.

Shoes or slippers were worn in the East, but sandals, which leave the
toes bare, very seldom. The Egyptians made their shoes of papyrus or
palm leaves. The Greeks and Romans of both sexes wore rich sandals of
gold, silk, or other precious stuffs; the soles were of cork, which for
that reason was called sandal wood, and they were, in general, at least
one finger thick; sometimes they sewed five soles one over another. They
were covered within and without with leather broader than the cork.
Sandals were among the early, but not the later, Anglo-Saxons.[113]

[Illustration: ~Curious old Sandal.~]

The preceding cut is of a “very curious sandal,” in three different
views, from one made of leather, partly gilt, and variously . It
was formerly in the possession of Mr. Bailey, leather-stainer, Little
Wild-street, Drury-lane, and afterwards in that of Mr. Samuel Ireland,
of Norfolk-street, by whose permission, an engraving on copper was made
by Mr. J. T. Smith, of the British Museum, and from this the present
representation is given. The age of the sandal is not by the writer
determinable, but as a remarkable relic of antiquity, its form and make
deserve preservation. It will be observed, that it belonged to the left
foot of the wearer; so that if other evidence could not be adduced, this
is proof that “rights and lefts” are only “an old, old, very old”
fashion revived.

The shoes of Bernard, king of Italy, found in his tomb, were “right and
left:” the soles were of wood, the upper part red leather, laced with
thongs, and they fitted so closely, that the order of the toes,
terminating in a point at the great toe, might easily be
discovered.[114] Stubbs, the satirist in Shakspeare’s time, describes
cork shoes or pantofles, (slippers) as bearing up their wearers two
inches or more from the ground; as of various colours, and raised,
carved, cut, or stitched; as frequently made of velvet, embroidered with
the precious metals; and when fastened with strings, covered with
enormous and valuable roses of ribband curiously ornamented. “It is
remarkable that, as in the present age, both shoes and slippers were
worn shaped after the right and left foot. Shakespeare describes his
smith as

    ‘Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
    Had falsely _thrust upon contrary feet_:--’

and Scott, in his ‘Discoverie of Witchcraft,’ observes, that he who
receiveth a mischance ‘will consider, whether he put not on his shirt
wrong side outwards, or his _left shoe on his right foot_.’”[115]

Some light may be thrown on the engraving by an extract from an heraldic
writer: “He beareth _or_, two sandals _sable_, buckles or tyes _argent_.
This was the ancient way of securing the feet of travellers from the
hardness of the country passage; and consisted of nothing else but a
sole, (either of leather or wood) to which was made fast 2 or 3 tyes or
latches which was buckled on the top of the foot; the better sort
adorned these latches with imbrauthered (embroidered) work, and set them
with stones.” Whence it appears that the engraving represents such a
sandal “of the better sort.” The same author mentions three sandals
_sable_, buckled and adorned _or_, on a field _azure_ “borne by
Palmer.”[116] Ladies may be amused by looking at the form, as placed
before his readers, of a shoe which the author just cited says was “of
the gentest (genteelest) fashion” of his time.

[Illustration]

This was the fashion that beautified the feet of the fair in the reign
of king William and queen Mary. The old “Deputy for the kings of arms”
is minutely diffuse on the “gentle craft:” he engraves the form of “a
pair of wedges,” which he says “is to raise up a shooe in the instep
when it is too straight for the top of the foot;” and thus
compassionates ladies’ sufferings.--“Shoomakers love to put ladies in
their stocks; but these wedges, like merciful justices upon complaint,
soon do ease and deliver them.” If the eye turns to the cut--to the cut
of the sole, with the “line of beauty” adapted by the cunning workman’s
skill to stilt the female foot--if the reader behold that association,
let wonder cease, that a venerable master in coat-armour should bend his
quarterings to the quartering of a lady’s shoe, and forgetful of
heraldic forms, condescend from his “high estate” to the use of
similitudes.


EASTER.

The difference of opinion respecting the true time of Easter, in the
year 1825, and the explanation at p. 416 of the error at p. 190, as to
the rule for finding this feast have occasioned various letters to the
editor, from which he selects three, in order to further elucidate and
close the subject. The first is a lively introduction.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

In your fourteenth number, you accuse the almanac-makers of having
thought good to fix Easter-day on the 3rd of April instead of the 10th,
on which day, you say, according to the act of parliament and the rubric
of the church, Easter-day ought to be celebrated. This statement is
calculated to “unsettle the faith of thousands in their almanac-maker;”
for, sure enough, the almanac-maker appears to have made Easter-day fall
on the day of the full moon, instead of the week after; I therefore
fully acquit you of all intention to mislead your readers, and slander
the almanac-maker; and yet you most certainly have done both from not
sufficiently taking into your consideration the omnipotence of
parliament, especially in astronomical matters. You may possibly
recollect, that, even a few years back, parliament, for the purpose I
think of protecting game from poachers, declared that night should
commence, during the summer month, before the sun thought proper to set.
Now, in defiance of those matter-of-fact gentlemen, the almanac-makers,
the act of parliament for the uniformity of worship, has this year
appointed the paschal full moon for the 2d of April instead of the 3rd,
and thereby converted the 3rd into Easter Sunday. The statute of 14 Car.
II. says nothing about Easter Sunday, but it orders the Book of Common
Prayer to be joined and annexed to the act, so that the _rubric_ has the
force and omnipotence of an act of parliament to alter the course of the
moon, and to regulate its wane and increase.

The rubric exercises this power, by compelling you to look out for the
full moon in certain tables of _its own_ concocting, and does not allow
you to consult the almanac. The paschal full moon must be ascertained by
discovering the golden number of the year, (for which a rule is given,)
and the day set next that Golden Number (in the table before-mentioned,)
is, by the omnipotence of parliament, declared to be the full moon day.
The Golden Number for the present year is according to the rule 2, and
the day fixed against that number is April 2d, and is therefore the
paschal full moon in spite of the almanac-makers. The full moon being
fixed thus by government, Easter-day is ascertained by finding the
Sunday letter by another rule, according to which B is the Sunday
letter for the present year, and the day of the month affixed to the
first B, after the act of parliament full moon, is Easter Sunday;
unluckily this letter B has chanced to fall upon the almanac-maker’s
full moon, viz. the 3rd of April, but surely you are too reasonable a
man to blame them for that: remember, however loyal they may be, they
cannot compel the sun to set at eight o’clock on the longest day, nor
persuade the moon to attain her full a moment before it pleases her
variable ladyship.

  I am, sir,

  Your much amused, and constant reader,

  CAUSIDICUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next communication is in further support of the almanac-maker’s
Easter.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

It appears the author of the article “Easter,” in the _Every-Day Book_,
p. 416, thinks the almanac-makers wrong in fixing Easter Sunday, for
1825, on the 3rd of April, when the full moon took place at 6 h. 23 m.
in the morning of that very day. He probably was not aware, that the
_astronomical_ day commences at 12 at noon, and ends the next noon. The
2d of April (as an astronomical day,) commenced on the Saturday, and
ended on the Sunday at noon. The festivals being regulated according to
this astronomical division of time, it follows that the almanac-makers
were correct in considering the full moon to take place on Saturday, the
2d of April, and in fixing Easter Sunday for the 3rd of April. I trust
you will find it worth while to insert this correction of your
statement, from

  A CONSTANT READER.

       *       *       *       *       *

To the latter correspondent’s observations, this answer has been
received from the gentleman to whom it became the editor’s duty to
transmit it for consideration.

  _For the Every-Day Book._

The object of those who fixed the day for the celebration of Easter, was
to prevent the full moon being on the Sunday on which the offices for
the Resurrection were to be performed, and the custom of _astronomers_
has nothing to do with the question. The full moon according to them
might be on the twenty-third hour of the Saturday, but this would be
eleven o’clock of Saturday, at which time the Romish and English
churches would be performing the offices of the Resurrection; this was
the point to be avoided, and this is done by the ecclesiastical canon
and the act of parliament.

THE AUTHOR OF THE ARTICLE ON EASTER.

In this correspondence Easter is disposed of. The rubric clearly states
the rule for finding the festival, and the last letter represents the
ground whereon it was deemed expedient that the church should celebrate
it according to that rule.


CHRONOLOGY.

1595. Torquatus Tasso, the poet, died at Rome. He was born, in 1544, at
Sorrento in Naples, wrote verses at nine years of age, became a student
at law, and composed the “Rinaldo” at seventeen. Although his celebrated
epic “Jerusalem Delivered” is that whereon his poetical fame is chiefly
grounded, yet his “Aminta,” and other pieces are rich in fancy and
beautiful in style; he was also excellent in prose. The most remarkable
feature in his character was a hopeless passion for the princess
Eleanora, sister of the duke of Ferrara, that he conceived early in
life, and nourished till his death.

1800. William Cowper, the poet, died at Dereham, in Norfolk; he was born
November, 26, 1731, at Berkhamstead, in Hertfordshire. When a child he
was shy and diffident. “His own forcible expression,” says Hayley,
“represented him at Westminster-school as not daring to raise his eye
above the shoe-buckle of the elder boys, who were too apt to tyrannize
over his gentle spirit.” Fear of personal publicity increased with his
years. At thirty-one it was necessary that he should appear at the bar
of the House of Lords, to entitle himself to the appointment of clerk of
the journals which had been obtained for him, he was incapable of the
effort, his terror overwhelmed his reason, and he was subjected to
confinement till his faculties recovered. Morbid glooms and horrors of
the imagination clouded his mind throughout life, and he more than once
attempted self-destruction. When not subjected to these dreadful
affections he was cheerful and amiable. Innocence of heart and extreme
modesty were the most remarkable features in his character. His poetry
is in the hands of every body; its popularity is the best praise of its
high merits. He was enabled by his fortune to indulge his love of
retirement, surrounded by a few friends whom he ardently loved. He
speaks of himself, in a letter to Mr. Park, so as to exemplify his usual
habits--“From the age of twenty to thirty-three I was occupied, or ought
to have been, in the study of the law; from thirty-three to sixty I have
spent my time in the country, where my reading has been only an apology
for idleness, and where, when I had not either a magazine or a review, I
was sometimes a carpenter, at others a birdcage maker, or a gardener, or
a drawer of landscapes. At fifty years of age I commenced an author:--it
is a whim that has served me longest and best, and will probably be my
last.” A little volume entitled the “Rural Walks of Cowper,” illustrates
his attachment to the country, by a series of fifteen views from
drawings made and engraved by Mr. James Storer; they exemplify scenery
in Cowper’s poems, with descriptive sketches; it is an agreeable
assistant to every one who desires to know something of the places
wherein the poet delighted to ramble or meditate. There is a natural
desire to become acquainted with the countenance of a man whose writings
we love or admire, and the spots that were associated with his feelings
and genius. Who can read Cowper’s letter to his friend Hill, descriptive
of his summer-house, without wishing to walk into it? “I write in a nook
that I call my boudoir; it is a summer-house not bigger than a sedan
chair; the door of it opens into the garden that is now crowded with
pinks, roses, and honeysuckles, and the window into my neighbour’s
orchard. It formerly served an apothecary as a smoking-room; at present,
however, it is dedicated to sublimer uses; here I write all that I write
in summer time, whether to my friends or to the public. It is secure
from all noise, and a refuge from all intrusion.” The present engraving
of it is taken by Mr. Storer’s permission from his design made on the
spot.

It was here, perhaps, that Cowper wrote his poem on a nightingale, that
sung with a thorn in her breast, an affecting allusion to the state of
his own feelings. There is another of his productions on the same “sweet
bird,” whom all poets wait on, which is subjoined by way of conclusion
to this brief notice of a bard honoured for his talents, and revered for
his love of virtue.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE

_Which the author heard sing on New Year’s Day_, 1792.

    Whence is it, that amaz’d I hear
      From yonder wither’d spray,
    This foremost morn of all the year,
      The melody of May.

    And why, since thousands would be proud
      Of such a favour shown,
    Am I selected from the crowd,
      To witness it alone!

    Sing’st thou, sweet Philomel, to me,
      For that I also long
    Have practised in the groves like thee,
      Though not like thee in song?

    Or sing’st thou rather under force
      Of some divine command,
    Commission’d to presage a course
      Of happier days at hand?

    Thrice welcome then! for many a long
      And joyless year have I,
    As thou to-day, put forth thy song
      Beneath a wintry sky.

    But thee no wintry skies can harm,
      Who only need’st to sing,
    To make ev’n January charm,
      And ev’ry season Spring.

[Illustration: ~Cowper’s Summer-House at Olney.~]


~St. Mark’s Day, or Eve.~

This was a great fast-day in England during the rule of the Romish
church. An old writer says, that in 1589, “I being as then but a boy, do
remember that an ale wife, making no exception of dayes, would needs
brue upon Saint Marke’s days; but loe, the marvailous worke of God?
whiles she was thus laboring, the top of the chimney tooke fire; and,
before it could bee quenched, her house was quite burnt. Surely,” says
this observer of sainted seasons, “a gentle warning to them that violate
and profane forbidden daies.”[117] Another writer observes, that
although there was not anciently any fast-day between Easter and
Whitsunday, yet, besides many days in the Rogation week, the popes had
devised “a monstrous fast on Saint Marke’s day.” He says, “all other
fastinge daies are on the holy day Even, only Saint Marke must have his
day fasted.” He asks why and by what decree of the church, or by what
general council the fast was ordained? He inquires why one side of the
street in Cheapside being in the diocese of London fasts on that day,
and why the other side being in the diocese of Canterbury fasts
not?[118]

On St. Mark’s day blessings on the corn were implored. According to a
manuscript of Mr. Pennant’s, no farmer in North Wales dare hold his team
on this day, because they there believe one man’s team that worked upon
it was _marked_ with the loss of an ox. A Yorkshire clergyman informed
Mr. Brand, that it was customary in that county for the common people to
sit and watch in the church porch on St. Mark’s Eve, from eleven o’clock
at night till one in the morning. The third year (for this must be done
thrice,) they are supposed to see the ghosts of all those who are to die
the next year, pass by into the church. When any one sickens that is
thought to have been seen in this manner, it is presently whispered
about that he will not recover, for that such, or such an one, who has
watched St. Mark’s Eve, says so. This superstition is in such force,
that, if the patients themselves hear of it, they almost despair of
recovery. Many are said to have actually died by their imaginary fears
on the occasion. The terrors of the ignorant are high in proportion to
the darkness wherein they grovel.

A correspondent near Peterborough, who has obliged the editor by
transmitting what he denominates some “miscellaneous superstitions and
shadows of customs whose origins are worn out,” includes among them the
following interesting communication respecting St. Mark’s day usages in
Northamptonshire.

_For the Every-Day Book._

On St. Mark’s Eve, it is still a custom about us for young maidens to
make the _dumb cake_, a mystical ceremony which has lost its origin, and
in some counties may have ceased altogether. The number of the party
never exceeds three; they meet in silence to make the cake, and as soon
as the clock strikes twelve, they each break a portion off to eat, and
when done, they walk up to bed backwards without speaking a word, for if
one speaks the spell is broken. Those that are to be married see the
likeness of their sweethearts hurrying after them, as if wishing to
catch them before they get into bed, but the maids being apprized of
this before hand, (by the cautions of old women who have tried it,) take
care to unpin their clothes before they start, and are ready to slip
into bed before they are caught by the pursuing shadow; if nothing is
seen, the desired token may be a knocking at the doors, or a rustling in
the house, as soon as they have retired. To be convinced that it comes
from nothing else but the desired cause, they are always particular in
turning out the cats and dogs before the ceremony begins. Those that are
to die unmarried neither see nor hear any thing; but they have terrible
dreams, which are sure to be of new-made graves, winding-sheets, and
church-yards, and of rings that will fit no finger, or which, if they
do, crumble into dust as soon as put on. There is another dumb ceremony,
of eating the yolk of an egg in silence, and then filling the shell with
salt, when the sweetheart is sure to make his visit in some way or other
before morning. On this same night too, the more stout-hearted watch the
church-porch; they go in the evening and lay in the church-porch a
branch of a tree, or a flower, large enough to be readily found in the
dark, and then return home to wait the approach of midnight. They are to
proceed to the porch again before the clock strikes twelve, and to
remain in it till it has struck; as many as choose accompany the maid,
who took the flower or branch and is to fetch it again, as far as the
church-gate, and there wait till their adventuring companion returns,
who, if she is to be married within the year, is to see a marriage
procession pass by her, with a bride in her own likeness hanging on the
arm of her future husband; as many bridesmen and maidens as appear to
follow them, so many months is the maid to wait before her marriage. If
she is to die unmarried, then the expected procession is to be a
funeral, consisting of a coffin covered with a white sheet, borne on the
shoulders of shadows that seem without heads. This custom, with all its
contingent “hopes and fears,” is still practised, though with what
success, I am not able to determine. The imagination may be wrought to
any height in such matters, and doubtless some persuade themselves that
they see what the story describes. An odd character at Helpstone, whose
name is Ben Barr, and whom the villagers call and believe as “the
prophet,” watches the church-porch every year, and pretends to know the
fate of every one in the villages round, and who shall be married or die
in the year; but as a few pence, generally purchase a good omen, he
seldom prophesies the deaths of his believers.

  ¶. ¶.

       *       *       *       *       *

This “Ben Barr,” of Helpstone, must be an useful fellow to timid
believers in such affairs. He seems to have created for himself a place
of trust and profit; if he is only a wag he may enjoy his emoluments
with his humour, and do no harm; but should he assume to foretell
mischief to his believers, he is, legally speaking, a “sturdy rogue.”
The seeing of supernatural sights by a paid proxy is a novelty in the
annals of superstition. But if Ben Barr is the first, so he is the last
of such seers. He will have no successor in office, there will be little
demand for such a functionary, the income will fall off, and no one will
undertake to see “Satan’s invisible world,” and warn unbelievers in
ghosts, for nothing.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Clarimond Tulip. _Tulipa præcox._
  Dedicated to _St. Mark_.

  [112] Robinson’s Eccles. Researches, 42.

  [113] Fosbroke’s Dict. Antiq.

  [114] Ibid.

  [115] Dr. Drake’s Shakspeare and his Times.

  [116] Holme’s Acad. of Armorie.

  [117] Vaughan’s Golden Grove.

  [118] The burnynge of Paules Church in 1561. See Brand.


~April 26.~

  _St. Cletus_, Pope and Martyr, A. D. 89. _St. Marcellinus_, Pope and
  Martyr, A. D. 304. _St. Richarius_, or _Riquier_, Abbot, about 645.
  _St. Paschasius Radbert_, Abbot, about 865.


CHRONOLOGY.

1716. The great lord Somers died. He was lord chancellor, and at
different periods held other offices of high trust, which he ennobled by
acts of distinguished virtue and patriotism: he vindicated public
liberty with courage, and maintained it with success to the end of his
life.


_The Country._

A town life is coveted by the artificial, and praised to ecstacy by
mindless minds. They who can only derive entertainment from

    Shows and sights, and hateful forms,

and they who are without intellectual resources, throw themselves into
the floods of the “mighty heart,” in search of refreshing pleasures. Not
so he, who has tasted the “knowledge of good and evil,” and from depth
of reflection welled up wisdom: he loves only what is good, and attaches
himself only to what is great in his species; this is from sympathy, not
contact. Silence and time are not of man’s make, and hence the wise
court solitude from the wrongs and follies of surrounding beings, and
enjoy a portion of their existence in contemplating the pure forms of
nature. The perverted genius which preferred

    “The sweet shady side
     Of a grove in Pall-Mall”

to rural scenery, by a little further perversion, would have preferred
the groves of Moloch to the plains of Mamre.

      If one would live by nature’s laws,
    Regardless of the world’s applause;
    And be desirous of a spot
    Whereon to build a humble cot,
    What situation can compare
    With that where purest country air
    Dispels the vapours and the spleen,
    And makes one wear a healthful mien?

      Than in the country tell me where
    Men freer are from pining care?
    Where can they sounder sleep enjoy,
    Or time more harmlessly employ?
    Do marble pavements more delight,
    Than the green turf that cheers the sight?
    Or does the water of the town,
    From the New-river head brought down
    Taste sweeter than the crystal rills,
    That trickle down the verdant hills?

      So much are rustic scenes admir’d,
    And rural prospects now desir’d,
    That in the town one often sees
    The houses shaded by tall trees,
    Which give them quite a country look,
    And fill with envy my lord-duke.
    And if a mansion can command
    A distant prospect o’er the land
    Of Hampstead, or the Surrey hills,
    Its site with admiration fills.
    Each _connoisseur_, with wond’ring eyes,
    Beholds it, and enraptur’d cries,
    “What charming prospect! air how free
    “The _rus in urbe_ here we see.”
    For nature still will have her way,
    Let men do whatsoe’er they may.
    And still that pure and genuine taste,
    In every mind by Heav’n plac’d,
    Will show itself some how in part,
    Howe’er corrupted by vile art.
    Who know not silver from vile dross,
    Will not sustain a heavier loss
    Than they who truth and falsehood join,
    And know not where to strike the line.
    Whoe’er with success is elated,
    Will be more wretched when ill-fated;
    And things which mortals value most
    Cause greatest pain when they are lost.
    Let not ambition then destroy
    Your happiness and heart-felt joy;
    Contentment more true pleasure brings
    Than all the wealth and pomp of kings.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Erysemum. _Erysemum Barbarea._
  Dedicated to _St. Richarius_.


~April 27.~

  _St. Anthimus_, Bp. and many other Martyrs at Nicomedia, A. D. 303.
  _St. Anastasius_, Pope, A. D. 401. _St. Zita_, A. D. 1272.


CHRONOLOGY.

1742. Nicholas Amhurst, an English political, poetical, and
miscellaneous writer, died in poverty and of a broken heart at
Twickenham, at the age of thirty-six. He was author of “Terræ Filius,” a
severe satire on the university of Oxford, from whence he had been
expelled, and he edited the once celebrated “Craftsman,” one of the most
popular journals ever printed, and the most effective of all the
publications against the Walpole administration. Bolingbroke and
Pulteney with whom he had been associated in the conduct of this paper,
and whose interests he had promoted by his wit, learning, and knowledge,
deserted him when they had attained their purposes by Walpole’s
downfall. Mr. A. Chalmers concludes a memoir of him by an observation
that ought to be rivetted on the mind of every man who thinks himself a
public character. “The ingratitude of statesmen to the persons whom they
make use of as the instruments of their ambition, should furnish an
instruction to men of abilities in future times; and engage them to
build their happiness on the foundation of their own personal integrity,
discretion, and virtue.” Ralph the historian, in one of his pamphlets,
says “Poor Amhurst, after having been the drudge of his party for the
best part of twenty years together, was as much forgotten in the famous
compromise of 1742, as if he had never been born! and when he died of
what is called a broken heart, which happened a few months afterwards,
became indebted to the charity of (Richard Francklin) a bookseller for a
grave; not to be traced now, because then no otherwise to be
distinguished, than by the freshness of the turf, borrowed from the next
common to cover it.”

                                  There is an order
    Of mortals on the earth, who do become
    Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,
    Without the violence of warlike death;
    Some perishing of pleasure--some of study--
    Some worn with toil--some of mere weariness--
    Some of disease--and some insanity--
    And some of withered, or of broken hearts;
    For this last is a malady which slays
    More than are numbered in the lists of Fate,
    Taking all shapes, and bearing many names.

  _Byron_

1785. Prince Leopold of Brunswick, was drowned by the waters of
Frankfort upon the Oder, in endeavouring to succour the inhabitants of a
village which was overflowed.

1794. Sir William Jones died, aged forty-eight.

1794. James Bruce, the traveller into Abyssinia, died by falling down
the stairs of his own house. He was born at Kinnaird, in Stirlingshire,
North Britain, 1730. His veracity, defamed in his lifetime, has been
supported by every subsequent information concerning the regions he
visited.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Daffodil. _Narcissus major._
  Dedicated to _St. Anastasius_.


~April 28.~

  _St. Vitalis_, Martyr, about 62. _Sts. Didymus_ and _Theodora_, A. D.
  304. _St. Patricius_, Bp. of Prussia, in Bithynia, Martyr.


CHRONOLOGY.

1535. Albert Pio, prince of Carpi, was buried with extraordinary pomp in
the church of the Cordeliers at Paris. He had been deprived of his
principality by the duke of Ferrara, became an author, and finally a
fanatic. Entering one day into one of the churches at Madrid, he
presented holy water to a lady who had a very thin hand ornamented by a
most beautiful and valuable ring. He exclaimed in a loud voice as she
reached the water, “Madam, I admire the ring more than the hand.” The
lady instantly exclaimed with reference to the cordon with which he was
decorated, “And for my part, I admire the halter more than I do the
ass.” He was buried in the habit of a Cordelier, and Erasmus made a
satire upon the circumstance, entitled the “Seraphic Interment.”

1772. The counts Struensee, the Danish prime minister, and Brandt, the
favourite of the king of Denmark, were executed opposite the eastern
gate of Copenhagen. Their alleged crime was an intrigue with the queen
of Denmark, the princess Carolina Matilda of England, sister to king
George III., on whose entreaty she was removed from confinement in the
castle of Cronenburg to Zell in the electorate of Hanover, where she
died about three years afterwards.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cuckoo Pink. _Arum Maculatum._
  Dedicated to _Sts. Didymus_ and _Theodora_.


~April 29.~

  _St. Peter_, Martyr, A. D. 1252. _St. Robert_, Abbot of Molesme, A. D.
  1110. _St. Hugh_, Abbot of Cluni, A. D. 1109. _St. Fiachna_, A. D.
  630.


CHRONOLOGY.

1779. Died at Pershore in Worcestershire, the Rev. John Ash, L.L. D. He
was an eminent minister among the dissenters, but is better known for
his grammar and other works in philology. His “Complete English
Dictionary,” until the appearance of Mr. Todd’s octavo edition of
Johnson’s, was the best compendium of words that could be referred to,
and may still be consulted with advantage by the student.

1822. Sir Isaac Heard, garter principal king at arms, died aged
ninety-one. He was a good herald and an amiable man.

_A Morning in Spring._

    The dawn now breaks, the dews arise,
    And zephyrs fan the waving hill;
    The low’ring clouds begin to rise,
    And chilly vapours blot the skies
    O’er neighb’ring woods the golden ray
    Emits the blush of op’ning day:
    The flocks, that leave the verdant brake,
    The dew-drops from their fleeces shake:
    The lawns, with gems besprinkled shine;
    The spider weaves his silky line;
    The cowslip, mark’d with spots of gold
    And daisies, all their hues unfold;
    The violets, more modest, shade
    Their odours in the silent glade;
    The early lark now wings her flight,
    And gaily soars beyond the sight;
    The tender linnet, and the thrush,
    Resound from ev’ry dripping bush,
    And finches, perch’d on many a spray,
    With dulcet sounds proclaim the day;
    The housewife now prepares to bake
    The kneaded bread, or homely cake;
    Or sets the milk, or tends the race
    That haunts her yard, or kitchen grace.
    When nature clothes the various scene
    With tufts of flow’rs, and robes of green;
    When limpid streams their lustres give,
    And health, and glad contentment live
    With lovely nymphs and happy swains,
    In humble cots, or tranquil plains,
    I bless her bounties, and I raise
    My artless theme to sounds of praise.
    While others seek for wealth and pow’r,
    Let me enjoy the sober hour
    Which converse, or which books bestow,
    To soothe the heart, and blunt its woe!

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Herb Robert. _Geranium Robertianum._
  Dedicated to _St. Robert_.


~April 30.~

  _St. Catharine_ of Sienna, A. D. 1380. _St. Maximus_, A. D. 250. _Sts.
  James, Marian, &c._ Martyrs in Numidia, A. D. 259. _St. Erkonwald_, B.
  of London, 7th Cent. _St. Ajutre_ or _Adjutor_, A. D. 1131.


_St. Catharine_ of Sienna.

St. Catharine often saw the devil. According to Ribadeneira, at six
years old she knew the lives of the holy fathers and hermits by
revelation, practised abstinence, and shut herself up with other
children in a room, where they whipped themselves. At seven she offered
herself to the Virgin as a spouse for her son. When marriageable, she
refused the importunity of her parents to wed, and having cut off her
hair to keep her vow, they made her a kitchen-maid; but her father, one
day as he was praying in a corner, seeing the Holy Ghost sitting upon
her head in the shape of a dove, she was released from drudgery, and was
favoured with a revelation from St. Dominick. She eat no meat, drank
only water, and at last left off bread, sustaining herself by herbs
alone, and her grace before meals was, “Let us go take the punishment
due to this miserable sinner.” She so mastered sleep, that she scarcely
took any rest, and her bed was only boards. She wore around her body
next to the skin a chain of iron, which sunk into her flesh. Three times
a day, and for an hour and a half each time, she flogged herself with
another iron chain, till great streams of blood ran down; and when she
took the black and white habit of the order of St. Dominick she
increased her mortification. For three years she never spoke, except at
confession; never stirred out of her cell but to go to the church; and
sat up all night watching--taking rest in the quire at matins only, and
then lying upon the floor with a piece of wood under her head for a
bolster. She was tempted by devils in a strange manner described by
Ribadeneira: but to drive them away, she disciplined her body with the
iron chain so much the more. When the fiend perceived he could make no
impression on her virginal heart, he changed his battery. She had
undertaken to cure an old woman who had a cancer in her breast so
loathsome, that no one would go near her, but by the devil’s
instigation, the old woman gave out that Catharine was not as good as
she should be, and stuck to her point. Catharine, knowing the devil’s
tricks, would not desist; and, to do her honour, Christ appeared, and
offered to her the choice of two crowns--one of pure gold, the other of
thorns; she took the crown of thorns, pressed it so close upon her head,
that it gave her great pain; and Christ commanded her to continue her
attendance upon the woman, who, in consequence of a vision, confessed
her calumny, to the great confusion of the devil. Ribadeneira says that
after this, Christ appeared to her, “opened to her the wound in his
side, and made her drink till she was so ravished, that her soul was
deprived of its functions.” Her love and affection to Christ were so
intense, that she was almost always languishing and sick; at last it
took away her life, and she was dead for four hours, in which time she
saw strange things concerning heaven, hell, and purgatory. On a certain
day he appeared to her, with his mother and other saints, and espoused
her in a marvellous and singular manner; visited her almost continually
with the greatest familiarity and affection, sometimes in their company,
though ordinarily he came alone, and entertained her by reciting and
singing psalms with her. Once as she was coming home from church, he
appeared to her in the disguise of a pilgrim, and begged a coat of her;
she returned to the church, and secretly taking off her petticoat,
brought it to him, not knowing who he was. He asked her for a shirt; she
bade him follow her home, and she gave him her shift. Not content with
this, he requested more clothes of her, as well for himself as a
companion; but as she had nothing else left, and was much afflicted, in
the night, he appeared to her as the pilgrim, and showing her what she
had bestowed upon him in the garb he had assumed, promised to give her
an invisible garment, which should keep her from all cold both of body
and soul. One time she prayed to him to take from her her heart of
flesh, and it seemed to her that he came, and opening her side, took out
her heart, and carried it away with him. It appeared almost incredible
to her confessor when she told him she had no heart; “Yet,” says
Ribadeneira, “that which happened afterwards was a certain argument of
the truth; for, in a few days, Christ appeared to her in great
brightness, holding in his hand a ruddy heart, most beautiful to behold,
and coming to her, put it into her left side, and said, ‘My daughter
Catharine, now thou hast my heart instead of thy own;’ and having said
this, he closed up her side again, in proof whereof a scar remained in
her side, which she often showed.” By her influence with heaven, she
obtained forgiveness for numbers that were ready to fall into hell. Two
hardened and impenitent thieves, being led to execution, and tied and
tortured on a cart, were attended by a multitude of devils. Catharine
begged the favour of going with them in the cart to the city gates, and
there by her prayers and intercession, Christ showed himself to the
thieves, all bloody and full of wounds, invited them to penance, and
promised them pardon if they would repent, which they accordingly did.
Through her intercession, her mother, who died without confession, was
raised to life again, and lived till she was fourscore and nine years
old. She had the gift of prophecy, healed the sick at the last gasp,
cast out devils, and worked miracles. Once making bread of tainted
flour, the “queen of angels” came to help her to knead it, and it proved
to be most excellent bread, white and savoury. She drew also very good
wine out of an empty hogshead. Her numerous victories over the devil
enraged him so much, that he tormented her till she was nothing but skin
and bones. Sometimes he amused himself with throwing her into the fire,
and the marks and prints of the wounds he gave her, appeared all over
her body. “At length,” says Ribadeneira, “when she was three and thirty
years old, she entered into an agony, fought the devil valiantly, and
triumphed over him at her death, which happened at Rome on the 29th of
April, 1380, her ghost appearing to Father Raymundus, her confessor, at
Genoa, on the same day, and her body working so many miracles, that for
the multitude of people resorting thither, it could not be buried for
three days.” All this may be seen in Ribadeneira’s “Lives of the
Saints,” with more, which, from regard to the reader’s feelings, is not
even adverted to. It should be added, that the present particulars are
from the “Miraculous Host,” a pamphlet published in 1821, in
illustration of a story, said to have been used in converting two ladies
belonging to the family of Mr. Loveday of Hammersmith.


THE SEASON.

With the spring comes the lark, and now she carols her rich melody from
the earliest beam to the meridian of solar glory. There is no enjoyment
more delicious to the ear of nature, than her aërial song in this
delightful season:--

THE SKY-LARK.

    O, earliest singer! O, care-charming bird,
    Married to Morning by a sweeter hymn
    Than priest e’er chaunted from his cloister dim
    At midnight,--or veiled virgin’s holier word
    At sunrise or the paler evening heard,--
    To which of all Heaven’s young and lovely Hours,
    Who wreathe soft light in hyacinthine bowers,
    Beautiful Spirit, is thy suit preferred?
    --Unlike the creatures of this low dull earth,
    Still dost thou woo, although thy suit be won;
    And thus thy mistress bright is pleased ever.
    Oh! lose not thou this mark of finer birth--
    So may’st thou yet live on, from sun to sun,
    Thy joy uncheck’d, thy sweet song silent never.

  _Barry Cornwall._


THE WEATHER.

To the indications respecting rain by the flight of the swallow,
mentioned under April 23, should be added, that when the swallow is
observed to fly high, the weather will probably be fair. There are also
some other indications in a set of old rules which may be consulted;
viz.


_Prognostics of the Weather._

To be able to ascertain the future changes of the weather, is of
infinite use to the farmer and gardener.

Animals are evidently sooner sensible of the ensuing change of the
atmosphere than we are, and from their divers appearance, and apparent
sensations, we may in many instances determine what changes are likely
to take place.

The following maybe set down as general rules, and upon minute
observation we shall find them correct.

When the raven is observed early in the morning at a great height in the
air, soaring round and round, and uttering a hoarse croaking sound, we
may be sure the day will be fine, and may conclude the weather is about
to clear and become fair.

The loud and clamorous quackling of ducks, geese, and other water-fowl,
is a sign of rain.

Before rain swine appear very uneasy, and rub in the dust, as do cocks
and hens.

Before storms kine and also sheep assemble at one corner of the field,
and are observed to turn all their heads toward the quarter from whence
the wind doth not blow.

The appearance of sea gulls, petrels, or other sea fowl in the inlands,
indicates stormy weather.

In fine weather the bat is observed to continue flying about very late
of an evening.

In autumn before rain some flies bite, and others become very
troublesome, and gnats are more apt to sting.

When flocks of wild geese are observed flying in a westward or southern
direction in autumn, it indicates a hard winter.

The floating of gossamer, and its alighting on the rigging of ships,
foretels fine weather.

The clamorous croaking of frogs indicates rainy weather.

The appearance of beetles flying about of an evening in summer,
indicates that the next day will be fair.

Before rain dogs are apt to grow very sleepy and dull, and to lay all
day before the fire.

Before rain moles throw up the earth more than usual.

The appearance of rare foreign birds in this country, such as rollers,
hoopoos, &c. indicates hard weather.

When spiders are seen crawling on the walls more than usual, rain will
probably ensue.

The much barking of dogs in the night frequently indicates a change in
the weather.

When the trees and hedges are very full of berries, it indicates a hard
winter.

The abundance of woodseare and honeydew on herbs indicates fair weather,
as does floating gossamer.

It is said in Wiltshire, that the dunpickles or moor buzzards alight in
great numbers on the downs before rain.

Before storms the missel thrush is observed to sing particularly loud,
and to continue so till the commencement of the rain; from which
circumstance it is in some places called the storm cock.

It is a sign of rain when pigeons return slowly to the dovehouses.

When bees do not go out as usual, but keep in or about their hives, rain
may be expected.

Before wind, swine run squeaking about as though they were mad; which
has given rise to the notion that pigs can see the wind.

Before rain the pintados called comebacks squall more than usual; as do
peacocks.

The early appearance of woodcocks, snipes, swinepipes, fieldfares, &c.
are prognostications of severe winters.

When the dew lies plenteously upon the grass in the evening, the next
day will probably be fine; when there is little or no dew, probably wet.

Dr. Forster observes, on the authority of Virgil, “that the blowing
about of feathers, or any light substances on the water, is also a sign
of rain.”


SPRING.

In the “Indicator” Mr. Leigh Hunt discourses of this beautiful season
with his usual grace. He says--

“The spring is now complete. The winds have done their work. The shaken
air, well tempered and equalized, has subsided; the genial rains,
however thickly they may come, do not saturate the ground, beyond the
power of the sun to dry it up again. There are clear crystal mornings;
noons of blue sky and white cloud; nights, in which the growing moon
seems to lie looking at the stars, like a young shepherdess at her
flock.

“Then the young green. This is the most apt and perfect mark of the
season,--the true issuing forth of the spring. The trees and bushes are
putting forth their crisp fans; the lilac is loaded with bud; the
meadows are thick with the bright young grass, running into sweeps of
white and gold with the daisies and buttercups. The orchards announce
their riches, in a shower of silver blossoms. The earth in fertile woods
is spread with yellow and blue carpets of primroses, violets, and
hyacinths, over which the birch-trees, like stooping nymphs, hang with
their thickening hair. Lilies of the valley, stocks, columbines,
lady-smocks, and the intensely red piony which seems to anticipate the
full glow of summertime, all come out to wait upon the season, like
fairies from their subterraneous palaces.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cowslip. _Primula Veris._
  Dedicated to _St. Catharine_ of Sienna.




[Illustration: MAY.]


    Then came faire MAY, the fayrest mayd on ground,
      Deckt all with dainties of her seasons pryde,
    And throwing flow’res out of her lap around:
      Upon two brethren’s shoulders she did ride,
      The twinnes of Leda; which on either side
    Supported her, like to their soveraine Queene.
      Lord! how all creatures laught, when her they spide,
    And leapt and daunc’t as they had ravisht beene!
      And Cupid selfe about her fluttred all in greene.

  _Spenser._

So hath “divinest Spenser” represented the fifth month of the year, in
the grand pageant which, to all who have seen it, is still present; for
neither the laureate’s office nor the poet’s art hath devised a
spectacle more gorgeous. Castor and Pollux, “the twinnes of Leda,” who
appeared to sailors in storms with lambent fires on their heads,
mythologists have constellated in the firmament, and made still
propitious to the mariner. Maia, the brightest of the Pleiades, from
whom some say this month derived its name, is fabled to have been the
daughter of Atlas, the supporter of the world, and Pleione, a sea-nymph.
Others ascribe its name to its having been dedicated by Romulus to the
Majores, or Roman senators.

Verstegan affirms of the Anglo-Saxons, that “the pleasant moneth of May
they termed by the name of _Trimilki_, because in that moneth they began
to milke their kine three times in the day.”

Scarcely a poet but praises, or describes, or alludes to the beauties of
this month. Darwin sings it as the offspring of the solar beams, and
invites it to approach and receive the greetings of the elemental
beings:--

    Born in yon blaze of orient sky,
      Sweet May! thy radiant form unfold;
    Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
      And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.

    For thee the fragrant zephyrs blow,
      For thee descends the sunny shower;
    The rills in softer murmurs flow,
      And brighter blossoms gem the bower.

    Light Graces dress’d in flowery wreaths,
      And tiptoe Joys their hands combine;
    And Love his sweet contagion breathes,
      And laughing dances round thy shrine.

    Warm with new life, the glittering throng
      On quivering fin and rustling wing
    Delighted join their votive songs,
      And hail thee, goddess of the spring.

One of Milton’s richest fancies is of this month; he says, that Adam,
discoursing with Eve--

    Smil’d with superior love; as Jupiter
    On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds
    That shed May-flowers.

Throughout the wide range of poetic excellence, there is no piece of
higher loveliness than his often quoted, yet never tiring

_Song on May Morning._

    Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger,
    Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
    The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
    The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
      Hail, bounteous May! that dost inspire
      Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
      Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
      Hill and dale both boast thy blessing!
    Thus we salute thee with our early song,
    And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

With exquisite feeling and exuberant grace he derives Mirth from--

    The frolic wind that breathes the spring
    Zephyr, with Aurora playing
    As he met her once a Maying;

and, with beautiful propriety, as regards the season, he makes the
scenery

           -----beds of violets blue,
    And fresh blown roses wash’d in dew.

The first of his “sonnets” is to the nightingale warbling on a “bloomy
spray” at eve, while, as he figures,

    “The jolly hours lead on propitious May.”

In “a Conversational Poem written in April,” by Mr. Coleridge, there is
a description of the nightingale’s song, so splendid that it may take
the place of extracts from other poets who have celebrated the charms of
the coming month, wherein this bird’s high melody prevails with
increasing power:--

                         All is still,
    A balmy night! and tho’ the stars be dim,
    Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
    That gladden the green earth, and we shall find
    A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
    And hark? the nightingale begins its song.
    He crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
    With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
    As he were fearful, that an April night
    Would be too short for him to utter forth
    His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
    Of all its music!
            -------I know a grove
    Of large extent, hard by a castle huge
    Which the great lord inhabits not: and so
    This grove is wild with tangling underwood,
    And the trim walks are broken up, and grass
    Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths.
    But never elsewhere in one place I knew
    So many nightingales: and far and near
    In wood and thicket over the wide grove
    They answer and provoke each other’s songs--
    With skirmish and capricious passagings,
    And murmurs musical and swift jug jug,
    And one low piping sound more sweet than all--
    Stirring the air with such a harmony,
    That should you close your eyes, you might almost
    Forget it was not day! On moonlight bushes,
    Whose dewy leafits are but half disclos’d,
    You may perchance behold them on the twigs,
    Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full
    Glist’ning, while many a glow-worm in the shade
    Lights up her love-torch.--------
                  ---------Oft, a moment’s space,
    What time the moon was lost behind a cloud,
    Hath heard a pause of silence: till the moon
    Emerging, hath awaken’d earth and sky
    With one sensation, and those wakeful birds
    Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy,
    As if one quick and sudden gale had swept
    An hundred airy harps! And I have watch’d
    Many a nightingale perch’d giddily
    On blos’my twig, still swinging from the breeze,
    And to that motion tune his wanton song,
    Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head.


~May 1.~

  _St. Philip_, and _St. James_ the less. _St. Asaph_, Bp. of
  Llan-Elway, A. D. 590. _St. Marcon_, or _Marculfus_, A. D. 558. _St.
  Sigismund_, king of Burgundy, 6th Cent.


_St. Philip_ and _St. James_.

Philip is supposed to have been the first of Christ’s apostles, and to
have died at Hierapolis, in Phrygia. James, also surnamed the Just,
whose name is borne by the epistle in the New Testament, and who was in
great repute among the Jews, was martyred in a tumult in the temple,
about the year 62.[119] St. Philip and St. James are in the church of
England Calendar.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tulip. _Tulipa Gesneri._
  Dedicated to _St. Philip_.
  Red Campion. _Lychnis dioica rubra._
  Red Bachelor’s Buttons. _Lychnis dioica plena._
  Dedicated to _St. James_.


~May-Day.~

    Hail! sacred thou to sacred joy,
      To mirth and wine, sweet first of May!
    To sports, which no grave cares alloy,
      The sprightly dance, the festive play!

    Hail! thou, of ever-circling time
      That gracest still the ceaseless flow!
    Bright blossom of the season’s prime,
      Aye, hastening on to winter’s snow!

    When first young Spring his angel face
      On earth unveiled, and years of gold,
    Gilt with pure ray man’s guileless race,
      By law’s stern terrors uncontrolled.

    Such was the soft and genial breeze
      Mild Zephyr breathed on all around,
    With grateful glee, to airs like these
      Yielded its wealth th’ unlaboured ground.

    So fresh, so fragrant is the gale,
      Which o’er the islands of the blest
    Sweeps; where nor aches the limbs assail,
      Nor age’s peevish pains infest.

    Where thy hushed groves, Elysium, sleep,
      Such winds with whispered murmurs blow
    So, where dull Lethe’s waters creep,
      They heave, scarce heave the cypress-bough.

    And such, when heaven with penal flame
      Shall purge the globe, that golden day
    Restoring, o’er man’s brightened frame
      Haply such gale again shall play.

    Hail! thou, the fleet year’s pride and prime!
      Hail! day, which fame shall bid to bloom!
    Hail! image of primeval time!
      Hail! sample of a world to come!--

  _Buchanan, by Langhorne._

In behalf of this ancient festival, a noble authoress contributes a
little “forget me not:”--

_The First of May_

    Colin met Sylvia on the green,
      Once on the charming first of May,
    And shepherds ne’er tell false I ween,
      Yet ’twas by chance the shepherds say

    Colin he bow’d and blush’d, then said,
      Will you, sweet maid, this first of May
    Begin the dance by Colin led,
      To make this quite his holiday?

    Sylvia replied, I ne’er from home
      Yet ventur’d, till this first of May;
    It is not fit for maids to roam,
      And make a shepherd’s holiday.

    It is most fit, replied the youth,
      That Sylvia should this first of May
    By me be taught that love and truth
      Can make of life a holiday.

  _Lady Craven._

“We call,” says Mr. Leigh Hunt--“we call upon the admirers of the good
and beautiful to help us in ‘rescuing nature from obloquy.’ All you that
are lovers of nature in books,--lovers of music, painting, and
poetry,--lovers of sweet sounds, and odours, and colours, and all the
eloquent and happy face of the rural world with its eyes of
sunshine,--you, that are lovers of your species, of youth, and health,
and old age,--of manly strength in the manly, of nymph-like graces in
the female,--of air, of exercise, of happy currents in your veins,--of
the light in great Nature’s picture,--of all the gentle spiriting, the
loveliness, the luxury, that now stands under the smile of heaven,
silent and solitary as your fellow-creatures have left it,--go forth on
May-day, or on the earliest fine May morning, if that be not fine, and
pluck your flowers and your green boughs to adorn your rooms with, and
to show that you do not live in vain. These April rains (for May has not
yet come, according to the old style, which is the proper one of our
climate), these April rains are fetching forth the full luxury of the
trees and hedges;--by the next sunshine, all ‘the green weather,’ as a
little gladsome child called it, will have come again; the hedges will
be so many thick verdant walls, the fields mossy carpets, the trees
clothed to their finger-tips with foliage, the birds saturating the
woods with song. Come forth, come forth.”[120]

       *       *       *       *       *

This was the great rural festival of our forefathers. Their hearts
responded merrily to the cheerfulness of the season. At the dawn of May
morning the lads and lasses left their towns and villages, and repairing
to the woodlands by sound of music, they gathered the _May_, or
blossomed branches of the trees, and bound them with wreaths of flowers;
then returning to their homes by sunrise, they decorated the lattices
and doors with the sweet-smelling spoil of their joyous journey, and
spent the remaining hours in sports and pastimes. Spenser’s “Shepherd’s
Calendar” poetically records these customs in a beautiful eclogue:--

    Youths folke now flocken in every where
    To gather May-buskets, and smelling breere;
    And home they hasten, the postes to dight,
    And all the kirke pillers, ere daylight,
    With hawthorne buds, and sweet eglantine,
    And girlonds of roses, and soppes in wine.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Siker this morrow, no longer ago,
    I saw a shole of shepheards outgo
    With singing and showting, and jolly cheere;
    Before them yode a lustie tabrere,
    That to the meynie a hornepipe plaid,
    Whereto they dauncen eche one with his maide.
    To see these folkes make such jovisaunce,
    Made my hart after the pipe to daunce.
    Tho’ to the greene-wood they speeden them all,
    To fetchen home May with their musicall:
    And home they bringen, in a royall throne,
    Crowned as king; and his queen attone
    Was Ladie Flora, on whom did attend
    A faire flock of faeries, and a fresh bend
    Of lovely nymphs. O, that I were there
    To helpen the ladies their May-bush beare.

Forbear censure, gentle readers and kind hearers, for quotations from
poets, they have made the day especially their own; they are its
annalists. A poet’s invitation to his mistress to enjoy the festivity,
is historical; if he says to her, “together let us range,” he tells her
for what; and becomes a grave authority to the grave antiquary. The
sweetest of all British bards that sing of our customs, beautifully
illustrates the May-day of England:--

    Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morne
    Upon her wings presents the God unshorne.
          See how Aurora throwes her faire
          Fresh-quilted colours through the aire;
          Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
          The dew bespangling herbe and tree.
    Each flower has wept, and bow’d toward the east,
    Above an houre since, yet you not drest,
          Nay! not so much as out of bed;
          When all the birds have matteyns seyd,
          And sung their thankfull hymnes; ’tis sin,
          Nay, profanation to keep in,
    When as a thousand virgins on this day,
    Spring sooner then the lark, to fetch in May.

    Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seene
    To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and greene,
          And sweet as Flora. Take no care
          For jewels for your gowne or haire;
          Feare not, the leaves will strew
          Gemms in abundance upon you;
    Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
    Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.
          Come, and receive them while the light
          Hangs on the dew-locks of the night;
          And Titan on the eastern hill
          Retires himselfe, or else stands still
    Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be brief in praying;
    Few beads are best, when once we goe a Maying.

    Come, my Corinna, come; and, comming, marke
    How each field turns a street, each street a parke
          Made green, and trimm’d with trees; see how
          Devotion gives each house a bough,
          Or branch; each porch, each doore, ere this,
          An arke, a tabernacle is,
    Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;
    As if here were those cooler shades of love
          Can such delights be in the street,
          And open fields, and we not see’t?
          Come, we’ll abroad, and let’s obay
          The proclamation made for May:
    And sin no more, as we have done, by staying
    But, my Corinna, come, let’s goe a Maying.

    There’s not a budding boy or girle, this day,
    But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
          A deale of youth, ere this, is come
          Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
          Some have dispatcht their cakes and creame
          Before that we have left to dreame;
    And some have wept, and woo’d, and plighted troth,
    And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
          Many a green gown has been given;
          Many a kisse, both odde and even;
          Many a glance, too, has been sent
          From out the eye, love’s firmament;
    Many a jest told of the keye’s betraying
    This night, and locks pickt; yet w’are not a Maying.

    Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime
    And take the harmlesse follie of the time.
          We shall grow old apace and die
          Before we know our liberty.
          Our life is short, and our dayes run
          As fast away as do’s the sunne;
    And as a vapour, or a drop of raine
    Once lost, can ne’r be found againe;
          So when or you or I are made
          A fable, song, or fleeting shade;
          All love, all liking, all delight
          Lies drown’d with us in endless night.
    Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,
    Come, my Corinna, come, let’s goe a Maying.

  _Herrick._

A gatherer of notices respecting our pastimes says, “The after-part of
_May_-day is chiefly spent in dancing round a tall Poll, which is called
a May Poll; which being placed in a convenient part of the village,
stands there, as it were consecrated to the Goddess of Flowers, without
the least violation offer’d to it, in the whole circle of the
year.”[121] One who was an implacable enemy to popular sports relates
the fetching in of “the May” from the woods. “But,” says he, “their
cheefest jewell they bring from thence is their Maie poole, whiche they.
bring home with greate veneration, as thus. They have twentie or fourtie
yoke of oxen, every oxe havyng a sweete nosegaie of flowers tyed on the
tippe of his hornes, and these oxen drawe home this Maie poole, which is
covered all over with flowers and hearbes, bounde rounde aboute with
stringes, from the top to the bottome, and sometyme painted with
variable colours, with twoo or three hundred men, women, and children
followyng it, with greate devotion. And thus beyng reared up, with
handkerchiefes and flagges streamyng on the toppe, they strawe the
grounde aboute, binde greene boughes about it, sett up Sommer haules,
Bowers, and Arbours hard by it. And then fall they to banquet and feast,
to leape and daunce aboute it, as the Heathen people did at the
dedication of their Idolles, whereof this is a perfect patterne, or
rather the thyng itself.”[122]

            The May-pole is up,
            Now give me the cup;
    I’ll drink to the garlands around it;
            But first unto those
            Whose hands did compose
    The glory of flowers that crown’d it.

  _Herrick._

Another poet, and therefore no opponent to homely mirth on this festal
day, so describes part of its merriment as to make a beautiful
picture:--

    I have seen _the Lady of the May_
    _Set in an arbour_ (on a holy-day)
    _Built by the May-pole, where the jocund swaines_
    _Dance with the maidens_ to the bag-pipe’s straines,
    When envious night commands them to be gone,
    Call for the merry youngsters one by one,
    And, for their well performance, soon disposes,
    To this a garland interwove with roses,
    To that a carved hooke, or well-wrought scrip;
    Gracing another with her cherry lip;
    To one her garter; to another, then,
    A handkerchiefe, cast o’er and o’er again;
    And none returneth emptie that hath spent
    His paines to fill their rural merriment.

  _Browne’s Pastorals._

A poet, who has not versified, (Mr. Washington Irving,) says, “I shall
never forget the delight I felt on first seeing a May-pole. It was on
the banks of the Dee, close by the picturesque old bridge that
stretches across the river from the quaint little city of Chester. I had
already been carried back into former days by the antiquities of that
venerable place; the examination of which is equal to turning over the
pages of a black-letter volume, or gazing on the pictures in Froissart.
The May-pole on the margin of that poetic stream completed the illusion.
My fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peopled the green bank
with all the dancing revelry of May-day. The mere sight of this May-pole
gave a glow to my feelings, and spread a charm over the country for the
rest of the day; and as I traversed a part of the fair plains of
Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of Wales, and looked from among
swelling hills down a long green valley, through which ‘the Deva wound
its wizard stream,’ my imagination turned all into a perfect
Arcadia.--One can readily imagine what a gay scene it must have been in
jolly old London, when the doors were decorated with flowering branches,
when every hat was decked with hawthorn; and Robin Hood, friar Tuck,
Maid Marian, the morris-dancers, and all the other fantastic masks and
revellers were performing their antics about the May-pole in every part
of the city. On this occasion we are told Robin Hood presided as Lord of
the May:--

      “With coat of Lincoln green, and mantle too,
      And horn of ivory mouth, and buckle bright,
      And arrows winged with peacock-feathers light,
    And trusty bow well gathered of the yew;

“whilst near him, crowned as Lady of the May, maid Marian,

                          “With eyes of blue,
      Shining through dusk hair, like the stars of night,
      And habited in pretty forest plight--
    His green-wood beauty sits, young as the dew:

“and there, too, in a subsequent stage of the pageant, were

    “The archer-men in green, with belt and bow,
    Feasting on pheasant, river-fowl, and swan,
    With Robin at their head, and Marian.

“I value every custom that tends to infuse poetical feeling into the
common people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic manners,
without destroying their simplicity. Indeed it is to the decline of this
happy simplicity that the decline of this custom may be traced; and the
rural dance on the green, and the homely May-day pageant, have gradually
disappeared, in proportion as the peasantry have become expensive and
artificial in their pleasures, and too knowing for simple enjoyment.
Some attempts, indeed, have been made of late years, by men of both
taste and learning, to rally back the popular feeling to these standards
of primitive simplicity; but the time has gone by, the feeling has
become chilled by habits of gain and traffic; the country apes the
manners and amusements of the town, and little is heard of May-day at
present, except from the lamentations of authors, who sigh after it from
among the brick walls of the city.”

       *       *       *       *       *

There will be opportunity in the course of this work to dilate somewhat
concerning the May-pole and the characters in the May-games, and
therefore little will be adduced at present as to the origin of
pastimes, which royalty itself delighted in, and corporations
patronized. For example of these honours to the festal day, an honest
gatherer of older chronicles shall relate in his own words, so much as
he acquaints us with:--

“In the moneth of May, namely on May day in the morning, every man,
except impediment, would walke into the sweet meddowes and green woods,
there to rejoyce their spirits with the beauty and savour of sweet
flowers, and with the harmonie of birds, praising God in their kinde.
And for example hereof, Edward Hall hath noted, that king Henry the
eighth, as in the third of his reigne, and divers other yeeres, so
namely in the seventh of his reigne, on May day in the morning, with
queene Katharine his wife, accompanied with many lords and ladies, rode
a Maying from Greenwich to the high ground of Shooters-hill: where as
they passed by the way, they espyed a company of tall yeomen, clothed
all in greene, with greene hoods, and with bowes and arrowes, to the
number of 200. One, being their chieftaine, was called Robin Hood, who
required the king and all his company to stay and see his men shoot:
whereunto the king granting, Robin Hood whistled, and all the 200
archers shot off, loosing all at once; and when he whistled againe, they
likewise shot againe: their arrows whistled by craft of the head, so
that the noise was strange and loud, which greatly delighted the king,
queene, and their company.

“Moreover, this Robin Hood desired the king and queene, with their
retinue, to enter the greene wood, where, in arbours made of boughes,
and deckt with flowers, they were set and served plentifully with
venison and wine, by Robin Hood and his meyny, to their great
contentment, and had other pageants and pastimes; as yee may read in my
said author.

“I find also, that in the month of May, the citizens of London (of all
estates) lightly in every parish, or sometimes two or three parishes
joyning together, had their severall Mayings, and did fetch in
May-poles, with divers warlike shewes, with good archers,
morice-dancers, and other devises for pastime all the day long; and
towards the evening, they had stage-plaies, and bonefires in the
streets.

“Of these Mayings, we read in the reign of Henry the sixth, that the
aldermen and sheriffes of London, being on May day at the bishop of
Londons wood in the parish of Stebunheath, and having there a
worshipfull dinner for themselves and other commers, Lydgate the poet,
that was a monk of Bury, sent to them by a pursivant a joyfull
commendation of that season, containing sixteene staves in meeter
royall, beginning thus:--

    “Mighty Flora, goddesse of fresh flowers,
      which clothed hath the soyle in lusty green,
    Made buds to spring, with her sweet showers,
      by influence of the sunne shine,
    To doe pleasance of intent full cleane,
      unto the states which now sit here,
    Hath Ver downe seat her own daughter deare,

      “Making the vertue, that dured in the root,
    Called the vertue, the vertue vegetable,
      for to transcend, most wholesome and most soote,
    Into the top, this season so agreeable:
      the bawmy liquor is so commendable,
    That it rejoyceth with his fresh moisture,
      man, beast, and fowle, and every creature,” &c.

Thus far hath our London historian conceived it good for his fellow
citizens to know.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of the manner wherein a May game was anciently set forth, he who above
all writers contemporary with him could best devise it has “drawn out
the platform,” and exhibited the pageant, as performed by the household
servants and dependants of a baronial mansion in the fifteenth century.
This is the scene:--“In the front of the pavilion, a large square was
staked out, and fenced with ropes, to prevent the crowd from pressing
upon the performers, and interrupting the diversion; there were also two
bars at the bottom of the inclosure, through which the actors might pass
and repass, as occasion required.--_Six young men_ first entered the
square, clothed in jerkins of leather, with axes upon their shoulders
like woodmen, and their heads bound with large garlands of ivy-leaves,
intertwined with sprigs of hawthorn. Then followed _six young maidens_
of the village, dressed in blue kirtles, with garlands of primroses on
their heads, leading a fine sleek cow decorated with ribbons of various
colours, interspersed with flowers; and the horns of the animal were
tipped with gold. These were succeeded by _six foresters_, equipped in
green tunics, with hoods and hosen of the same colour; each of them
carried a bugle-horn attached to a baldrick of silk, which he sounded as
he passed the barrier. After them came Peter Lanaret, the baron’s chief
falconer, who personified _Robin Hood_, he was attired in a bright
grass-green tunic, fringed with gold; his hood and his hosen were
parti-, blue and white; he had a large garland of rosebuds on
his head, a bow bent in his hand, a sheaf of arrows at his girdle, and
a bugle-horn depending from a baldrick of light blue tarantine,
embroidered with silver; he had also a sword and a dagger, the hilts of
both being richly embossed with gold.--Fabian, a page, as _Little John_,
walked at his right hand; and Cecil Cellerman the butler, as _Will
Stukely_, at his left. These, with ten others of the jolly outlaw’s
attendants who followed, were habited in green garments, bearing their
bows bent in their hands, and their arrows in their girdles. Then came
_two maidens_, in orange- kirtles with white courtpies, strewing
flowers, followed immediately by the _Maid Marian_, elegantly habited in
a watchet- tunic reaching to the ground; over which she wore a
white linen rochet with loose sleeves, fringed with silver, and very
neatly plaited; her girdle was of silver baudekin, fastened with a
double bow on the left side; her long flaxen hair was divided into many
ringlets, and flowed upon her shoulders; the top part of her head was
covered with a net-work cawl of gold, upon which was placed a garland of
silver, ornamented with blue violets. She was supported by _two
bride-maidens_, in sky- rochets girt with crimson girdles,
wearing garlands upon their heads of blue and white violets. After them
came _four other females_ in green courtpies, and garlands of violets
and cowslips. Then Sampson the smith, as _Friar Tuck_, carrying a huge
quarter-staff on his shoulder; and Morris the mole-taker, who
represented _Much_ the miller’s son, having a long pole with an inflated
bladder attached to one end. And after them the _May-pole_, drawn by
eight fine oxen, decorated with scarfs, ribbons, and flowers of divers
colours; and the tips of their horns were embellished with gold. The
rear was closed by the _hobby-horse_ and the _dragon_.--When the
May-pole was drawn into the square, the foresters sounded their horns,
and the populace expressed their pleasure by shouting incessantly until
it reached the place assigned for its elevation:--and during the time
the ground was preparing for its reception, the barriers of the bottom
of the inclosure were opened for the villagers to approach, and adorn it
with ribbons, garlands, and flowers, as their inclination prompted
them.--The pole being sufficiently onerated with finery, the square was
cleared from such as had no part to perform in the pageant; and then it
was elevated amidst the reiterated acclamations of the spectators. The
_woodmen_ and the _milk-maidens_ danced around it according to the
rustic fashion; the measure was played by Peretto Cheveritte, the
baron’s chief minstrel, on the _bagpipes_, accompanied with the pipe and
tabour, performed by one of his associates. When the dance was finished,
Gregory the jester, who undertook to play the _hobby-horse_, came
forward with his appropriate equipment, and, frisking up and down the
square without restriction, imitated the galloping, curvetting, ambling,
trotting, and other paces of a horse, to the infinite satisfaction of
the lower classes of the spectators. He was followed by Peter Parker,
the baron’s ranger, who personated a _dragon_, hissing, yelling, and
shaking his wings with wonderful ingenuity; and to complete the mirth,
Morris, in the character of _Much_, having small bells attached to his
knees and elbows, capered here and there between the two monsters in the
form of a dance; and as often as he came near to the sides of the
inclosure, he cast slily a handful of meal into the faces of the gaping
rustics, or rapped them about their heads with the bladder tied at the
end of his pole. In the mean time, Sampson, representing Friar Tuck,
walked with much gravity around the square, and occasionally let fall
his heavy staff upon the toes of such of the crowd as he thought were
approaching more forward than they ought to do; and if the sufferers
cried out from the sense of pain, he addressed them in a solemn tone of
voice, advising them to count their beads, say a paternoster or two, and
to beware of purgatory. These vagaries were highly palatable to the
populace, who announced their delight by repeated plaudits and loud
bursts of laughter; for this reason they were continued for a
considerable length of time: but Gregory, beginning at last to faulter
in his paces, ordered the dragon to fall back: the well-nurtured beast,
being out of breath, readily obeyed, and their two companions followed
their example; which concluded this part of the pastime.--Then the
_archers_ set up a target at the lower part of the green, and made trial
of their skill in a regular succession. Robin Hood and Will Stukely
excelled their comrades; and both of them lodged an arrow in the centre
circle of gold, so near to each other that the difference could not
readily be decided, which occasioned them to shoot again; when Robin
struck the gold a second time, and Stukely’s arrow was affixed upon the
edge of it. Robin was therefore adjudged the conqueror; and the prize of
honour, a garland of laurel embellished with variegated ribbons, was put
upon his head; and to Stukely was given a garland of ivy, because he was
the second best performer in that contest.--The pageant was finished
with the archery; and the procession began to move away to make room for
the villagers, who afterwards assembled in the square, and amused
themselves by dancing round the May-pole in promiscuous companies,
according to the antient custom.”[123] It is scarcely possible to give a
better general idea of the regular May-game, than as it has been here
represented.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of the English May-pole this may be observed. An author before cited
says, that “at the north-west corner of _Aldgate_ ward in
_Leadenhall-street_, standeth the fair and beautiful parish church of
St. Andrew the apostle, with an addition, to be known from other
churches of that name, of the _knape_, or _undershaft_, and so called
_St. Andrew Undershaft_, because that of old time, every year (on
May-day in the morning,) it was used, that a high or long shaft, or
_May-pole_, was set up there, in the midst of the street, before the
south door of the said church, which shaft or pole, when it was set on
end, and fixed in the ground, was _higher than the church steeple_.
Jeffrey Chaucer, writing of a vain boaster, hath these words, meaning of
the said shaft:--

      “Right well aloft, and high ye bear your head,

           *       *       *       *       *

    As ye would bear the great shaft of Corn-hill.

“This shaft was not raised any time since evil May-day, (so called of an
insurrection being made by prentices, and other young persons against
aliens, in the year 1517,) but the said shaft was laid along over the
doors, and under the pentices of one rowe of houses, and Alley-gate,
called of the shaft, _Shaft-alley_, (being of the possessions of
Rochester-bridge,) in the ward of Lime-street.--It was there, I say,
hanged on iron hooks many years, till the third of king Edward the
sixth, (1552), that one sir Stephen, curate of St. Katherine Christ’s
church, preaching at Paul’s Cross, said there, that this shaft was made
an idoll, by naming the church of St. Andrew with the addition of
Undershaft; he perswaded, therefore, that the names of churches might be
altered.--This sermon at Paul’s Cross took such effect, that in the
afternoon of that present Sunday, the neighbors and tenants to the said
bridge, over whose doors the said shaft had lain, after they had dined
(to make themselves strong,) gathered more help, and, with great labor,
raising the shaft from the hooks, (whereon it had rested two-and-thirty
years,) they sawed it in pieces, every man taking for his share so much
as had lain over his door and stall, the length of his house; and they
of the alley, divided amongst them, so much as had lain over their
alley-gate. Thus was his idoll (as he termed it,) mangled, and after
burned.”[124]

It was a great object with some of the more rigid among our early
reformers, to suppress amusements, especially May-poles; and these
“idols” of the people were got down as zeal grew fierce, and got up as
it grew cool, till, after various ups and downs, the favourites of the
populace were, by the parliament, on the 6th of April, 1644, thus
provided against: “The lords and commons do further order and ordain,
that all and singular _May-poles_, that are or shall be erected, shall
be taken down, and removed by the constables, bossholders, tithing-men,
petty constables, and churchwardens of the parishes, where the same be,
and that no May-pole be hereafter set up, erected, or suffered to be set
up within this kingdom of England, or dominion of Wales; the said
officers to be fined five shillings weekly till the said May-pole be
taken down.”

Accordingly down went all the May-poles that were left. A famous one in
the Strand, which had ten years before been sung in lofty metre, appears
to have previously fallen. The poet says,--

    Fairly we marched on, till our approach
      Within the spacious passage of the Strand,
    Objected to our sight a summer broach,
      Ycleap’d a May Pole, which in all our land,
    No city, towne, nor streete, can parralell,
    Nor can the lofty spire of Clarken-well,
    Although we have the advantage of a rocke,
    Pearch up more high his turning weather-cock.

    Stay, quoth my Muse, and here behold a signe
      Of harmelesse mirth and honest neighbourhood,
    Where all the parish did in one combine
      To mount the rod of peace, and none withstood:
    When no capritious constables disturb them,
    Nor justice of the peace did seek to curb them,
    Nor peevish puritan, in rayling sort,
    Nor over-wise church-warden, spoyl’d the sport.

    Happy the age, and harmlesse were the dayes,
      (For then true love and amity was found,)
    When every village did a May Pole raise,
      And Whitson-ales and MAY-GAMES did abound:
    And all the lusty yonkers, in a rout,
    With merry lasses daunc’d the rod about,
    Then Friendship to their banquets bid the guests,
    And poore men far’d the better for their feasts.

    The lords of castles, mannors, townes, and towers,
      Rejoic’d when they beheld the farmer’s flourish,
    And would come downe unto the summer-bowers
      To see the country gallants dance the Morrice.

           *       *       *       *       *

    But since the SUMMER POLES _were overthrown_,
      And all good sports and merriments decay’d,
    How times and men are chang’d, so well is knowne,
      It were but labour lost if more were said.

           *       *       *       *       *

    But I doe hope once more the day will come,
      That you shall mount and pearch your cocks as high
    As ere you did, and that the pipe and drum
      Shall bid defiance to your enemy;
    And that all fidlers, which in corners lurke,
    And have been almost starv’d for want of worke,
    Shall draw their crowds, and, at your exaltation,
    Play many a fit of merry recreation.[125]

The restoration of Charles II. was the signal for the restoration of
May-poles. On the very first May-day afterwards, in 1661, the _May-pole
in the Strand_ was reared with great ceremony and rejoicing, a curious
account of which, from a rare tract, is at the reader’s service. “Let me
declare to you,” says the triumphant narrator, “the manner in general of
that stately cedar erected in the strand 134 foot high, commonly called
the _May-Pole_, upon the cost of the parishioners there adjacent, and
the gracious consent of his sacred Majesty with the illustrious Prince
The Duke of York. This Tree was a most choice and remarkable piece;
’twas made below Bridge, and brought in two parts up to Scotland Yard
near the King’s Palace, and from thence it was conveyed April 14th to
the Strand to be erected. It was brought with a streamer flourishing
before it, Drums beating all the way and other sorts of musick; it was
supposed to be so long, that Landsmen (as Carpenters) could not possibly
raise it; (Prince James the Duke of York, Lord High Admiral of England,
commanded twelve seamen off a boord to come and officiate the business,
whereupon they came and brought their cables, Pullies, and other
tacklins, with six great anchors) after this was brought three Crowns,
bore by three men bare-headed and a streamer displaying all the way
before them, Drums beating and other musick playing; numerous
multitudes of people thronging the streets, with great shouts and
acclamations all day long. The May pole then being joyned together, and
hoopt about with bands of iron, the crown and cane with the Kings Arms
richly gilded, was placed on the head of it, a large top like a Balcony
was about the middle of it. This being done, the trumpets did sound, and
in four hours space it was advanced upright, after which being
established fast in the ground six drums did beat, and the trumpets did
sound; again great shouts and acclamations the people give, that it did
ring throughout all the strand. After that came a _Morice Dance_ finely
deckt, with purple scarfs, in their half-shirts, with a Tabor and Pipe,
the ancient Musick, and danced round about the Maypole, and after that
danced the rounds of their liberty. Upon the top of this famous standard
is likewise set up a royal purple streamer, about the middle of it is
placed four Crowns more, with the King’s Arms likewise, there is also a
garland set upon it of various colours of delicate rich favours, under
which is to be placed three great Lanthorns, to remain for three
honours; that is, one for Prince James Duke of York, Ld High Admiral of
England; the other for the Vice Admiral; and the third for the rear
Admiral; these are to give light in dark nights and to continue so as
long as the Pole stands which will be a perpetual honour for seamen. It
is placed as near hand as they could guess, in the very same pit where
the former stood, but far more glorious, bigger and higher, than ever
any one that stood before it; and the seamen themselves do confess that
it could not be built higher nor is there not such a one in Europe
beside, which highly doth please his Majesty, and the illustrious Prince
Duke of York; little children did much rejoice, and antient people did
clap their hands, saying, golden days began to appear. I question not
but ’twill ring like melodious musick throughout every county in
Englend, when they read this story being exactly pen’d; let this
satisfie for the glories of London that other loyal subjects may read
what we here do see.”[126]

A processional engraving, by Vertue, among the prints of the Antiquarian
Society, represents this May-pole, as a door or two westward beyond

    “Where Catharine-street descends into the Strand;”

and as far as recollection of the print serves, it was erected opposite
to the site of sir Walter Stirling and Co’s. present banking-house. In a
compilation respecting “London and Middlesex,” it is stated that this
May-pole having decayed, was obtained of the parish by sir Isaac Newton,
in 1717, and carried through the city to Wanstead, in Essex; and by
license of sir Richard Child, lord Castlemain, reared in the park by the
rev. Mr. Pound, rector of that parish, for the purpose of supporting the
largest telescope at that period in the world, given by Mons. Hugon, a
French member of the Royal Society, as a present; the telescope was one
hundred and twenty-five feet long. This May-pole on public occasions was
adorned with streamers, flags, garlands of flowers and other ornaments.

It was near the May-pole in the Strand that, in 1677, Mr. Robert
Perceval was found dead with a deep wound under his left breast, and his
sword drawn and bloody, lying by him. He was nineteen years of age, had
fought as many duels as he had lived years, and with uncommon talents
was an excessive libertine. He was second son to the right hon. sir
Robert Perceval, bart. Some singular particulars are related of him in
the “History of the House of Yvery.” A stranger’s hat with a bunch of
ribbons in it was lying near his body when it was discovered, and there
exists no doubt of his having been killed by some person who,
notwithstanding royal proclamations and great inquiries, was never
discovered. The once celebrated Beau Fielding was suspected of the
crime. He was buried under the chapel of Lincoln’s-inn. His elder
brother, sir Philip Perceval, intent on discovering the murderers,
violently attacked a gentleman in Dublin, whom he declared he had never
seen before; he could only account for his rage by saying he was
possessed with a belief that he was one of those who had killed his
brother; they were soon parted, and the gentleman was seen no more.

The last poet who seems to have mentioned it was Pope; he says of an
assemblage of persons that,--

    Amidst the area wide they took their stand,
    Where the tall May-pole once o’er-look’d the Strand.

A native of Penzance, in Cornwall, relates to the editor of the
_Every-Day Book_, that it is an annual custom there, on May-eve, for a
number of young men and women to assemble at a public-house, and sit up
till the clock strikes twelve, when they go round the town with violins,
drums, and other instruments, and by sound of music call upon others who
had previously settled to join them. As soon as the party is formed,
they proceed to different farmhouses, within four or five miles of the
neighbourhood, where they are expected as regularly as May morning
comes; and they there partake of a beverage called junket, made of raw
milk and rennet, or running, as it is there called, sweetened with
sugar, and a little cream added. After this, they take tea, and “heavy
country cake,” composed of flour, cream, sugar, and currants; next, rum
and milk, and then a dance. After thus regaling, they gather the May.
While some are breaking down the boughs, others sit and make the “May
music.” This is done by cutting a circle through the bark at a certain
distance from the bottom of the May branches; then, by gently and
regularly tapping the bark all round, from the cut circle to the end,
the bark becomes loosened, and slips away whole from the wood; and a
hole being cut in the pipe, it is easily formed to emit a sound when
blown through, and becomes a whistle. The gathering and the “May music”
being finished, they then “bring home the May,” by five or six o’clock
in the morning, with the band playing, and their whistles blowing. After
dancing throughout the town, they go to their respective employments.
Although May-day should fall on a Sunday, they observe the same practice
in all respects, with the omission of dancing in the town.

On the first Sunday after May-day, it is a custom with families at
Penzance to visit Rose-hill, Poltier, and other adjacent villages, by
way of recreation. These pleasure-parties usually consist of two or
three families together. They carry flour and other materials with them
to make the “heavy cake,” just described, at the pleasant farm-dairies,
which are always open for their reception. Nor do they forget to take
tea, sugar, rum, and other comfortable things for their refreshment,
which, by paying a trifle for baking, and for the niceties awaiting
their consumption, contents the farmers for the house-room and pleasure
they afford their welcome visitants. Here the young ones find delicious
“junkets,” with “sour milk,” or curd cut in diamonds, which is eaten
with sugar and cream. New made cake, refreshing tea, and exhilarating
punch, satisfy the stomach, cheer the spirits, and assist the walk home
in the evening. These pleasure-takings are never made before May-day;
but the first Sunday that succeeds it, and the leisure of every other
afternoon, is open to the frugal enjoyment; and among neighbourly
families and kind friends, the enjoyment is frequent.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

There still exists among the labouring classes in Wales the custom of
May-dancing, wherein they exhibit their persons to the best advantage,
and distinguish their agility before the fair maidens of their own rank.

About a fortnight previous to the day, the interesting question among
the lads and lasses is, “Who will turn out to dance in the summer this
year?” From that time the names of the gay performers are buzzed in the
village, and rumour “with her hundred tongues” proclaims them throughout
the surrounding neighbourhood. Nor is it asked with less interest, “Who
will carry the garland?” and “Who will be the _Cadi_?” Of the peculiar
offices of these two distinguished personages you shall hear presently.

About nine days or a week previous to the festival, a collection is made
of the gayest ribbons that can be procured. Each lad resorts to his
favoured lass, who gives him the best she possesses, and uses her utmost
interest with her friends or her mistress to obtain a loan of whatever
may be requisite to supply the deficiency. Her next care is to decorate
a new white shirt of fine linen. This is a principal part of her lover’s
dress. The bows and puffs of ribbon are disposed according to the
peculiar taste of each fair girl who is rendered happy by the pleasing
task; and thus the shirts of the dancers, from the various fancies of
the adorners, form a diversified and lively appearance.

During this time the chosen garland-bearer is also busily employed.
Accompanied by one from among the intended dancers, who is best known
among the farmers for decency of conduct, and consequent responsibility,
they go from house to house, throughout their parish, begging the loan
of watches, silver spoons, or whatever other utensils of this metal are
likely to make a brilliant display; and those who are satisfied with the
parties, and have a regard for the celebration of this ancient day,
comply with their solicitation.

When May-day morn arrives, the group of dancers assemble at their
rendezvous--the village tavern. From thence (when permission can be
obtained from the clergyman of the parish,) the rustic procession sets
forth, accompanied by the ringing of bells.

The arrangement and march are settled by the Cadi, who is always the
most active person in the company; and is, by virtue of his important
office, the chief marshal, orator, buffoon, and money collector. He is
always arrayed in comic attire, generally in a partial dress of both
sexes: a coat and waistcoat being used for the upper part of the body,
and for the lower petticoats, somewhat resembling Moll Flagon, in the
“Lord of the Manor.” His countenance is also particularly distinguished
by a hideous mask, or is blackened entirely over; and then the lips,
cheeks, and orbits of the eyes are sometimes painted red. The number of
the rest of the party, including the garland-bearer, is generally
thirteen, and with the exception of the varied taste in the decoration
of their shirts with ribbons, their costume is similar. It consists of
clothing entirely new from the hat to the shoes, which are made neat,
and of a light texture, for dancing. The white decorated shirts, plaited
in the neatest manner, are worn over the rest of their clothing; the
remainder of the dress is black velveteen breeches, with knee-ties
depending halfway down to the ancles, in contrast with yarn hose of a
light grey. The ornaments of the hats are large rosettes of varied
colours, with streamers depending from them; wreaths of ribbon encircle
the crown, and each of the dancers carries in his right hand a white
pocket handkerchief.

The garland consists of a long staff or pole, to which is affixed a
triangular or square frame, covered with strong white linen, on which
the silver ornaments are firmly fixed, and displayed with the most
studious taste. Silver spoons and smaller forms are placed in the shape
of stars, squares, and circles. Between these are rows of watches; and
at the top of the frame, opposite the pole in its centre, their whole
collection is crowned with the largest and most costly of the ornaments:
generally a large silver cup or tankard. This garland, when completed,
on the eve of May-day, is left for the night at that farmhouse from
whence the dancers have received the most liberal loan of silver and
plate for its decoration, or with that farmer who is distinguished in
his neighbourhood as a good master, and liberal to the poor. Its deposit
is a token of respect, and it is called for early on the following
morning.

The whole party being assembled, they march in single file, but more
generally in pairs, headed by the Cadi. After him follows the
garland-bearer, and then the fiddler, while the bells of the village
merrily ring the signal of their departure. As the procession moves
slowly along, the Cadi varies his station, hovers about his party,
brandishes a ladle, and assails every passenger with comic eloquence and
ludicrous persecution, for a customary and expected donation.

When they arrive at a farmhouse, they take up their ground on the best
station for dancing. The garland-bearer takes his stand; the violin
strikes up an old national tune uniformly used on that occasion, and the
dancers move forward in a regular quick-step to the tune, in the order
of procession; and at each turn of the tune throw up their white
handkerchiefs with a shout, and the whole facing quickly about, retrace
their steps, repeating the same manœuvre until the tune is once played.
The music and dancing then vary into a reel, which is succeeded by
another dance, to the old tune of “Cheshire Round.”

During the whole of this time, the buffoonery of the Cadi is exhibited
without intermission. He assails the inmates of the house for money, and
when this is obtained he bows or curtsies his thanks, and the procession
moves off to the next farmhouse. They do not confine the ramble of the
day to their own parish, but go from one to another, and to any country
town in the vicinity.

When they return to their resident village in the evening, the bells
ringing merrily announce their arrival. The money collected during the
day’s excursion is appropriated to defray whatever expenses may have
been incurred in the necessary preparations, and the remainder is spent
in jovial festivity.

This ancient custom, like many others among the ancient Britons, is
annually growing into disuse. The decline of sports and pastimes is in
every age a subject of regret. For in a civil point of view, they denote
the general prosperity, natural energy, and happiness of the people,
consistent with morality,--and combined with that spirit of true
religion, which unlike the howling of the dismal hyæna or ravening wolf,
is as a lamb sportive and innocent, and as a lion magnanimous and bold!

  I am, Sir,

  Yours sincerely,

  H. T. B.

  _April 14, 1825._

       *       *       *       *       *


MAY-DAY AT HITCHIN, IN HERTFORDSHIRE.

_For the Every-Day Book._

EXTRACT _from a letter dated Hitchin, May 1st, 1823_.

On this day a curious custom is observed here, of which I will give you
a brief account.

Soon after three o’clock in the morning a large party of the
town-people, and neighbouring labourers, parade the town, singing the
“_Mayer’s Song_.” They carry in their hands large branches of May, and
they affix a branch either upon, or at the side of, the doors of nearly
every respectable house in the town; where there are knockers, they
place these branches within the handles; that which was put into our
knocker was so large that the servant could not open the door till the
gardener came and took it out. The larger the branch is, that is placed
at the door, the more honourable to the house, or rather to the servants
of the house. If, in the course of the year, a servant has given offence
to any of the Mayers, then, instead of a branch of May, a branch of
elder, with a bunch of nettles, is affixed to her door: this is
considered a great disgrace, and the unfortunate subject of it is
exposed to the jeers of her rivals. On May morning, therefore, the girls
look with some anxiety for their May-branch, and rise very early to
ascertain their good or ill fortune. The houses are all thus decorated
by four o’clock in the morning. Throughout the day parties of these
Mayers are seen dancing and frolicking in various parts of the town. The
group that I saw to-day, which remained in Bancroft for more than an
hour, was composed as follows. First came two men with their faces
blacked, one of them with a birch broom in his hand, and a large
artificial hump on his back; the other dressed as a woman, all in rags
and tatters, with a large straw bonnet on, and carrying a ladle: these
are called “mad Moll and her husband:” next came two men, one most
fantastically dressed with ribbons, and a great variety of gaudy
 silk handkerchiefs tied round his arms from the shoulders to
the wrists, and down his thighs and legs to the ancles; he carried a
drawn sword in his hand; leaning upon his arm was a youth dressed as a
fine lady, in white muslin, and profusely bedecked from top to toe with
gay ribbons: these, I understood, were called the “Lord and Lady” of the
company; after these followed six or seven couples more, attired much in
the same style as the lord and lady, only the men were without swords.
When this group received a satisfactory contribution at any house, the
music struck up from a violin, clarionet, and fife, accompanied by the
long drum, and they began the merry dance, and very well they danced, I
assure you; the men-_women_ looked and footed it so much like _real_
women, that I stood in great doubt as to which sex they belonged to,
till Mrs. J.---- assured me that women were not permitted to mingle in
these sports. While the dancers were merrily footing it, the principal
amusement to the populace was caused by the grimaces and clownish tricks
of mad Moll and her husband. When the circle of spectators became so
contracted as to interrupt the dancers, then mad Moll’s husband went to
work with his broom, and swept the road-dust, all round the circle, into
the faces of the crowd, and when any pretended affronts were offered
(and many were offered) to his wife, he pursued the offenders, broom in
hand; if he could not overtake them, whether they were males or females,
he flung his broom at them. These flights and pursuits caused an
abundance of merriment.

I saw another company of Mayers in Sun-street, and, as far as I could
judge from where I stood, it appeared to be of exactly the same
description as that above-mentioned, but I did not venture very near
them, for I perceived mad Moll’s husband exercising his broom so
briskly upon the flying crowd, that I kept at a respectful distance.

[Illustration: ~May-day at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire.~]

The “_Mayer’s Song_” is a composition, or rather a medley, of great
antiquity, and I was therefore very desirous to procure a copy of it; in
accomplishing this, however, I experienced more difficulty than I had
anticipated; but at length succeeded in obtaining it from one of the
Mayers. The following is a literal transcript of it:

_The Mayer’s Song._

    Remember us poor Mayers all,
      And thus do we begin
    To lead our lives in righteousness,
      Or else we die in sin.

    We have been rambling all this night,
      And almost all this day,
    And now returned back again
      We have brought you a branch of May.

    A branch of May we have brought you,
      And at your door it stands,
          It is but a sprout,
          But it’s well budded out
      By the work of our Lord’s hands.

    The hedges and trees they are so green
      As green as any leek,
    Our heavenly Father He watered them
      With his heavenly dew so sweet.

    The heavenly gates are open wide,
      Our paths are beaten plain,
    And if a man be not too far gone,
      He may return again.

    The life of man is but a span,
      It flourishes like a flower,
    We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow,
      And we are dead in an hour.

    The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light,
      A little before it is day,
    So God bless you all, both great and small,
      And send you a joyful May.

[Illustration: ~Milkmaids’ Garland on May-day.~]

    In London, thirty years ago,
      When pretty milkmaids went about,
    It was a goodly sight to see
      Their May-day Pageant all drawn out:--

    Themselves in comely colours drest,
      Their shining garland in the middle,
    A pipe and tabor on before,
      Or else the foot-inspiring fiddle.

    They stopt at houses, where it was
      Their custom to cry “milk below!”
    And, while the music play’d, with smiles
      Join’d hands, and pointed toe to toe.

    Thus they tripp’d on, till--from the door
      The hop’d-for annual present sent--
    A signal came, to curtsy low,
      And at that door cease merriment.

    Such scenes, and sounds, once blest my eyes,
      And charm’d my ears--but all have vanish’d!
    On May-day, now, no garlands go,
      For milk-maids, and their dance, are banish’d.

    My recollections of these sights
      “Annihilate both time and space;”
    I’m boy enough to wish them back,
      And think their absence--out of place.

  _May 4, 1825._

From the preceding lines somewhat may be learned of a lately disused
custom in London. The milkmaids’ _garland_ was a pyramidical frame,
covered with damask, glittering on each side with polished silver plate,
and adorned with knots of gay- ribbons, and posies of fresh
flowers, surmounted by a silver urn, or tankard. The _garland_ being
placed on a wooden horse, was carried by two men, as represented in the
engraving, sometimes preceded by a pipe and tabor, but more frequently
by a fiddle; the gayest milkmaids followed the music, others followed
the garland, and they stopped at their customers’ doors, and danced. The
plate, in some of these garlands, was very costly. It was usually
borrowed of the pawnbrokers, for the occasion, upon security. One person
in that trade was particularly resorted to for this accommodation. He
furnished out the entire garland, and let it at so much per hour, under
bond from responsible housekeepers for its safe return. In this way one
set of milkmaids would hire the garland from ten o’clock till one, and
another set would have the garland from one o’clock till six; and so on,
during the first three days of May.

It was customary with milk-people of less profitable walks to make a
display of another kind, less gaudy in appearance, but better bespeaking
their occupation, and more appropriate to the festival. This was an
exhibition of themselves, in their best apparel, and of the useful
animal which produced the fluid they retailed. One of these is thus
described to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, by an intelligent
eye-witness, and admirer of the pleasant sight. A beautiful country girl
“drest all in her best,” and more gaily attired than on any other day,
with floral ornaments in her neat little hat, and on her bosom, led her
cow, by a rope depending from its horns, garlanded with flowers and
knots of ribbons; the horns, neck, and head of the cow were decorated in
like manner: a fine net, like those upon ladies’ palfreys, tastefully
stuck with flowers, covered Bess’s back, and even her tail was
ornamented, with products of the spring, and silken knots. The
proprietress of the cow, a neat, brisk, little, matronly body, followed
on one side, in holiday-array, with a sprig in her country bonnet, a
blooming posy in her handkerchief, and ribbons on her stomacher. This
scene was in Westminster, near the old abbey. Ah! _those_ were the
days.

The milkmaids’ earlier plate-garland was a pyramid of piled utensils,
carried on a stout damsel’s head, under which she danced to the violin.


MAY-FAIR.

The great May-fair was formerly held near Piccadilly. An antiquary,
(shudder not, good reader, at the chilling name--he was a kind soul,)
Mr. Carter, describes this place in an interesting communication, dated
the 6th of March, 1816, to his valued friend, the venerable “Sylvanus
Urban.” “Fifty years have passed away since this place of amusement was
at its height of attraction: the spot where the fair was held still
retains the name of May-fair, and exists in much the same state as at
the above period: for instance, Shepherd’s market, and houses
surrounding it on the north and east sides, with White Horse-street,
Shepherd’s-court, Sun-court, Market-court. Westwards an open space
extending to Tyburn (now Park) lane, since built upon, in Chapel-street,
Shepherd’s-street, Market-street, Hertford-street, &c. Southwards, the
noted Ducking-pond, house, and gardens, since built upon, in a large
Riding-school, Carrington-street, (the noted Kitty Fisher lived in this
street,) &c. The market-house consisted of two stories; first story, a
long and cross aisle, for butcher’s shops, externally, other shops
connected with culinary purposes; second story, used as a theatre at
fair-time, for dramatic performances. My recollection serves to raise
before me the representation of the ‘Revenge,’ in which the only object
left on remembrance is the ‘black man,’ Zanga. Below, the butchers gave
place to toy-men and gingerbread-bakers. At present, the upper story is
unfloored, the lower ditto nearly deserted by the butchers, and their
shops occupied by needy peddling dealers in small wares; in truth, a
most deplorable contrast to what once was such a point of allurement. In
the areas encompassing the market-building were booths for jugglers,
prize-fighters, both at cudgels and back-sword, boxing-matches, and wild
beasts. The sports not under cover were mountebanks, fire-eaters,
ass-racing, sausage-tables, dice-tables, up-and-downs, merry-go-rounds,
bull-baiting, grinning for a hat, running for a shift, hasty-pudding
eaters, eel-divers, and an infinite variety of other similar pastimes.
Among the extraordinary and wonderful delights of the happy spot, take
the following items, which still hold a place within my mind, though I
cannot affirm they all occurred at one precise season. The account may
be relied on, as I was born, and passed my youthful days in the
vicinity, in Piccadilly, (Carter’s Statuary,) two doors from the south
end of White Horse-street, since rebuilt (occupied at present by lady
Pulteney).--Before a large commodious house, with a good disposure of
walks, arbours, and alcoves, was an area, with an extensive bason of
water, otherwise ‘_Ducking-pond_,’ for the recreation of lovers of that
_polite_ and _humane_ sport. Persons who came with their dogs paid a
trifling fee for admission, and were considered the chief patrons and
supporters of the pond; others, who visited the place as mere
spectators, paid a double fee. A duck was put into the pond by the
master of the hunt; the several dogs were then let loose, to seize the
bird. For a long time they made the attempt in vain; for, when they came
near the devoted victim, she dived under water, and eluded their
remorseless fangs. Herein consisted the _extreme felicity_ of the
_interesting_ scene. At length, some dog more expert than the rest,
caught the feathered prize, and bore it away, amidst the loudest
acclamations, to its most fortunate and envied master. This diversion
was held in such high repute about the reign of Charles II., that he,
and many of his prime nobility, did not disdain to be present, and
partake, with their dogs, of the _elegant entertainment_. In Mrs. Behn’s
play of ‘Sir Patient Fancy,’ (written at the above period,) a sir
Credulous Easy talks about a cobbler, his dog-tutor, and his expectation
of soon becoming ‘the duke of Ducking-pond.’--A ‘_Mountebanks’ Stage_’
was erected opposite the Three Jolly Butchers’ public-house, (on the
east side of the market area, now the King’s Arms.) Here Woodward, the
inimitable comedian and harlequin, made his first appearance as
merry-andrew; from these humble boards he soon after found his way to
Covent-garden theatre.--Then there was ‘_Beheading of Puppets_.’ In a
coal-shed attached to a grocer’s shop, (then Mr. Frith’s, now Mr.
Frampton’s,) one of these mock executions was exposed to the attending
crowd. A shutter was fixed horizontally; on the edge of which, after
many previous ceremonies, a puppet laid its head, and another puppet
then instantly chopped it off with an axe. In a circular
staircase-window, at the north end of Sun-court, a similar performance
took place by another set of puppets. The condemned puppet bowed its
head to the cill which, as above, was soon decapitated. In these
representations, the late punishment of the Scotch chieftain (lord
Lovat) was alluded to, in order to gratify the feelings of southern
loyalty, at the expense of that farther north.--In a fore one-pair room,
on the west side of Sun-court, a Frenchman submitted to the curious the
astonishing strength of the ‘_Strong Woman_,’ his wife. A blacksmith’s
anvil being procured from White Horse-street, with three of the men,
they brought it up, and placed it on the floor. The woman was short, but
most beautifully and delicately formed, and of a most lovely
countenance. She first let down her hair, (a light auburn,) of a length
descending to her knees, which she twisted round the projecting part of
the anvil, and then, with seeming ease, lifted the ponderous weight some
inches from the floor. After this, a bed was laid in the middle of the
room; when, reclining on her back, and uncovering her bosom, the husband
ordered the smiths to place thereon the anvil, and forge upon it a
horse-shoe! This they obeyed; by taking from the fire a red-hot piece of
iron, and with their forging hammers completing the shoe, with the same
might and indifference as when in the shop at their constant labour. The
prostrate fair one appeared to endure this with the utmost composure,
talking and singing during the whole process; then, with an effort which
to the by-standers seemed like some supernatural trial, cast the anvil
from off her body, jumping up at the same moment with extreme gaiety,
and without the least discomposure of her dress or person. That no trick
or collusion could possibly be practised on the occasion was obvious,
from the following evidence:--The audience stood promiscuously about the
room, among whom were our family and friends; the smiths were utter
strangers to the Frenchman, but known to us; therefore the several
efforts of strength must have proceeded from the natural and surprising
power this foreign dame was possessed of. She next put her naked feet on
a red-hot salamander, without receiving the least injury: but this is a
feat familiar with us at this time. Here this kind of gratification to
the senses concluded.--Here, too, was ‘_Tiddy-doll_.’

[Illustration: ~Tiddy Diddy Doll--loll, loll, loll.~]

This celebrated vender of gingerbread, from his eccentricity of
character, and extensive dealings in his way, was always hailed as the
king of itinerant tradesmen.[127] In his person he was tall, well made,
and his features handsome. He affected to dress like a person of rank;
white gold laced suit of clothes, laced ruffled shirt, laced hat and
feather, white silk stockings, with the addition of a fine white apron.
Among his harangues to gain customers, take this as a specimen:--
‘Mary, Mary, where are you _now_, Mary? I live, when at home, at the
second house in Little Ball-street, two steps under ground, with a
wiscum, riscum, and a why-not. Walk in, ladies and gentlemen; my shop is
on the second-floor backwards, with a brass knocker at the door. Here is
your nice gingerbread, your spice gingerbread; it will melt in your
mouth like a red-hot brickbat, and rumble in your inside like Punch and
his wheelbarrow.’ He always finished his address by singing this fag end
of some popular ballad:--

[Music: Allegretto.

  Ti-tid-dy, ti-ti, ti-tid-dy, ti-ti, ti-tid-dy, ti-ti,
  tid-dy did-dy dol-lol, ti-tid-dy ti-tid-dy ti-ti,
  tid-dy tid-dy, dol.]

Hence arose his nickname of ‘_Tiddy-doll_.’ In Hogarth’s print of the
execution of the ‘Idle ’Prentice,’ at Tyburn, _Tiddy-doll_ is seen
holding up a gingerbread cake with his left hand, his right being within
his coat, and addressing the mob in his usual way:--‘Mary, Mary,’ &c.
His costume agrees with the aforesaid description. For many years, (and
perhaps at present,) allusions were made to his name, as thus:--‘You are
so fine, (to a person dressed out of character,) you look like
Tiddy-doll. You are as tawdry as Tiddy-doll. You are quite Tiddy-doll,’
&c.--Soon after the late lord Coventry occupied the house, corner of
Engine-street, Piccadilly, (built by sir Henry Hunlocke, Bart., on the
site of a large ancient inn, called the Greyhound;) he being annoyed
with the unceasing uproar, night and day, during the fair, (the whole
month of May,) procured, I know not by what means, the entire abolition
of this festival of ‘misrule’ and disorder.”

The engraving here given is from an old print of _Tiddy-doll_; it is
presumed, that the readers of the _Every-Day Book_ will look at it with
interest.


EVIL MAY-DAY.

In the reign of king Henry VIII., a great jealousy arose in the citizens
of London towards foreign artificers, who were then called “strangers.”
By the interference of Dr. Standish, in a Spital sermon, at Easter, this
was fomented into so great rancour, that it violently broke forth in the
manner hereafter related by Stow, and occasioned the name of “Evil
May-day” to the first of May, whereon the tumult happened. It appears
then from him that:--

“The 28th day of April, 1517, divers yong-men of the citie picked
quarels with certaine _strangers_, as they passed along the streets:
some they smote and buffetted, and some they threw in the channell: for
which, the lord maior sent some of the Englishmen to prison, as Stephen
Studley, Skinner, Stevenson, Bets, and other.

“Then suddenly rose a secret rumour, and no man could tell how it began,
that on May-day next following, the citie would slay all the aliens:
insomuch that divers strangers fled out of the citie.

“This rumour came to the knowledge of the kings councell: whereupon the
lord cardinall sent for the maior, and other of the councell of the
citie, giving them to understand what hee had heard.

“The lord maior (as one ignorant of the matter) told the cardinall, that
he doubted not so to governe the citie, but as peace should be observed.

“The cardinall willed him so to doe, and to take good heed, that if any
riotous attempt were intended, he should by good policy prevent it.

“The maior comming from the cardinals house, about foure of the clocke
in the afternoone on May eve, sent for his brethren to the Guild-hall,
yet was it almost seven of the clocke before the assembly was set. Vpon
conference had of the matter, some thought it necessary, that a
substantial watch should be set of honest citizens, which might
withstand the evill doers, if they went about any misrule. Other were of
contrary opinion, as rather thinking it best, that every man should be
commanded to shut in his doores, and to keepe his servants within.
Before 8 of the clock, master recorder was sent to the cardinall, with
these opinions: who hearing the same, allowed the latter. And then the
recorder, and sir Thomas More, late under-sheriffe of London, and now of
the kings councell, came backe againe to the Guild-hall, halfe an houre
before nine of the clock, and there shewed the pleasure of the kings
councell: whereupon every alderman sent to his ward, that no man (after
nine of the clocke) should stir out of his house, but keepe his doores
shut, and his servants within, untill nine of the clocke in the morning.

“After this commandement was given, in the evening, as sir Iohn Mundy,
alderman, came from his ward, hee found two young-men in Cheape, playing
at the bucklers, and a great many of young-men looking on them, for the
command seemed to bee scarcely published; he commanded them to leave
off; and because one of them asked him why, hee would have him sent to
the counter. But the prentices resisted the alderman, taking the
young-man from him, and cryed prentices, prentices, clubs, clubs; then
out at every doore came clubs and other weapons, so that the alderman
was forced to flight. Then more people arose out of every quarter, and
forth came servingmen, watermen, courtiers, and other, so that by eleven
of the clocke, there were in Cheape, 6 or 7 hundred, and out of Pauls
church-yard came about 300. From all places they gathered together, and
brake up the Counter, took out the prisoners, which had been committed
thither by the lord maior, for hurting the strangers: also they went to
Newgate, and tooke out Studley and Bets, committed thither for the like
cause. The maior and sheriffes were present, and made proclamation in
the kings name, but nothing was obeyed.

“Being thus gathered into severall heaps, they ran thorow saint Nicholas
shambles, and at saint Martins gate, there met with them sir Thomas
More, and other, desiring them to goe to their lodgings.

“As they were thus intreating, and had almost perswaded the people to
depart, they within saint Martins threw out stones and bats, so that
they hurt divers honest persons, which were with sir Thomas More,
perswading the rebellious rout to cease. Insomuch as at length, one
Nicholas Dennis, a serjeant at arms, being there sore hurt, cryed in a
fury, Downe with them: and then all the unruly persons ran to the doores
and windowes of the houses within St. Martins, and spoiled all that they
found. After that they ran into Cornehill, and so on to a house east of
Leadenhal, called the Green-gate, where dwelt one Mewtas a Piccard or
Frenchman, within whose house dwelled divers French men, whom they
likewise spoyled: and if they had found Mewtas, they would have
stricken off his head.

“Some ran to Blanchapleton, and there brake up the strangers houses, and
spoiled them. Thus they continued till 3 a clocke in the morning, at
which time, they began to withdraw: but by the way they were taken by
the maior and other, and sent to the Tower, Newgate and Counters, to the
number of 300. The cardinall was advertised by sir Thomas Parre, whom in
all haste he sent to Richmond, to informe the king: who immediately sent
to understand the state of the city, and was truely informed. Sir Roger
Cholmeley Lievtenant of the Tower, during the time of this business,
shot off certaine peeces of ordnance against the city, but did no great
hurt. About five of the clock in the morning, the earles of Shrewsbury
and Surrey, Thomas Dockery, lord prior of saint Iohns, George Nevill,
lord Aburgaveny, and other, came to London with such powers as they
could make, so did the innes of court; but before they came, the
business was done, as ye have heard.

“Then were the prisoners examined, and the sermon of doctor Bell called
to remembrance, and hee sent to the Tower. A commission of oyer and
determiner was directed to the duke of Norfolke, and other lords, for
punishment of this insurrection. The second of May, the commissioners,
with the lord maior, aldermen, and iustices, went to the Guildhall,
where many of the offenders were indicted, whereupon they were
arraigned, and pleaded not guilty, having day given them till the 4. of
May.

“On which day, the lord maior, the duke of Norfolke, the earle of Surrey
and other, came to sit in the Guildhall. The duke of Norfolke entred the
city with one thousand three hundred men, and the prisoners were brought
through the streets tyed in ropes, some men, some lads but of thirteen
or foureteene yeeres old, to the number of 278 persons. That day Iohn
Lincolne and divers other were indicted, and the next day thirteen were
adjudged to be drawne, hanged, and quartered: for execution whereof, ten
payre of gallowes were set up in divers places of the city, as at
Aldgate, Blanchapleton, Grasse-street, Leaden-hall, before either of the
counters, at Newgate, saint Martins, at Aldersgate and Bishopgate. And
these gallowes were set upon wheels, to bee removed from street to
street, and from doore to doore, whereas the prisoners were to be
executed.

“On the seventh of May, Iohn Lincoln, one Shirwin, and two brethren,
named Betts, with divers other were adjudged to dye. They were on the
hurdles drawne to the standard in Cheape, and first was Lincolne
executed: and as the other had the ropes about their neckes, there came
a commandement from the king, to respit the execution, and then were the
prisoners sent againe to prison, and the armed men sent away out of the
citie.

“On the thirteenth of May, the king came to Westminster-hall, and with
him the lord cardinall, the dukes of Norfolke, and Suffolke, the earles
of Shrewsbury, Essex, Wiltshire, and Surrey, with many lords and other
of the kings councell; the lord maior of London, aldermen and other
chiefe citizens, were there in their best liveries, by nine of the
clocke in the morning. Then came in the prisoners, bound in ropes in a
ranke one after another, in their shirts, and every one had a halter
about his necke, being in number 400 men, and 11 women.

“When they were thus come before the kings presence, the cardinall laid
sore to the maior and aldermen their negligence, and to the prisoners he
declared how justly they had deserved to dye. Then all the prisoners
together cryed to the king for mercy, and there with the lords besought
his grace of pardon: at whose request, the king pardoned them all. The
generall pardon being pronounced, all the prisoners shouted at once, and
cast their halters towards the roofe of the hall. The prisoners being
dismissed, the gallowes were taken downe, and the citizens tooke more
heed to their servants: keeping (for ever after) as on that night, a
strong watch in Armour, in remembrance of Evill May-day.

“These great Mayings and Maygames made by the governours and masters of
this city, with the triumphant setting up of a great shaft (a principall
May-pole in Cornehill, before the parish of saint Andrew) therefore
called Vndershaft, by meane of that insurrection of youths, against
aliens on May-day, 1517. the 6. of Henry the eighth, have not been so
freely used as before.”


DRURY-LANE MAY-POLE

There was formerly a May-pole put up by a “smith” at the north end of
little Drury-lane, to commemorate his daughter’s good fortune, who
being married to general Monk, while a private gentleman, became duchess
of Albemarle, by his being raised to the dukedom after the Restoration.
The May-pole is only mentioned here on account of its origin. It
appears, from a trial at bar on action of trespass, that the name of
this “smith” was John Clarges, that he was a farrier in the Savoy, and
farrier to colonel Monk, and that the farrier’s daughter, Anne, was
first married in the church of St. Laurence Pountney to Thomas Ratford,
son of Thomas Ratford, late a farrier, servant to prince Charles, and
resident in the Mews. She had a daughter, who was born in 1634, and died
in 1638. Her husband and she “lived at the Three Spanish Gipsies in the
New Exchange, and sold wash-balls, powder, gloves, and such things, and
she taught girls plain work. About 1647, she, being a sempstress to
colonel Monk, used to carry him linen.” In 1648, her father and mother
died. In 1649, she and her husband “fell out, and parted.” But no
certificate from any parish register appears reciting his burial. In
1652, she was married in the church of St. George, Southwark, to
“general George Monk;” and, in the following year, was delivered of a
son, Christopher (afterward the second and last duke of Albemarle
abovementioned), who “was suckled by Honour Mills, who sold apples,
herbs, oysters,” &c. One of the plaintiff’s witnesses swore, that “a
little before the sickness, Thomas Ratford demanded and received of him
the sum of twenty shillings; that his wife saw Ratford again after the
sickness, and a second time after the duke and duchess of Albemarle were
dead.” A woman swore, that she saw him on “the day his wife (then called
duchess of Albemarle) was put into her coffin, which was after the death
of the duke,” her second husband, who died Jan. 3, 1669-70. And a third
witness swore, that he saw Ratford about July 1660. In opposition to
this evidence it was alleged, that “all along, during the lives of duke
George and duke Christopher, this matter was never questioned”--that the
latter was universally received as only son of the former--and that
“this matter had been thrice before tried at the bar of the King’s
Bench, and the defendant had had three verdicts.” The verdict on the
trial was in favour of sir Walter Clarges, a grandson of the farrier,
who was knighted when his daughter, from the selling of wash-balls,
became duchess of Albemarle. This sir Walter Clarges was created a
baronet October 30, 1674, and was ancestor to the baronets of this
name.[128]


[Illustration: ~Chimney Sweepers on May-Day.~]

Here they are! The “sweeps” are come! Here is the garland and the lord
and lady! Poor fellows! this is their great festival. Their garland is a
large cone of holly and ivy framed upon hoops, which gradually
diminishes in size to an apex, whereon is sometimes a floral crown,
knots of ribbons, or bunches of flowers; its sides are decorated in like
manner; and within it is a man who walks wholly unseen, and hence the
garland has the semblance of a moving hillock of evergreens. The
chimney-sweepers’ jackets and hats are bedizened with gilt embossed
paper; sometimes they wear coronals of flowers in their heads; their
black faces and legs are grotesquely  with Dutch-pink; their
shovels are scored with this crimson pigment, interlaced with white
chalk. Their lord and lady are magnificent indeed; the lord is always
the tallest of the party, and selected from some other profession to
play this distinguished character: he wears a huge cocked hat, fringed
with yellow or red feathers, or laced with gold paper: his coat is
between that of the full court dress, and the laced coat of the footman
of quality; in the breast he carries an immense bunch of flowers; his
waistcoat is embroidered; his frill is enormous; his “shorts” are satin,
with paste knee-buckles; his stockings silk with figured clocks; his
shoes are dancing pumps, with large tawdry buckles; his hair is
powdered, with a bag and rosette; he carries in his right hand a high
cane with a shining metal knob, and in his left a handkerchief held by
one corner, and of a colour once white. His lady is sometimes a
strapping girl, though usually a boy in female attire, indescribably
flaunty and gaudy; her head in full dress; in her right hand a brass
ladle, in her left a handkerchief like to my lord’s. When the garland
stops, my lord and lady exhibit their graces in a minuet _de la cour_,
or some other grave movement; in a minute or two they quicken into a
dance, which enables my lord to picture his conceptions of elegance; the
curvilinear elevation of his arm, with his cane between his finger and
thumb, is a courtly grace, corresponding with the stiff thrown-back
position of his head, and the strait fall of the handkerchief in the
other hand. My lady answers these inviting positions by equal dignity;
they twirl and whirl in sight of each other, though on opposite sides of
the dancing garland, to the continued clatter of the shovel and brush
held by each capering member of the sooty tribe. The dance concluded, my
lord and my lady interchange a bow and a curtsy; my lord flings up his
cane-arm, displaces his magnificent hat with the other hand, and
courteously bends, with imploring looks, to spectators at the adjacent
windows or in the street; the little sootikins hold up their shovels, my
lady with outstretched arm presents the bowl of her ladle, and “the
smallest donations are thankfully received” by all the sable fraternity.
This is the chimney-sweepers’ London pageant on May-day 1825; but for
the first time, there was this year added a clown, a-la-Grimaldi, to one
or two of the sweeping processions; he grimaces with all his might,
walks before Jack-in-the-green on his hands or his feet, as may be most
convenient, and practises every antic and trick that his ingenuity can
devise, to promote the interest of his party.

It is understood, however, that the offerings on the festival are not
exclusively appropriated to the receivers; masters share a certain
portion of their apprentices’ profits from the holiday; others take the
whole of the first two days’ receipts, and leave to the worn-out,
helpless objects, by whom they profit all the year round, no more than
the scanty gleanings of the third day’s performance.


ELIA, AND JEM WHITE’S FEAST TO THE SWEEPS.

ELIA, the noble heart of ELIA, responds to these humble claimants upon
humanity; they cry and have none to help them; he is happy that a
personal misfortune to himself can make one of them laugh; he imagines
“all the blood of all the Howards” in another; he conceives no
degradation by supping with them in public at “Bartlemy Fair.” Kind
feelings and honesty make poets and philosophers. Listen to what Elia
says:--

“I have a kindly yearning toward these dim specks--poor blots--innocent
blacknesses--

“I reverence these young Africans of our own growth--these almost clergy
imps, who sport their cloth without assumption; and from their little
pulpits (the tops of chimnies), in the nipping air of a December
morning, preach a lesson of patience to mankind.

“When a child, what a mysterious pleasure it was to witness their
operation! to see a chit no bigger than one’s-self enter, one knew not
by what process, into what seemed the _fauces Averni_--to pursue him in
imagination, as he went sounding on through so many dark, stifling
caverns, horrid shades!--to shudder with the idea that ‘now, surely, he
must be lost for ever’--to revive at hearing his feeble shout of
discovered day-light--and then (O, fulness of delight) running out of
doors, to come just in time to see the sable phenomenon emerge in
safety, the brandished weapon of his art victorious like some flag waved
over a conquered citadel! I seem to remember having been told, that a
bad sweep was once left in a stack with his brush, to indicate which way
the wind blew. It was an awful spectacle certainly; not much unlike the
old stage direction in Macbeth, where the ‘Apparition of a child crowned
with a tree in his hand rises.’

“Reader, if thou meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles,
it is good to give him a penny. It is better to give him two-pence. If
it be starving weather, and to the proper troubles of his hard
occupation, a pair of kibed heels (no unusual accompaniment) be
superadded, the demand on thy humanity will surely rise to a tester.

“I am by nature extremely susceptible of street affronts; the jeers and
taunts of the populace; the low-bred triumph they display over the
casual trip, or splashed stocking, of a gentleman. Yet can I endure the
jocularity of a young sweep with something more than forgiveness.--In
the last winter but one, pacing along Cheapside with my accustomed
precipitation when I walk westward, a treacherous slide brought me upon
my back in an instant. I scrambled up with pain and shame enough--yet
outwardly trying to face it down, as if nothing had happened--when the
roguish grin of one of these young wits encountered me. There he stood,
pointing me out with his dusky finger to the mob, and to a poor woman (I
suppose his mother) in particular, till the tears for the exquisiteness
of the fun (so he thought it) worked themselves out at the corners of
his poor red eyes, red from many a previous weeping, and soot-inflamed,
yet twinkling through all with such a joy, snatched out of desolation,
that Hogarth--but Hogarth has got him already (how could he miss
him?) in the March to Finchley, grinning at the pie-man--there he stood,
as he stands in the picture, irremovable, as if the jest was to last for
ever--with such a maximum of glee, and minimum of mischief, in his
mirth--for the grin of a genuine sweep hath absolutely no malice in
it--that I could have been content, if the honour of a gentleman might
endure it, to have remained his butt and his mockery till midnight.

“I am by theory obdurate to the seductiveness of what are called a fine
set of teeth. Every pair of rosy lips (the ladies must pardon me) is a
casket, presumably holding such jewels; but, methinks, they should take
leave to ‘air’ them as frugally as possible. The fine lady, or fine
gentleman, who show me their teeth, show me bones. Yet must I confess,
that from the mouth of a true sweep a display (even to ostentation) of
those white and shining ossifications, strikes me as an agreeable
anomaly in manners, and an allowable piece of foppery. It is, as when

                        “A sable cloud
    Turns forth her silver lining on the night.

It is like some remnant of gentry not quite extinct; a badge of better
days; a hint of nobility:--and, doubtless, under the obscuring darkness
and double night of their forlorn disguisement, oftentimes lurketh good
blood, and gentle conditions, derived from lost ancestry, and a lapsed
pedigree. The premature apprenticements of these tender victims give but
too much encouragement, I fear, to clandestine, and almost infantile
abductions; the seeds of civility and true courtesy, so often
discernible in these young grafts (not otherwise to be accounted for)
plainly hint at some forced adoptions; many noble Rachels mourning for
their children, even in our days, countenance the fact; the tales of
fairy-spiriting may shadow a lamentable verity, and the recovery of the
young Montague be but a solitary instance of good fortune, out of many
irreparable and hopeless _defiliations_.

“In one of the state-beds at Arundel Castle, a few years since--under a
ducal canopy--(that seat of the Howards is an object of curiosity to
visitors, chiefly for its beds, in which the late duke was especially a
connoisseur)--encircled with curtains of delicatest crimson, with starry
coronets inwoven--folded between a pair of sheets whiter and softer than
the lap where Venus lulled Ascanius--was discovered by chance, after all
methods of search had failed, at noon-day, fast asleep, a lost
chimney-sweeper. The little creature, having somehow confounded his
passage among the intricacies of those lordly chimnies, by some unknown
aperture had alighted upon this magnificent chamber; and, tired with his
tedious explorations, was unable to resist the delicious invitement to
repose, which he there saw exhibited; so, creeping between the sheets
very quietly, laid his black head upon the pillow, and slept like a
young Howard.

“Such is the account given to the visitors at the Castle. But I cannot
help seeming to perceive a confirmation of what I have just hinted at in
this story. A high instinct was at work in the case, or I am mistaken.
Is it probable that a poor child of that description, with whatever
weariness he might be visited, would have ventured, under such a penalty
as he would be taught to expect, to uncover the sheets of a duke’s bed,
and deliberately to lay himself down between them, when the rug or the
carpet presented an obvious couch, still far above his pretensions--is
this probable, I would ask, if the great power of nature, which I
contend for, had not been manifested within him, prompting to the
adventure? Doubtless this young nobleman (for such my mind misgives me
that he must be) was allured by some memory, not amounting to full
consciousness, of his condition in infancy, when he was used to be lapt
by his mother, or his nurse, in just such sheets as he there found, into
which he was now but creeping back as into his proper _incunabula_ and
resting-place. By no other theory, than by this sentiment of a
pre-existent state (as I may call it), can I explain a deed so
venturous, and, indeed, upon any other system so indecorous, in this
tender, but unseasonable, sleeper.

“My pleasant friend JEM WHITE was so impressed with a belief of
metamorphoses like this frequently taking place, that in some sort to
reverse the wrongs of fortune in these poor changelings, he instituted
an annual feast of chimney-sweepers, at which it was his pleasure to
officiate as host and waiter. It was a solemn supper held in Smithfield,
upon the yearly return of the fair of St. Bartholomew. Cards were issued
a week before to the master-sweeps in and about the metropolis,
confining the invitation to their younger fry. Now and then an elderly
stripling would get in among us, and be good-naturedly winked at; but
our main body were infantry. One unfortunate wight, indeed, who, relying
upon his dusky suit, had intruded himself into our party, but by tokens
was providentially discovered in time to be no chimney-sweeper (all is
not soot which looks so), was quoited out of the presence with universal
indignation, as not having on the wedding garment; but in general the
greatest harmony prevailed. The place chosen was a convenient spot among
the pens, at the north side of the fair, not so far distant as to be
impervious to the agreeable hubbub of that vanity; but remote enough not
to be obvious to the interruption of every gaping spectator in it. The
guests assembled about seven. In those little temporary parlours three
tables were spread with napery, not so fine as substantial, and at every
board a comely hostess presided with her pan of hissing sausages. The
nostrils of the young rogues dilated at the savour. JAMES WHITE, as head
waiter, had charge of the first table; and myself, with our trusty
companion BIGOD, ordinarily ministered to the other two. There was
clambering and jostling, you may be sure, who should get at the first
table--for Rochester in his maddest days could not have done the humours
of the scene with more spirit than my friend. After some general
expression of thanks for the honour the company had done him, his
inaugural ceremony was to clasp the greasy waist of old dame Ursula (the
fattest of the three), that stood frying and fretting, half-blessing,
half-cursing ‘the gentleman,’ and imprint upon her chaste lips a tender
salute, whereat the universal host would set up a shout that tore the
concave, while hundreds of grinning teeth startled the night with their
brightness. O, it was a pleasure to see the sable younkers lick in the
unctuous meat, with _his_ more unctuous sayings--how he would fit the
tit-bits to the puny mouths, reserving the lengthier links for the
seniors--how he would intercept a morsel even in the jaws of some young
desperado, declaring it ‘must to the pan again to be browned, for it was
not fit for a gentleman’s eating’--how he would recommend this slice of
white bread, or that piece of kissing-crust, to a tender juvenile,
advising them all to have a care of cracking their teeth, which were
their best patrimony,--how genteelly he would deal about the small ale,
as if it were wine, naming the brewer, and protesting, if it were not
good, he should lose their custom; with a special recommendation to wipe
the lip before drinking. Then we had our toasts--‘The King,’--the
‘Cloth,’--which, whether they understood or not, was equally diverting
and flattering;--and for a crowning sentiment, which never failed, ‘May
the Brush supersede the Laurel.’ All these, and fifty other fancies,
which were rather felt than comprehended by his guests, would he utter,
standing upon tables, and prefacing every sentiment with a ‘Gentlemen,
give me leave to propose so and so,’ which was a prodigious comfort to
those young orphans; every now and then stuffing into his mouth (for it
did not do to be squeamish on these occasions,) indiscriminate pieces of
those reeking sausages, which pleased them mightily, and was the
savouriest part, you may believe, of the entertainment:--

    “Golden lads and lasses must,
    As chimney-sweepers, come to dust--

“JAMES WHITE is extinct, and with him these suppers have long ceased. He
carried away with him half the fun of the world when he died--of my
world at least. His old clients look for him among the pens; and,
missing him, reproach the altered feast of St. Bartholomew, and the
glory of Smithfield departed for ever.”

A philanthropist, who rejoices over every attempt to cheer helplessness,
will not quarrel with the late annual treat of “Jem White.” Our
kindnesses wear different fashions, and Elia’s report of the festival
is a feast for a feeling and merry heart. Mrs. Montague’s entertainment
to the London chimney-sweepers was held every May-day, at her house, in
Portman-square; she gave them roast-beef and plumb-pudding, and a
shilling each, and they danced after their dinner. But Mrs. Montague and
Jem White are dead; and now the poor fellows, though the legislature has
interfered for their protection, want “a next friend” to cheer them once
a year, and acquaint the sufferers that they have sympathizers. An
extract from a letter to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, dated April
16, 1825, from Sheffield, in Yorkshire, is a reproach to us of the
metropolis:--“In the ‘_Chimney-sweepers’ Friend, and Climbing-boys’
Album_,’ by Mr. James Montgomery, the poet, and editor of the
‘_Sheffield Iris_,’ is a literal representation of an annual dinner
which that gentleman, and a few of us, give to the lads employed as
climbing-boys in Sheffield. This we have done for about eighteen years
in succession. From twenty-four to twenty-six attend; and their
appearance, behaviour, and _acquirements_, (I may say,) do credit to
their masters. They are a much better generation to look upon than they
were when we first took them by the hand. On last Easter Monday, out of
the twenty-four present, there were only two who did not attend
Sunday-schools; which, in whatever estimation these institutions may be
held, shows that once, at least, every week, these poor children looked
like other people’s children, and associated with them; being clean
washed, decently dressed, and employed in reading, or in learning to
read: many of them could _write_. Something of the kind is projected at
Leeds. A benevolent lady, at Derby, has this year raised friends, and a
fund, for an annual dinner to the climbing-boys there on Easter Monday.”
Mr. Montgomery’s “_Chimney-sweepers’ Friend_” is a series of
representations calculated to assist “the immediate relief of the
sufferers, and the gradual abolition of this home slave-trade in little
children.” His applications to distinguished characters for literary
contributions to his work were successful. “May I,” he said, “entreat
your aid to this humble cause? Were you to see all the climbing-boys in
the kingdom (and climbing-_girls_, too, for we have known parents who
have employed their own daughters in this hideous way,) assembled in
one place, you would meet a spectacle of deformed, degraded, and
depraved humanity, in its very age of innocence, (pardon the phrase,)
which would so affect your heart that we should be sure of your hand.”
Not one being of humanity can read the statements in Mr. Montgomery’s
volume with a dry eye--not one but before he has half perused it will
resolve never to let a climbing-boy enter his chimney again. Fathers and
mothers of England, read the book! The “_Examiner_,” some time ago,
related an anecdote much to the purpose, from a pamphlet by Mr. J. W.
Orderson, late of Barbadoes; it is a fine specimen of pure feeling.
“About fourteen years ago,” says Mr. Orderson, “a Mrs. P. arrived at
Bristol, from the West Indies, and brought with her a female <DW64>
servant, mother of two or three children left in that country. A few
days after their arrival, and they had gone into private lodgings, a
sweep-boy was sent for by the landlady to sweep the kitchen chimney.
This woman being seated in the kitchen when little _Soot_ entered, was
struck with amazement at the spectacle he presented; and with great
vehemence, clapping her hands together, exclaimed, ‘Wha _dis_ me see!
La, la, dat buckara _piccaninny_! So help me, nyung Misse,’ (addressing
herself to the housemaid then present,) ‘sooner dan see _one o’mine_
piccaninnies _tan_ so, I _drown_ he in de sea.’ The progress of the poor
child in sweeping the chimney closely engrossed her attention, and when
she saw him return from his sooty incarceration, she addressed him with
a feeling that did honour to her maternal tenderness, saying, ‘Child!
come yaw, child,’ (and without waiting any reply, and putting a sixpence
into his hand;) ‘Who _you_ mammy? You hab daddy, too? Wha _dem_ be, da
la you go no chimney for?’ and moistening her finger at her lips, began
to rub the poor child’s cheek, to ascertain, what yet appeared doubtful
to her, whether he was really a _buccara_, (white.) I saw this woman
some time after in the West Indies; and it was a congratulation to her
ever after, that _her_ ‘children were not born to be _sweeps_.’”


MAY-DAY IN IRELAND.

It appears from a volume of “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South
of Ireland,”[129] that there are romantic remains of antiquity
connected with the celebration of May-day in that country of
imagination. “Mummers in Ireland,” says the author, “are clearly a
family of the same race with those festive bands, termed
Morrice-dancers, in England. They appear at all seasons in Ireland, but
_May-day_ is their favourite and proper festival. They consist of a
number, varying according to circumstances, of the girls and young men
of the village or neighbourhood, usually selected for their good looks,
or their proficiency,--the females in the dance, the youths in hurling
and other athletic exercises. They march in procession, two abreast, and
in three divisions; the young men in the van and the rear, dressed in
white or other gay- jackets or vests, and decorated with ribbons
on their hats and sleeves; the young women are dressed also in
light- garments, and two of them bear each a holly bush, in
which are hung several new hurling balls, the May-day present of the
girls to the youths of the village. The bush is decorated with a
profusion of long ribbons or paper cut in imitation, which adds greatly
to the gay and joyous, yet strictly rural, appearance of the whole. The
procession is always preceded by music; sometimes of the bagpipe, but
more commonly of a military fife, with the addition of a drum or
tamboureen. A clown is, of course, in attendance: he wears a frightful
mask, and bears a long pole, with shreds of cloth nailed to the end of
it, like a mop, which ever and anon he dips in a pool of water, or
puddle, and besprinkles such of the crowd as press upon his companions,
much to the delight of the younger spectators, who greet his exploits
with loud and repeated shouts and laughter. The Mummers, during the day,
parade the neighbouring villages, or go from one gentleman’s seat to
another, dancing before the mansion-house, and receiving money. The
evening, of course, terminates with drinking. _May-eve_ is considered a
time of peculiar danger. The ‘_good people_,’ are supposed then to
possess the power and the inclination to do all sorts of mischief
without the slightest restraint. The ‘_evil eye_’ is then also deemed to
have more than its usual vigilance and malignity; and the nurse who
would walk in the open air with a child in her arms, would be
reprobated as a monster. Youth and loveliness are thought to be
especially exposed to peril. It is therefore a natural consequence, that
not one woman in a thousand appears abroad: but it must not be
understood that the want of beauty affords any protection. The grizzled
locks of age do not always save the cheek from a _blast_; neither is the
brawny hand of the roughest ploughman exempt from a similar visitation.
The _blast_ is a large round tumour, which is thought to rise suddenly
upon the part affected, from the baneful breath cast on it by one of the
‘good people’ in a moment of vindictive or capricious malice. May-day is
called _la na Beal tina_, and May-eve _neen na Beal tina_,--that is, day
and eve of Beal’s fire, from its having been in heathen times,
consecrated to the god Beal, or Belus; whence also the month of May is
termed in Irish ‘_Mi na Beal-tine_.’ The ceremony practised on May-eve,
of making the cows leap over lighted straw, or <DW19>s, has been
generally traced to the worship of that deity. It is now vulgarly used
in order to save the milk from being pilfered by ‘the good
people.’--Another custom prevalent on May-eve is the painful and
mischievous one of stinging with nettles. In the south of Ireland it is
the common practice for school-boys, on that day, to consider themselves
privileged to run wildly about with a bunch of nettles, striking at the
face and hands of their companions, or of such other persons as they
think they may venture to assault with impunity.”

       *       *       *       *       *

A popular superstition related in the last quoted work, is, that at
early dawn on May-morning, “the princely O’Donoghue gallops his white
charger over the waters of Killarney.” The foundation of this is,


_The Legend of O’Donoghue._

In an age so distant that the precise period is unknown, a chieftain
named O’Donoghue ruled over the country which surrounds the romantic
Lough Lean, now called the lake of Killarney. Wisdom, beneficence, and
justice distinguished his reign, and the prosperity and happiness of his
subjects were their natural results. He is said to have been as renowned
for his warlike exploits as for his pacific virtues; and as a proof that
his domestic administration was not the less rigorous because it was
mild, a rocky island is pointed out to strangers, called ‘O’Donoghue’s
Prison’ in which this prince once confined his own son for some act of
disorder and disobedience.

“His end--for it cannot correctly be called his death--was singular and
mysterious. At one of those splendid feasts for which his court was
celebrated, surrounded by the most distinguished of his subjects, he was
engaged in a prophetic relation of the events which were to happen in
ages yet to come. His auditors listened, now wrapt in wonder, now fired
with indignation, burning with shame, or melted into sorrow, as he
faithfully detailed the heroism, the injuries, the crimes, and the
miseries of their descendants. In the midst of his predictions, he rose
slowly from his seat, advanced with a solemn, measured, and majestic
tread to the shore of the lake, and walked forward composedly upon its
unyielding surface. When he had nearly reached the centre, he paused for
a moment, then turning slowly round, looked towards his friends, and
waving his arms to them with the cheerful air of one taking a short
farewell, disappeared from their view.

“The memory of the good O’Donoghue has been cherished by successive
generations, with affectionate reverence; and it is believed, that at
sunrise, on every May-day morning, the anniversary of his departure, he
revisits his ancient domains: a favoured few only are, in general,
permitted to see him, and this distinction is always an omen of good
fortune to the beholders: when it is granted to many, it is a sure token
of an abundant harvest,--a blessing, the want of which, during this
prince’s reign, was never felt by his people.

“Some years have elapsed since the last appearance of O’Donoghue. The
April of that year had been remarkably wild and stormy; but on
May-morning the fury of the elements had altogether subsided. The air
was hushed and still; and the sky, which was reflected in the serene
lake, resembled a beautiful but deceitful countenance, whose smiles,
after the most tempestuous emotions, tempt the stranger to believe that
it belongs to a soul which no passion has ever ruffled.

“The first beams of the rising sun were just gilding the lofty summit of
Glenaa, when the waters near the eastern shore of the lake became
suddenly and violently agitated, though all the rest of its surface lay
smooth and still as a tomb of polished marble. The next moment a
foaming wave darted forward, and like a proud high-crested war-horse,
exulting in his strength, rushed across the lake towards Toomies
mountain. Behind this wave appeared a stately warrior, fully armed,
mounted upon a milk-white steed: his snowy plume waved gracefully from a
helmet of polished steel, and at his back fluttered a light-blue scarf.
The horse, apparently exulting in his noble burthen, sprung after the
wave along the water, which bore him up like firm earth, while showers
of spray, that glittered brightly in the morning sun were dashed up at
every bound.

“The warrior was O’Donoghue: he was followed by numberless youths and
maidens, who moved light and unconstrained over the watery plain, as the
moonlight fairies glide through the fields of air; they were linked
together by garlands of delicious spring flowers, and they timed their
movements to strains of enchanting melody. When O’Donoghue had nearly
reached the western side of the lake, he suddenly turned his steed, and
directed his course along the wood-fringed shore of Glenaa, preceded by
the huge wave that curled and foamed up as high as the horse’s neck,
whose fiery nostrils snorted above it. The long train of attendants
followed, with playful deviations, the track of their leader, and moved
on with unabated fleetness to their celestial music, till gradually, as
they entered the narrow strait between Glenaa and Dinis, they became
involved in the mists which still partially floated over the lakes, and
faded from the view of the wondering beholders: but the sound of their
music still fell upon the ear, and echo catching up the harmonious
strains, fondly repeated and prolonged them in soft and softer tones,
till the last faint repetition died away, and the hearers awoke as from
a dream of bliss.”

Such is the story of O’Donoghue, in the words of the author of “Irish
Legends,” an elegant work of amusing and recondite lore regarding the
land of his fathers.


MAY-DAY IN ITALY.

Misson, who travelled in Italy in the beginning of the last century,
speaks of May there in these terms. “The present season of the year
inspires all the world with joy and good humour; and this month is every
where particularly remarkable for sports and festivals: but I never saw
a more diverting object than troops of young girls, who regaled us with
dances and songs on all this road; though perhaps the rarity of the sex
might, in some measure, contribute to heighten the pleasure we took in
seeing these merry creatures. Five or six of the prettiest and best
attired girls of the village meet together, and go from house to house
singing, and wishing every where a ‘merry May.’ All their songs consist
of a great number of wishes, which are commonly very pleasant; for they
wish you may at once enjoy all the pleasures of youth, and of the
blooming season: that you may be still possessed with an equal love,
morning and evening: that you may live a hundred and two years: that
every thing you may eat may be turned to sugar and oil: that your
clothes and lace may never wear old: that nature may smile eternally,
and that the goodness of its fruits may surpass the beauty of its
flowers, &c. And then come their spiritual wishes: that the lady of
Loretto may pour down her favours upon you: that the soul of St. Anthony
of Padua may be your guardian angel: that St. Katharine of Sienna may
intercede for you. And, for the burthen of the song, after every stanza,
‘_Allegro Magio, Allegro Magio_:’ ‘a merry, merry, merry May.’” To this
picture of gladness might be added scenes from other countries, which
testify the general rejoicing under the genial influence of the month.

       *       *       *       *       *

    All gentle hearts confess the quick’ning spring,
    For May invig’rates every living thing.
    Hark how the merry minstrels of the grove
    Devote the day to melody and love;
    Their little breasts with emulation swell,
    And sweetly strive in singing to excel.
    In the thick forests feed the cooing dove;
    The starling whistles various notes of love;
    Up spring the airy larks, shrill voic’d and loud,
    And breathe their matins from a morning cloud,
    To greet glad nature, and the god of day,
    And flow’ry Venus, blooming queen of May
    Thus sing the sweet musicians on the spray:
    Welcome thou lord of light, and lamp of day;
    Welcome to tender herbs and myrtle bowers,
    Welcome to plants and odour-breathing flowers,
    Welcome to every root upon the plain,
    Welcome to gardens, and the golden grain:
    Welcome to birds that build upon the breere,
    Welcome great lord and ruler of the year:
    Welcome thou source of universal good,
    Of buds to boughs, and beauty to the wood:
    Welcome bright Phœbus, whose prolific power
    In every meadow spreads out every flower;
    Where’er thy beams in wild effulgence play,
    Kind nature smiles and all the world is gay.

  _Gawin Douglas, by Fawkes._

       *       *       *       *       *


REMARKABLE CORRESPONDENT.

Although public notice has been given that anonymous correspondents will
only be answered on the _wrappers_ to the _parts_ of this work, and that
those who attach their real names will be noticed privately, yet it is
necessary to remark on one who is without a local habitation, and is out
of the reach of the two-penny and general post. This is the
communication alluded to:--

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

I am the youngest of Three hundred and sixty-six brethren--there are no
fewer of us--who have the honour, in the words of the good old Song, to
call the Sun our Dad. You have done the rest of our family the favour of
bestowing an especial compliment upon each member of it individually--I
mean, as far as you have gone; for it will take you some time before you
can make your bow all round--and I have no reason to think that it is
your intention to neglect any of us but poor Me. Some you have hung
round with flowers; others you have made fine with martyrs’ palms and
saintly garlands. The most insignificant of us you have sent away
pleased with some fitting apologue, or pertinent story. What have I
done, that you dismiss me without mark or attribute? What though I make
my public appearance seldomer than the rest of my brethren? I thought
that angels’ visits had been accounted the more precious for their very
rarity. Reserve was always looked upon as dignified. I am seen but once,
for four times that my brethren obtrude themselves; making their
presence cheap and contemptible, in comparison with the state which I
keep.

Am I not a Day (when I do come) to all purposes as much as any of them?
Decompose me, anatomise me; you will find that I am constituted like the
rest. Divide me into twenty-four, and you shall find that I cut up into
as many goodly hours (or main limbs) as the rest. I too have my arteries
and pulses, which are the minutes and the seconds.

It is hard to be dis-familied thus, like Cinderella in her rags and
ashes, while her sisters flaunted it about in cherry- ribbons
and favors. My brethren forsooth are to be dubbed; one, _Saint_ Day;
another, _Pope_ Day; a third, _Bishop_ Day; the least of them is
_Squire_ Day, or _Mr._ Day, while I am--plain Day. Our house, _Sir_, is
a very ancient one, and the least of us is too proud to put up with an
indignity. What though I am but a younger brother in some sense--for the
youngest of my brethren is by some thousand years my senior--yet I bid
fair to inherit as long as any of them, while I have the Calendar to
show; which, you must understand, is our Title Deeds.

Not content with slurring me over with a bare and naked acknowledgement
of my occasional visitation in prose, you have done your best to deprive
me of my verse-honours. In column 310 of your Book, you quote an antique
scroll, leaving out the last couplet, as if on purpose to affront me.
“Thirty days hath September”--so you transcribe very faithfully for four
lines, and most invidiously suppress the exceptive clause:--

    Except in Leap Year, that’s the time
    When February’s days hath twenty and--

I need not set down the rhyme which should follow; I dare say you know
it very well, though you were pleased to leave it out. These
indignities demand reparation. While you have time, it will be well for
you to make the _amende honorable_. Ransack your stores, learned Sir, I
pray of you, for some attribute, biographical, anecdotical, or floral,
to invest me with. Did nobody die, or nobody flourish--was nobody
born--upon any of my periodical visits to this globe? does the world
stand still as often as I vouchsafe to appear? Am I a blank in the
Almanac? alms for oblivion? If you do not find a flower at least to
grace me with (a Forget Me Not would cheer me in my present obscurity),
I shall prove the worst Day to you you ever saw in your life; and your
Work, instead of the Title it now vaunts, must be content (every fourth
year at least) to go by the lame appellation of

  The Every-Day--but--one--Book.

  Yours, as you treat me,

  TWENTY NINTH OF FEBRUARY.

To this correspondent it may be demurred and given in proof, that
neither in February, nor at any other time in the year 1825, had he, or
could he, have had existence; and that whenever he is seen, he is only
an impertinence and an interpolation upon his betters. To his “floral
Honours” he is welcome; in the year 992, he slew St. Oswald, archbishop
of York in the midst of his monks, to whom the greater perriwinkle,
_Vinca Major_, is dedicated. For this honour our correspondent should
have waited till his turn arrived for distinction. His ignorant
impatience of notoriety is a mark of weakness, and indeed it is only in
compassion to his infirmity that he has been condescended to; his
brothers have seen more of the world, and he should have been satisfied
by having been allowed to be in their company at stated times, and like
all little ones, he ought to have kept respectful silence. Besides, he
forgets his origin; he is illegitimate; and as a burthen to “the
family,” and an upstart, it has been long in contemplation to disown
him, and then what will become of him? If he has done any good in the
world he may have some claim upon it, but whenever he appears, he seems
to throw things into confusion. His desire to alter the title of this
work excites a smile--however, when he calls upon the editor he shall
have justice, and be compelled to own that it is calumny to call this
the _Every-day--but--one--Book_.

  [119] Mr. Audley, from Lardner.

  [120] Examiner, 1818.

  [121] Bourne.

  [122] Stubbes.

  [123] Strott’s Queenhoo Hall.

  [124] Stow.

  [125] Pasquil’s Palinodia, 1634, 4to.

  [126] Cities Loyalty Displayed, 1661, 4to.

  [127] He was a constant attendant in the crowd on Lord Mayor’s day.

  [128] Gentleman’s Magazine.

  [129] Published in 1825, fc. 8vo.


~May 2.~

  _St. Athanasius_, Patriarch of Alexandria, A. D. 373.


_St. Athanasius._

This learned doctor of the church, was patriarch of Alexandria; he is
celebrated for his opposition to the Arians, and from his name having
been affixed to the creed which contains his doctrines. He died in 373.
Alban Butler says, the creed was compiled in Latin in the fifth century.


CHRONOLOGY.

1519. Leonardo da Vinci, the painter, died.


[Illustration: ~Richmond.~]

In the beginning of May, a steam-boat for conveying passengers ascends
the Thames in the morning from Queenhithe to Richmond, and returns the
same day; and so she proceeds to and fro until the autumn. Before she
unmoors she takes in little more than half her living freight, the
remainder is obtained during the passage. Her band on deck plays a
lively tune, and “off she goes” towards Blackfriars’-bridge. From
thence, leisurely walkers, and holiday-wishing people, on their way to
business, look from between the balustrades on the enviable steamer;
they see her lower her chimney to pass beneath the arch, and ten to one,
if they cross the road to watch her coming forth on the other side, they
receive a puff from the re-elevating mast; this fuliginous rebuke is
inspiring.

_A Legal Lament._

    Ye Richmond Navigators bold all on the liquid plain,
    When from the bridge we envied you, with pleasure mix’d with pain,
    Why could you be so cruel as to ridicule our woes,
    By in our anxious faces turning up your steamer’s nose?

    ’Twas strange, ’twas passing strange, ’twas pitiful, ’twas wonderous
    Pitiful, as Shakspeare says, by you then being under us,
    To be insulted as we were, when you your chimney rose
    And thought yourselves at liberty to cloud our hopes and clothes.

    The same sweet poet says, you know, “each dog will have his day,”
    And hence for Richmond we, in turn, may yet get under weigh.
    So thus we are consoled in mind, and as to being slighted,
    For that same wrong, we’ll right ourselves, and get you all
         indicted.

  *

The steam-boat is a good half hour in clearing the port of London, and
arriving at Westminster; this delay in expedition is occasioned by
“laying to” for “put offs” of single persons and parties, in Thames
wherries. If the day be fine, the passage is very pleasant. The citizen
sees various places wherein he has enjoyed himself,--he can point out
the opening to Fountain-court, wherein is the “coal-hole,” the resort of
his brother “wolves,” a club of modern origin, renowned for its support
of Mr. Kean; on the left bank, he shows the site of “Cuper’s-gardens,”
to which he was taken when a boy by his father’s foreman, and where the
halfpenny-hatch stood; or he has a story to tell of the
“Fox-under-the-hill,” near the Strand, where Dutch Sam mustered the
fighting Jews, and Perry’s firemen, who nightly assisted John Kemble’s
“What d’ye want,” during the “O. P. row,” at Covent-garden theatre. Then
he directs his attention to the Mitre, at Stangate, kept by “independent
Bent,” a house celebrated for authors who “flourish” there, for “actors
of all work,” and artists of less prudence than powers. He will tell you
of the capital porter-shops that were in Palace-yard before the old
coffee-houses were pulled down, and he directs you to the high chimney
of _Hodges’s_ distillery, in Church-street, Lambeth. He stands erect,
and looks at Cumberland-gardens as though they were his freehold--for
there has he been in all his glory; and at the Red-house, at Battersea,
he would absolutely go ashore, if his wife and daughters had not gone so
far in geography as to know that Richmond is above Battersea-bridge.
Here he repeats after Mathews, that Battersea-steeple, being of copper,
was coveted by the emperor of Russia for an extinguisher; that the
horizontal windmill was a case for it; and that his imperial majesty
intended to take them to Russia, but left them behind from
forgetfulness. Others see other things. The grounds from which the walls
of Brandenburgh-house were rased to the foundation, after the decease
of fallen majesty--the house wherein Sharp, the engraver, lived after
his removal from Acton, and died--the tomb of Hogarth, in Chiswick
church-yard--“Brentford town of mud,” so immortalized by one of our
poets, from whence runs Boston-lane, wherein dwelt the good and amiable
Granger, who biographized every Englishman of whom there was a
portrait--and numerous spots remarkable for their connection with some
congenial sentiment or person.

The Aits, or Osier Islands, are picturesque interspersions on the
Thames. Its banks are studded with neat cottages, or elegant villas
crown the gentle heights; the lawns come sweeping down like carpets of
green velvet, to the edge of its soft-flowing waters, and the grace of
the scenery improves till we are borne into the full bosom of its
beauty--the village of Richmond, or as it was anciently called, Sheen.
On coming within sight of this, the most delightful scene in our
sea-girt isle, the band on board the steam-boat plays “the lass of
Richmond-hill,” while the vessel glides on the translucent water, till
she curves to the bridge-foot, and the passengers disembark. Ascending
the stone stairs to the street, a short walk through the village brings
us to the top of the far-famed hill, from whence there is a sudden sight
of one of the loveliest views in the world. Here, unless an overflowing
purse can command the preference of the “Star and Garter,” we enter the
pleasant and comfortable “Roebuck” inn, which has nothing to recommend
it but civil treatment and domestic conveniences. The westward room on
the second floor is quiet, and one of the pleasantest in the house. The
walls of this peaceful apartment have no ornament, unless so can be
called a mezzotinto engraving by Watson, after Reynolds, of Jeffery,
lord Amherst, in armour, with a countenance remarkably similar to the
rev. Rowland Hill’s in his younger days. The advantage of this room is
the delightful view from its windows. Hither come ye whose hearts are
saddened, or whose nerves are shattered by the strife of life, or the
disturbances of the world; inhale the pure air, and gaze awhile on a
prospect more redolent of beauty than Claude or Poussin ever painted or
saw. Whatever there be of soothing charm in scenery, is here exuberant.
Description must not be attempted, for poets have made it their theme
and failed.

To the over-wearied inhabitants of the metropolis, the trip to Richmond
is covetable. The lively French, the philosophic German, the elegant
Italian, the lofty Spaniard, and the Cossack of the Don, pronounce the
prospect from the hill the most enchanting in Europe. There was no
itinerary of Richmond until Dr. John Evans, during a visit in 1824,
hastily threw some memoranda into a neat little volume, illustrated by a
few etchings, under the title of “Richmond and its Vicinity,” which he
purposes to improve.

       *       *       *       *       *

In honour of the female character, and in illustration of the first of
May, should be added, that upon the coin of Dort, or Dordrecht, in
Holland, is a cow, under which is sitting a milk-maid. The same
representation is in relievo on the pyramid of an elegant fountain in
that beautiful town. Its origin is from the following historical
fact:--When the United Provinces were struggling for their liberty two
beautiful daughters of a rich farmer, on their way to the town, with
_milk_, observed, not far from their path, several Spanish soldiers
concealed behind some hedges. The patriotic maidens pretending not to
have seen any thing, pursued their journey, and as soon as they arrived
in the city, insisted upon an admission to the burgo-master, who had not
yet left his bed; they were admitted, and related what they had
discovered. He assembled the council, measures were immediately taken,
the sluices were opened, and a number of the enemy lost their lives in
the water. The magistrates in a body honoured the farmer with a visit,
where they thanked his daughters for the act of patriotism, which saved
the town; they afterwards indemnified him fully for the loss he
sustained from the inundation; and the most distinguished young
citizens, vied with each other, who should be honoured with the hands of
those virtuous _milk-maids_.

It should also be noticed, in connection with Mr. Montgomery’s volume in
behalf of the chimney-sweepers, that a Mr. J. C. Hudson has addressed “A
Letter to the Mistresses of Families, on the Cruelty of employing
Children in the odious, dangerous, and often fatal Task of sweeping
Chimnies.” To Mr. Hudson’s pamphlet, which is published at sixpence,
there are two cuts, from designs by Mr. George Cruikshank.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is observed by Dr. Forster, in the “Perennial Calendar,” that “the
melody of birds is perhaps at no time of the year greater and more
constant than it is at this present period. The nightingale, the
minstrel of the eve; and the lark, the herald of the morn; together with
the numerous birds whose music fills the groves all day, contribute, in
no small degree, to the pleasure derived from the country in this month.
Nor is the lowing of distant cattle in the evening, the hooting of the
owl, and many other rustic sounds, deficient in power to please by
association of ideas. Shakspeare has a beautiful comparison of the lark
and nightingale in ‘Romeo and Juliet:’--

SCENE. _Juliet’s_ Chamber.

      _Jul._ Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
    It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
    That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
    Nightly she sings on yon Pomegranate tree:
    Believe me, love, it was the Nightingale.

      _Rom._ It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
    No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
    Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
    Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
    Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
    I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

      _Jul._ Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I:
    It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
    To be to thee this night a torchbearer,
    And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
    Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.

      _Rom._ Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death;
    I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
    I’ll say, yon grey is not the morning’s eye;
    ’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow:
    Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
    The vaulty heaven so high above our heads.
    I have more care to stay than will to go.”


TULIPS.

Dr. Forster notices, that “beds of tulips begin now to flower, and about
London, Haerlem, Amsterdam, and other cities of England and Holland, are
seen in perfection in the gardens of florists, who have a variety of
very whimsical names for the different varieties. The early, or Van Thol
tulip, is now out of blow, as is the variety called the Clarimond, beds
of which appear very beautiful in April. The sort now flowering is the
_tulipa Gesneriana_, of which the names Bizarre, Golden Eagle, &c. are
only expressive of varieties. For the amusement of the reader, we quote
from the ‘Tatler’ the following account of an accident that once befell
a gentleman in a tulip-garden:--‘I chanced to rise very early one
particular morning this summer, and took a walk into the country, to
divert myself among the fields and meadows, while the green was new,
and the flowers in their bloom. As at this season of the year every lane
is a beautiful walk, and every hedge full of nosegays, I lost myself
with a great deal of pleasure among several thickets and bushes that
were filled with a great variety of birds, and an agreeable confusion of
notes, which formed the pleasantest scene in the world to one who had
passed a whole winter in noise and smoke. The freshness of the dews that
lay upon every thing about me, with the cool breath of the morning,
which inspired the birds with so many delightful instincts, created in
me the same kind of animal pleasure, and made my heart overflow with
such secret emotions of joy and satisfaction as are not to be described
or accounted for. On this occasion, I could not but reflect upon a
beautiful simile in Milton:--

    As one who long in populous city pent,
    Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
    Forth issuing on a summer’s morn, to breathe
    Among the pleasant villages, and farms
    Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight:
    The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine,
    Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound.

“‘Those who are conversant in the writings of polite authors, receive an
additional entertainment from the country, as it revives in their
memories those charming descriptions, with which such authors do
frequently abound. I was thinking of the foregoing beautiful simile in
Milton, and, applying it to myself, when I observed to the windward of
me a black cloud falling to the earth in long trails of rain, which made
me betake myself for shelter to a house which I saw at a little distance
from the place where I was walking. As I sat in the porch, I heard the
voices of two or three persons, who seemed very earnest in discourse. My
curiosity was raised when I heard the names of _Alexander the Great_ and
_Artaxerxes_; and as their talk seemed to run on ancient heroes, I
concluded there could not be any secret in it; for which reason I
thought I might very fairly listen to what they said. After several
parallels between great men, which appeared to me altogether groundless
and chimerical, I was surprised to hear one say, that he valued the
_Black Prince_ more than the _duke of Vendosme_. How the duke of
Vendosme should become a rival of the Black Prince, I could not
conceive: and was more startled when I heard a second affirm with great
vehemence, that if the _emperor of Germany_ was not going off, he should
like him better than either of them. He added, that though the season
was so changeable, the _duke of Marlborough_ was in blooming beauty. I
was wondering to myself from whence they had received this odd
intelligence; especially when I heard them mention the names of several
other great generals, as the _prince of Hesse_, and the _king of
Sweden_, who, they said, were both running away. To which they added,
what I entirely agreed with them in, that the _crown of France_ was
very weak, but that the _marshal Villars_ still kept his colours. At
last one of them told the company, if they would go along with him he
would show them a _Chimney-sweeper_ and a _Painted Lady_ in the same
bed, which he was sure would very much please them. The shower which had
driven them as well as myself into the house, was now over; and as they
were passing by me into the garden, I asked them to let me be one of
their company. The gentleman of the house told me, if I delighted in
flowers, it would be worth my while; for that he believed he could show
me such a bowl of _tulips_ as was not to be matched in the whole
country. I accepted the offer, and immediately found that they had been
talking in terms of gardening, and that the kings and generals they had
mentioned were only so many tulips, to which the gardeners, according to
their usual custom, had given such high titles and appellations of
honour. I was very much pleased and astonished at the glorious show of
these gay vegetables, that arose in great profusion on all the banks
about us. Sometimes I considered them with the eye of an ordinary
spectator, as so many beautiful objects varnished over with a natural
gloss, and stained with such a variety of colours as are not to be
equalled in any artificial dyes or tinctures. Sometimes I considered
every leaf as an elaborate piece of tissue, in which the threads and
fibres were woven together into different configurations, which gave a
different colouring to the light as it glanced on the several parts of
the surface. Sometimes I considered the whole bed of tulips, according
to the notion of the greatest mathematician and philosopher that ever
lived, (sir Isaac Newton,) as a multitude of optic instruments, designed
for the separating light into all those various colours of which it is
composed. I was awakened out of these my philosophical speculations, by
observing the company often seemed to laugh at me. I accidentally
praised a tulip as one of the finest I ever saw, upon which they told me
it was a common _Fool’s Coat_. Upon that I praised a second, which it
seems was but another kind of Fool’s Coat. I had the same fate with two
or three more; for which reason I desired the owner of the garden to let
me know which were the finest of the flowers, for that I was so
unskilful in the art, that I thought the most beautiful were the most
valuable, and that those which had the gayest colours were the most
beautiful. The gentleman smiled at my ignorance: he seemed a very plain
honest man, and a person of good sense, had not his head been touched
with that distemper which Hippocrates calls the Τυλιππομανια,
_Tulippomania_, insomuch, that he would talk very rationally on any
subject in the world but a tulip. He told me, that he valued the bed of
flowers, which lay before us, and was not above twenty yards in length
and two in breadth, more than he would the best hundred acres of land in
England; and added, that it would have been worth twice the money it is,
if a foolish cookmaid of his had not almost ruined him the last winter,
by mistaking a handful of tulip roots for a heap of onions, and by that
means, says he, made me a dish of porridge, that cost me above a
thousand pounds sterling. He then showed me what he thought the finest
of his tulips, which I found received all their value from their rarity
and oddness, and put me in mind of your great fortunes, which are not
always the greatest beauties. I have often looked upon it as a piece of
happiness, that I have never fallen into any of these fantastical
tastes, nor esteemed any thing the more for its being uncommon and hard
to be met with. For this reason, I look upon the whole country in spring
time as a spacious garden, and make as many visits to a spot of daisies,
or a bank of violets, as a florist does to his borders or parterres.
There is not a bush in blossom within a mile of me which I am not
acquainted with, nor scarce a daffodil or cowslip that withers away in
my neighbourhood without my missing it. I walked home in this temper of
mind through several fields and meadows with an unspeakable pleasure,
not without reflecting on the bounty of Providence, which has made the
most pleasing and the most beautiful objects the most ordinary and most
common.’”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Charlock. _Rhaphanus Rhafaristrum._
  Dedicated to _St. Athanasius_.


~May 3.~

  _The Invention, or Discovery of the Holy Cross_, A. D. 326. _St.
  Alexander_, Pope, A. D. 119.


INVENTION OF THE CROSS.

This festival of the Romish church is also in the church of England
calendar; Mr. Audley says, “the word _invention_ sometimes signifies the
finding a thing that was hidden;” thence the name of this festival,
which celebrates the alleged finding of the cross of Christ by St.
Helena, who is said to have found three crosses on Mount Calvary, but
the true one could not be distinguished, till a sick woman being placed
on each, was healed by one, which was therefore pronounced the veritable
cross. Mr. Audley quotes, that “the custody of the cross was committed
to the bishop of Jerusalem. Every Easter Sunday it was exposed to view,
and pilgrims from all countries were indulged with little pieces of it
enchased in gold or gems. What was most astonishing, the sacred wood was
never lessened, although it was perpetually diminished, for it possessed
a secret power of vegetation.” It appears from Ribadeneira, that St.
Paulinus says, “the cross being a piece of wood without sense or
feeling, yet seemeth to have in it a living and everlasting virtue; and
from that time to this it permitteth itself to be parted and divided to
comply with innumerable persons, and yet suffereth no loss or detriment,
but remains as entire as if it had never been cut, so that it can be
severed, parted, and divided, for those among whom it is to be
distributed, and still remains whole and entire for all that come to
reverence and adore it.” There is no other way left to the Romish church
to account for the superabundance of the wood of the cross.

       *       *       *       *       *

Robert Parker wrote a remarkably learned book, in folio, entitled--“A
Scholasticall Discourse against symbolizing with Antichrist in
ceremonies: especially in the signe of the Crosse, 1607.” This erudite
work subjected Parker to a persecution under James I., from which he
fled to Doesburg, where he died in 1630.


CROSS OF THE SOUTH.

This constellation is in about 185 degrees of longitude; its south-polar
distance being only about 39 degrees, it cannot be seen in the northern
parts of Europe.[130] Humboldt who observed the cross of the south, thus
eloquently describes it:--“The lower regions of the air were loaded with
vapours for some days. We saw distinctly, for the first time, the cross
of the south, only in the night of the 4th and 5th of July, in the
sixteenth degree of latitude. It was strongly inclined, and appeared,
from time to time, between the clouds, the centre of which, furrowed by
uncondensed lightnings, reflected a silver light. The pleasure felt on
discovering the southern cross was warmly shared by such of the crew as
had lived in the colonies. In the solitude of the seas, we hail a star
as a friend from whom we have been long separated. Among the Portuguese
and the Spaniards, peculiar motives seem to increase this feeling; a
religious sentiment attaches them to a constellation, the form of which
recalls the sign of the faith planted by their ancestors in the deserts
of the new world. The two great stars which mark the summit and the foot
of the cross, having nearly the same right ascension, it follows, that
the constellation is almost vertical at the moment when it passes the
meridian. This circumstance is known to every nation that lives beyond
the tropics, or in the southern hemisphere. It is known at what hour of
the night, in different seasons, the southern cross is erect, or
inclined. It is a timepiece that advances very regularly nearly four
minutes a day; and no other group of stars exhibits, to the naked eye,
an observation of time so easily made. How often have we heard our
guides exclaim, in the savannas of Venezuela, or in the desert extending
from Lima to Truxillo, ‘Midnight is past, the cross begins to bend!’ How
often these words reminded us of that affecting scene, where Paul and
Virginia, seated near the source of the river of Lataniers, conversed
together for the last time; and when the old man, at the sight of the
southern cross, warns them that it is time to separate!”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Poetic Narcissus. _Narcissus poeticus._
  _Invention of the Cross._

  [130] Dr. Forster Peren. Cal.


~May 4.~

  _St. Monica._ _St. Godard_, Bp. A. D. 1038.


ST. MONICA, A. D. 387.

She was mother of St. Augustine, whom she sent to study at Carthage,
where, in 373, he became a Manichee, and remained so, to his mother’s
affliction, until 386; she was a woman of piety, and he revered her
memory. Her supposed remains were translated with the customary
ceremonies of the church of Rome, but their identity has been
doubted.[131]


CHRONOLOGY.

1471. Battle of Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire, gained by Edward IV. over
the Lancasterians.

1677. Dr. Isaac Barrow died, aged 47. He was an eminent mathematician, a
learned divine, and a high cavalier. Educated at the Charter-house, he
was disinclined to study; his recreation was in sports that led to
fighting among the boys, yet he afterwards subdued his inclination to
quarrels, and distinguished himself as a scholar. He became professor of
mathematics at Cambridge, master of Trinity-college, served the office
of vice-chancellor, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Charles II.
used to say of him, that he exhausted every subject whereon he treated;
yet he did nothing for him. After the Restoration, Barrow wrote a Latin
distich, thus translated:--

    O, how my breast did ever burn,
    To see my lawful king return!
    Yet, whilst his happy fate I bless,
    No one has felt his influence less.

Barrow was a great smoker to help his thinking. He was a great wit: he
met Rochester at court, who said to him, “doctor, I am yours to my
shoe-tie;” Barrow bowed obsequiously with, “my lord, I am yours to the
ground;” Rochester returned this by, “doctor, I am yours to the centre;”
Barrow rejoined, “my lord, I am yours to the antipodes;” Rochester, not
to be foiled by “a musty old piece of divinity,” as he was accustomed to
call him, exclaimed, “doctor, I am yours to the lowest pit of hell;”
whereupon Barrow turned from him with, “there, my lord, I leave you.”

1736. Eustace Budgell drowned himself, at the age of 52, from vexation,
that a bequest to him of 2,000_l._ in the will of Dr. Tindal, was set
aside. He wrote in the “Spectator,” “Tatler,” and “Guardian;” was a
member of the Irish parliament, and lost his property in the South-sea
bubble.

1758. George Bickham, the eminent writing-engraver, died, aged 74; and
was buried at St. Luke’s, Old-street.

1795. John James Barthelemy, the celebrated author of “The Travels of
Anacharsis the younger in Greece,” died, aged 79. He was a man of deep
learning and simplicity of character; unhappily he became involved in
the troubles of the French revolution, and endured great hardships from
the turbulence of men opposed to his views of social happiness.


BIRDS.

A distinguished naturalist obligingly communicates the subjoined table
and prefatory remark.

_For the Every-Day Book._

A notion prevails that birds do great injury in gardens and fields, and
hence rewards are frequently offered to induce boys and others to kill
them in spring. The notion and the practice are erroneous. A gentleman
of long experience in horticulture, has ascertained that birds, in
general, do more good by destroying vermin than they do harm by the
little fruit and grain they consume; an entire district in Germany was
once nearly deprived of its corn harvest, by an order to kill all the
rooks having been generally obeyed.


SPRING BIRDS.

_Table of the average terms of their arrival, deduced from a Journal of
Natural History, kept during nearly sixty years._

  The Least Willow Wren arrives about  March 31
  Stone Curlew                         March 27
  Chimney Swallow                      April 15
  Redstart                             April 16
  Blackcap                             April 17
  Nightingale                          April 14
  Martlet                              April 20
  Sand Martin                          April 25
  Yellow Willow Wren                   April 15
  Lesser Reed Sparrow                  April 23
  Cuckoo                               April 21
  Great Green Willow Wren              April 21
  Grasshopper Lark                     April 16
  Spotted Flycatcher                   April 20
  Pied Flycatcher                      April 15
  Black Martin                         May    9
  Fern Owl                             May   20
  Swift                                May   14

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Stock Gilly Flower. _Mathiola incana._
  Dedicated to _St. Monica_.

  [131] Butler.


~May 5.~

  _St. Pius V._, Pope, A. D. 1572. _St. Hilary_, Abp. of Arles, A. D.
  449. _St. Angelus_, A. D. 1225. _St. Mauront_, Abbot, A. D. 706. _St.
  Avertin_, A. D. 1189.


CHRONOLOGY.

1760. The right honourable Laurence, earl Ferrers, viscount Tamworth,
was hanged at Tyburn, for the murder of John Johnson, his steward.

1785. Thomas Davies, died. He is well recollected from frequent
creditable mention made of him in Boswell’s “Life of Johnson;” Davies
was an actor, afterwards a bookseller, turned strolling player, returned
to the bookselling business in Russel-street, Covent-garden, became
bankrupt, was relieved in his misfortunes by Dr. Johnson, wrote the
“Life of Garrick,” “Dramatic Miscellanies,” and other pieces; and
acquired before his death the honourable appellation of “honest Tom
Davies.” He was intrusted by the rev. James Granger with the publication
of his “Biographical History of England.”

1789. Joseph Baretti, author of the “Italian Dictionary,” &c. died, aged
73.

1821. Napoleon died at St. Helena, in the sixth year of his confinement.
What he was all men pretend to know, and historians will tell.


THE SEASON.

“Here they are! blowing, growing, all alive!” This was an old London cry
by little flower gardeners, who brought the products of their grounds to
the metropolis, and wheeled them through the streets in a barrow,
“blowing, growing, all alive!” to tempt purchasers in the humble streets
and alleys of working neighbourhoods. Acts of Parliament have put down
the flower-pots, which were accustomed to “topple on the _walkers’_
heads,” from the windows of houses, wherein flower-fanciers dwelt.

_Flower Garden._

    Fairhanded Spring unbosoms every grace,
    Throws out the snowdrop and the crocus first,
    The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue.
    And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes;
    The yellow wallflower, stained with iron brown,
    The lavish stock that scents the garden round.
    From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed
    Anemonies, auriculas, enriched
    With shining meal o’er all their velvet leaves,
    And full ranunculus of glowing red.
    Then comes the tulip race, where beauty plays
    Her idle freaks, from family diffused
    To family, as flies the father dust,
    The varied colours run; and while they break
    On the charmed eye, the exulting florist marks,
    With secret pride, the wonders of his hand.
    No gradual bloom is wanting, from the bud,
    First born of Spring, to Summer’s musky tribes--
    Nor hyacinths of purest virgin white,
    Low bent and blushing inwards--nor jonquils
    Of potent fragrance--nor Narcissus fair,
    As o’er the fabled mountain hanging still--
    Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks,
    Nor showered from every bush the damask rose.

  _Thomson._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Apple Tree. _Pyrus Malus._
  Dedicated to _St. Angelus_ and _St. Pius_.


~May 6.~

  _St. John before the Latin Gate._ _St. John Damascen_, A. D. 780. _St.
  Eadbert_, Bp. of Lindisfarne, A. D. 687.


ST. JOHN PORT LATIN.

This was St. John the Evangelist, though his name stands with _Ante
Port. Lat._ annexed to it in the church of England calendar. The
description is founded on a Roman Catholic legend that St. John the
Evangelist in his old age was accused of atheism to Domitian, who sent
him to Rome, and there, before the gate called _Porta Latina_, caused
him to be put into a cauldron of boiling oil, from whence he suffered no
pain, and came forth without harm. This miracle is fabled to have
occurred before the exile of St. John to the desert isle of Patmos, in
the Archipelago, where he is supposed to have written the Apocalypse, or
book of “Revelations.”

[Illustration: ~St. John in the Isle of Patmos.~]

There is no evidence that St. John suffered martyrdom; on the contrary,
he is said to have returned to Ephesus in the reign of Nerva, who
succeeded Domitian in the imperial dignity. Painters usually represent
him in Patmos with an eagle by his side; though, as St. John Port
Latin, there are many engravings of him in the legendary oil cauldron.
Other representations of him put a chalice in his hand, with a serpent
issuing from it, founded on another legend, that being constrained to
drink poison, he swallowed it without sustaining injury.

There is a further legend, that while St. Edward the Confessor was
dedicating a church to St. John, a pilgrim demanded alms of him in the
saint’s name, whereupon the king gave him the ring from his finger. This
pilgrim was St. John, who discovered himself to two English pilgrims in
the Holy Land, bidding them bear the ring to the king in his name, and
require him to make ready to depart this world; after this they went to
sleep. On awakening they found themselves among flocks of sheep and
shepherds in a strange place, which turned out to be Barham Downs in
Kent, wherefore they thanked God and St. John for their good speed, and
coming to St. Edward on Christmas-day, delivered to him the ring with
the warning; these the king received in a suitable manner, “And on the
vigyll of the Epyphanye, next after, he dyed and departed holyly out of
this worlde, and is buryed in the Abbey of Westmester by London, where
as is yet unto this daye that same rynge.” Again it is said, that
Isidore affirms of St. John, that he transformed branches of trees into
fine gold, and sea-gravel into precious stones, with other like
incredibilities.[132]


CHRONOLOGY.

1677. Samuel Bochart, a learned French Protestant divine and
orientalist, died at Caen, aged 68 years.

1802. Died at Guernsey, aged 40, of water in his chest, serjeant Samuel
M‘Donald, of the 93d regiment, commonly known by the name of Big Sam. He
served during the American war with his countrymen, the Sutherland
Fencibles, and afterwards as fugelman in the Royals, till 1791, when he
was taken into the household of his royal highness the prince of Wales,
as lodge-porter at Carlton-house, and remained in that capacity till
1793; he was then appointed a serjeant in the late Sutherland Fencibles,
and continued to act in that corps, and the 93d regiment, formed from
it, till his death.--He was six feet ten inches in height, four feet
round the chest, and well proportioned. He continued active till his
35th year, when he began to decline. His strength was prodigious, but he
was never known to exert it improperly. Several considerable offers were
made to engage him as a public exhibition, all of which he refused, and
always disliked being stared at.


SPRING BLIGHT.

The greatest misfortune that the cultivator of a garden apprehends at
this season, is blight, of which, according to Dr. Forster, there are
three kinds. “The first occurs in the early spring, about the time of
the blossoming of the peach, and is nothing more than a dry frosty wind,
usually from the north or north-east, and principally affects the
blossoms, causing them to fall off prematurely. The two other kinds of
blight occur in this month, affecting principally the apple and pear
trees, and sometimes the corn. One of these consists in the appearance
of an immense multitude of aphides, a kind of small insect of a brown,
or black, or green colour, attacking the leaves of plants, and entirely
incrusting the young stems. These pests are always found to make their
appearance after a north-east wind, and it has been supposed by many
that they are actually conveyed hither by the wind. Thomson, too,
positively ascribes them to the north wind:--

    For oft engendered by the hazy north,
    Myriads on myriads, insect armies warp
    Keen in the poisoned breeze; and wasteful eat,
    Through buds and bark, into the blackened core
    Their eager way.

“In our opinion, an east wind more often brings blights. Many
circumstances, indeed, favour the opinion that blights are animalculæ;
as the suddenness with which they appear, being generally in the course
of a single night, and those trees that are sheltered from the wind
being uninfected: indeed, it frequently happens that a single branch
that chances to be screened, will escape unhurt, while the rest of the
tree is quite covered with these minute destroyers. A third reason may
be derived from the inactivity of these insects: they generally remain
almost immovable on the branch or leaf where they are first seen, and
are for the most part, unprovided with wings; yet the places where they
are commonly found are those parts of a tree which are farthest from
the ground, and the most exposed to the wind. The last kind of blight is
generally preceded by a south or south-west wind, unaccompanied by
insects; the effects of which are visible in the burnt appearance of all
leaves and shoots which are exposed to that quarter. Oaks and other
large trees suffer from this blight.”[133]

_To Blossoms._

    Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
      Why do ye fall so fast?
      Your date is not so past,
    But you may stay yet here awhile
    To blush and gently smile,
      And go at last!

    What, were ye born to be
      An hour or half’s delight?
      And so to bid good night?
    ’Tis pity Nature brought ye forth
    Merely to show your worth,
      And lose you quite!

    But your lovely leaves, where we
      May read how soon things have
      Their end, though ne’er so brave:
    And after they have shown their pride,
    Like you, awhile they glide
      Into the grave!

  _Herrick._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lucken Gowans. _Trollius Europæus._
  Dedicated to _St. John Damascen_.

  [132] Golden Legend.

  [133] Peren. Calendar.


~May 7.~

  _St. Stanislas_, Bp. of Cracow, A. D. 1079. _St. Benedict II._, Pope,
  A. D. 686. _St. John_ of Beverley.


ST. JOHN OF BEVERLEY, A. D. 721,

Was born at Harpham, a village in the north of England. In the reign of
king Alfred, he was made bishop of Hexham; he gave venerable Bede the
orders of deacon and priest; and built the monastery of Beverley, then a
forest, now a market-town, twenty-seven miles from York, where he died,
in 721.[134] Bede assigns several miracles to him in his lifetime.
William of Malmesbury relates, that the inhabitants of Beverley
acknowledge the sanctity of their patron, because the fiercest bulls
being dragged with the strongest ropes, by the lustiest men, into his
church-yard, lose their fury, become gentle as lambs, and being left to
their freedom, innocently sport themselves, instead of goring and
trampling with their horns and feet all that come near them.[135] It is
related by another author that in 1312, on the feast of St. Bernard,
wonderful oil miraculously issued from his sepulchre, which was a
sovereign remedy against many diseases. Also, that king Ethelstan laid
his knife on the saint’s altar, in pledge, that if by his interference
he obtained a victory over the Scots, he would enrich his church; by the
merits of the saint he conquered, and desiring to have a sign as a
perpetual testimony of prerogative over the Scots, he struck his sword
into a rock near Dunbar-castle, which for many ages retained a mark of a
yard in length from the blow, and this was referred to by king Edward I.
before pope Boniface, in proof of his right over Scotland. Ethelstan, in
consequence of his victory, granted right of sanctuary to the church of
Beverley, with other privileges.[136]


SEASONABLE STORY.

If the north-east wind blow on this day, or on any other day in May, or
in any other summer month, the nervous reader will experience the
uneasiness which is sure to afflict him from that baleful quarter. The
sun may shine, and the birds may sing, and flowers may give forth their
odours, yet pernicious influences prevail against the natural harmony
and spirit of the season. To one, therefore, so afflicted, the story of
Daniel O’Rourke, from the “Fairy Legends,” may be diverting.


DANIEL O’ROURKE.

People may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O’Rourke, but
how few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and
below, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls
of the Phooka’s tower. I knew the man well: he lived at the bottom of
Hungry Hill, just at the right hand side of the road as you go towards
Bantry. An old man was he at the time that he told me the story, with
gray hair, and a red nose; and it was on the 25th of June, 1813, that I
heard it from his own lips, as he sat smoking his pipe under the old
poplar tree, on as fine an evening as ever shone from the sky. I was
going to visit the caves in Dursey Island, having spent the morning at
Glengariff.

“I am often _axed_ to tell it, sir,” said he, “so that this is not the
first time. The master’s son, you see, had come from beyond foreign
parts in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go, before
Buonaparte or any such was heard of; and sure enough there was a dinner
given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high and low,
rich and poor. The _ould_ gentlemen were the gentlemen, after all,
saving your honour’s presence. They’d swear at a body a little, to be
sure, and, may be, give one a cut of a whip now and then, but we were no
losers by it in the end;--and they were so easy and civil, and kept such
rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes;--and there was no grinding
for rent, and few agents; and there was hardly a tenant on the estate
that did not taste of his landlord’s bounty often and often in the
year;--but now it’s another thing: no matter for that, sir, for I’d
better be telling you my story.

“Well, we had every thing of the best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and
we drank, and we danced, and the young master by the same token danced
with Peggy Barry, from the Bohereen--a lovely young couple they were,
though they are both low enough now. To make a long story short, I got,
as a body may say, the same thing as tipsy almost, for I can’t remember
ever at all, no ways, how it was that I left the place: only I did leave
it, that’s certain. Well, I thought, for all that, in myself. I’d just
step to Molly Cronahan’s, the fairy woman, to speak a word about the
bracket heifer what was bewitched; and so as I was crossing the
stepping-stones of the ford of Ballyashenogh, and was looking up at the
stars and blessing myself--for why? it was Lady-day--I missed my foot,
and souse I fell into the water. ‘Death alive!’ thought I, ‘I’ll be
drowned now?’ However, I began swimming, swimming, swimming away for the
dear life, till at last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never the
one of me can tell how, upon a _dissolute_ island.

“I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered,
until at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as
day, or your fair lady’s eyes, sir, (with your pardon for mentioning
her,) and I looked east and west, and north and south, and every way,
and nothing did I see but bog, bog, bog;--I could never find out how I
got into it; and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain I
was that it would be my _berrin_ place. So I sat down upon a stone
which, as good luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to
scratch my head, and sing the _Ullagone_--when all of a sudden the moon
grew black, and I looked up, and saw something for all the world as if
it was moving down between me and it, and I could not tell what it was.
Down it came with a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and what
was it but an eagle? as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of
Kerry. So he looked at me in the face, and says he to me, ‘Daniel
O’Rourke,’ says he, ‘how do you do?’ ‘Very well, I thank you, sir,’ says
I: ‘I hope you’re well;’ wondering out of my senses all the time how an
eagle came to speak like a Christian. ‘What brings you here, Dan?’ says
he. ‘Nothing at all, sir,’ says I; ‘only I wish I was safe home again.’
‘Is it out of the island you want to go, Dan?’ says he. ‘’Tis, sir,’
says I: so I up and told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell
into the water; how I swam to the island; and how I got into the bog,
and did not know my way out of it. ‘Dan,’ says he, after a minute’s
thought, ‘though it was very improper for you to get drunk on Lady-day,
yet as you are a decent, sober man, who ’tends mass well, and never
flings stones at me or mine, nor cries out after us in the fields--my
life for yours,’ says he; ‘so get up on my back, and grip me well for
fear you’d fall off, and I’ll fly you out of the bog.’ ‘I am afraid,’
says I, ‘your honour’s making game of me; for who ever heard of riding a
horseback on an eagle before?’ ‘’Pon the honour of a gentleman,’ says
he, putting his right foot on his breast, ‘I am quite in earnest; and so
now either take my offer or starve in the bog--besides, I see that your
weight is sinking the stone.’

“It was true enough as he said, for I found the stone every minute
going from under me. I had no choice; so thinks I to myself, faint heart
never won fair lady, and this is fair persuadance:--‘I thank your
honour,’ says I, ‘for the loan of your civility; and I’ll take your kind
offer.’ I therefore mounted upon the back of the eagle, and held him
tight enough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark.
Little I knew the trick he was going to serve me. Up--up--up--God knows
how far up he flew. ‘Why, then,’ said I to him--thinking he did not know
the right road home--very civilly, because why?--I was in his power
entirely;--‘sir,’ says I, ‘please your honour’s glory, and with humble
submission to your better judgment, if you’d fly down a bit, you’re now
just over my cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to
your worship.’

“‘_Arrah_, Dan,’ said he, ‘do you think me a fool? Look down in the next
field, and don’t you see two men and a gun? By my word it would be no
joke to be shot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked
up off of a _could_ stone in a bog.’ ‘Bother you,’ said I to myself, but
I did not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept,
flying, flying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no
use. ‘Where in the world are you going, sir?’ says I to him. ‘Hold your
tongue, Dan,’ says he: ‘mind your own business, and don’t be interfering
with the business of other people.’ ‘Faith, this is my business, I
think,’ says I. ‘Be quiet, Dan,’ says he: so I said no more.

“At last where should we come to, but to the moon itself. Now you can’t
see it from this, but there is, or there was in my time a reaping-hook
sticking out of the side of the moon, this way (drawing the figure on
the ground with the end of his stick.)

“‘Dan,’ said the eagle, ‘I’m tired with this long fly; I had no notion
’twas so far.’ ‘And my lord, sir,’ said I, ‘who in the world _axed_ you
to fly so far--was it I? did not I beg, and pray, and beseech you to
stop half an hour ago?’ ‘There’s no use talking, Dan,’ said he; ‘I’m
tired bad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I
rest myself.’ ‘Is it sit down on the moon?’ said I; ‘is it upon that
little round thing, then? why, then, sure I’d fall off in a minute, and
be _kilt_ and spilt, and smashed all to bits: you are a vile
deceiver--so you are.’ ‘Not at all, Dan,’ said he: ‘you can catch fast
hold of the reaping-hook that’s sticking out of the side of the moon,
and t’will keep you up.’ ‘I won’t, then,’ said I. ‘May be not,’ said he,
quite quiet. ‘If you don’t, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and
one slap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone
in your body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf
in the morning.’ ‘Why, then, I’m in a fine way,’ said I to myself, ‘ever
to have come along with the likes of you;’ and so giving him a hearty
curse in Irish, for fear he’d know what I said, I got off of his back
with a heavy heart, took a hold of the reaping-hook, and sat down upon
the moon, and a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.

“When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about to me, and said,
‘Good morning to you, Daniel O’Rourke,’ said he: ‘I think I’ve nicked
you fairly now. You robbed my nest last year,’ (’twas true enough for
him, but how he found it out is hard to say,) ‘and in return you are
freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a
cockthrow.’

“‘Is that all, and is this the way you leave me, you brute, you?’ says
I. ‘You ugly unnatural _baste_, and is this the way you serve me at
last? Bad luck to yourself, with your hook’d nose, and to all your
breed, you blackguard.’ ’Twas all to no manner of use: he spread out his
great big wings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like lightning. I
bawled after him to stop; but I might have called and bawled for ever,
without his minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day
to this--sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a
disconsolate condition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when
all at once a door opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on
its hinges as if it had not been opened for a month before. I suppose
they never thought of greasing ’em, and out there walks--who do you
think but the man in the moon? I knew him by his bush.

“‘Good morrow to you, Daniel O’Rourke,’ said he: ‘How do you do?’ ‘Very
well, thank your honour,’ said I. ‘I hope your honour’s well.’ ‘What
brought you here, Dan?’ said he. So I told him how I was a little
overtaken in liquor at the master’s, and how I was cast on a _dissolute_
island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how the thief of an eagle
promised to fly me out of it, and how instead of that he had fled me up
to the moon.

“‘Dan,’ said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff when I was
done, ‘you must not stay here.’ ‘Indeed, sir,’ says I, ‘’tis much
against my will I’m here at all; but how am I to go back?’ ‘That’s your
business,’ said he, ‘Dan: mine is to tell you that here you must not
stay, so be off in less than no time.’ ‘I’m doing no harm,’ says I,
‘only holding on hard by the reaping-hook, lest I fall off.’ ‘That’s
what you must not do, Dan,’ says he. ‘Pray, sir,’ says I, ‘may I ask how
many you are in family, that you would not give a poor traveller
lodging: I’m sure ’tis not so often you’re troubled with strangers
coming to see you, for ’tis a long way.’ ‘I’m by myself, Dan,’ says he;
‘but you’d better let go the reaping-hook.’ ‘Faith, and with your
leave,’ says I, ‘I’ll not let go the grip.’ ‘You had better, Dan,’ says
he again. ‘Why, then, my little fellow,’ says I, taking the whole weight
of him with my eye from head to foot, ‘there are two words to that
bargain; and I’ll not budge, but you may if you like.’ ‘We’ll see how
that is to be,’ says he; and back he went, giving the door such a great
bang after him (for it was plain he was huffed), that I thought the moon
and all would fall down with it.

“Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back again
he comes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a
word, he gave two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was
keeping me up, and _whap!_ it came in two. ‘Good morning to you, Dan,’
says the spiteful little old blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling
down with a bit of the handle in my hand; ‘I thank you for your visit,
and fair weather after you, Daniel.’ I had not time to make any answer
to him, for I was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling at the
rate of a fox-hunt. ‘God help me,’ says I, ‘but this is a pretty pickle
for a decent man to be seen in at this time of night: I am now sold
fairly.’ The word was not out of my mouth, when whiz! what should fly by
close to my ear but a flock of wild geese; and the _ould_ gander, who
was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me, ‘Is that you
Dan?’ I was not a bit daunted now at what he said, for I was by this
time used to all kinds of _bedevilment_, and, besides, I knew him of
_ould_. ‘Good morrow, to you,’ says he, ‘Daniel O’Rourke: how are you in
health this morning?’ ‘Very well, sir,’ says I, ‘I thank you kindly,’
drawing my breath, for I was mightily in want of some. ‘I hope your
honour’s the same.’ ‘I think ’tis falling you are, Daniel,’ says he.
‘You may say that, sir,’ says I. ‘And where are you going all the way so
fast?’ said the gander. So I told him how I had taken the drop, and how
I came on the island, and how I lost my way in the bog, and how the
thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how the man in the moon
turned me out. ‘Dan,’ said he, ‘I’ll save you: put out your hand and
catch me by the leg, and I’ll fly you home.’ ‘Sweet is your hand in a
pitcher of honey, my jewel,’ says I, though all the time I thought in
myself that I don’t much trust you; but there was no help, so I caught
the gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese flew after him as
fast as hops.

“We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide
ocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking
up out of the water. ‘Ah! my lord,’ said I to the goose, for I thought
it best to keep a civil tongue in my head any way, ‘fly to land if you
please.’ ‘It is impossible, you see, Dan,’ said he, ‘for a while,
because you see we are going to Arabia.’ ‘To Arabia,’ said I; ‘that’s
surely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose: why then,
to be sure, I’m a man to be pitied among you.’ ‘Whist, whist, you fool,’
said he, ‘hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia is a very decent sort of
place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like another, only there is a
little more sand there.’

“Just as we were talking, a ship hove in sight, scudding so beautiful
before the wind: ‘Ah! then, sir,’ said I, ‘will you drop me on the ship,
if you please?’ ‘We are not fair over it,’ said he. ‘We are,’ said I.
‘We are not,’ said he: ‘If I dropped you now, you would go splash into
the sea.’ ‘I would not,’ says I; ‘I know better than that, for it is
just clean under us, so let me drop now at once.’

“‘If you must, you must,’ said he. ‘There, take your own way;’ and he
opened his claw, and faith he was right--sure enough I came down plump
into the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I went,
and I gave myself up then for ever, when a whale walked up to me,
scratching himself after his night’s sleep, and looked me full in the
face, and never the word did he say, but lifting up his tail, he
splashed me all over again with the cold salt water, till there wasn’t a
dry stitch upon my whole carcass; and I heard somebody saying--’twas a
voice I knew, too--‘Get up, you drunken brute, off of that:’ and with
that I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she
was splashing me all over;--for, rest her soul! though she was a good
wife, she never could bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of
her own.

“‘Get up,’ said she again: ‘and of all places in the parish, would no
place _sarve_ your turn to lie down upon but under the _ould_ walls of
Carrigaphooka? an uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.’ And sure
enough I had; for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles,
and men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through
bogs, and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the great ocean. If
I was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I’d lie down in
the same spot again, I know that.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Asiatic Globeflower. _Trollius Asiaticus._
  Dedicated to _St. John_ of Beverley.

  [134] Butler.

  [135] Cressy.

  [136] Porter’s Flowers.


~May 8.~

  _The Apparition of St. Michael the Archangel._ _St. Peter_, Abp. of
  Tarentaise, or Monstiers, A. D. 1174. _St. Victor_, A. D. 303. _St.
  Wiro_, Bp. 7th Cent. _St. Odrian_, Bp. of Waterford. _St. Gybrian_, or
  _Gobrian_, 8th Cent.


ST. MICHAEL, THE ARCHANGEL.

It is not clear what particular apparition of St. Michael is celebrated
in the Roman Catholic church on this day; their books mention several of
his apparitions. They rank him as field-marshal and commander-in-chief
of the armies of heaven, as prince of the angels opposed to Lucifer,
and, especially, as principal guardian of human souls against the
infernal powers.[137] In heraldry, as head of the order of archangels,
his ensign is a banner hanging on a cross, and he is armed as Victory,
with a dart in one hand, and a cross on his forehead, or the top of the
head; archangels are distinguished from angels by that sign. Usually,
however, he is painted in coat-armour, in a glory, with a dart, throwing
Lucifer headlong into a flame of fire issuing out of a base _proper_;
this is also termed the battle between Michael and the devil, with his
casting out of heaven into the lake of fire and brimstone. “There
remained,” says a distinguishing herald, “still in heaven, after the
fall of Lucifer, the bright star, and his company, more angels than
there ever was, is, and shall be men born in the earth, which God ranked
into nine orders or chorus, called the nine quoires of holy
angels.”[138]

St. Michael is further represented in catholic books as engaged with
weighing souls in a pair of scales. A very curious spiritualizing
romance, originally in French, printed in English by Caxton, in the
reign of Edward V., exemplifies the office of St. Michael in this
capacity; the work is entitled--“The Pilgremage of the Sowle.” The
author expresses himself under “the similitude of a dream,” which, he
says, befell him on a St. Laurence’ night sleeping in his bed. He
thought himself travelling towards the city of Jerusalem, when death
struck his body and soul asunder; whereupon _Satan_ in a foul and
horrible form came towards the soul, which being in great terror, its
warden, or guardian angel, desired Satan to flee away and not meddle
with it. Satan refuses, alleging that God had permitted that no soul
which had done wrong should, on its passage, escape from being “snarlyd
in his trappe;” and he said, that the guardian angel well knew that he,
the said guardian, could never withdraw the soul from evil, or induce it
to follow his good counsel; and that even if he had, the soul would not
have thanked him for it; Satan, therefore, knew not why the angel should
interfere, and begged he would let him alone to do with the soul what he
had a right to do, and could not be prevented from doing. The parley
continued, until they agreed to carry the soul before _Michael_, the
provost of heaven, and abide his award on Satan’s claim.

The soul was then lifted between them both into the transparent air,
wherein the spirits of the newly dead were passing thickly on every
side, to and fro, as motes flitting in the sun-beam. They tarried not
until they arrived at a marvellous place of bright fire, shining with a
brilliant light, surrounded by a great multitude of souls attending
there for a like purpose. The guardian angel entered, leaving Satan
without, and also the soul, who could hear the voice of his warden
speaking in his behalf, and acquainting Michael that he had brought from
earth a pilgrim, who was without, and with him Satan his accuser,
abiding judgment.

Then Satan began to cry out and said, “Of right he is mine, and that I
shall prove; wherefore deliver him to me by judgment, for I abide naught
else.” This caused proclamation to be made by sound of trumpet in these
words:--“All ye that are without, awaiting your judgment, present
yourselves before the provost to receive your doom; but first ye that
have longest waited, and especially those that have no great matter and
are not much troubled; for the plain and light causes shall first be
determined, and then other matters that need greater tarrying.”

This proclamation greatly disturbed the souls without. Satan and his
evil spirits were most especially angry, and holding a consultation, he
spoke as follows: “It appears we are of little consequence, and hence
our wicked neighbours do us injustice. These wardens hinder us from our
purposes, and we are without favour. There is no caitiff pilgrim but
hath had a warden assigned him from his birth, to attend him and defend
him at all times from our hands, and especially from the time that he
washed in the ‘salt lye,’ ordained by _grace de Dieu_, who hath ever
been our enemy; and then they are taken, as soon as these wardens come,
before the provost, and have audience at their own pleasure; while we
are kept here without, as mere ribalds. Let us cry out _a rowe_
[_haro_], and _out_ upon them all! they have done us wrong; and we will
speak so loud that in spite of them they shall hear us.” Then Satan and
his spirits cried out all at once, “Michael! provost, lieutenant, and
commissary of the high judge! do us right, without exception or favour
of any party. You know very well that in every upright court the
prosecutor is admitted to make his accusation and propose his petition;
but you first admit the defendant to make his excusation. This manner of
judging is suspicious; for were these pilgrims innocent yet, if reason
were to be heard, and right were to prevail, the accusers would have the
first hearing to say what they would, and then the defendants after
them, to excuse themselves if they could: we, then, being the
prosecutors, hear us first, and then the defendants.”

After Satan’s complaint, the soul heard within the curtain, “a longe
parlament;” and, at the last, there was another proclamation ordered by
sound of trumpet, as follows:--“All ye that are accustomed to come to
our judgments, to hear and to see, as assessors, that right be
performed, come forth immediately and take your seats; ye well knowing
your own assigned places. Ye also that are without, waiting the sitting
of the court, present yourselves forthwith to the judgment thereof, in
order as ye shall be called; so that no one hinder another, or interrupt
another’s discourse. Ye pilgrims, approach the entrance of this curtain,
awaiting without; and your wardens, because they are our equals,
belonging to our company, are to appear, as of right they ought, within
our presence.”

After this proclamation was observed, the guardian angel said,--“Provost
Michael! I here present to you this pilgrim, committed to my care in the
world below: he has kept his faith to the last, and ought to be received
into the heavenly Jerusalem, whereto his body hath long been
travelling.”--Satan answered--“Michael! attend to my word and I shall
tell you another tale.” The soul being befriended throughout by St.
Michael, finally escapes the dreadful doom of eternal punishment.

On St. Michael’s contention with the devil about the body of Moses, more
may be seen in the volume on “Ancient Mysteries,” from which the present
notice is extracted, or in “Bishop Marsh’s translation of Michaeli’s
Introduction to the New Testament.”

The managers of an institution for the encouragement of British talent,
less versed in biblical criticism than in art, lately offered a prize to
the painter who should best represent this strange subject.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lily of the Valley. _Convallaria majalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Selena_.


[Illustration: ~Canonbury Tower.~]

    People methinks are better, but the scenes
    Wherein my youth delighted are no more.
    I wander out in search of them, and find
    A sad deformity in all I see.
    Strong recollections of my former pleasures,
    And knowledge that they never can return,
    Are causes of my sombre mindedness:
    I pray you then bear with my discontent.

  *

A walk out of London is, to me, an event; I have an _every-day_ desire
to bring it about, but weeks elapse before the time arrives whereon I
can sally forth. In my boyhood, I had only to obtain parental
permission, and stroll in fields now no more,--to scenes now deformed,
or that I have been wholly robbed of, by “the spirit of improvement.”
Five and thirty years have altered every thing--myself with the rest. I
am obliged to “ask leave to go out,” of time and circumstance; or to
wait till the only enemy I cannot openly face has ceased from before
me--the north-east wind--or to brave that foe and get the worst of it. I
did so yesterday. “This is the time,” I said, to an artist, “when we
Londoners begin to get our walks; we will go to a place or two that I
knew many years ago, and see how they look now; and first to
Canonbury-house.”

Having crossed the back Islington-road, we found ourselves in the rear
of the _Pied Bull_. Ah! I know this spot well: this stagnant pool was a
“famous” carp pond among boys. How dreary the place seems! the yard and
pens were formerly filled with sheep and cattle for Smithfield market;
graziers and drovers were busied about them; a high barred gate was
constantly closed; now all is thrown open and neglected, and not a
living thing to be seen. We went round to the front, the house was shut
up, and nobody answered to the knocking. It had been the residence of
the gallant sir Walter Raleigh, who threw down his court mantle for
queen Elizabeth to walk on, that she might not damp her feet; he, whose
achievements in Virginia secured immense revenue to his country; whose
individual enterprise in South America carried terror to the recreant
heart of Spain; who lost years of his life within the walls of the
Tower, where he wrote the “History of the World,” and better than all,
its inimitable preface; and who finally lost his life on a scaffold for
his courage and services. By a door in the rear we got into “the best
parlour;” this was on the ground-floor; it had been Raleigh’s
dining-room. Here the arms of sir John Miller are painted on glass in
the end window; and we found Mr. John Cleghorn sketching them. This
gentleman, who lives in the neighbourhood, and whose talents as a
draftsman and engraver are well known, was obligingly communicative; and
we condoled on the decaying memorials of past greatness. On the ceiling
of this room are stuccoed the five senses; Feeling in an oval centre,
and the other four in the scroll-work around. The chimney-piece of
carved oak, painted white, represents Charity, supported by Faith on her
right, and Hope on her left. Taking leave of Mr. Cleghorn, we hastily
passed through the other apartments, and gave a last farewell look at
sir Walter’s house; yet we bade not adieu to it till my accompanying
friend expressed a wish, that as sir Walter, according to tradition, had
there smoked the first pipe of tobacco drawn in Islington, so _he_ might
have been able to smoke the last whiff within the walls that would in a
few weeks be levelled to the ground.

We got to Canonbury. Geoffrey Crayon’s “Poor Devil Author” sojourned
here:--

“Chance threw me,” he says, “in the way of Canonbury Castle. It is an
ancient brick tower, hard by ‘merry Islington;’ the remains of a
hunting-seat of queen Elizabeth, where she took the pleasure of the
country when the neighbourhood was all woodland. What gave it particular
interest in my eyes was the circumstance that it had been the residence
of a poet. It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his ‘Deserted
Village.’ I was shown the very apartment. It was a relic of the original
style of the castle, with pannelled wainscots and Gothic windows. I was
pleased with its air of antiquity, and with its having been the
residence of poor Goldy. ‘Goldsmith was a pretty poet,’ said I to
myself, ‘a very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did not
think and feel so strongly as is the fashion now-a-days; but had he
lived in these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would no doubt have
written quite differently.’ In a few days I was quietly established in
my new quarters; my books all arranged; my writing-desk placed by a
window looking out into the fields, and I felt as snug as Robinson
Crusoe when he had finished his bower. For several days I enjoyed all
the novelty of change and the charms which grace new lodgings before one
has found out their defects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied
Goldsmith had rambled. I explored merry Islington; ate my solitary
dinner at the Black Bull, which, according to tradition, was a country
seat of sir Walter Raleigh, and would sit and sip my wine, and muse on
old times, in a quaint old room where many a council had been held. All
this did very well for a few days; I was stimulated by novelty; inspired
by the associations awakened in my mind by these curious haunts; and
began to think I felt the spirit of composition stirring with me. But
Sunday came, and with it the whole city world, swarming about Canonbury
Castle. I could not open my window but I was stunned with shouts and
noises from the cricket ground; the late quiet road beneath my window
was alive with the tread of feet and clack of tongues; and, to complete
my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was absolutely a ‘show house,’
the tower and its contents being shown to strangers at sixpence a head.
There was a perpetual tramping up stairs of citizens and their families
to look about the country from the top of the tower, and to take a peep
at the city through the telescope, to try if they could discern their
own chimneys. And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment
of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas put to flight, by my
intolerable landlady’s tapping at the door, and asking me if I would
‘just please to let a lady and gentleman come in, to take a look at Mr.
Goldsmith’s room.’ If you know any thing what an author’s study is, and
what an author is himself, you must know that there was no standing
this. I put a positive interdict on my room’s being exhibited; but then
it was shown when I was absent, and my papers put in confusion; and on
returning home one day I absolutely found a cursed tradesman and his
daughters gaping over my manuscripts, and my landlady in a panic at my
appearance. I tried to make out a little longer, by taking the key in my
pocket; but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess one day telling
some of her customers on the stairs that the room was occupied by an
author, who was always in a tantrum if interrupted; and I immediately
perceived, by a slight noise at the door, that they were peeping at me
through the key-hole. By the head of Apollo, but this was quite too
much! With all my eagerness for fame, and my ambition of the stare of
the million, I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a
head, and that through a key-hole. So I bade adieu to Canonbury Castle,
merry Islington, and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, without having
advanced a single line in my labours.”

Now for this and some other descriptions, I have a quarrel with the
aforesaid Geoffrey Crayon, gent. What right has a transatlantic settler
to feelings in England? He located in America, but it seems he did not
locate his feelings there; if not, why not? What right has _he_ of New
York to sit “solitary” in Raleigh’s house at Islington, and “muse” on
_our_ “old times;” himself clearly a _pied_ animal, mistaking the _pied_
bull for a “black” bull. There is “black” blood between us. By what
authority has _he_ a claim to a domicile at Canonbury? Under what
international law laid down by Vattel or Martens, or other jurist,
ancient or modern, can _his_ pretension to feel and muse at sir Walter’s
or queen Elizabeth’s tower, be admitted? He comes here and describes as
if he were a _real_ Englishman; and claims copyright in our courts for
his feelings and descriptions, while he himself is a copyist; a
downwright copyist of _my_ feelings, who _am_ an Englishman, and a
forestaller of _my_ descriptions--bating the “black” bull. He has left
me nothing to do.

My friend, the artist, obligingly passed the door of Canonbury tower to
take a sketch of its north-east side; not that the tower has not been
taken before, but it has not been given exactly in that position. We
love every look of an old friend, and this look we get after crossing
the bridge of the New River, coming from the “Thatched house” to
“Canonbury tavern.” A year or so ago, the short walk from the lower
Islington-road to this bridge was the prettiest “bit” on the river
nearest to London. Here the curve of the stream formed the “horse-shoe.”
In by-gone days only three or four hundred, from the back of
Church-street southerly, and from the back of the upper street westerly,
to Canonbury, were open green pastures with uninterrupted views
easterly, bounded only by the horizon. Then the gardens to the houses in
Canonbury-place, terminated by the edge of the river, were covetable
retirements; and ladies, lovely as the marble bust of Mrs. Thomas Gent,
by Behnes, in the Royal Academy Exhibition, walked in these gardens,
“not unseen,” yet not obtruded on. Now, how changed!

My ringing at the tower-gate was answered by Mr. Symes, who for
thirty-nine years past has been resident in the mansion, and is bailiff
of the manor of Islington, under lord Northampton. Once more, to “many a
time and oft” aforetime, I ranged the old rooms, and took perhaps a last
look from its roof. The eye shrunk from the wide havoc below. Where new
buildings had not covered the sward, it was embowelling for bricks, and
kilns emitted flickering fire and sulphurous stench. Surely the dominion
of the brick-and-mortar king will have no end; and cages for commercial
spirits will be instead of every green herb. In this high tower some of
our literary men frequently shut themselves up, “far from the busy
haunts of men.” Mr. Symes says that his mother-in-law, Mrs. Evans, who
had lived there three and thirty years, and was wife to the former
bailiff, often told him that her aunt, Mrs. Tapps, a seventy years’
inhabitant of the tower, was accustomed to talk much about Goldsmith and
his apartment. It was the old oak room on the first floor. Mrs. Tapps
affirmed that he there wrote his “Deserted Village,” and slept in a
large press bedstead, placed in the eastern corner. From this room two
small ones for sleeping in have since been separated, by the removal of
the pannelled oak wainscotting from the north-east wall, and the cutting
of two doors through it, with a partition between them; and since
Goldsmith was here, the window on the south side has been broken
through. Hither have I come almost every year, and frequently in many
years, and seen the changing occupancy of these apartments. Goldsmith’s
room I almost suspect to have been tenanted by Geoffrey Crayon; about
seven years ago I saw books on one of the tables, with writing
materials, and denotements of more than a “Poor Devil Author.” This
apartment, and other apartments in the tower, are often to be let
comfortably furnished, “with other conveniences.” It is worth while to
take a room or two, were it only to hear Mr. Symes’s pleasant
conversation about residences and residentiaries, manorial rights and
boundaries, and “things as they used to be” in his father’s time, who
was bailiff before him, and “in Mrs. Evans’s time,” or “Mrs. Tapps’s
time.” The grand tenantry of the tower has been in and through him and
them during a hundred and forty-two years.

Canonbury tower is sixty feet high, and seventy feet square. It is part
of an old mansion which appears to have been erected, or, if erected
before, much altered about the reign of Elizabeth. The more ancient
edifice was erected by the priors of the canons of St. Bartholomew,
Smithfield, and hence was called Canonbury, to whom it appertained until
it was surrendered with the priory to Henry VIII.; and when the
religious houses were dissolved, Henry gave the manor to Thomas lord
Cromwell; it afterwards passed through other hands till it was possessed
by sir John Spencer, an alderman and lord mayor of London, known by the
name of “rich Spencer.” While he resided at Canonbury, a Dunkirk pirate
came over in a shallop to Barking creek, and hid himself with some armed
men in Islington fields, near to the path sir John usually took from his
house in Crosby-place to this mansion, with the hope of making him
prisoner; but as he remained in town that night, they were glad to make
off, for fear of detection, and returned to France disappointed of their
prey, and of the large ransom they calculated on for the release of his
person. His sole daughter and heiress, Elizabeth, was carried off in a
baker’s basket from Canonbury-house by William, the second lord Compton,
lord president of Wales. He inherited Canonbury, with the rest of sir
John Spencer’s wealth at his death, and was afterwards created earl of
Northampton; in this family the manor still remains. The present earl’s
rent-roll will be enormously increased, by the extinction of comfort to
the inhabitants of Islington and its vicinity, through the covering up
of the open fields and verdant spots on his estates.

As a custom it is noticeable, that many metropolitans visit this antique
edifice in summer, for the sake of the panoramic view from the roof. To
those who inquire concerning the origin or peculiarities of its erection
or history, Mr. Symes obligingly tenders the loan of “Nelson’s History
of Islington,” wherein is ample information on these points. In my
visit, yesterday, I gathered one or two particulars from this gentleman
not befitting me to conceal, inasmuch as I hold and maintain that the
world would not be the worse for being acquainted with what every one
knows; and that it is every one’s duty to contribute as much as he can
to the amusement and instruction of others. Be it known then, that Mr.
Symes says he possesses the ancient key of the gate belonging to the
prior’s park. “It formerly hung there,” said he, pointing with his
finger as we stood in the kitchen, “withinside that clock-case, but by
some accident it has fallen to the bottom, and I cannot get at it.” The
clock-case is let into the solid wall flush with the surface, and the
door to the weights opening only a small way down from the dial plate,
they descend full two-thirds the length of their lines within a “fixed
abode.” Adown this space Mr. Symes has looked, and let down inches of
candle without being able to see, and raked with long sticks without
being able to feel, the key; and yet he thinks it there, in spite of the
negative proof, and of a suggestion I uncharitably urged, that some
antiquary, with confused notions as to the “rights of things,” might
have removed the key from the nail in the twinkling of Mr. Symes’s eye,
and finally deposited it among his own “collections.” A very large old
arm chair, with handsome carved claws, and modern verdant baize on the
seat and back, which also stands in the kitchen, attracted my attention.
“It was here,” said Mr. Symes, “before Mrs. Tapps’s time; the old
tapestry bottom was quite worn out, and the tapestry back so ragged,
that I cut them away, and had them replaced as you see; but I have kept
the back, because it represents Queen Elizabeth hunting in the woods
that were hereabout in her time--I’ll fetch it.” On my hanging this
tapestry against the clock-case, it was easy to make out a lady
gallantly seated on horseback, with a sort of turbaned headdress, and
about to throw a spear from her right hand; a huntsman on foot, with a
pole in one hand, and leading a brace of dogs with the other, runs at
the side of the horse’s head; and another man on foot, with a gun on his
shoulder, follows the horse; the costume, however, is not so early as
the time of Elizabeth; certainly not before the reign of Charles I.

This edifice is well worth seeing, and Mr. Symes’s plain civility is
good entertainment. Readers have only to ring at the bell above the
brass plate with the word “Tower” on it, and ask, “Is Mr. Tower at
home?” as I do, and they will be immediately introduced; at the
conclusion of the visit the tender of sixpence each, by way of
“quit-rent,” will be accepted. Those who have been before and not
lately, will view “improvement” rapidly devastating the forms of nature
around this once delightful spot; others who have not visited it at all
may be amazed at the extensive prospects; and none who see the “goings
on” and “ponder well,” will be able to foretell whether Mr. Symes or the
tower will enjoy benefit of survivorship.

_To Canonbury Tower._

    As some old, stout, and lonely holyhock,
    Within a desolate neglected garden,
    Doth long survive beneath the gradual choke
    Of weeds, that come and work the general spoil;
    So, Canonbury, thou dost stand awhile:
    Yet fall at last thou must; for thy rich warden
    Is fast “improving;” all thy pleasant fields
    Have fled, and brick-kilns, bricks, and houses rise
    At his command; the air no longer yields
    A fragrance--scarcely health; the very skies
    Grow dim and townlike; a cold, creeping gloom
    Steals into thee, and saddens every room:
    And so realities come unto me,
    Clouding the chambers of my mind, and making me--like thee.

  _May_ 18, 1825.

  *

  [137] Butler.

  [138] Holme.


~Rogation Sunday.~

This is the fifth Sunday after Easter. “Rogation” is _supplication_,
from the Latin _rogare_, to beseech.

Rogation Sunday obtained its name from the succeeding Monday, Tuesday,
and Wednesday, which are called Rogation-days, and were ordained by
Mammertus, archbishop of Vienne, in Dauphiné; about the year 469 he
caused the litanies, or supplications, to be said upon them, for
deliverance from earthquakes, fires, wild beasts, and other public
calamities, which are alleged to have happened in his city; hence the
whole week is called _Rogation_-week, to denote the continual
praying.[139]

Shepherd, in his “Elucidation of the Book of Common Prayer,” mistaking
_Vienne_ for Vienna the capital of Germany, says: “The example of
Mammertus was followed by many churches in the West, and the institution
of the Rogation-days, soon passed from the diocese of _Vienna_ into
France, and from France into England.”

_Rogation_-week is also called _grass_-week, from the appetite being
restricted to salads and greens; _cross_-week, from the cross being more
than ordinarily used; _procession_-week, from the public processions
during the period; and _gang_-week, from the _ganging_, or going about
in these processions.[140]

The rogations and processions, or singing of litanies along the streets
during this week, were practised in England till the Reformation. In
1554, the priests of queen Mary’s chapel made public processions. “All
the three days there went her chapel about the fields: the first day to
St. Giles’s, and there sung mass: the next day, being Tuesday, to St.
Martin’s in the Fields; and there a sermon was preached, and mass sung;
and the company drank there: the third day to Westminster; where a
sermon was made, and then mass and good cheer made; and after, about the
park, and so to St. James’s court. The same Rogation-week went out of
the Tower, on procession, priests and clerks, and the lieutenant with
all his waiters; and the axe of the Tower borne in procession: the waits
attended. There joined in this procession the inhabitants of St.
Katharine’s, Radcliff, Limehouse, Poplar, Stratford, Bow, Shoreditch,
and all those that belonged to the Tower, with their halberts. They went
about the fields of St. Katharine’s, and the liberties.”[141] On the
following Thursday, “Being _Holy_ Thursday, at the court of St. James’s,
the queen went in procession within St. James’s, with heralds and
serjeants of arms, and four bishops mitred; and bishop Bonner, beside
his mitre, wore a pair of slippers of silver and gilt, and a pair of
rich gloves with ouches of silver upon them, very rich.”[142]

The effect of processions in the churches, must have been very striking.
A person sometimes inquires the _use_ of a large portion of
unappropriated room in some of our old ecclesiastical edifices; he is
especially astonished at the enormous unoccupied space in a cathedral,
and asks, “what is it for?”--the answer is, at this time, nothing. But
if the Stuarts had succeeded in reestablishing the catholic religion,
then this large and now wholly useless portion of the structure, would
have been devoted to the old practices. In that event, we should have
had cross-carrying, canopy-carrying, censing, chanting, flower-strewing,
and all the other accessories and essentials of the grand pageantry,
which distinguishes catholic from protestant worship. The utmost stretch
of episcopal ceremonial in England, can scarcely extend to the use of an
eighth part of any of our old cathedrals, each of which, in every
essential particular as a building, is papal.

  [139] Butler.

  [140] Brand.

  [141] Strype.

  [142] Ibid.


~May 9.~

  _St. Gregory Nazianzen_, A. D. 389, or 391. _St. Hermas_, 1st Cent.
  _St. Nicholas_ Bp. A. D. 1391.

_May Morning._

    The sun is up, and ’tis a morn of May
    Round old Ravenna’s clear-shown towers and bay,
    A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen
    Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
    For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night,
    Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,
    And there’s a crystal clearness all about;
    The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out
    A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze;
    The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees;
    And when you listen, you may hear a coil
    Of bubbling springs about the grassy soil;
    And all the scene, in short--sky, earth, and sea
    Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.

  _Leigh Hunt._

A benevolent lover of nature,[143]--and who that loves nature is not
benevolent--observes, in a notice of this day, that “the _Swift_, which
arrives in England about this time, in the morning and in the evening
comes out in quest of food, and utters, while rapidly flying, its
peculiar scream, whence it is called Squeaker. In a warm summer morning
these birds may be seen flying round in small companies, and all
squeaking together: in the evening they come forth again; but there are
times in the middle of the day when few or none of these birds are seen.
We have already observed,” continues Dr. Forster, “that the scenery of a
May morning is particularly beautiful; a serene sky, a refreshing
fragrance arising from the face of the earth, and the melody of the
birds, all combine to render it inexpressibly delightful, to exhilarate
the spirits, and call forth a song of grateful adoration.

    How fresh the breeze that wafts the rich perfume,
      And swells the melody of waking birds!
    The hum of bees beneath the verdant grove,
      And woodman’s song, and low of distant herds!

And yet there are some to whom these scenes give no delight, and who
hurry away from all the varieties of rural beauty, to lose their hours
and divert their thoughts by a tavern dinner, or the prattle or the
politics of the day. Such was, by his own confession, Mr. Boswell, the
biographer of Johnson; and, according to this ‘honest chronicler’s’
report, the doctor himself was alike insensible to the charms of nature.
“We walked in the evening,” says Boswell, “in Greenwich-park. Johnson
asked me, I suppose by way of trying my disposition, ‘Is not this very
fine?’ Having no exquisite relish of the beauties of nature, and being
more delighted with the ‘busy hum of men,’ I answered, ‘Yes, sir; but
not equal to Fleet-street.’ Johnson said, ‘You are right, sir.’ I am
aware that many of my readers may censure my want of taste. Let me,
however, shelter myself under the authority of a very fashionable
baronet in the brilliant world, who, on his attention being called to
the fragrance of a May evening in the country, ‘This may be very well;
but, for my part, I prefer the smell of a flambeau at the playhouse!’”

    Green fields, and shady groves, and crystal springs
    And larks, and nightingales, are odious things.
    But smoke and dust, and noise and crowds, delight;
    And to be pressed to death, transports her quite:
    Where silvery rivulets play through flowery meads,
    And woodbines give their sweets, and limes their shades
    Black kennels’ absent odours she regrets,
    And stops her nose at beds of violets;
    Nor likes to leave her bed at early dawn,
    To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Solomon’s Seal. _Convallaria multiflora._
  Dedicated to _St. Gregory_ of Nazianzen.

  [143] Dr. Forster.


~May 10.~

  _St. Antoninus_, or _Little Antony_, Abp. A. D. 1459. _Sts. Gordian_,
  A. D. 362, and _Epimachus_, A. D. 250. _St. Isidore_, Patron of
  Madrid, A. D. 1170. _St. Comgall_, Irish abbot, A. D. 601. _St.
  Cataldus_, Bp. of Tarentum.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Slender-leaved Piony. _Pæonia Tenuifolia._
  Dedicated to _St. Comgall_.


THE DOTTEREL.

(_For the Every-Day Book._)

In May and June this bird is to be found on Gogmagog-hills and the moors
adjacent. It is caught with nets, by people using a whistle made to
imitate its note; the bird is so simple and fond of imitation, it
suffers itself to be approached, and the net dropped over it. There is
a tradition current here, that king James I. was very fond of seeing
dotterels taken; and when he came to Newmarket, used to accompany the
birdcatchers to the Gogmagog-hills and moors, for that purpose. It is
said, a needy clergyman residing in the parish of Sawston, who was very
expert in dotterel-catching, attended the king; his majesty was pleased
with his skill, and promised him a living: the clergyman waited some
years, till, concluding that the king “had remembered to forget his
promise,” he went to London and appeared at court, where too he was
unnoticed and forgotten; at length, approaching the king, and making the
same signs as he was wont to do when catching dotterels with the king
near Cambridge, his majesty exclaimed, “Why, here is my reverend
dotterel-catcher,” and instantly gave him the long-delayed living:--

    The boggy moor a fruitful field appears,
    Since the _inclosure_ of those latter years;
    Though oft a victim to the fowler’s snare,
    The dotterel keeps her wonted vigils there!
    Ah! simple bird to imitate false man,
    Who does by stratagem thy life trepan!
    So by the world is man oft led astray,
    Nor strives to shun the siren’s ’witching lay;
    But knows, alas! like thee, when ’tis too late,
    The want of caution, and repents his fate.
    In sad reality--too often seen,
    Does folly end in sorrow’s tragic scene.

  _Cambridge_, _May_ 18, 1825.

  T. N.


~May 11.~

  _St. Mammertus_, Abp. of Vienne, A. D. 477. _St. Maieul_, or
  _Majolus_, Abbot A. D. 994.


BEES AND BIRDS.

A Warwickshire correspondent says, that in that county “the first swarm
of bees is simply called a _swarm_, the second from the same hive is
called a _cast_, and the third from the same hive a _spindle_. It is a
saying in this county, that

    “A swarm of bees in May
     Is worth a load of hay;
     A swarm of bees in June
     Is worth a silver spune (spoon;)
     A swarm of bees in July
     Is not worth a fly.

“In Warwickshire, also, there is a different version of verses about the
swallow, &c.

    “The robin and the wren
     Are God Almighty’s cock and hen;
     The martin and the swallow
     Are God Almighty’s bow and arrow.”


CHRONOLOGY.

King James I. and his queen arrived in Scotland on Old May-day, 1590, it
being then according to the old style the first day of May, in order to
be at the queen’s coronation. The entry and coronation were conducted
with great ceremony; the pageant on the latter occasion is an example of
splendid dramatic effect, which in this country no longer prevails on
such occasions. According to the account printed at London, in black
letter, A. D. 1590, these are the particulars:--

“The King arrived at Lyeth the first day of May, anno 1590, with the
Queene his wife and his traine in thirteene shippes, accompanied with
_Peter Munck_, Admirall of Denmarke, one of the Regentes of the King,
_Steven Brave_, a Danish Lorde, and sundry other the Lordes of the same
countrey, where at theyr arrivall they were welcommed by the Duke of
_Lenox_, the Earle _Bothwell_, and sundry other the Scottish Nobility.
At their landing, one M. James Elpheston, a Senator of the Colledge of
Justice, with a Latine oration welcommed them into the countrey, which
done, the King went on to the church of Lyeth, where they had a sermon
preached by Maister _Patrick Gallowey_, in English, importing a
thanksgiving for their safe arrivall, and so they departed to their
lodging, where they expected the comming in of the rest of the nobility,
together with such preparation as was to bee provided in Edinborough and
the Abbey of the Holy Rood House.

“This performed, and the nobility joyning to the township of
Edinborough, they receaved the King and Queene from the town of Lyeth,
the King riding before, and the Queene behind him in her chariot, with
her maides of honor on ech side of her Majesties one. Her chariot was
drawne with eight horses, capparisoned in velvet, imbrodred with silver
and gold, very rich, her highnesse maister of her householde, and other
Danish ladies on the one side, and the Lorde _Hamilton_ on the other,
together with the rest of the nobility, and after her chariot followed
the Lorde Chancelours wife, the Lady _Bothwell_, and other the ladies,
with the burgesses of the towne and others round about her, as of
Edinborough, of Lyeth, of Fishrow, of Middleborow, of Preston, of
Dalkith, &c. all the inhabitants being in armour, and giving a volle of
shotte to the King and Queene in their passage, in joy of their safe
arrivall. In this manner they passed to the Abbey of Holy Roode House,
where they remained until the seaventeenth of May, upon which day the
Queene was crowned in the said Abbey Church, after the sermon was ended
by Maister _Robert Bruce_ and M. _David Linsey_, with great triumphes.
The coronation ended, she was conveide to her chamber, being led by the
Lord Chancelour, on the one side and the Embassador of Englande on the
other, sixe ladies bearing uppe her traine, having going before her
twelve heraultes in their coates of armes, and sundrye trumpets still
sounding. The Earle of Angus bare the sworde of honor, the L. Hamilton
the scepter, and the Duke of Lenox the crowne. Thus was that day spent
in joy and mirth. Uppon Tuesday the nineteenth of May, her Majesty made
her entry into Edinborough in her chariot, with the Lordes and Nobility
giving their attendance, among the which ther were sixe and thirty Danes
on horsebacke with foote clothes, every of them being accompanied with
some Scottish Lorde or Knight, and all the ladies following the chariot.
At her comming to the South side of the yardes of the Canogit, along the
parke wall, being in sight of the Castle, they gave her thence a great
volle of shotte, with their banners and auncientes displaied upon the
walles. Thence shee came to the West port, under the which her highnesse
staied, and had an oration to welcome her to the towne, uttered in
Latine by one maister _John Russell_, who was thereto appointed by the
towneshippe, whose sonne also being placed uppon the toppe of the
portehead, and was let downe by a devise made in a globe, which being
come somewhat over her Majesties heade, opened at the toppe into foure
quarters, where the childe appearing in the resemblance of an angell
delivered her the keyes of the towne in silver, which done, the quarters
closed, and the globe was taken uppe agayne, so as the childe was no
more seene there. Shee had also a canapie of purple velvet, embrodered
with gold, carried over her by sixe ancient townes-men. There were also
three score young men of the towne lyke Moores, and clothed in cloth of
silver, with chaines about their neckes, and bracelets about their
armes, set with diamonds and other precious stones, verie gorgeous to
the eie, who went before the chariot betwixt the horsemen and it, everie
one with a white staffe in his hande to keepe off the throng of people,
where also rid the Provost and Baileefes of the towne with foote clothes
to keepe the people in good order, with most of the inhabitants in their
best araie to doe the like. In this order her Grace passed on the Bow
street, where was erected a table, whereupon stood a globe of the whole
worlde, with a boy sitting therby, who represented the person of a King,
and made her an oration, which done, she went up the Bowe, wher were
cast forth a number of banketing dishes as they came by, and comming to
the butter trone, there were placed nine maidens bravely arraied in
cloth of silver and gold, representing the nine Muses, who sung verie
sweete musicke, where a brave youth played upon the organs, which
accorded excellentlie with the singing of their psalmes, whereat her
Majestie staied awhile, and thence passed downe through the high gate of
Edinborough, which was all decked with tapistry from the top to the
bottom: at her Graces comming to the Tolboth, there stood on high the
four vertues, as first, Justice with the ballance in one hand, and the
sword of justice in the other; then Temperance, having in the one hand a
cup of wine, and in the other hand a cup of water; Prudence, holding in
her hand a serpent and a dove, declaring that men ought to bee as wise
as the serpent to prevent mischief, but as simple as a dove eyther in
wrath or malice. The last is Fortitude, who held a broken piller in her
hand, representing the strength of a kingdome.

“Thus shee passed on to the crosse, uppon the toppe whereof shee had a
psalm sung in verie good musicke before her comming to the churche,
whiche done, her Majestie came forth of her chariot, and was conveied
unto S. Giles Church, where she heard a sermon preached by M. _Robert
Bruce_. That ended, with praiers for her highnesse, shee was conveied
againe to her chariot. Against her comming forth, there stood upon the
top of the crosse a table covered, whereupon stood cups of gold and
silver full of wine, with the goddess of Corne and Wine sitting thereat,
and the corne on heapes by her, who in Latine cried that there should be
plentie thereof in her time, and on the side of the crosse sate the God
_Bacchus_ upon a punchion of wine, drinking and casting it by cups full
upon the people, besides other of the townsmen that cast apples and nuts
among them, and the crosse itself ranne claret wine upon the caulsway
for the royaltie of that daie. Thence her Grace rode downe the gate to
the sault trone, whereupon sate all the Kings heretofore of Scotland,
one of them lying along at their feete, as if he had bene sick, whom
certain souldiers seemed to awake at her Majesties comming; whereupon he
arose and made her an oration in Latine. Which ended, she passed down to
the neather bow, which was beautified with the marage of a King and his
Queene, with all their nobilitie about them, among whom at her highness
presence there arose a youth who applied the same to the marriage of
the King and herselfe, and so blessed that marriage. Which done, there
was let downe unto her from the top of the porte in a silke string a box
covered with purple velvet, whereupon was embrodered an A. for _Anna_
(her Majesties name) set with diamonds and precious stones, esteemed at
twentie thousand crownes, which the townshippe gave for a present to her
highness; and then, after singing of some psalmes with very good
musicke, her Grace departed to the Abbey for that night.”

       *       *       *       *       *

1778. William Pitt, the great earl of Chatham, died in the House of
Lords, aged 70 years.

1782. Richard Wilson, the eminent English landscape painter, died,
neglected, at the age of 68 years; for in his lifetime his labours were
unappreciated. He was accustomed to say, that posterity would do him
justice; and now his pictures produce astonishing sums.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lancashire Asphodel. _Asphodelus Luteus._
  Dedicated to _St. Mammertus_.


~May 12.~

  Holy Thursday, holiday at the Public Offices, except Excise, Stamp,
  and Custom.

  _Sts. Nereus_ and _Achilleus_. _St. Flavia Domitilla._ _St. Pancras_,
  A. D. 304. _St. Epiphanius_, Abp. A. D. 403. _St. Germanus_, Patriarch
  of Constantinople, A. D. 733. _St. Rictrudes_, Abbess, A. D. 688.


~Holy Thursday,~

_Or Ascension Day_.

The anniversary of Christ’s Ascension as kept by the Romish church, is
set forth in the “Popish Kingdome,” thus:

    Then comes the day when Christ ascended to his father’s seate
    Which day they also celebrate, with store of drinke and meate,
    Then every man some birde must eate, I know not to what ende,
    And after dinner all to church they come, and their attende
    The blocke that on the aultar still, till then was seene to stande,
    Is drawne vp hie aboue the roofe, by ropes, and force of hande:
    The Priestes about it rounde do stand, and chaunt it to the skie,
    For all these mens religion great, in singing most doth lie.
    Then out of hande the dreadfull shape of Sathan downe they throw,
    Oft times, with fire burning bright, and dasht a sunder tho,[144]
    The boyes with greedie eyes do watch, and on him straight they fall,
    And beate him sore with rods, and breake him into peeces small.
    This done, they wafers downe doe cast, and singing Cakes the while,
    With papers round amongst them put, the children to beguile.
    With laughter great are all things done: and from the beames they
         let
    Great streames of water downe to fall, on whom they meane to wet.
    And thus this solemne holiday, and hye renowned feast,
    And all their whole deuotion here, is ended with a ieast.[145]

It is sufficient for the present to observe of Holy Thursday, that with
us on this day it is a common custom of established usage, for the
minister of each parish, with the parochial officers and other
inhabitants of the parish, followed by the boys of the parish school,
headed by their master, to go in procession to the different parish
boundaries; which boundaries the boys strike with peeled willow wands
that they bear in their hands, and this is called “beating the bounds.”
More, concerning this and other practices connected with the day, is
purposely deferred till the subject be properly set forth hereafter.


_Rule of Health for May._

The month of May is called a “trying” month, to persons long ailing with
critical complaints. It is common to say, “Ah, he’ll never get up
_May-hill_!” or, “If he can climb over _May-hill_ he’ll do.” “As a rule
of health for May,” says Dr. Forster, “we may advise early rising in
particular, as being essentially conducive to that blessing. Every thing
now invites the sluggard to leave his bed and go abroad. Milton has
given such a lively description of morning scenes as must rouse every
lover of the country from his couch:--

_Lines from l’Allegro_

    To hear the lark begin his flight,
    And singing, startle the dull night,
    From his watch-tower in the skies,
    Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
    Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
    And at my window bid good morrow,
    Through the sweet-brier, or the vine,
    Or the twisted eglantine:
    While the cock, with lively din,
    Scatters the rear of darkness thin;
    And to the stack, or the barn-door,
    Stoutly struts his dames before.
    Oft listening now the hounds and horn
    Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
    From the side of some hoar hill,
    Through the high wood echoing shrill:
    Some time walking, not unseen,
    By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
    Right against the eastern gate
    Where the great sun begins his state,
    Robed in flames, and amber light,
    The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
    While the ploughman, near at hand,
    Whistles o’er the furrow’d land,
    And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
    And the mower whets his sithe,
    And every shepherd tells his tale
    Under the hawthorn in the dale.
    Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
    Whilst the landscape round it measures;
    Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
    Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
    Mountains, on whose barren breast,
    The labouring clouds do often rest;
    Meadows trim with daisies pide,
    Shallow brooks, and rivers wide:
    Towers and battlements it sees
    Bosomed high in tufted trees,
    Where perhaps some beauty lies,
    The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.


MANNERS IN IRELAND.

Not as a picture of general manners, but as sketches of particular
characters in certain parts of Ireland, the following anecdotes are
extracted from one of the “Letters from the Irish Highlands,” dated in
May, 1823.

“In the same spirit, the pleasures of the table are but too often shared
by the gentlemen of the country with those who are very much their
inferiors, both in birth and fortune. The lowest and most degrading
debauchery must be the natural consequence, and here I must not forget
an anecdote which will at once illustrate this, and also make you
acquainted with a childish superstition, with which it is a frequent
practice of all ranks to combat this pernicious vice, encouraged by
their indolent manner of life, and by the former facility of procuring
smuggled liquors. A gentleman, whose rental at one time amounted to
10,000_l._ per annum, and who was in the constant habits of
intoxication, took an oath to drink nothing after the cloth was removed;
but, unable to comply with the spirit, he soon contented himself with
adhering to the letter of this rash vow, and, keeping the cloth on table
after dinner was over, could drink all night without fear of infringing
it. He then swore not to drink in his dining-parlour, but again as
easily evaded his engagement, by adjourning to the next apartment; in
the next apartment, however, on some fresh qualms of conscience, the vow
was renewed; and so, in each room successively, until he fairly swore
himself out of the house. He then took refuge in the summer-house of his
garden, and there used to dine and drink daily; till, rashly renewing
his vow here also, he was reduced to find a new subterfuge by taking
lodgings in a neighbouring town.

“This story reminds me of a circumstance which has taken place within
these few days, and in which the chief actor was one of the remaining
branches of a numerous family, among the second-rate gentry, who are
here distinguished by the title of _buckeens_. Originally supported in a
state of comparative ease and indulgence, partly by their share in the
contraband trade, partly by their close connection and alliance with the
principal families in the country, their incomes have gradually sunk
with the change of circumstances, which has, in a great measure,
dissolved this ancient bond of fellowship, as well as destroyed their
more illegitimate sources of revenue. Many of these, without seeking
employment for themselves, or education for their children, still cling
to customs which have now passed away; and, when reduced almost to a
state of mendicity, continue their former boast of being ‘gentlemen.’

“A puncheon of spirits lately came ashore, and fell to the share of the
individual above mentioned. It was too large to be got in at the door of
his house; he therefore pulled part of the wall down; still, however, it
stuck half way. His small stock of patience could last no longer; he
tapped the end that was within, and he and his wife, with their servant,
soon became completely intoxicated. His neighbours, aware of this,
tapped the cask at the other end, and the next day, when this worthy
personage would have taken his _morning_, he found the cask completely
emptied!”

Conduct, or rather misconduct, such as this, is very natural in a
country wherein social feelings are cultivated; wherein capital is not
employed; and wherein the knowledge of principles among the influential
classes of the community, is not sufficiently extended to unite in
cooperation by way of example and instruction. Industry is essential to
happiness, and the unemployed will be either playful or vicious. We say
of children, “Give them something to do, or they will be in mischief;”
this is equally true of men.


[Illustration: ~Francis Grose, Esq. F.S.A. etc.~]

This gentleman died on the 12th of May, 1791; he was son of Francis
Grose, esq. jeweller at Richmond, who fitted up the coronation crown of
George II. He was a captain in the Surrey militia, an eminent antiquary,
and a right worthy man. His “Antiquities of England and Wales, Scotland
and Ireland,” are more generally known perhaps than other topographical
works of more profound inquiry. They were commenced in numbers, and
published by “Master Samuel Hooper,” so he called his bookseller, to
whom he was a steady and affectionate friend, though he says, in one of
his letters, “he never did any one thing I desired him.” His “Classical
Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue,” Mr. Nichols says, “it would have been
for his credit to have suppressed.” The truth of this observation is
palpable to every one who is not sophisticated by the wretchedly
mischievous line, that

    “Vice, to be hated, needs but to be seen.”

A more mischievous sentiment was never promulgated. Capt. Grose’s
“Olio” is a pleasant medley of whimsicalities. He was an excellent
companion, a humorist, and caricaturist; he wrote “Rules for drawing
Caricatures,” and drew and etched many, wherein he took considerable
liberties with his friends. Yet he seems to have disliked a personal
representation of himself sleeping in a chair, which Mr. Nichols
pronounces “an excellent” likeness; a copy of which we have given in
the preceding page. Adjoining it is another of him, a whole length,
standing, from an engraving by Bartolozzi, after a drawing by Dance. The
sleeping portrait is attributed to the rev. James Douglas, one of his
brother antiquaries, who dedicated the print to their “devoted brethren”
of the society. Beneath it were inscribed the following lines:

    “Now _Grose_, like bright Phœbus, has sunk into rest,
    Society droops for the loss of his jest;
    Antiquarian debates, unseason’d with mirth,
    To Genius and Learning will never give birth.
    Then wake, Brother Member, our friend from his sleep,
    Lest Apollo should frown, and Bacchus should weep.”

He was remarkably corpulent, as the engravings show. In a letter to the
rev. James Granger, he says, “I am, and ever have been, the idlest
fellow living, even before I had acquired the load of adventitious
matter which at present stuffs my doublet.” On the margin of this letter
Mr. Granger wrote, “As for the matter that _stuffs_ your doublet, I hope
it is all good _stuff_; if you should _double_ it, I shall call it
morbid matter and tremble for you. But I consider it as the effect of
good digestion, pure blood, and laughing spirits, coagulated into a
wholesome mass by as much sedentariness (I hate this long word) as is
consistent with the activity of your disposition.” In truth, Grose was
far from an idle man; he had great mental activity, and his antiquarian
knowledge and labours were great. He was fond however of what are termed
the pleasures of the table; and is represented in a fine mezzotinto,
drawn and engraved by his friend Nathaniel Hone, with Theodosius
Forrest, the barrister, and Hone himself, dressed in the character of
monks, over a bowl, which Grose is actively preparing for their
carousal. He died of apoplexy in Mr. Hone’s house in Dublin, at the age
of fifty-two. In reference to his principal works, the following
epitaph, quoted by Mr. Nichols in his “Anecdotes,” was proposed for him
in the “St. James’s Chronicle:”--

      Here lies Francis Grose.
    On Thursday, May 12, 1791,
        Death put an end to
      His _views_ and _prospects_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  German Fleur de lis. _Iris Germanica._
  Dedicated to _St. Germanus_.

  [144] Shepherd.

  [145] Naogeorgus, by Googe.


~May 13.~

  _St. John_ the Silent, Bp. A. D. 558. _St. Peter Regalati_, A. D.
  1456. _St. Servatus_, Bp. of Tongres, A. D. 384.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Comfrey. _Symphetum officinale._
  Dedicated to _St. John_ the Silent.


~May 14.~

  _St. Boniface_, A. D. 307. _St. Pachomius_, Abbot, A. D. 348. _St.
  Pontius_, A. D. 258. _St. Carthagh_, or _Mochudu_, Bp. of Lismore, A.
  D. 637 or 638.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Piony. _Pæonia officinalis._
  Coralline Piony. _Pæonia corallina._
  Dedicated to _St. Pontius_.


~May 15.~

  _St. Peter_, _Andrew_, and _Companions_, Martyrs, A. D. 250. _St.
  Dympna_, 7th Cent. _St. Genebrard_ or _Genebern_.

_For the Every-Day Book._

A “SEASONABLE STORY.”

    ’Tis hard, you’ll tell me, but ’tis true--
      Thanks to that heathen dog, Mahomet--
    In Turkey if you want to woo--
      But, by the bye, you’d best keep from it--
    The object of your love must hide
      Her face from every idle gazer--
    A wholesome check on female pride
      I think; and what’s _your_ notion, pray sir?

    “Where beechen boughs their shade diffuse”
      ’Twas once my lot to hear a ditty,
    Fill’d with such stuff as lovers use
      To melt the maiden heart with pity,
    Recited by a Turk: ’twas queer
      I thought that one like him, who never
    Had _seen_ his mistress, should appear
      In “puff” and “eulogy” so clever.

    “Two swains were smoking,” tales, you know,
      Of love begin and end in vapour--
    “Beside a purling stream, when lo!
      By came a maiden, slim and taper.
    Her eyes were like two stars at night”--
      No matter how I came to know it--
    The one beholds her with delight.
      And all at once becomes a poet.

    “Why sits thy soul within those eyes?”
      The other asks, “resume your smoking,”
    The lover hears him with surprise
      And answers, “Set aside all joking,
    The pipe has now no charms for me;
      My heart is, as a fig, transported
    To the thick foliage of some tree,
      And there a bright-eyed bird has caught it.”

    Now hear a _moral_! Love’s a sly
      And roguish fellow: look about ye
    Watch all he does with careful eye,
      Or else ’tis ten to one he’ll flout ye.
    Give him an inch he’ll take an ell;
      And, if he once make conquest o’er ye,
    Then sense, wit, reason, will, farewell!--
      Thus ends this _seasonable_ story.

  Δ

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Welsh Poppy. _Papaver Cambricum._
  Dedicated to _St. Dympna_.


~May 16.~

  _St. John Nepomucen_, A. D. 1383. _St. Simon Stock_, A. D. 1265. _St.
  Ubaldus_, A. D. 1160. _St. Honoratus_, Bp. A. D. 660. _St. Abdjesus_,
  or _Hebedjesus_, Bp. _St. Abdas_, Bp. _St. Brendan_ the Elder, Abbot
  of Clonfert, A. D. 578.

  Last day of Easter Term, 1825; it commenced 20th of April.


A PASTORAL RECESS.

From the “Diana” of George of Montemayor, 1598, there is an extract in
the _Literary Pocket Book_ sweetly descriptive of a placid scene in
nature. It begins with--“When the joyous companie arrived thus far, they
saw how a little brooke, covered almost all over with sweet and smelling
herbs, ran gently thorow a greene meadow amongst a ranke of divers trees
that were nourished and maintained by the cleere water; under the
shadowes of which, as they were now determined to rest themselves,
Syrenus said, ‘Let us see from whence this little spring doth issue
forth. It may be the place is more fresh and cool thereabouts: if not,
or if we cannot finde out the fountaine from whence it flowes, we will
return here.’ It liked his company well, and so they desired him to lead
the way. Everie place and part of all the brooke upwards invited them to
pleasant rest; but, when, at length, after much perplexitie, resulting
from the very abundance and luxurie of their choice, they were about to
lay themselves downe, they sawe that with greater quantitie of waters
and fresher shades of green trees the brooke ran up higher, forsaking
its right course towards the left hande, where our companie discovered a
great thicket and spring of divers trees, in which they saw a very
narrow entrance, and somewhat long, whose sides were not of walls
fabricated by artificiall hand but made of trees by nature, the
mistresse of all things. For there were seene the deadly Cypresse, the
triumphant laurell, the hard oke, the low sallow, the invincible palme,
the blacke and ruggie elme, the olive, the prickie chestenut, and the
high pine-apple, one amongst another, whose bodies were bound about with
greene ivie and the fruitfull vine, and beset with sweet jesmines and
many other redolent flowers, that grew very thicke together in that
place. Amongst the which many little birds (inhabitants of that wood)
went leaping from bough to bough, making the place more pleasant with
their sweet and silver notes. The trees were in such order set together
that they denied not the golden sunbeames to have an entrance, to paint
the greene ground with divers colours (which reverberated from the
flowers) that were never steadie in one place, by reason that the
moveable leaves did disquiet them. This narrow way did leade to a little
greene, covered all over with fine grasse, and not touched with the
hungrie mouthes of devouring flockes. At the side of it was the
fountaine of the brooke, having a care that the place should not drie
up, sending forth on every side her flowing waters.”

The season is coming on wherein the heart will court retreat to such a
scene of natural beauty.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Star of Bethlehem. _Ornithogalum Umbrellatum._
  Dedicated to _St. John Nepomucen_.


~May 17.~

  _St. Paschal Babylon_, A. D. 1592. _St. Possidius_, Bp. of Calama, in
  Numidia, A. D. 430. _St. Maden_, or _Madern_. _St. Maw._ _St. Cathan_,
  6th or 7th Cent. _St. Silave_, or _Silan_, Bp. A. D. 1100.


CHRONOLOGY.

1817. Died at Heckington, aged sixty-five, Mr. Samuel Jessup, an opulent
grazier, of pill-taking memory. He lived in a very eccentric way, as a
bachelor, without known relatives; and at his decease possessed of a
good fortune, notwithstanding a most inordinate craving for physic, by
which he was distinguished for the last thirty years of his life, as
appeared on a trial for the amount of an apothecary’s bill, at the
assizes at Lincoln, a short time before Mr. Jessup’s death, wherein he
was defendant. The evidence on the trial affords the following materials
for the epitaph of the deceased, which will not be transcended by the
memorabilia of the life of any man:--In twenty-one years (from 1791 to
1816) the deceased took 226,934 pills, supplied by a respectable
apothecary at Bottesford; which is at the rate of 10,806 pills a year,
or twenty-nine pills each day; but as the patient began with a more
moderate appetite, and increased it as he proceeded, in the last five
years preceding 1816, he took the pills at the rate of seventy-eight a
day, and in the year 1814 he swallowed not less than 51,590.
Notwithstanding this, and the addition of 40,000 bottles of mixture, and
juleps and electuaries, extending altogether to fifty-five closely
written columns of an apothecary’s bill, the deceased lived to attain
the advanced age of sixty-five years.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Early Red Poppy. _Papaver Argemone._
  Dedicated to _St. Paschal Babylon_.


~May 18.~

  _St. Eric_, King of Sweden, A. D. 1151. _St. Theodotus_, Vintner, and
  Seven _Virgins_, Martyrs, A. D. 303. _St. Venantius_, A. D. 250. _St.
  Potamon_, Bp. of Heraclea, in Egypt, A. D. 341.


CHRONOLOGY.

1808. Sir John Carter, knt. died at Portsmouth, his native town, aged
sixty-seven. He was an alderman, and nine times mayor of the borough;
and a magistrate of the county, for which he also served the office of
sheriff in 1784. His name is here introduced to commemorate an essential
service that he rendered to his country, by his mild and judicious
conduct during the mutiny at Spithead, in the spring of 1797. The
sailors having lost three of their body in consequence of the resistance
made to their going on board the London, then bearing the flag of
admiral Colpoys, wished to bury them in Kingston churchyard, and to
carry them in procession through the town of Portsmouth. This request
was most positively refused them by the governor. They then applied to
sir John Carter to grant their request, who endeavoured to convince the
governor of the propriety and necessity of complying with it, declaring
that he would be answerable for the peace of the town, and the orderly
conduct of the sailors. The governor would not be prevailed on, and
prepared for resistance; and resistance on both sides would most
probably have been resorted to, had not the calmness, perseverance, and
forbearance of sir John Carter at length compromised the affair, by
obtaining permission for the sailors to pass through the garrison of
Portsmouth in procession, and the bodies to be landed at the Common Hard
in Portsea, where the procession was to join them.

So great was sir John Carter’s influence over the sailors, that they
most scrupulously adhered to the terms he prescribed to them in their
procession to the grave. Two of their comrades having become “a little
groggy” after they came on shore, they were carefully locked up in a
room by themselves, lest they should become quarrelsome, or be unable to
conduct themselves with propriety. It was a most interesting spectacle.
Sir John accompanied them himself through the garrison, to prevent any
insult being offered to them. At the Common Hard he was joined by Mr.
Godwin, the friend and associate of his youth, and also a most worthy
magistrate of this borough. They attended the procession till it had
passed the fortifications at Portsea: every thing was conducted with the
greatest decorum. When the sailors returned, and were sent off to their
respective ships, two or three of the managing delegates came to sir
John, to inform him that the men were all gone on board, and to thank
him for his great goodness to them. Sir John seized the opportunity of
inquiring after their admiral, as these delegates belonged to the
London. “Do you know him, your honour?” “Yes; I have a great respect for
him, and I hope you will not do him any harm.” “No, by G--d, your
honour, he shall not be hurt.” It was at that time imagined admiral
Colpoys would be hung at the yard-arm, and he had prepared for this
event by arranging his affairs and making his will. In this will he had
left to the widows of the three men who were so unfortunately killed an
annuity of 20_l._ each. The next morning, however, the admiral was
privately, unexpectedly, and safely brought on shore, though pursued by
a boat from the Mars, as soon as they suspected what was transacting.
The delegates brought him to sir John Carter, and delivered him to his
care: they then desired to have a receipt for him, as a proof to their
comrades that they had safely delivered him into the hands of the civil
power; and this receipt he gave. The admiral himself, in his first
appearance at court afterwards, acknowledged to the king that he owed
his life to sir John Carter, and assured his majesty that his principles
were misinterpreted and his conduct misrepresented, and that he had not
a more faithful and worthy subject in his dominions. Notwithstanding
this, the duke of Portland, then secretary of state for the home
department, received a very strong letter against him, which letter his
grace sent to sir John, assuring him at the same time that the
government placed the utmost confidence in his honour, integrity, and
patriotism, and concluded by proposing to offer a large reward for the
discovery of the writer: this, with a dignified consciousness of the
purity of his conduct, sir John declined; though, from some well-founded
conjectures, the discovery might possibly have been easily made. This
inestimable consciousness enabled him to meet with the greatest
composure every effort of party rage to sully his reputation and destroy
his influence. So pure were his principles, that when in the year 1806
he was offered a baronetage by Mr. Fox, he declined it on the ground
that he believed the offer to have been made for his undeviating
attachment to Mr. Fox’s politics; and that, to accept it, would be a
manifest departure from his principles. In every public and domestic
relationship he was uniformly mild, impartial, and upright; nor was he
ever deterred by persona, difficulties or inconveniences from a
faithful, and even minute attendance on his widely extended duties. The
poor in him ever found a friend, and the unfortunate a protector. The
peace, comfort, and happiness of others, and not his own interest, were
the unwearied objects of his pursuit. Never was there a character in
which there was less of self than in his.


MANURES.

Rambling in cultivated spots renders one almost forgetful of cultivating
friends. On the subject of “manure,” the editor of the _Every-Day Book_
has no competent knowledge; he has not settled in his own mind whether
he should decide for “long straw or short straw,” and as regards himself
would willingly dispose of the important question by “drawing _cuts_;”
all he can at present do for his country readers, is to tell them what
lord Bacon affirms; his lordship says that “muck should be spread.” This
would make a capital text or vignette for a dissertation; but there is
no space here to dissertate, and if Messrs. Taylor and Hessey’s _London
Magazine_, for May, had not suggested the subject, it would scarcely
have occurred. There the reviewer of “Gaieties and Gravities” has
extracted some points from that work, which are almost equal to the
quantity of useful information derivable from more solid books--here
they are:--


_Gaieties._

“Residing upon the eastern coast, and farming a considerable extent of
country, I have made repeated and careful experiments with this manure;
and as the mode of burial in many parts of the Continent divides the
different classes into appropriated portions of the churchyard, I have
been enabled, by a little bribery to sextons and charnel-house men, to
obtain specimens of every rank and character, and to ascertain with
precision their separate qualities and results for the purposes of the
farmer, botanist, or common nurseryman. These it is my purpose to
communicate to the reader, who may depend upon the caution with which
the different tests were applied, as well as upon the fidelity with
which they are reported.

“A few cartloads of citizens’ bones gave me a luxuriant growth of London
pride, plums, Sibthorpia or base money-wort, mud-wort, bladder-wort, and
mushrooms; but for laburnum or golden chain, I was obliged to select a
lord mayor. Hospital bones supplied me with cyclamen in any quantity,
which I intermixed with a few seeds from the Cyclades Islands, and the
scurvy-grass came up spontaneously; while manure from different fields
of battle proved extremely favourable to the hæmanthus or blood-flower,
the trumpet-flower and laurel, as well as to widow-wail and cypress. A
few sample skulls from the poet’s corner of a German abbey furnished
poet’s cassia, grass of Parnassus, and bays, in about equal quantities,
with wormwood, crab, thistle, stinging-nettle, prickly holly, teasel,
and loose-strife. Courtiers and ministers, when converted into manure,
secured an ample return of jack-in-a-box, service-apples, climbers,
supple-jacks, parasite plants, and that species of sun-flower which
invariably turns to the rising luminary. Nabobs form a capital compost
for hepatica, liver-wort, spleen-wort, hips, and pine; and from those
who had three or four stars at the India-house, I raised some
particularly fine China asters. A good show of adonis, narcissus,
jessamine, cockscomb, dandelion, money-flower, and buckthorn, may be
obtained from dandies, although they are apt to encumber the ground with
tickweed; while a good drilling with _dandisettes_ is essential to those
beds in which you wish to raise Venus’s looking-glass, Venus’s catchfly,
columbines, and love-apples. A single dressing of jockies will ensure
you a quick return of horse-mint, veronica or speedwell, and
colt’s-foot; and a very slight layer of critics suffices for a good
thick spread of scorpion senna, viper’s bugloss, serpent’s tongue,
poison-nut, nightshade, and hellebore. If you are fond of raising
stocks, manure your bed with jobbers; wine-merchants form the most
congenial stimulant for sloes, fortune-hunters for the marygold and
goldenrod, and drunkards for Canary wines, mad-wort and horehound.
Failing in repeated attempts to raise the chaste tree from the bones of
nuns, which gave me nothing but liquorice-root, I applied those of a
dairy-maid, and not only succeeded perfectly in my object, but obtained
a good crop of butter-wort, milk-wort, and heart’s-ease. I was equally
unsuccessful in raising any sage, honesty, or everlasting from monks;
but they yielded a plentiful bed of monk’s hood, or jesuit’s bark,
medlars, and cardinal flowers. My importation of shoemakers was
unfortunately too scanty to try their effect upon a large scale, but I
contrived to procure from them two or three ladies’ slippers. As
school-boys are raised by birch, it may be hardly necessary to mention,
that when reduced to manure, they return the compliment; but it may be
useful to make known as widely as possible, that dancing-masters supply
the best hops and capers, besides quickening the growth of the
citharexylum or fiddle-wood. For your mimosas or sensitive plants there
is nothing better than a layer of novel-readers, and you may use up the
first bad author that you can disinter for all the poppies you may
require. Coffee-house waiters will keep you supplied in cummin;
chronologists furnish the best dates, post-office men serve well for
rearing scarlet-runners, poulterers for hen-bane, tailors for cabbage,
and physicians for truffles, or any thing that requires to be quickly
buried. I could have raised a few bachelors’ buttons from the bones of
that class; but as nobody cares a button for bachelors, I did not think
it worth while. As a general remark it may be noticed, that young people
produce the passion-flower in abundance, while those of a more advanced
age may be beneficially used for the elder-tree, the sloe, and
snapdragon; and with respect to different nations, my experiments are
only sufficiently advanced to enable me to state that Frenchmen are
favourable to garlic, and that Poles are very good for hops. Of mint I
have never been able to raise much; but as to thyme, I have so large a
supply, as the reader will easily perceive, that I am enabled to throw
it away; and as he may not possibly be in a similar predicament, I shall
refer him for the rest of my experiments to the records of the
Horticultural Society.”

       *       *       *       *       *

It is noticed by Dr. Forster, that about this time the purple goatsbeard
_tragopogon porrifolius_ and the yellow goatsbeard _tragopogon
pratensis_ begin to blow; and that of all the indices in the HOROLOGIUM
FLORÆ the above plants are the most regular: they open their flowers at
sunrise, and shut them so regularly at mid-day, that they have been
called by the whimsical name of _go to bed at noon_. They are as regular
as a clock, and are mentioned as such in the following verses:--

RETIRED LEISURE’S DELIGHT.

    To sit and smoke between two rows of Limes,
      Along the wall of some neat old Dutch town,
    In noontide heat, and hear the jingling chimes
      From Stadhouse Steeple; then to lay one down
    Upon a Primrose bank, where Violet flowers
      Smell sweetly, and the meads in bloomy prime,
    ’Till Flora’s clock, the Goat’s Beard, mark the hours,
      And closing says, Arise, ’tis dinner time;
    Then dine on Pyes and Cauliflower heads,
    And roam away the afternoon in Tulip Beds.

To give an idea of the general face of nature at this period, Dr.
Forster composed the subjoined

_Catalogue of Plants which compose the_ VERNAL FLORA _in the Garden_.

COMMON PEONY _Paeonia officinalis_ in full blow.

SLENDERLEAVED PEONY _P. tenuifolia_ going off.

CRIMSON PEONY _P. peregrina_.

DWARF PEONY _P. humilis_.

TULIP _Tulipa Gesneriana_ in infinite varieties.

MONKEY POPPY _Papaver Orientale_.

WELCH POPPY _P. Cambricum_.

PALE POPPY _P. nudicaule_.

EUROPEAN GLOBEFLOWER _Trollius Europaeus_.

ASIATIC GLOBEFLOWER _Trollius Asiaticus_.

BACHELOR’S BUTTONS _Ranunculus aeris plenus_.

BIFLOWERED NARCISSUS _N. biflorus_.

POETIC NARCISSUS _N. poeticus_.

GERMAN FLEUR DE LIS _Iris Germanica_, two varieties.

LURID IRIS _Iris lurida_.

WALLFLOWER _Chieranthus cheiri_, numerously, both single and double
sorts.

STOCK GILLIFLOWER _Chiranthus fruticulosus_ beginning. Of this plant
there are red, white, and purple varieties; also double Stocks.

YELLOW ASPHODEL _Asphodelus luteus_.

COLUMBINE _Aquilegia vulgaris_ begins to flower, and has several
varieties in gardens.

GREAT STAR OF BETHLEHEM _Ornithogalum umbellatum_.

PERUVIAN SQUILL _Scilla Peruviana_.

YELLOW AZALEA _Azalea Pontica_.

SCARLET AZALEA _Azalea nudiflora_.

PURPLE GOATSBEARD _Tragopogon porrifolius_.

YELLOW GOATSBEARD _Tragopogon pratensis_.

MOTHERWORT _Hesperis matronalis_ begins to blow.

GREAT LEOPARD’S BANE _Doronicum pardalianches_.

LESSER LEOPARD’S BANE _Doronicum plantagineum_.

RAMSHORNS or MALE ORCHIS _O. mascula_ still blows.

FEMALE ORCHIS _Orchis morio_ still flowers.

_In the Fields._

THE HAREBELL _Scylla nutans_ makes the ground blue in some places.

BULBOUS CROWFOOT _Ranunculus bulbosus_.

CREEPING CROWFOOT _R. repens_ now common.

UPRIGHT MEADOW CROWFOOT _R. acris_ the latest of all.

ROUGH CROWFOOT _R. hirsutus_ not so common as the above. The fields are
quite yellow with the above genus.

MEADOW LYCHNIS _Lychnis Flos Cuculi_.

CAMPION LYCHNIS _Lychnis dioica_ under hedges in our chalky soils.

GERMANDER SPEEDWELL _Veronica chamaedris_ on banks, covering them with
its lively blue, comparable only to the Borage, or the _Cynoglossum
Omphalodes_, still blowing and luxuriant in gardens.

MOUSEAR SCORPION GRASS _Myosotus Scorpioides_.

OUR LADY’S SMOCK _Cardamine pratensis_.

BITTER LADY’S SMOCK _Cardamine amara_.

HEDGE GERANIUM _Geranium Robertianum_; also several other wild
Geraniums.

KIDLOCK _Sinapis arvensis_.

CHARLOCK _Raphanus Raphanistrum_.

STICHWORT _Stellaria Holostea_.

YELLOW WATER LILY _Nuphar luteum_ in ponds and rivers.

WHITE WATER LILY _Nymphea alba_ in the same.

We might add numerous others, which will be found noticed on the days
when they usually first flower. Besides these, many of the plants of the
Primaveral Flora still remain in blow, as violets, hearteases,
hepaticas, narcissi, some hyacinths, marsh marigolds, wood anemonies,
garden anemonies, &c. &c. The cuckoo pint, or lord and lady Arum, is now
in prime.

The nations among whom a taste for flowers was first discovered to
prevail in modern times, were China, Persia, and Turkey. The vegetable
treasures of the eastern world were assembled at Constantinople, whence
they passed into Italy, Germany, and Holland, and from the latter into
England; and since botany has assumed the character of a science, we
have laid the whole world under contribution for trees, and shrubs, and
flowers, which we have not only made our own, but generally improved in
vigour and beauty. The passion for flowers preceded that of ornamental
gardening. The Dutch system of straight walks, enclosed by high clipped
hedges of yew or holly, at length prevailed; and tulips and hyacinths
bloomed under the sheltered windings of the “Walls of Troy,” most
ingeniously traced in box and yew. A taste for gardening, which, however
formal, is found at length to be preferable to the absurd winding paths,
and the close imitation of wild nature by art, which modern
garden-makers have pretended to of late years. The learned baron Maseres
used to say, “Such a garden was to be had every where wild in summer,
and in a garden formality was preferable.”


_Proverbs relating to May._

    A cold May and a windy
    Makes a fat barn and a findy.

    A hot May makes a fat churchyard.


_Proverbs relating to the Weather and Seasons generally._

Collected by Dr. Forster.

    Drought never bred dearth in England.

    Whoso hath but a mouth, shall ne’er in England suffer drought.

    When the sand doth feed the clay,
    England woe and welladay;
    But when the clay doth feed the sand,
    Then it is well with Angle land.

    After a famine in the stall,
    Comes a famine in the hall.

    When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn,
    Sell your cow, and buy your corn;
    But when she comes to the full bit,
    Sell your corn, and buy your sheep.

    If the cock moult before the hen,
    We shall have weather thick and thin;
    But if the hen moult before the cock,
    We shall have weather hard as a block.

    As the days lengthen, so the cold strengthen.

    If there be a rainbow in the eve, it will rain and leave,
    But if there be a rainbow in the morrow, it will neither lend nor
         borrow.

    A rainbow in the morning
    Is the shepherd’s warning;
    But a rainbow at night
    Is the shepherd’s delight.

    No tempest, good July,
    Lest corn come off blue by.

    When the wind’s in the east,
    It’s neither good for man nor beast.
    When the wind’s in the south,
    It’s in the rain’s mouth.

    When the wind’s in the south,
    It blows the bait into the fishes’ mouth.

    No weather is ill,
    If the wind be still.

    When the sloe-tree is as white as a sheet,
    Sow your barley, whether it be dry or wet.

    A green winter makes a fat churchyard.

    Hail brings frost in the tail.

    A snow year, a rich year.

    Winter’s thunder’s summer’s wonder.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Mouse Ear. _Hieracium Pilosella._
  Dedicated to _St. Eric_.


~May 19.~

  _St. Peter Celestine_, Pope, A. D. 1296. _St. Pudentiana._ _St.
  Dunstan_; Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 988.


_St. Dunstan._

He was born at Glastonbury, of which monastery he became abbot, and died
archbishop of Canterbury in 988.[146]

The legend of St. Dunstan relates many miracles of him, the most popular
of which is to this effect; that St. Dunstan, as the fact really was,
became expert in goldsmith’s work; it then gives as a story, that while
he was busied in making a chalice, the devil annoyed him by his personal
appearance, and tempted him; whereupon St. Dunstan suddenly seized the
fiend by the nose with a pair of iron tongs, burning hot, and so held
him while he roared and cried till the night was far spent.

[Illustration: ~St. Dunstan and the Devil.~]

There is an engraved portrait of St. Dunstan thus detaining the devil in
bondage, with these lines, or lines to that effect beneath; they are
quoted from memory:--

    St. Dunstan, as the story goes,
    Once pull’d the devil by the nose
    With red-hot tongs, which made him roar,
    That he was heard three miles or more.

On lord mayor’s day, in 1687, the pageants of sir John Shorter, knt. as
lord mayor, were very splendid. He was of the company of goldsmiths,
who, at their own expense, provided one of the pageants representing
this miracle of St. Dunstan. It must have been of amazing size, for it
was a “Hieroglyphic of the Company,” consisting of a spacious laboratory
or workhouse, containing several conveniences and distinct apartments,
for the different operators and artificers, with forges, anvils,
hammers, and all instruments proper for the mystery of the goldsmiths.
In the middle of the frontispiece, on a rich golden chair of state, sat
ST. DUNSTAN, the ancient patron and tutelar guardian of the company. He
was attired, to express his prelatical dignity and canonization, in a
robe of fine lawn, with a cope over it of shining cloth of gold reaching
to the ground. He wore a golden mitre beset with precious stones, and
bore in his left hand a golden crosier, and in his right a pair of
goldsmith’s tongs. Behind him were Orpheus and Amphion playing on
melodious instruments; standing more forward were the cham of Tartary,
and the grand sultan, who, being “conquered by the christian harmony,
seemed to sue for reconcilement.” At the steps of the prelatical throne
were a goldsmith’s forge and furnace, with fire, crucibles, and gold,
and a workman blowing the bellows. On each side was a large press of
gold and silver plate. Towards the front were shops of artificers and
jewellers all at work, with anvils, hammers, and instruments for
enamelling, beating out gold and silver plate; on a step below St.
Dunstan, sat an assay-master, with his trial-balance and implements.
There were two apartments for the processes of disgrossing, flatting,
and drawing gold and silver wire, and the fining, melting, smelting,
refining, and separating of gold and silver, both by fire and water.
Another apartment contained a forge, with miners in canvass breeches,
red waistcoats and red caps, bearing spades, pickaxes, twibbles, and
crows for sinking shafts and making adits. The lord mayor, having
approached and viewed the curiosity of the pageant, was addressed in

A SPEECH BY ST. DUNSTAN.

                  Waked with this musick from my silent urn,
                  Your patron DUNSTAN comes t’ attend your turn.
                  AMPHION and old ORPHEUS playing by,
                  To keep our _forge_ in tuneful harmony.
                  These pontifical ornaments I wear,
                  Are types of rule and order all the year.
                  In these white robes none can a fault descry,
                  Since all have liberty as well as I:
                  Nor need you fear the shipwreck of your cause,
                  Your loss of charter or the penal laws,
                  Indulgence granted by your bounteous prince,
                  Makes for that loss too great a recompence.
                  This charm the Lernæan Hydra will reclaim;
                  Your patron shall the tameless rabble tame.
                  Of the proud CHAM I scorn to be afear’d;
                  I’ll take the angry SULTAN by the beard.
                  Nay, should the DEVIL intrude amongst your foes
                                                          [_Enter Devil_

         _Devil._ What then?

    _St. Dunstan._---------- Snap, thus, I have him by the nose!

The most prominent feature in the devil’s face being held by St.
Dunstan’s tongs, after the prelate had duly spurned the submission of
the cham of Tartary and the grand sultan, a silversmith with three other
workmen proceeding to the great anvil, commenced working a plate of
massy metal, singing and keeping time upon the anvil.[147]


CHRONOLOGY.

1536. Anne Boleyn, queen of Henry VIII., fell a victim to his brutal
passions by the hands of the executioner.

1692. The great sea battle off la Hogue.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Monk’s hood. _Aconitum Napellus._
  Dedicated to _St. Dunstan_.

  [146] Butler.

  [147] Hone, on Ancient Mysteries.


~May 20.~

  _St. Bernardin_ of Sienna, A. D. 1444. _St. Ethelbert_, King of the
  East Angles, A. D. 793. _St. Yvo_, Bp. of Chartres, A. D. 1115.

ON BEING CONFINED TO SCHOOL ONE PLEASANT MORNING IN SPRING.

    The morning sun’s enchanting rays
    Now call forth every songster’s praise;
    Now the lark, with upward flight,
    Gaily ushers in the light;
    While wildly warbling from each tree,
    The birds sing songs to Liberty.

    But for me no songster sings,
    For me no joyous lark up-springs;
    For I, confined in gloomy school,
    Must own the pedant’s iron rule,
    And, far from sylvan shades and bowers,
    In durance vile, must pass the hours;
    There con the scholiast’s dreary lines,
    Where no bright ray of genius shines,
    And close to rugged learning cling,
    While laughs around the jocund spring.

    How gladly would my soul forego
    All that arithmeticians know,
    Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach,
    Or all that industry can reach,
    To taste each morn of all the joys
    That with the laughing sun arise;
    And unconstrain’d to rove along
    The bushy brakes and glens among;
    And woo the muse’s gentle power,
    In unfrequented rural bower!
    But, ah! such heaven-approaching joys
    Will never greet my longing eyes;
    Still will they cheat in vision fine,
    Yet never but in fancy shine.

    Oh, that I were the little wren
    That shrilly chirps from yonder glen
    Oh, far away I then would rove,
    To some secluded bushy grove;
    There hop and sing with careless glee,
    Hop and sing at liberty;
    And till death should stop my lays,
    Far from men would spend my days.

In the “Perennial Calendar,” Dr. Forster with great taste introduces a
beautiful series of quotations adapted to the season from different
poets:--

_Lucretius on Spring and the Seasons, translated by Good._

    Spring comes, and Venus with fell foot advanced;
    Then light-winged Zephyr, harbinger beloved;
    Maternal Flora, strewing ere she treads,
    For every footstep flowers of choicest hue,
    And the glad æther loading with perfumes
    Then Heat succeeds, the parched Etesian breeze,
    And dust-discoloured Ceres; Autumn then
    Follows, and tipsy Bacchus, arm in arm,
    And storms and tempests; Eurus roars amain,
    And the red south brews thunders; till, at length,
    Cold shuts the scene, and Winter’s train prevails,
    Snows, hoary Sleet, and Frost, with chattering teeth.

Milton makes the most heavenly clime to consist of an eternal spring:

    The birds that quire apply; airs, vernal airs,
    Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune
    The trembling leaves, while universal Pan,
    Knit with the graces, and the hours in dance,
    Led on the eternal spring.

_From Atherstone’s Last Days of Herculaneum._

    Soft tints of sweet May morn, when day’s bright god
    Looks smiling from behind delicious mists;
    Throwing his slant rays on the glistening grass,
    Where ’gainst the rich deep green the Cowslip hangs
    His elegant bells of purest gold:--the pale
    Sweet perfumed primrose lifts its face to heaven,
    Like the full, artless gaze of infancy:--
    The little ray-crowned daisy peeps beneath,
    When the tall neighbour grass, heavy with dew,
    Bows down its head beneath the freshening breeze;
    Where oft in long dark lines the waving trees
    Throw their soft shadows on the sunny fields;
    Where, in the music-breathing hedge, the thorn
    And pearly white May blossom, full of sweets,
    Hang out the virgin flag of spring, entwined
    With dripping honey-suckles, whose sweet breath
    Sinks to the heart--recalling, with a sigh,
    Dim recollected feelings of the days
    Of youth and early love.

_From Spring, by Kleist_

    Who thus, O tulip! thy gay-painted breast
    In all the colours of the sun has drest?
    Well could I call thee, in thy gaudy pride,
    The queen of flowers; but blooming by thy side
    Her thousand leaves that beams of love adorn,
    Her throne surrounded by protecting thorn,
    And smell eternal, form a juster claim,
    Which gives the heaven-born rose the lofty name,
    Who having slept throughout the wintry storm,
    Now through the opening buds displays her smiling form.
    Between the leaves the silver whitethorn shows
    Its dewy blossoms, pure as mountain snows.
    Here the blue hyacinth’s nectareous cell
    To my charmed senses gives its cooling smell.
    In lowly beds the purple violets bloom,
    And liberal shower around their rich perfume.
    See, how the peacock stalks yon beds beside,
    Where rayed in sparkling dust and velvet pride,
    Like brilliant stars, arranged in splendid row,
    The proud auriculas their lustre show:
    The jealous bird now shows his swelling breast,
    His many- neck, and lofty crest;
    Then all at once his dazzling tail displays,
    On whose broad circle thousand rainbows blaze.
    The wanton butterflies, with fickle wing,
    Flutter round every flower that decks the spring
    Then on their painted pinions eager haste,
    The luscious cherry’s blood to taste.


_Prognostics of Weather and Horologe of Flora._

FOR SPRING AND SUMMER.

  From the “Perennial Calendar.”

Chickweed.--When the flower expands boldly and fully, no rain will
happen for four hours or upwards: if it continues in that open state, no
rain will disturb the summer’s day: when it half conceals its miniature
flower, the day is generally showery; but if it entirely shuts up, or
veils the white flower with its green mantle, let the traveller put on
his great coat, and the ploughman, with his beasts of drought, expect
rest from their labour.

Siberian sowthistle.--If the flowers of this plant keep open all night,
rain will certainly fall the next day.

Trefoil.--The different species of trefoil always contract their leaves
at the approach of a storm: hence these plants have been termed the
husbandman’s barometer.

African marygold.--If this plant opens not its flowers in the morning
about seven o’clock, you may be sure it will rain that day, unless it
thunders.

The convolvulus also, and the pimpernel _anagalis arvensis_, fold up
their leaves on the approach of rain: the last in particular is termed
the poor man’s weather-glass.

White thorns and dog-rose bushes.--Wet summers are generally attended
with an uncommon quantity of seed on these shrubs; whence their unusual
fruitfulness is a sign of a severe winter.

Besides the above, there are several plants, especially those with
compound yellow flowers, which nod, and during the whole day turn their
flowers towards the sun: viz. to the east in the morning, to the south
at noon, and to the west towards evening; this is very observable in the
sowthistle _sonchus arvensis_: and it is a well-known fact, that a great
part of the plants in a serene sky expand their flowers, and as it were
with cheerful looks behold the light of the sun; but before rain they
shut them up, as the tulip.

The flowers of the alpine whitlow grass _draba alpina_, the bastard
feverfew _parthenium_, and the wintergreen _trientalis_, hang down in
the night as if the plants were asleep, lest rain or the moist air
should injure the fertilizing dust.

One species of woodsorrel shuts up or doubles its leaves before storms
and tempests, but in a serene sky expands or unfolds them, so that the
husbandman can pretty clearly foretell tempests from it. It is also well
known that the mountain ebony _bauhinia_, sensitive plants, and cassia,
observe the same rule.

Besides affording prognostics, many plants also fold themselves up at
particular hours, with such regularity, as to have acquired particular
names from this property. The following are among the more remarkable
plants of this description:--

Goatsbeard.--The flowers of both species of tragopogon open in the
morning at the approach of the sun, and without regard to the state of
the weather regularly shut about noon. Hence it is generally known in
the country by the name of go to bed at noon.

The princesses’ leaf, or four o’clock flower, in the Malay Islands, is
an elegant shrub so called by the natives, because their ladies are fond
of the grateful odour of its white leaves. It takes its generic name
from its quality of opening its flowers at four in the evening, and not
closing them in the morning till the same hour returns, when they again
expand in the evening at the same hour. Many people transplant them from
the woods into their gardens, and use them as a dial or a clock,
especially in cloudy weather.

The evening primrose is well known from its remarkable properties of
regularly shutting with a loud popping noise, about sunset in the
evening, and opening at sunrise in the morning. After six o’clock, these
flowers regularly report the approach of night.

The tamarind tree _parkinsonia_, the nipplewort _lapsana communis_, the
water lily _nymphaea_, the marygolds _calendulae_, the bastard sensitive
plant _aeschynomene_, and several others of the diadelphia class, in
serene weather, expand their leaves in the daytime, and contract them
during the night. According to some botanists, the tamarind-tree enfolds
within its leaves the flowers or fruit every night, in order to guard
them from cold or rain.

The flower of the garden lettuce, which is in a vertical plane, opens at
seven o’clock, and shuts at ten.

A species of serpentine aloe, without prickles, whose large and
beautiful flowers exhale a strong odour of the vanilla during the time
of its expansion, which is very short, is cultivated in the imperial
garden at Paris. It does not blow till towards the month of July, and
about five o’clock in the evening, at which time it gradually opens its
petals, expands them, droops, and dies. By ten o’clock the same night,
it is totally withered, to the great astonishment of the spectators, who
flock in crowds to see it.

The cerea, a native of Jamaica and Vera Cruz, expands an exquisitely
beautiful coral flower, and emits a highly fragrant odour, for a few
hours in the night, and then closes to open no more. The flower is
nearly a foot in diameter; the inside of the calyx, of a splendid
yellow; and the numerous petals are of a pure white. It begins to open
about seven or eight o’clock in the evening, and closes before sunrise
in the morning.

The flower of the dandelion possesses very peculiar means of sheltering
itself from the heat of the sun, as it closes entirely whenever the heat
becomes excessive. It has been observed to open, in summer, at half an
hour after five in the morning, and to collect its petals towards the
centre about nine o’clock.

Linnæus has enumerated forty-six flowers, which possess this kind of
sensibility: he divides them into three classes.--1. Meteoric flowers,
which less accurately observe the hour of folding, but are expanded
sooner or later according to the cloudiness, moisture, or pressure of
the atmosphere. 2. Tropical flowers, that open in the morning and close
before evening every day, but the hour of their expanding becomes
earlier or later as the length of the day increases or decreases. 3.
Equinoctial flowers, which open at a certain and exact hour of the day,
and for the most part close at another determinate hour.

_On Flora’s Horologe, by Charlotte Smith._

    In every copse and sheltered dell,
      Unveiled to the observant eye,
    Are faithful monitors, who tell
      How pass the hours and seasons by.

    The green-robed children of the Spring
      Will mark the periods as they pass,
    Mingle with leaves Time’s feathered wing,
      And bind with flowers his silent glass.

    Mark where transparent waters glide,
      Soft flowing o’er their tranquil bed;
    There, cradled on the dimpling tide,
      Nymphæa rests her lovely head.

    But conscious of the earliest beam,
      She rises from her humid nest,
    And sees reflected in the stream
      The virgin whiteness of her breast.

    Till the bright Daystar to the west
      Declines, in Ocean’s surge to lave:
    Then, folded in her modest vest,
      She slumbers on the rocking wave.

    See Hieracium’s various tribe,
      Of plumy seed and radiate flowers,
    The course of Time their blooms describe,
      And wake or sleep appointed hours.

    Broad o’er its imbricated cup
      The Goatsbeard spreads its golden rays
    But shuts its cautious petals up,
      Retreating from the noontide blaze.

    Pale as a pensive cloistered nun,
      The Bethlem Star her face unveils,
    When o’er the mountain peers the Sun,
      But shades it from the vesper gales.

    Among the loose and arid sands
      The humble Arenaria creeps;
    Slowly the Purple Star expands,
      But soon within its calyx sleeps.

    And those small bells so lightly rayed
      With young Aurora’s rosy hue,
    Are to the noontide Sun displayed,
      But shut their plaits against the dew.

    On upland <DW72>s the shepherds mark
      The hour, when, as the dial true,
    Cichorium to the towering Lark
      Lifts her soft eyes serenely blue.

    And thou, “Wee crimson tipped flower,”
      Gatherest thy fringed mantle round
    Thy bosom, at the closing hour,
      When nightdrops bathe the turfy ground,

    Unlike Silene, who declines
      The garish noontide’s blazing light;
    But when the evening crescent shines,
      Gives all her sweetness to the night.

    Thus in each flower and simple bell,
      That in our path betrodden lie,
    Are sweet remembrancers who tell
      How fast their winged moments fly.

Dr. Forster remarks that towards the close of this month, the cat’s ear
_hypochœris radicata_ is in flower every where; its first appearance is
about the 18th day. This plant, as well as the rough dandelion,
continues to flower till after Midsummer. The lilac, the barberry tree,
the maple, and other trees and shrubs, are also in flower. The meadow
grasses are full grown and flowering. The flowers of the garden rose, in
early and warm years, begin to open.

_On a Young Rosebud in May, from the German of Goëthe._

    A Rose, that bloomed the roadside by,
    Caught a young vagrant’s wanton eye:
    The child was gay, the morn was clear,
    The child would see the rosebud near:
      She saw the blooming flow’r.
    My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!
    My Rose that blooms the roadside near!

    The child exclaimed, “My hands shall dare,
    Thee, Rose, from off thy stem to tear:”
    The Rose replied, “If I have need,
    My thorns shall make thy fingers bleed--
      Thy rash design give o’er.”
    My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!
    My Rose that blooms the roadside near!

    Regardless of its thorny spray,
    The child would tear the Rose away;
    The Rose bewailed with sob and sigh,
    But all in vain, no help was nigh
      To quell the urchin’s pow’r.
    My little Rose, my Rosebud dear!
    My Rose that bloomed the roadside near!

  _New Monthly Magazine._

From Dr. Aikin’s “Natural History of the Year,” the ensuing passages
regarding the season will be found agreeable and useful.

On hedge-banks the wild germander of a fine azure blue is conspicuous,
and the whole surface of meadows is often covered by the yellow
crowfoot. These flowers, also called buttercups, are erroneously
supposed to communicate to the butter at this season its rich yellow
tinge, as the cows will not touch it on account of its acrid biting
quality; this is strikingly visible in pastures, where, though all the
grass is cropped to the very roots, the numerous tufts of this weed
spring up, flower, and shed their seeds in perfect security, and the
most absolute freedom from molestation by the cattle; they are indeed
cut down and made into hay together with the rest of the rubbish that
usually occupies a large proportion of every meadow; and in this state
are eaten by cattle, partly because they are incapable of separating
them, and partly because, by dying, their acrimony is considerably
subdued; but there can be no doubt of their place being much better
supplied by any sort of real grass. In the present age of agricultural
improvement the subject of grass lands among others has been a good deal
attended to, but much yet remains to be done, and the tracts of the
ingenious Stillingfleet, and of Mr. Curtis, on this important division
of rural economy, are well deserving the notice of every liberal farmer.
The excellence of a meadow consists in its producing as much herbage as
possible, and that this herbage should be agreeable and nutritious to
the animals which are fed with its crop. Every plant of crowfoot
therefore ought, if practicable, to be extirpated, for, so far from
being grateful and nourishing to any kind of cattle, it is notorious,
that in its fresh state nothing will touch it. The same may be said of
the hemlock, kex, and other umbelliferous plants which are common in
most fields, and which have entirely overrun others; for these when
fresh are not only noxious to the animals that are fed upon hay, but
from their rank and straggling manner of growth occupy a very large
proportion of the ground. Many other plants that are commonly found in
meadows may upon the same principles be objected to; and though the
present generation of farmers has done much, yet still more remains for
their successors to perform.

The gardens now yield an agreeable though immature product in the young
gooseberries and currants, which are highly acceptable to our tables,
now almost exhausted of their store of preserved fruits.

Early in the month the latest species of the summer birds of passage
arrive, generally in the following order: fern-owl or goat-sucker,
fly-catcher, and sedge-bird.

This is also the principal time in which birds hatch and rear their
young. The assiduity and patience of the female during the task of
sitting are admirable, as well as the conjugal affection of the male,
who sings to his mate, and often supplies her place; and nothing can
exceed the parental tenderness of both when the young are brought to
light.

Several species of insects are this month added to those which have
already been enumerated; the chief of which are the great white cabbage
butterfly, capilio brassicæ; the may-chaffer, the favourite food of the
fern-owl; the horse-fly, or forest-fly, so great a plague to horses and
cattle; and several kinds of moths and butterflies.

Towards the end of May the bee-hives send forth their earlier swarms.
These colonies consist of the young progeny, and some old ones, now
grown too numerous to remain in their present habitation, and
sufficiently strong and vigorous to provide for themselves. One queen
bee is necessary to form each colony, and wherever she flies they
follow. Nature directs them to march in a body in quest of a new
settlement, which, if left to their choice, would generally be some
hollow trunk of a tree. But man, who converts the labours and instincts
of so many animals to his own use, provides them with a dwelling, and
repays himself with their honey. The early swarms are generally the most
valuable, as they have time enough to lay in a plentiful store of honey
for their subsistence through the winter.

About the same time the glow-worm shines. Of this species of insect the
females are without wings and luminous, the males are furnished with
wings, but are not luminous; it is probable, therefore, that this light
may serve to direct the male to the haunts of the female, as Hero of
Sestos is said to have displayed a torch from the top of a high tower to
guide her venturous lover Leander in his dangerous passage across the
Hellespont:--

    You (i.e. the Sylphs)
    Warm on her mossy couch the radiant worm,
    Guard from cold dews her love-illumined form,
    From leaf to leaf conduct the virgin light,
    Star of the earth, and diamond of the night.

  _Darwin._

These little animals are found to extinguish their lamps between eleven
and twelve at night.

Old May-day is the usual time for turning out cattle into the pastures,
though frequently then very bare of grass. The milk soon becomes more
copious, and of finer quality, from the juices of the young grass; and
it is in this month that the making of cheese is usually begun in the
dairies. Cheshire, Wiltshire, and the low parts of Gloucestershire, are
the tracts in England most celebrated for the best cheese.

Many trees and shrubs flower in May, such as the oak, beech, maple,
sycamore, barberry, laburnum, horse-chestnut, lilac, mountain ash, and
Guelder rose; of the more humble plants the most remarkable are the lily
of the valley, and woodroof in woods, the male orchis in meadows, and
the lychnis, or cuckoo flower, on hedge-banks.

This month is not a very busy season for the farmer. Some sowing remains
to be done in late years; and in forward ones, the weeds, which spring
up abundantly in fields and gardens, require to be kept under. The
husbandman now looks forward with anxious hope to the reward of his
industry:--

    Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious man
    Has done his part. Ye fost’ring breezes, blow!
    Ye soft’ning dews, ye tender show’rs descend;
    And temper all, thou world-receiving sun,
    Into the perfect year!

  _Thomson._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  The Horse-chestnut. _Æschylus Hippocastanum._
  Dedicated to _St. Barnardine_ of Sienna.


~May 21.~

  Holiday at the Public Offices.

  _St. Felix_ of Cantalicio, A. D. 1587. _St. Godrick_, Hermit, A. D.
  1170. _St. Hospitius_, A. D. 681.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Ragged Robin. _Lychnis flos cuculi._
  Dedicated to _St. Felix_.


~May 22.~

  _St. Yvo_, A. D. 1303. _St. Basiliscus_, Bp. A. D. 312. _Sts. Castus_
  and _Æmilius_, A. D. 250. _St. Bobo_, A. D. 985. _St. Conall_, Abbot.

      When first the soul of Love is sent abroad,
    Warm through the vital air, and on the heart
    Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin,
    In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing,
    And try again the long-forgotten strain,
    At first faint warbled. But no sooner grows
    The soft infusion prevalent and wide,
    Than all alive at once their joy o’erflows
    In music unconfined. Up springs the Lark,
    Shrill voiced and loud, the messenger of morn;
    Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings
    Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunt
    Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse
    Deep tangled, tree irregular, and bush
    Bending with dewy moisture o’er the heads
    Of the coy quoristers that lodge within,
    Are prodigal of harmony. The Thrush
    And Woodlark, o’er the kind contending throng
    Superior heard, run through the sweetest length
    Of notes, when listening Philomela deigns
    To let them joy, and purposes, in thought
    Elate, to make her night excel their day.
    The Blackbird whistles from the thorny brake,
    The mellow Bullfinch answers from the grove.
    Nor are the Linnets, o’er the flowering furze
    Pour’d out profusely, silent. Joined to these
    Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade
    Of newsprung leaves, their modulations mix,
    Mellifluous. The Jay, the Rook, the Daw,
    And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone,
    Aid the full concert, while the Stockdove breathes
    A melancholy murmur through the whole.
    Around our heads the whitewinged Plover wheels
    Her sounding flight, and then directly on,
    In long excursion, skims the level lawns,
    To tempt him from her nest. The Wild Duck hence:
    O’er the rough moss and o’er the trackless waste
    The Heath Hen flutters, pious fraud, to lead
    The hot pursuing Spaniel far astray!

  _Thomson._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Star of Bethlehem. _Tragopogon pratensis._
  Dedicated to _St. Yvo_.


~May 23.~

  _St. Julia_, 5th Cent. _St. Desiderius_, Bp. of Langres, 7th Cent.
  _St. Desiderius_, Bp. of Vienne, A. D. 612.


~Whitsuntide.~

Mr. Fosbroke remarks that this feast was celebrated in Spain with
representations of the gift of the Holy Ghost, and of thunder from
engines, which did much damage. Wafers, or cakes, preceded by water,
oak-leaves, or burning torches, were thrown down from the church roof;
small birds, with cakes tied to their legs, and pigeons were let loose;
sometimes there were tame white ones tied with strings, or one of wood
suspended. A long censer was also swung up and down. In an old Computus,
anno 1509, of St. Patrick’s, Dublin, we have iv^{s}. vii^{d}. paid to
those playing with the great and little angel and the dragon; iii^{s}.
paid for little cords employed about the Holy Ghost; iv^{s}. vi^{d}. for
making the angel (_thurificantis_) censing, and ii^{s}. ii^{d}. for
cords of it--all on the feast of Pentecost. On the day before
Whitsuntide, in some places, men and boys rolled themselves, after
drinking, &c. in the mud in the streets. The Irish kept the feast with
milk food, as among the Hebrews; and a breakfast composed of cake,
bread, and a liquor made by hot water poured on wheaten bran. The
_Whitson Ales_ were derived from the _Agapai_, or love-feasts of the
early Christians, and were so denominated from the churchwardens buying,
and laying in from presents also, a large quantity of malt, which they
brewed into beer, and sold out in the church or elsewhere. The profits,
as well as those from sundry games, there being no poor rates, were
given to the poor, for whom this was one mode of provision, according to
the christian rule that all festivities should be rendered innocent by
alms. Aubrey thus describes a Whitson Ale. “In every parish was a
church-house, to which belonged spits, crocks, and other utensils for
dressing provisions. Here the housekeepers met. The young people were
there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c. the ancients
sitting gravely by, and looking on.” It seems too that a tree was
erected by the church door, where a banner was placed, and maidens stood
gathering contributions. An arbour, called Robin Hood’s Bower, was also
put up in the church-yard. The modern Whitson Ale consists of a lord and
lady of the ale, a steward, sword-bearer, purse-bearer, mace-bearer,
train-bearer, or page, fool, and pipe and tabor man, with a company of
young men and women, who dance in a barn.

ODE, WRITTEN ON WHIT-MONDAY

    Hark! how the merry bells ring jocund round,
    And now they die upon the veering breeze;
          Anon they thunder loud
          Full on the musing ear.

    Wafted in varying cadence, by the shore
    Of the still twinkling river, they bespeak
          A day of jubilee,
          An ancient holiday.

    And, lo! the rural revels are begun,
    And gaily echoing to the laughing sky,
          On the smooth-shaven green
          Resounds the voice of Mirth--

    Alas! regardless of the tongue of Fate,
    That tells them ’tis but as an hour since they,
          Who now are in their graves,
          Kept up the Whitsun dance;

    And that another hour, and they must fall
    Like those who went before, and sleep as still
          Beneath the silent sod,
          A cold and cheerless sleep.

    Yet why should thoughts like these intrude to scare
    The vagrant Happiness, when she will deign
          To smile upon us here,
          A transient visitor?

    Mortals! be gladsome while ye have the power,
    And laugh and seize the glittering lapse of joy;
          In time the bell will toll
          That warns ye to your graves.

    I to the woodland solitude will bend
    My lonesome way--where Mirth’s obstreperous shout
          Shall not intrude to break
          The meditative hour;

    There will I ponder on the state of man,
    Joyless and sad of heart, and consecrate
          This day of jubilee
          To sad Reflection’s shrine;

    And I will cast my fond eye far beyond
    This world of care, to where the steeple loud
          Shall rock above the sod,
          Where I shall sleep in peace.

  _H. K. White._


_Whitsuntide at Greenwich._

I have had another holiday--a Whitsuntide holiday at Greenwich: it is
true that I did not take a run down the hill, but I saw many do it who
appeared to me happier and healthier for the exercise, and the fragrant
breezes from the fine May trees of the park.

I began Whit-Monday by breakfasting on Blackheath hill. It was my good
fortune to gain a sight of the beautiful grounds belonging to the
noblest mansion on the heath, the residence of the princess Sophia of
Gloucester. It is not a “show house,” nor is her royal highness a woman
of show. “She is a noble lady,” said a worthy inhabitant of the
neighbourhood, “she is always doing as much good as she can, and more,
perhaps, than she ought; her heart is larger than her purse.” I found
myself in this retreat I scarcely know how, and imagined that a place
like this might make good dispositions better, and intelligent minds
wiser. Some of its scenes seemed, to my imagination, lovely as were the
spots in “the blissful seats of Eden.” Delightful green swards with
majestic trees lead on to private walks; and gladdening shrubberies
terminate in broad borders of fine flowers, or in sloping paths, whereon
fairies might dance in silence by the sleeping moonlight, or to the
chant of nightingales that come hither, to an amphitheatre of copses
surrounding a “rose mount,” as to their proper choir, and pour their
melody, unheard by earthly beings,

    ------------- save by the ear
    Of her alone who wanders here, or sits
    Intrelissed and enchanted as the Fair
    Fabled by him of yore in Comus’ song,
    Or rather like a saint in a fair shrine
    Carved by Cellini’s hand.

It may not be good taste, in declaring the truth, to state “the whole
truth,” but it is a fact, that I descended from the heights of royalty
to “Sot’s hole.” There, for “corporal refection,” and from desire to see
a place which derives its name from the great lord Chesterfield, I took
a biscuit and a glass of ginger-beer. His lordship resided in the
mansion I had just left, and his servants were accustomed to “use” this
alehouse too frequently. On one occasion he said to his butler, “Fetch
the fellows from that sot’s hole:” from that time, though the house has
another name and sign, it is better known by the name or sign of “Sot’s
hole.” Ascending the rise to the nearest park-gate, I soon got to the
observatory in the park. It was barely noon. The holiday folks had not
yet arrived; the old pensioners, who ply there to ferry the eye up and
down and across the river with their telescopes, were ready with their
craft. Yielding to the importunity of one, to be freed from the
invitations of the rest, I took my stand, and in less than ten minutes
was conveyed to Barking church, Epping Forest, the men in chains, the
London Docks, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and Westminster Abbey. From the seat
around the tree I watched the early comers; as each party arrived the
pensioners hailed them with good success. In every instance, save one,
the sight first demanded was the “men in chains:” these are the bodies
of pirates, suspended on gibbets by the river side, to warn sailors
against crimes on the high seas. An able-bodied sailor, with a new hat
on his Saracen-looking head, carrying a handkerchief full of apples in
his left hand, with a bottle neck sticking out of the neck of his jacket
for a nosegay, dragged his female companion up the hill with all the
might of his right arm and shoulder; and the moment he was at the top,
assented to the proposal of a telescope-keeper for his “good lady” to
have a view of the “men in chains.” She wanted to “see something else
first.” “Don’t be a fool,” said Jack, “see _them_ first; it’s the best
sight.” No; not she: all Jack’s arguments were unavailing. “Well! what
is it you’d like better, you fool you?” “Why I wants to see our house in
the court, with the flower-pots, and if I don’t see that, I won’t see
nothing--what’s the men in chains to _that_? Give us an apple.” She took
one out of the bundle, and beginning to eat it, gave instructions for
the direction of the instrument towards Limehouse church, while Jack
drew forth the bottle and refreshed himself. Long she looked, and
squabbled, and almost gave up the hope of finding “our house;” but on a
sudden she screamed out, “Here Jack! here it is, pots and all! and
there’s our bed-post; I left the window up o’ purpose as I might see
it!” Jack himself took an observation. “D’ye see it, Jack?” “Yes.” “D’ye
see the pots?” “Yes.” “And the bed-post?” “Ay; and here Sal, here,
here’s the cat looking out o’ the window.” “Come away, let’s look
again;” and then she looked, and squalled “Lord! what a sweet place it
is!” and then she assented to seeing the “men in chains,” giving Jack
the first look, and they looked “all down the river,” and saw “Tom’s
ship,” and wished Tom was with them. The breakings forth of nature and
kind-heartedness, and especially the love of “home, sweet home,” in
Jack’s “good lady,” drew forth Jack’s delight, and he kissed her till
the apples rolled out of the bundle, and then he pulled her down the
hill. From the moment they came up they looked at nobody, nor saw any
thing but themselves, and what they paid for looking at through the
telescope. They were themselves a sight: and though the woman was far
from

                             whatever fair
    High fancy forms or lavish hearts could wish,

yet she was all that to Jack; and all that she seemed to love or care
for, were “our house,” and the “flower-pots,” and the “bed-post,” and
“Jack.”

At the entrances in all the streets of Greenwich, notices from the
magistrates were posted, that they were determined to put down the fair;
and accordingly not a show was to be seen in the place wherein the fair
had of late been held. Booths were fitting up for dancing and
refreshment at night, but neither Richardson’s, nor any other itinerant
company of performers, was there. There were gingerbread stalls, but no
learned pig, no dwarf, no giant, no fire-eater, no exhibition of any
kind. There was a large round-about of wooden horses for boys, and a few
swings, none of them half filled. The landlord of “the Struggler” could
not struggle his stand into notice. In vain he chalked up “Hagger’s
entire, two-pence a bottle:” this was ginger-beer; if it was not brisker
than the demand for it, it was made “poor indeed;” he had little aid,
but unsold “Lemmun aid, one penny a glass.” Yet the public-houses in
Greenwich were filling fast, and the fiddles squeaked from several
first-floor windows. It was now nearly two o’clock, and the
stage-coaches from London, thoroughly filled inside and out, drove
rapidly in: these, and the flocking down of foot passengers, gave sign
of great visitation. One object I cannot pass by, for it forcibly
contrasted in me mind with the joyous disposition of the day. It was a
poor blackbird in a cage, from the first-floor window of a house in
Melville-place. The cage was high and square; its bars were of a dark
brown bamboo; the top and bottom were of the same dolorous colour;
between the bars were strong iron wires; the bird himself sat dull and
mute; I passed the house several times; not a single note did he give
forth. A few hours before I had heard his fellows in the thickets
whistling in full throat; and here was he, in endless thrall, without a
bit of green to cheer him, or even the decent jailery of a light wicker
cage. I looked at him, and thought of the Lollards at Lambeth, of Thomas
Delaune in Newgate, of Prynne in the Gatehouse, and Laud in the
Tower:--all these were offenders; yet wherein had this poor bird
offended that he should be like them, and be forced to keep Whitsuntide
in prison? I wished him a holiday, and would have given him one to the
end of his life, had I known how.

After dining and taking tea at the “Yorkshire Grey,” I returned to the
park, through the Greenwich gate, near the hospital. The scene here was
very lively. Great numbers were seated on the grass, some refreshing
themselves, others were lookers at the large company of walkers.
Surrounded by a goodly number was a man who stood to exhibit the wonders
of a single-folded sheet of writing paper to the sight of all except
himself; he was blind. By a motion of his hand he changed it into
various forms. “Here,” said he, “is a garden-chair for your seat--this
is a flight of stairs to your chamber--here is a flower-stand for your
mantle-piece;” and so he went on; presenting, in rapid succession, the
well-shaped representation of more than thirty forms of different
utensils or conveniences: at the conclusion, he was well rewarded for
his ingenuity. Further on was a larger group; from the centre whereof
came forth sounds unlike those heard by him who wrote--

    “Orpheus play’d so well, he moved old Nick,
     But thou mov’st nothing but thy fiddlestick.”

This player so “imitated Orpheus,” that he moved the very bowels,
uneasiness seemed to seize on all who heard his discords. He was seated
on the grass, in the garb of a sailor. At his right hand lay a square
board, whereon was painted “a tale of woe,” in letters that disdained
the printer’s art; at the top, a little box, with a glass cover,
discovered that it was “plus” of what himself was “minus;” its
inscription described its contents--“These bones was taken out of my
leg.” I could not withstand his claim to support. He was effecting the
destruction of “Sweet Poll of Plymouth,” for which I gave him a trifle
more than his “fair” audience usually bestowed, perhaps. He instantly
begged I would name my “favourite;” I desired to be acquainted with his;
he said he could not “deny nothing to so noble a benefactor,” and he
immediately began to murder “Black-eyed Susan.” If the man at the wall
of the Fishmongers’ almshouses were dead, he would be the worst player
in England.

There were several parties playing at “Kiss in the ring,” an innocent
merriment in the country; here it was certainly not merriment. On the
hill the runners were abundant, and the far greater number were, in
appearance and manners, devoid of that vulgarity and grossness from
whence it might be inferred that the sport was any way improper; nor did
I observe, during a stay of several hours, the least indication of its
being otherwise than a cheerful amusement. One of the prettiest sights
was a game at “Thread my needle,” played by about a dozen lasses, with a
grace and glee that reminded me of Angelica’s nymphs. I indulged a hope
that the hilarity of rural pastimes might yet be preserved. There was no
drinking in the park. It lost its visitants fast while the sun was
going down. Many were arrested in their progress to the gate by the
sight of the boys belonging to the college, who were at their evening
play within their own grounds, and who, before they retired for the
night, sung “God save the King,” and “Rule Britannia,” in full chorus,
with fine effect.

The fair, or at least such part of it as was suffered to be continued,
was held in the open space on the right hand of the street leading from
Greenwich to the Creek bridge. “The Crown and Anchor” booth was the
great attraction, as indeed well it might. It was a tent, three hundred
and twenty-three feet long, and sixty feet wide. Seventy feet of this,
at the entrance, was occupied by seats for persons who chose to take
refreshment, and by a large space from whence the viands were delivered.
The remaining two hundred and fifty feet formed the “Assembly room,”
wherein were boarded floors for four rows of dancers throughout this
extensive length; on each side were seats and tables. The price of
admission to the assembly was one shilling. The check ticket was a card,
whereon was printed,

      VAUXHALL.
  CROWN AND ANCHOR,
    WHIT MONDAY.

This room was thoroughly lighted up by depending branches from the roofs
handsomely formed; and by stars and festoons, and the letters G. R. and
other devices, bearing illumination lamps. It was more completely filled
with dancers and spectators, than were convenient to either. Neither the
company nor the scene can be well described. The orchestra, elevated
across the middle of the tent, consisting of two harps, three violins,
a bass viol, two clarionets, and a flute, played airs from “Der
Freischütz,” and other popular tunes. Save the crowd, there was no
confusion; save in the quality of the dancers and dancing, there was no
observable difference between this and other large assemblies; except,
indeed, that there was no master of the ceremonies, nor any difficulty
in obtaining or declining partners. It was neither a dancing school, nor
a school of morals; but the moralist might draw conclusions which would
here, and at this time, be out of place. There were at least 2,000
persons in this booth at one time. In the fair were about twenty other
dancing booths; yet none of them comparable in extent to the “Crown and
Anchor.” In one only was a price demanded for admission; the tickets to
the “Albion Assembly” were sixpence. Most of these booths had names; for
instance, “The Royal Standard;” “The Lads of the Village,” “The Black
Boy and Cat Tavern,” “The Moon-rakers,” &c. At eleven o’clock, stages
from Greenwich to London were in full request. One of them obtained
4_s._ each for inside, and 2_s._ 6_d._ for outside passengers; the
average price was 3_s._ inside, and 2_s._ outside; and though the
footpaths were crowded with passengers, yet all the inns in Greenwich
and on the road were thoroughly filled. Certainly, the greater part of
the visitors were mere spectators of the scene.

  *


NIGHT

The late Henry Kirke White, in a fragment of a poem on “Time,”
beautifully imagines the slumbers of the sorrowful. Reader, bear with
its melancholy tone. A summer’s day is not less lovely for a passing
cloud.

                                Behold the world
    Rests, and her tired inhabitants have paused
    From trouble and turmoil. The widow now
    Has ceased to weep, and her twin-orphans lie
    Lock’d in each arm, partakers of her rest.
    The man of sorrow has forgot his woes;
    The outcast that his head is shelterless,
    His griefs unshared. The mother tends no more
    Her daughter’s dying slumbers, but surprised
    With heaviness, and sunk upon her couch,
    Dreams of her bridals. Even the hectic lull’d
    On Death’s lean arm to rest, in visions wrapt,
    Crowning with Hope’s bland wreath his shuddering nurse,
    Poor victim! smiles.--Silence and deep repose
    Reign o’er the nations; and the warning voice
    Of Nature utters audibly within
    The general moral;--tells us that repose,
    Deathlike as this, but of far longer span,
    Is coming on us--that the weary crowds,
    Who now enjoy a temporary calm,
    Shall soon taste lasting quiet, wrapt around
    With grave-clothes; and their aching restless heads
    Mouldering in holes and corners unobserved
    Till the last trump shall break their sullen sleep.


[Illustration: ~The Sluice-house.~]

    Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch
    Leviathans that swim within the stream
    Of this fam’d _River_, now no longer _New_,
    Yet still so call’d, come hither to the Sluice-house.
    Here, largest gudgeons live, and fattest roach
    Resort, and even barbel have been found.
    Here too doth sometimes prey the rav’ning shark
    Of streams like this, that is to say, a jack.
    If fortune aid ye, ye perchance shall find
    Upon an average within one day,
    At least a fish, or two; if ye do not,
    This will I promise ye, that ye shall have
    Most glorious nibbles: come then, haste ye here,
    And with ye bring large stock of baits and patience.

From Canonbury tower onward by the New River, is a pleasant summer
afternoon’s walk. Highbury barn, or, as it is now called, Highbury
tavern, is the first place of note beyond Canonbury. It was anciently a
barn belonging to the ecclesiastics of Clerkenwell; though it is at
present only known to the inhabitants of that suburb, by its capacity
for filling them with good things in return for the money they spend
there. The “barn” itself is the assembly-room, whereon the old roof
still remains. This house has stood in the way of all passengers to the
Sluice-house, and turned many from their firm-set purpose of fishing in
the waters near it. Every man who carries a rod and line is not an Isaac
Walton, whom neither blandishment nor obstacle could swerve from his
mighty end, when he went forth to kill fish.

    He was the great progenitor of all
      That war upon the tenants of the stream,
    He neither stumbled, stopt, nor had a fall
      When he essay’d to war on dace, bleak, bream,
    Stone-loach or pike, or other fish, I deem.

The Sluice-house is a small wooden building, distant about half a mile
beyond Highbury, just before the river angles off towards Newington.
With London anglers it has always been a house of celebrity, because it
is the nearest spot wherein they have hope of tolerable sport. Within it
is now placed a machine for forcing water into the pipes that supply the
inhabitants of Holloway, and other parts adjacent. Just beyond is the
Eel-pie house, which many who angle thereabouts mistake for the
Sluice-house. To instruct the uninformed, and to gratify the eye of some
who remember the spot they frequented in their youth, the preceding
view, taken in May 1825, has been engraved. If the artist had been also
a portrait painter, it would have been well to have secured a sketch of
the present keeper of the Sluice-house; his manly mien, and mild
expressive face, are worthy of the pencil: if there be truth in
physiognomy, he is an honest, good-hearted man. His dame, who tenders
Barcelona nuts and oranges at the Sluice-house door for sale, with
fishing-lines from two-pence to six-pence, and rods at a penny each, is
somewhat stricken in years, and wholly innocent of the metropolis and
its manners. She seems of the times--

    “When our fathers pluck’d the blackberry
    And sipp’d the silver tide.”

       *       *       *       *       *

An etching of the eccentric individual, from whence the present
engraving is taken, was transmitted by a respectable “Cantab,” for
insertion in the _Every-Day Book_, with the few particulars ensuing:--

  James Gordon was once a respectable solicitor in Cambridge, till “love
  and liquor”

    “Robb’d him of that which once enriched him,
     And made him poor indeed!”

He is well known to many resident and non-resident sons of _alma mater_,
as a _déclamateur_, and for ready wit and repartee, which few can
equal. One or two instances may somewhat depict

[Illustration: ~Jemmy Gordon.~]

Gordon meeting a gentleman in the streets of Cambridge who had recently
received the honour of knighthood, Jemmy approached him, and looking him
full in the face, exclaimed,

    “The king, by merely laying sword on,
     Could make a knight of Jemmy Gordon.”

At a late assize at Cambridge, a man named Pilgrim was convicted of
horse-stealing, and sentenced to transportation. Gordon seeing the
prosecutor in the street, loudly vociferated to him, “You, sir, have
done what the pope of Rome cannot do; you have put a stop to _Pilgrim’s
Progress_!”

Gordon was met one day by a person of rather indifferent character, who
pitied Jemmy’s forlorn condition, (he being without shoes and
stockings,) and said, “Gordon, if you will call at my house, I will give
you a pair of shoes.” Jemmy, assuming a contemptuous air, replied, “No,
sir! excuse me, I would not stand in your shoes for all the world!”

Some months ago, Jemmy had the misfortune to fall from a hay-loft,
wherein he had retired for the night, and broke his thigh; since then he
has _reposed_ in a workhouse. No man’s life is more calculated

    “To adorn a moral, and to point a tale.”

  N.

These brief memoranda suffice to memorialize a peculiar individual.
James Gordon at one time possessed “fame, wealth, and honours:” now--his
“fame” is a hapless notoriety; all the “wealth” that remains to him is a
form that might have been less careworn had he been less careless; his
honour is “air--thin air,” “his gibes, his jests, his flashes of
merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar,” no longer enliven
the plenteous banquet:--

    “Deserted in his utmost need
     By men his former bounty fed,”

the bitter morsel for his life’s support is parish dole. “The gayest of
the gay” is forgotten in his age--in the darkness of life; when
reflection on what _was_, cannot better what _is_. Brilliant circles of
acquaintance sparkle with frivolity, but friendship has no place within
them. The prudence of sensuality is selfishness.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Cambridge communication concerning James Gordon is accompanied by an
amusing list of names derived from “men and things.”

_Personages and their Callings at Cambridge in 1825._

  A King     is      a brewer
  A Bishop           a tailor
  A Baron            a horse-dealer
  A Knight           a turf-dealer
  A Proctor          a tailor
  A Marshall         a cheesemonger
  An Earl            a laundress
  A Butler           a picture-frame maker
  A Page             a bookbinder

  A Pope             an old woman
  An Abbott          a bonnet-maker
  A Monk             a waterman
  A Nun              a horse-dealer
  A Moor             a poulterer
  A Savage           a carpenter
  A Scott            an Englishman
  A Rose             a fishmonger
  A Lilly            a brewer

  A Crab             a butcher
  A Salmon           a linendraper
  A Leech            a fruiterer
  A Pike             a milkman
  A Sole             a shoemaker

  A Wood             a grocer
  A Field            a confectioner
  A Tunnell          a baker
  A Marsh            a carrier
  A Brook            a turf-dealer
  A Greenwood        a baker

  A Lee              an innkeeper
  A Bush             a carpenter
  A Grove            a shoemaker
  A Lane             a carpenter
  A Green            a builder
  A Hill             a butcher
  A Haycock          a publican
  A Barne            a grocer
  A Shed             a butler
  A Hutt             a shoeblack
  A Hovel            a draper

  A Hatt             a bookseller
  A Capp             a gardener
  A Spencer          a butcher

  A Bullock          a baker
  A Fox              a brazier
  A Lamb             a sadler
  A Lion             a grocer
  A Mole             a town-crier
  A Roe              an engraver
  A Buck             a college gyp.
  A Hogg             a gentleman

  A Bond             a grocer
  A Binder           a fruiterer

  A Cock             a shoemaker
  A Hawk             a paperhanger
  A Drake            a dissenting minister
  A Swan             a shoemaker
  A Bird             an innkeeper
  A Peacock          a lawyer
  A Rook             a tailor
  A Wren             a bricklayer’s labourer
  A Falcon           a gentleman
  A Crow             a builder

  A Pearl            a cook
  A Stone            a glazier
  A Cross            a boatwright

  A Barefoot         an innkeeper
  A Leg              a mantua-maker

  White              a shoemaker
  Green              a carpenter
  Brown              a fishmonger
  Grey               a painter
  Pink               a publican

  Tall               a printer
  Short              a tailor
  Long               a shopkeeper
  Christmas          an ironmonger
  Summer             a carpenter
  Sad                a barber
  Grief              a glazier
  Peace              a carpenter
  Bacon              a tobacconist.

  A Hard-man
  A Wise-man
  A Good-man
  A Black-man
  A Chap-man
  A Free-man
  A New-man
  A Bow-man
  A Spear-man
  A Hill-man
  A Wood-man
  A Pack-man
  A Pit-man
  A Red-man
  A True-man.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lilac. _Syringa vulgaris._
  Dedicated to _St. Julia_.


~May 24.~

  _St. Vincent_ of Lerins, A. D. 450. _Sts. Donatian_ and _Rogatian_, A.
  D. 287. _St. John de Prado._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Monkey Poppy. _Papaver Orientale._
  Dedicated to _St. Vincent_.


~May 25.~

  _St. Mary Magdalen_ of Pazzi, A. D. 1607. _St. Urban_, Pope, A. D.
  223. _St. Adhelm_, or _Aldhelm_. _St. Gregory_ VII., Pope, A. D. 1085.
  _Sts. Maximus_, or _Mauxe_, and _Venerand_, Martyrs in Normandy, 6th
  Cent. _St. Dumhade_, Abbot, A. D. 717.


_St. Aldhelm._

He founded the abbey of Malmesbury, and was the first Englishman who
cultivated Latin and English or Saxon poesy. Among his other
mortifications, he was accustomed to recite the psalter at night,
plunged up to the shoulders in a pond of water. He was the first bishop
of Sherborne, a see which was afterwards removed to Salisbury, and died
in 709.[148]

He turned a sunbeam into a clothes-peg; at least, so say his
biographers: this was at Rome. Saying mass there in the church of St.
John de Lateran, he put off his vestment; the servant neglecting to take
it, he hung it on a sunbeam, whereon it remained, “to the wonderful
admiration of the beholders.”[149]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Avens. _Geum Urbanum._
  Dedicated to _St. Urban_.

  [148] Butler.

  [149] Porter, Golden Legend.


~May 26.~

  _St. Philip Neri_, A. D. 1595. _St. Augustine_, Abp. of Canterbury, A.
  D. 604. _St. Eleutherius_, Pope, A. D. 192. _St. Quadratus_, Bp. A. D.
  125. _St. Oduvald_, Abbot, A. D. 698.


_St. Philip Neri._

He was born at Florence in 1515, became recluse when a child, dedicated
himself to poverty, and became miraculously fervent. “The divine love,”
says Alban Butler, “so much dilated the breast of our saint, that the
gristle which joined the fourth and fifth ribs on the left side was
broken, which accident allowed the heart and the larger vessels more
play; in which condition he lived fifty years.” According to the same
authority, his body was sometimes raised from the ground during his
devotions some yards high. Butler relates the same of St. Dunstan, St.
Edmund, and many other saints, and says that “Calmet, an author still
living, assures us that he knows a religious man who, in devout prayer,
is sometimes involuntarily raised in the air, and remains hanging in it
without any support; also that he is personally acquainted with a devout
nun to whom the same had often happened.” Butler thinks it probable that
they themselves would not determine whether they were raised by angels,
or by what other supernatural operation. He says, that Neri could detect
hidden sins by the smell of the sinners. He died in 1595: the body of
such a saint of course worked miracles.

St. Philip Neri founded the congregation or religious order of the
Oratory, in 1551. The rules of this religious order savour of no small
severity. By the “Institutions of the Oratory,” (printed at Oxford,
1687, 8vo. pp. 49.) they are required to mix corporal punishments with
their religious harmony:--“From the first of November to the feast of
the resurrection, their contemplation of celestial things shall be
heightened by a concert of music; and it is also enjoined, that at
certain seasons of frequent occurrence, they all whip themselves in the
Oratory. After half an hour’s mental prayer, the officers distribute
whips made of small cords full of knots, put forth the children, if
there be any, and carefully shutting the doors and windows, extinguish
the other lights, except only a small candle so placed in a dark
lanthorn upon the altar, that the crucifix may appear clear and visible,
but not reflecting any light, thus making all the room dark: then the
priest, in a loud and doleful voice, pronounceth the verse _Jube Domine
benedicere_, and going through an appointed service, comes _Apprehendite
disciplinam_, &c.; at which words, taking their whips, they scourge
their naked bodies during the recital of the 50th Psalm, _Miserere_, and
the 129th, _De profundis_, with several prayers; at the conclusion of
which, upon a sign given, they end their whipping, and put on their
clothes in the dark and in silence.”


_Oratorios._

The _Oratorio_ commenced with the fathers of the _Oratory_. In order to
draw youth to church, they had hymns, psalms, and spiritual songs, or
cantatas, sung either in chorus or by a single favourite voice. These
pieces were divided into two parts, the one performed before the sermon,
and the other after it. Sacred stories, or events from scripture,
written in verse, and by way of dialogue, were set to music, and the
first part being performed, the sermon succeeded, which the people were
induced to stay and hear, that they might be present at the performance
of the second part. The subjects in early times were the good Samaritan,
the Prodigal Son, Tobit with the angel, his father, and his wife, and
similar histories, which by the excellence of the composition, the band
of instruments, and the performance, brought the _Oratory_ into great
repute; hence this species of musical drama obtained the general
appellation of _Oratorio_.


_St. Augustine._

This was the monk sent to England by St. Gregory the Great, to convert
the English; by favour of Ethelbert, he became archbishop of Canterbury.
Christianity, however, had long preceded Augustine’s arrival, for the
queen of Ethelbert, previous to his coming, was accustomed to pay her
devotions in the church of St. Martin just without Canterbury. This most
ancient edifice still exists. Not noticing more at present concerning
his historical character, it is to be observed that, according to his
biographers, he worked many miracles, whereof may be observed this:--

St. Augustine came to a certain town, inhabited by wicked people, who
“refused hys doctryne and prechyng uterly, and drof hym out of the
towne, castyng on hym the tayles of thornback, or lyke fysshes;
wherefore he besought Almyghty God to shewe hys jugement on them; and
God sent to them a shamefull token; for the chyldren that were born
after in the place, had tayles, as it is sayd, tyll they had repented
them. It is said comynly that this fyll at Strode in Kente; but blyssed
be Gode, at thys daye is no such deformyte.”[150] It is said, however,
that they were the natives of a village in Dorsetshire who were thus
tail-pieced.[151]

Another notable miracle is thus related. When St. Augustine came to
Compton, in Oxfordshire, the curate complained, that though he had often
warned the lord of the place to pay his tythes, yet they were withheld,
“and therefore I,” said the curate, “have cursed hym, and I fynde him
the more obstynate.” Then St. Augustine demanded why he did not pay his
tythes to God and the church; whereto the knight answered, that as he
tilled the ground, he ought to have the tenth sheaf as well as the
ninth. Augustine, finding that he could not bend this lord to his
purpose, then departed and went to mass; but before he began, he charged
all those that were accursed to go out of the church. Then a dead body
arose, and went out of the church into the churchyard with a white cloth
on his head, and stood there till mass was done; whereupon St. Augustine
went to him, and demanded what he was; and the dead body said, “I was
formerly lord of this town, and because I would not pay my tithes to my
curate, he cursed me, and then I died and went to hell.” Then Augustine
bade the dead lord bring him to where the curate was buried, which
accordingly he did, and Augustine commanded the dead curate to arise,
who thereupon accordingly arose and stood before all the people. Then
Augustine demanded of the dead curate if he knew the dead lord, who
answered, “Would to God I had never known him, for he was a withholder
of his tythes, and, more over, an evil-doer.” Then Augustine delivered
to the said curate a rod, and then the dead lord kneeling, received
penance thereby; which done, Augustine commanded the dead lord to go
again to his grave, there to abide until the day of judgment; and
forthwith the said lord entered his grave, and fell to ashes. Then
Augustine asked the curate, how long he had been dead; and he said, a
hundred and fifty years. And Augustine offered to pray for him, that he
might remain on earth to confirm men in their belief; but the curate
refused, because he was in the place of rest. Then said Augustine, “Go
in peace, and pray for me and for holy church;” and immediately the
curate returned to his grave. At this sight, the lord who had not paid
the curate his tythes was sore afraid, and came quaking to St.
Augustine, and to his curate, and prayed forgiveness of his trespass,
and promised ever after to pay his tythes.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 26th of May, 1555, was a gay May-game at St.
Martin’s-in-the-fields, with _giants_ and hobby-horses, drums and guns,
morrice-dances, and other minstrels.[152]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Rhododendron. _Rhododendrum Ponticum._
  Dedicated to _St. Augustine_.
  Yellow Azalea. _Azalea pontica._
  Dedicated to _St. Philip Neri_.

  [150] Golden Legend.

  [151] Porter’s Flowers.

  [152] Strype’s Memorials.


~May 27.~

  _St. John_, Pope, A. D. 526. _St. Bede_, A. D. 735. _St. Julius_,
  about A. D. 302.


_St. John_, Pope.

This pontiff was imprisoned by Theodoric, king of the Goths, in Italy,
and died in confinement. This sovereign had previously put to death the
philosopher Boëtius, who, according to Ribadeneira, after he was
beheaded, was scoffingly asked by one of the executioners, “who hath put
thee to death?” whereupon Boëtius answered, “wicked men,” and
immediately taking up his head in his own hands, walked away with it to
the adjoining church.


_St. Bede._

The life of “Venerable Bede” in Butler, is one of the best memoirs in
his biography of the saints. He was an Englishman, in priest’s orders.
It is said of him that he was a prodigy of learning in an unlearned age;
that he surpassed Gregory the Great in eloquence and copiousness of
style, and that Europe scarcely produced a greater scholar. He was a
teacher of youth, and, at one time had six hundred pupils, yet he
exercised his clerical functions with punctuality, and wrote an
incredible number of works in theology, science, and the polite arts. It
is true he fell into the prevailing credulity of the early age wherein
he flourished, but he enlightened it by his erudition, and improved it
by his unfeigned piety and unwearied zeal.

Not to ridicule so great a man, but as an instance of the desire to
attribute wonderful miracles to distinguished characters, the following
silly anecdote concerning Bede is extracted from the “Golden Legend.” He
was blind, and desiring to be led forth to preach, his servant carried
him to a heap of stones, to which, the good father, believing himself
preaching to a sensible congregation, delivered a noble discourse,
whereunto, when he had finished his sermon, the stones answered and said
“Amen!”

    Methinks that to some vacant hermitage
      My feet would rather turn--to some dry nook
      Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook
    Hurled down a mountain cove from stage to stage,
    Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage
      In the soft heaven of a translucent pool;
      Thence creeping under forest arches cool,
    Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage
      Perchance would throng my dreams. A beechen bowl,
    A Maple dish, my furniture should be;
      Crisp yellow leaves my bed; the hooting Owl
      My nightwatch: nor should e’er the crested fowl
    From thorp or vill his matins sound for me,
    Tired of the world and all its industry.
    But what if one, through grove or flowery mead,
      Indulging thus at will the creeping feet
      Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet
    The hovering shade of venerable Bede,
    The saint, the scholar, from a circle freed
      Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat
      Of learning, where he heard the billows beat
    On a wild coast--rough monitors to feed
      Perpetual industry--sublime recluse!
    The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt
    Imposed on human kind, must first forget
      Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use
    Of a long life, and, in the hour of death,
    The last dear service of thy passing breath!

  _Wordsworth._


THE SEASON.

Every thing of good or evil, incident to any period of the year, is to
be regarded seasonable; the present time of the year, therefore, must
not be quarrelled with, if it be not always agreeable to us. Many days
of this month, in 1825, have been most oppressive to the spirits, and
injurious to the mental faculties, of persons who are unhappily
susceptible of changes in the weather, and especially the winds. These
have been borne with some philosophy, by the individual now holding the
pen; but, alas! the effects are too apparent, he apprehends, to many who
have read what he has been scarcely able to throw together. He hopes
that these defaults will be placed to their proper account, and that
cloudless skies and genial breezes will enable him to do better.

MAY, 1825.

    All hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!
      How joyous thy steeds from the ocean have sprung!
    The clouds and the waves smile to see thee returning,
      And young zephyrs laugh as they gambol along.

    No more with the tempest the river is swelling,
      No angry clouds frown, and no sky darkly lowers;
    The bee winds his horn, and the gay news is telling,
      That spring is arrived with her sunshine and flowers.

    From her home in the grass see the white primrose peeping,
      While diamond dew-drops around her are spread,
    She smiles through her tears, like an infant, whose weeping
      To laughter is changed when its sorrows are fled.

    In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining,
      And nature with blossoms is wreathing the trees,
    The white and the green, in rich clusters entwining,
      Are sprinkling their sweets on the wings of each breeze.

    Then hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning!
      Triumphant ride on in thy chariot of light;
    The earth, with thy bounties her forehead adorning,
      Comes forth, like a bride, from the chamber of night.

  E. C.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Buttercups. _Ranunculus acris._
  Dedicated to _St. John_, Pope.
  Yellow Bachelor’s Buttons. _Ranunculus acris plenus._
  Dedicated to _St. Bede_.


~May 28.~

  _St. Germanus_, Bp. of Paris, A. D. 576. _St. Caraunus_, also
  _Caranus_ and _Caro_, (in French, _Cheron_.)


CHRONOLOGY.

1546. Cardinal Beaton was on this day assassinated in Scotland. He was
primate of that kingdom, over which he exercised almost sovereign sway.
Just before his death he got into his power George Wishart, a gentleman
by birth, who preached against Romish superstitions, and caused him to
be condemned to the stake for heresy. The cardinal refused the sacrament
to his victim, on the ground that it was not reasonable to allow a
spiritual benefit to an obstinate heretic, condemned by the church.
Wishart was tied to a tree in the castle-yard of St. Andrew’s, with bags
of gunpowder fastened about his body. The cardinal and prelates were
seated on rich cushions with tapestry hangings before them, from whence
they viewed the execution of their sentence. The gunpowder having
exploded without ending Wishart’s bodily sufferings, the inflexible
reformer exclaimed from the fire, “This flame hath scorched my body, yet
hath it not daunted my spirit: but he who from yonder high place
beholdeth me with such pride, shall within a few days lie in the same as
ignominiously as now he is seen proudly to rest himself.” After these
words, the cord that went about his neck was drawn by one of the
executioners to stop his breath, the fire was increased, his body was
consumed to ashes, and the cardinal caused proclamation to be made that
none should pray for the heretic under pain of the heaviest
ecclesiastical censures. If the church, said the priests, had found such
a protector in former times, she had maintained her authority; but the
cardinal’s cruelty struck the people with horror, and John Lesly,
brother to the earl of Rothes, with Normand Lesly, the earl of Rothes’
son, (who was disgusted on account of some private quarrel,) and other
persons of birth and quality, openly vowed to avenge Wishart’s death.
Early in the morning they entered the cardinal’s palace at St. Andrews,
which he had strongly fortified; though they were not above sixteen
persons, they thrust out a hundred tradesmen and fifty servants, whom
they seized separately, before any suspicion arose of their intentions;
and having shut the gates, they proceeded very deliberately to execute
their purpose on the cardinal. Beaton alarmed with the noise which he
heard in the castle, barricadoed the door of his chamber: but finding
that they had brought fire in order to force their way, and having
obtained, as is believed, a promise of life, he opened the door; and
reminding them that he was a priest, he conjured them to spare him. Two
of them rushed upon him with drawn swords, but a third, James Melvil,
stopped their career, and bade them reflect that this work was the work
and judgment of God, and ought to be executed with becoming deliberation
and gravity. Then turning the point of his sword towards Beaton, he
called to him, “Repent thee, thou wicked cardinal, of all thy sins and
iniquities, especially of the murder of Wishart, that instrument of God
for the conversion of these lands: it is his death which now cries
vengeance upon thee: we are sent by God to inflict the deserved
punishment. For here, before the Almighty, I protest, that it is neither
hatred of thy person, nor love of thy riches, nor fear of thy power,
which moves me to seek thy death: but only because thou hast been, and
still remainest, an obstinate enemy to Christ Jesus, and his holy
gospel.” Having spoken these words, without giving Beaton time to finish
that repentance to which he exhorted him, he thrust him through the
body, and the cardinal fell dead at his feet. Upon a rumour that the
castle was taken, a great tumult arose in the city; and several
partisans of the cardinal armed themselves with intent to scale the
walls. When they were told of his death, they desisted, and the people
insisting upon a sight of the cardinal’s body, his corpse was exposed to
their view from the very same place wherein he sat to behold the
execution of George Wishart.

The sanguinary spirit of these times has disappeared, and we look upon
what remains to us of the individuals who suffered, or acted under its
influence, as memorials of such crimes and criminals as we in a milder
age dare not imagine our country can be again afflicted with. The sight
of cardinal Beaton’s house in the Cowgate, at Edinburgh, may have
induced useful reflections on past intolerance, and increased charitable
dispositions in some whose persuasions widely differ. If this be so, a
representation of it in this sheet may not be less agreeable to the
moralist than to the lover of antiquities. The drawing from whence the
engraving on the next page is taken, was made on the spot in 1824.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lurid Fleur-de-lis. _Iris Lurida._
  Dedicated to _St. Germain_.

[Illustration: ~Cardinal Beaton’s house at Edinburgh.~]


~May 29.~

  _St. Maximinus_, Bp. of Friers, A. D. 349. _St. Cyril._ _St. Conon and
  his son_, of Iconia in Asia, about A. D. 275. _Sts. Sisinnius,
  Martyrius, and Alexander_, A. D. 397.


_Restoration Day._

This day is so called from its being the anniversary of the day whereon
king Charles II. entered London, in 1660, and re-established royalty,
which had been suspended from the death of his father. It is usual with
the vulgar people to wear oak-leaves in their hats on this day, and
dress their horses’ heads with them. This is in commemoration of the
shelter afforded to Charles by an oak while making his escape from
England, after his defeat at Worcester, by Cromwell. The battle was
fought on the 3d of September, 1651; Cromwell having utterly routed his
army, Charles left Worcester at six o’clock in the afternoon, and
without halting, travelled about twenty-six miles, in company with fifty
or sixty of his friends, from whom he separated, without communicating
his intentions to any of them, and went to Boscobel, a lone house in the
borders of Staffordshire, inhabited by one Penderell, a farmer, to whom
he intrusted himself. This man, assisted by his four brothers, clothed
the king in a garb like their own, led him into the neighbouring wood,
put a bill into his hand, and pretended to employ themselves in cutting
<DW19>s. Some nights he lay upon straw in the house, and fed on such
homely fare as it afforded. For better concealment, he mounted upon an
oak, where he sheltered himself among the leaves and branches for
twenty-four hours. He saw several soldiers pass by. All of them were
intent in search of the king; and some expressed, in his hearing, their
earnest wishes of seizing him. This tree was afterwards denominated the
_Royal Oak_; and for many years was regarded by the neighbourhood with
great veneration. Charles could neither stay, nor stir, without imminent
danger. At length he and lord Wilmot, who was concealed in the
neighbourhood, put themselves into the hands of colonel Lane, a zealous
royalist, who lived at Bentley, not many miles distant. The king’s feet
were so hurt by walking in heavy boots or countrymen’s shoes, which did
not fit him, that he was obliged to mount on horseback; and he travelled
in this situation to Bentley, attended by the Penderells. Lane formed a
scheme for his journey to Bristol, where, it was hoped, he would find a
ship, in which he might transport himself. He had a near kinswoman, Mrs.
Norton, who lived within three miles of that city, and he obtained a
pass (for, during those times of confusion, this precaution was
requisite) for his sister Jane Lane and a servant to travel towards
Bristol, under pretence of visiting and attending her relation. The king
rode before the lady, and personated the servant. When they arrived at
Norton’s, Mrs. Lane pretended that she had brought along as her servant
a poor lad, a neighbouring farmer’s son, who was ill of an ague; and she
begged a private room for him where he might be quiet. Though Charles
kept himself retired in this chamber, the butler, one Pope, soon knew
him: Charles was alarmed, but made the butler promise that he would keep
the secret from every mortal, even from his master; and he was faithful
to his engagement. No ship, it was found, would, for a month, set sail
from Bristol, either for France or Spain; and the king was obliged to go
to colonel Windham of Dorsetshire, a partisan of the royal family.
During his journey he often passed through the hands of catholics; the
_Priest’s Hole_, as they called it, the place where they were obliged to
conceal their persecuted priests, was sometimes employed to shelter him.
He continued several days in Windham’s house; and all his friends in
Britain, and in every part of Europe, remained in the most anxious
suspense with regard to his fortunes: no one could conjecture whether
he were dead or alive; and the report of his death being generally
believed, relaxed the vigilant search of his enemies. Trials were made
to procure a vessel for his escape; but he still met with
disappointments. Having left Windham’s house, he was obliged again to
return to it. He passed through many other adventures; assumed different
disguises; in every step was exposed to imminent perils; and received
daily proofs of uncorrupted fidelity and attachment. The sagacity of a
smith, who remarked that his horse’s shoes had been made in the north,
and not in the west, as he pretended, once detected him; and he narrowly
escaped. At Shoreham, in Sussex, a vessel was at last found, in which he
embarked. He had been known to so many, that if he had not set sail in
that critical moment it had been impossible for him to escape. After one
and forty days’ concealment, he arrived safely at Fescamp in Normandy.
No less than forty men and women had at different times been privy to
his concealment and escape.[153]

Charles II. himself wrote a narrative of his remarkable “Escape.” From
this it appears that while journeying with the Penderells, “he wore a
very greasy old grey steeple-crowned hat, with the brims turned up,
without lining or hatband: a green cloth coat, threadbare, even to the
threads being worn white, and breeches of the same, with long knees down
to the garter; with an old leathern doublet, a pair of white flannel
stockings next to his legs, which the king said were his boot stockings,
their tops being cut off to prevent their being discovered, and upon
them a pair of old green yarn stockings, all worn and darned at the
knees, with their feet cut off; his shoes were old, all slashed for the
ease of his feet, and full of gravel; he had an old coarse shirt,
patched both at the neck and hands; he had no gloves, but a long thorn
stick, not very strong, but crooked three or four several ways, in his
hand; his hair cut short up to his ears, and hands ; his majesty
refusing to have any gloves, when father Hodlestone offered him some, as
also to change his stick.”

Charles’s narrative is very minute in many particulars; especially as
regards his getting on shipboard, and his passage across the channel.

“We went,” he says, “towards Shoreham, four miles off a place called
Brightelmstone, taking the master of the ship with us, on horseback,
behind one of our company, and came to the vessel’s side, which was not
above sixty tons. But it being low water, and the vessel lying dry, I
and my lord Wilmot got up with a ladder into her, and went and lay down
in the little cabin, till the tide came to fetch us off.

“But I was no sooner got into the ship, and lain down upon the bed, but
the master came in to me, fell down upon his knees, and kissed my hand;
telling me, that he knew me very well, and would venture life, and all
that he had in the world, to set me down safe in France.

“So, about seven o’clock in the morning, it being high-water, we went
out of the port; but the master being bound for Pool, loaden with
sea-coal, because he would not have it seen from Shoreham that he did
not go his intended voyage, but stood all the day, with a very easy
sail, towards the Isle of Wight (only my lord Wilmot and myself, of my
company, on board.) And as we were sailing, the master came to me, and
desired me that I would persuade his men to use their endeavours with me
to get him to set us on shore in France, the better to cover him from
any suspicion thereof. Upon which, I went to the men, which were four
and a boy, and told them, truly, that we were two merchants that had
some misfortunes, and were a little in debt; that we had some money
owing us at Rouen, in France, and were afraid of being arrested in
England; that if they would persuade the master (the wind being very
fair) to give us a trip over to Dieppe, or one of those ports near
Rouen, they would oblige us very much, and with that I gave them twenty
shillings to drink. Upon which, they undertook to second me, if I would
propose it to the master. So I went to the master, and told him our
condition, and that if he would give us a trip over to France, we would
give him some consideration for it. Upon which he counterfeited
difficulties, saying, that it would hinder his voyage. But his men, as
they had promised me, joining their persuasions to ours, and, at last,
he yielded to set us over.

“So, about five o’clock in the afternoon, as we were in sight of the
Isle of Wight, we stood directly over to the coast of France, the wind
being then full north; and the next morning, a little before day, we saw
the coast. But the tide failing us, and the wind coming about to the
south-west, we were forced to come to an anchor within two miles of the
shore, till the tide of flood was done.

“We found ourselves just before an harbour in France, called Fescamp;
and just as the tide of ebb was made, espied a vessel to leeward of us,
which, by her nimble working, I suspected to be an Ostend privateer.
Upon which, I went to my lord Wilmot, and telling him my opinion of that
ship, proposed to him our going ashore in the little cock-boat, for fear
they should prove so, as not knowing, but finding us going into a port
of France, (there being then a war betwixt France and Spain,) they might
plunder us, and possibly carry us away and set us ashore in England; the
master also himself had the same opinion of her being an Ostender, and
came to me to tell me so, which thought I made it my business to
dissuade him from, for fear it should tempt him to set sail again with
us for the coast of England: yet so sensible I was of it, that I and my
lord Wilmot went both on shore in the cock-boat; and going up into the
town of Fescamp, staid there all day to provide horses for Rouen. But
the vessel which had so affrighted us, proved afterwards only a French
hoy.

“The next day we got to Rouen, to an inn, one of the best in the town,
in the fish-market, where they made difficulty to receive us, taking us,
by our clothes, to be some thieves, or persons that had been doing some
very ill thing, until Mr. Sandburne, a merchant, for whom I sent, came
and answered for us.

“One particular more there is observable in relation to this our passage
into France; that the vessel that brought us over had no sooner landed
me, and I given her master a pass, for fear of meeting with any of our
Jersey frigates, but the wind turned so happily for her, as to carry her
directly for Pool, without its being known that she had ever been upon
the coast of France.

“We staid at Rouen one day, to provide ourselves better clothes, and
give notice to the queen, my mother, (who was then at Paris,) of my
being safely landed. After which, setting out in a hired coach, I was
met by my mother, with coaches, short of Paris; and by her conducted
thither, where I safely arrived.”

An antiquary, a century ago, mentions the “Royal Oak” as standing in his
time. “A bow-shoot from Boscobel-house, just by a horse-track passing
through the wood, stood the royal oak, into which the king and his
companion, colonel Carlos, climbed by means of the hen-roost ladder,
when they judged it no longer safe to stay in the house; the family
reaching them victuals with the nut-hook. The tree is now inclosed in
with a brick wall, the inside whereof is covered with laurel, of which
we may say, as Ovid did of that before the Augustan palace, ‘mediamque
tubere quercum.’ Close by its side grows a young thriving plant from one
of its acorns. Over the door of the inclosure, I took this inscription
in marble:--‘Felicissimam arborem quam in asylum potentissimi Regis
Caroli II. Deus O. M. per quem reges regnant hic crescere voluit, tam in
perpetuam rei tantæ memoriam, quam specimen fermæ in reges fidei, muro
cinctam posteris commendant Basilius et Jana Fitzherbert.

  “‘Quercus amica Jovi.’”[154]

       *       *       *       *       *

A letter from an obliging correspondent, whose initials are affixed,
claims a place here, in order to correct a literal inaccuracy, and for
the facts subsequently mentioned.

  _To the Editor of the Every-day Book._

  Sir,

As the “Royal Oak day” will form a prominent subject in your interesting
work, I beg to call your attention to the fact, that colonel William
Carlos was the companion of his majesty, in his concealment in the tree
in Boscobel wood, and to hope that you will point out the right mode of
spelling his name; Lord Clarendon, and others who copy from him, always
call him colonel Careless, which is a vile misnomer. When a man does an
action worthy of record, it is highly grievous to have his name spelt
wrong:

    “Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt
    In the despatch. I knew a man whose loss
    Was printed Grove, altho’ his name was Grose.”

  _Lord Byron._

A coat of arms and a grant of ballastage dues were made to the colonel;
but the latter interfering with the rights of the Trinity-house, was
given up. A son of the colonel is buried at Fulham church. The book of
“Boscobel,” first printed in 1660, contains accurate particulars of the
event I refer to: this little work you have no doubt seen. I have seen a
print of W. Pendrill, in an oval, encircled within the foliage of an oak
tree, (as we may still see king Charles’s head on some alehouse signs,)
with a copy of verses, in which the name of the colonel is correctly
spelt.

  I am, Sir, &c.

  _April_ 16, 1825.

  E. J. C.

The “Royal Oak” at Boscobel perished many years ago, but another tree
has been raised in its stead to mark the spot.

       *       *       *       *       *

Another correspondent, “Amicus,” who writes to the editor under his real
name, favours the readers of this work with an account of a usage still
preserved, on “Royal Oak day,” in the west of England.

  _To the Editor of the Every-day Book._

  Sir,

At Tiverton Devon, on the 29th of May, it is customary for a number of
young men, dressed in the style of the 17th century, and armed with
swords, to parade the streets, and gather contributions from the
inhabitants. At the head of the procession walks a man called “Oliver,”
dressed in black, with his face and hands smeared over with soot and
grease, and his body bound by a strong cord, the end of which is held by
one of the men to prevent his running too far. After these come another
troop, dressed in the same style, each man bearing a large branch of
oak: four others, carrying a kind of throne made of oaken boughs on
which a child is seated, bring up the rear. A great deal of merriment is
excited among the boys, at the pranks of master “Oliver,” who capers
about in a most ludicrous manner. Some of them amuse themselves by
casting dirt, whilst others, more mischievously inclined, throw stones
at him; but woe betide the young urchin who is caught; his face assumes
a most awful appearance from the soot and grease with which “Oliver”
begrimes it, whilst his companions, who have been lucky enough to escape
his clutches, testify their pleasure by loud shouts and acclamations.
In the evening the whole party have a feast, the expenses of which are
defrayed by the collection made in the morning.

  I am, sir, yours, most obediently,

  AMICUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

It has been customary on this day to dress the statue of Charles II. in
the centre of the Royal Exchange with oaken boughs. As the removal of
this statue has been contemplated, it may interest merchants and persons
connected with the corporation, to be informed of the means adopted for
placing it there. A correspondent, H. C. G., has enabled the editor to
do this, by favouring him with the original precept issued by the court
of aldermen on the occasion.

SMITH, MAYOR.

“_Martis Vndecimo Die_ Novembr’, 1684, _Annoque Regni Regis_ CAROLI
_Secundi_, Angl’, &c. _Tricessimo Sexto_.

“Whereas the statue of King CHARLES the First (of Blessed Memory) is
already Set up on the Royal Exchange, And the Company of Grocers have
undertaken to Set up the Statue of His present MAJESTY, And the Company
of Clothworkers that of King JAMES, And the Companies of Mercers and
Fishmongers the Statues of Queen MARY and Queen ELIZABETH, And the
Company of Drapers that of EDWARD the Sixth, This Court doth Recommend
it to the several Companies of this City hereafter named, (viz. The
Companies of Goldsmiths, Skinners, Merchant-Taylors, Haberdashers,
Salters, Ironmongers, Vintners, Dyers, Brewers, Leathersellers,
Pewterers, Barber-Chirurgeons, Cutlers, Bakers, Waxchandlers,
Tallowchandlers, Armourers, Girdlers, Butchers, Sadlers,) to raise Money
by Contributions, or otherwise, for Setting up the Statues of the rest
of the KINGS of England (each Company One) beginning at the CONQUEROR,
as the Same were There Set up before the Great Fire. And for the better
Order in Their proceeding herein, the Master and Wardens, or some
Members of the said respective Companies, are desired within some
Convenient time to Appear before This Court, and receive the further
Directions of This Court therein.

“And in regard of the Inability of the Chamber of London to Advance
Moneys for the Carrying on and Finishing the Conduit, begun to be Set up
with His MAJESTIES Approbation, at the Upper End of Cheapside, It is
earnestly Recommended from This Court to all the Rest of the Companies
of This City (other than those before Named) to raise Moneys likewise by
Contributions, or otherwise, for the Carrying on and Finishing the said
Work, so Necessary to the Ornament of this City; And to Pay the Same
into the Chamber, to be Laid out and Imployed for the said Purpose.

  “_Wagstaffe._”

       *       *       *       *       *

It is affirmed of Charles II. that he was mightily delighted with these
beautiful stanzas,

    The glories of our blood and state
      Are shadows, not substantial things;
    There is no armour against fate.
      Death lays his icy hands on kings:
        Sceptre and crown
        Must tumble down,
    And in the dust be equal made
    With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

    Some men with swords may reap the field,
      And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
    But their strong nerves at last must yield,
      They tame but one another still.
        Early or late,
        They stoop to fate,
    And must give up their murmuring breath,
    When they pale captives creep to Death.

    The garlands wither on your brow;
      Then boast no more your mighty deeds:
    Upon Death’s purple altar now
      See where the victor victim bleeds:
        All heads must come
        To the cold tomb:
    Only the actions of the just
    Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

If it be really true that this king admired these sentiments, he is
entitled to the praise of having libelled himself by his admiration of
virtue. Waller in a letter to St. Evremond, relates a dialogue between
Charles and the earl of Rochester, which shows the tenour of their
manners. Waller says, “Grammont once told Rochester that if he could by
any means divest himself of one half of his wit, the other half would
make him the most agreeable man in the world. This observation of the
Count’s did not strike me much when I heard it, but I remarked the
propriety of it since. Last night I supped at lord Rochester’s with a
select party; on such occasions he is not ambitious of shining; he is
rather pleasant than arch; he is, comparatively, reserved; but you find
something in that restraint that is more agreeable than the utmost
exertion of talents in others. The reserve of Rochester gives you the
idea of a copious river that fills its channel, and seems as if it would
easily overflow its extensive banks, but is unwilling to spoil the
beauty and verdure of the plains. The most perfect good humour was
supported through the whole evening; nor was it in the least disturbed
when, unexpectedly, towards the end of it, the king came in (no unusual
thing with Charles II.) ‘Something has vexed him,’ said Rochester; ‘he
never does me this honour but when he is in an ill humour.’ The
following dialogue, or something very like it, then ensued:--

‘_The King._--How the devil have I got here? The knaves have sold every
cloak in the wardrobe.

‘_Rochester._--Those knaves are fools. That is a part of dress, which,
for their own sakes, your majesty ought never to be without.

‘_The King._--Pshaw! I’m vexed!

‘_Rochester._--I hate still life--I’m glad of it. Your majesty is never
so entertaining as when--

‘_The King._--Ridiculous! I believe the English are the most intractable
people upon earth.

‘_Rochester._--I must humbly beg your majesty’s pardon, if I presume in
that respect.

‘_The King._--You would find them so, were you in my place, and obliged
to govern.

‘_Rochester._--Were I in your majesty’s place, I would not govern at
all.

‘_The King._--How then?

‘_Rochester._--I would send for my good lord Rochester, and command him
to govern.

‘_The King._--But the singular modesty of that nobleman.

‘_Rochester._--He would certainly conform himself to your majesty’s
bright example. How gloriously would the two grand social virtues
flourish under his auspices!

‘_The King._--_O, prisca fides!_ What can these be?

‘_Rochester._--The love of wine and women!

‘_The King._--God bless your majesty!

‘_Rochester._--These attachments keep the world in good humour, and
therefore I say they are social virtues. Let the bishop of Salisbury
deny it if he can.

‘_The King._--He died last night. Have you a mind to succeed him?

‘_Rochester._--On condition that I shall neither be called upon to
preach on the 30th of January nor the 29th of May.

‘_The King._--Those conditions are curious. You object to the first, I
suppose, because it would be a melancholy subject; but the other--

‘_Rochester._--Would be a melancholy subject too.

‘_The King._--That is too much--

‘_Rochester._--Nay, I only mean that the business would be a little too
grave for the day. Nothing but the indulgence of the two grand social
virtues could be a proper testimony for my joy upon that occasion.

‘_The King._--Thou art the happiest fellow in my dominions. Let me
perish if I do not envy thee thy impudence!’

“It is in such strain of conversation, generally, that this prince
passes off his chagrin; and he never suffers his dignity to stand in the
way of his humour.”

This showing is in favour of Charles, on whose character, as a king of
England, posterity has long since pronounced judgment. A slave to his
passions, and a pensioner to France, he was unworthy of the people’s
“precious diadem.” He broke his public faith, and disregarded his
private word. To the vessel of the state he was a “sunk rock,” whereon
it had nearly foundered.


_Trinity Sunday._

In the Romish church this was a splendid festival, with processions and
services peculiar to its celebration; devotions were daily addressed to
every person of the Trinity: as the other festivals commemorated the
Unity in Trinity, so this commemorated the Trinity in Unity.[155]

In the Lambeth accounts are church-wardens’ charges for garlands and
drink for the children, for garnishing-ribbons, and for singing men in
the procession on Trinity-Sunday-even.[156]

It is still a custom of ancient usage for the judges and great
law-officers of the crown, together with the lord mayor, aldermen, and
common council, to attend divine service at St. Paul’s cathedral, and
hear a sermon which is always preached there on Trinity Sunday by the
lord mayor’s chaplain. At the first ensuing meeting of the common
council, it is usual for that court to pass a vote of thanks to the
chaplain for such sermon, and order the same to be printed at the
expense of the corporation, unless, as sometimes has occurred, it
contained sentiments obnoxious to their views.

       *       *       *       *       *

In Curll’s “Miscellanies, 1714,” 8vo. is an account of Newnton, in North
Wiltshire; where, to perpetuate the memory of the donation of a common
to that place by king Athelstan and of a house for the hayward, _i. e._
the person who looked after the beasts that fed upon this common, the
following ceremonies were appointed: “Upon every Trinity Sunday, the
parishioners being come to the door of the hayward’s house, the door was
struck thrice, in honour of the Holy Trinity; they then entered. The
bell was rung; after which, silence being ordered, they read their
prayers aforesaid. Then was a ghirland of flowers (about the year 1660,
one was killed striving to take away the ghirland) made upon an hoop,
brought forth by a maid of the town upon her neck, and a young man (a
bachelor) of another parish, first saluted her three times, in honour of
the Trinity, in respect of God the Father. Then she puts the ghirland
upon his neck, and kisses him three times, in honour of the Trinity,
particularly God the Son. Then he puts the ghirland on her neck again,
and kisses her three times, in respect of the Holy Trinity, and
particularly the Holy Ghost. Then he takes the ghirland from her neck,
and, by the custom, must give her a penny at least, which, as fancy
leads, is now exceeded, as 2_s._ 6_d._ or &c. The method of giving this
ghirland is from house to house annually, till it comes round. In the
evening every commoner sends his supper up to this house, which is
called the Ealehouse: and having before laid in there equally a stock of
malt, which was brewed in the house, they sup together, and what was
left was given to the poor.”

       *       *       *       *       *

An old homily for Trinity Sunday declares that the form of the Trinity
was found in man: that Adam, our forefather of the earth, was the first
person; that Eve, of Adam, was the second person; and that of them both
was the third person: further, that at the death of a man three bells
were to be rung as his knell in worship of the Trinity, and two bells
for a woman, as the second person of the Trinity.[157]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  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 <DW64>-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.

  I am, dear sir,

  Yours, &c.

  _Camberwell._

  LECTOR.


CHRONOLOGY.

1431. Joan of Arc, the maid of Orleans was burnt. This cruel death was
inflicted on her, in consequence of the remarkable events hereafter
narrated. Her memory is revered by Frenchmen, and rendered more popular,
through a poem by Voltaire, eminent for its wit and licentiousness. One
of our own poets, Dr. Southey, has an epic to her honour.

[Illustration: ~Fountain~

_Erected in the old Market-place at Rouen, on the spot whereon_

~Joan of Arc~

WAS BURNT.]

In the petty town of Neufchateau, on the borders of Lorraine, there
lived a country girl of twenty-seven years of age, called Joan d’Arc.
She was servant in a small inn, and in that station had been accustomed
to ride the horses of the guests, without a saddle, to the
watering-place, and to perform other offices, which, in well-frequented
inns, commonly fall to the share of the men-servants. This girl was of
an irreproachable life, and had not hitherto been remarked for any
singularity. The peculiar character of Charles, so strongly inclined to
friendship, and the tender passions, naturally rendered him the hero of
that sex whose generous minds know no bounds in their affections. The
siege of Orleans, the progress of the English before that place, the
great distress of the garrison and inhabitants, the importance of saving
this city, and its brave defenders, had turned thither the public eye;
and Joan, inflamed by the general sentiment, was seized with a wild
desire of bringing relief to her sovereign in his present distresses.
Her unexperienced mind, working day and night on this favourite object,
mistook the impulses of passion for heavenly inspirations; and she
fancied that she saw visions, and heard voices, exhorting her to
reestablish the throne of France, and to expel the foreign invaders. An
uncommon intrepidity of temper, made her overlook all the dangers which
might attend her in such a path; and, thinking herself destined by
heaven to this office, she threw aside all that bashfulness and timidity
so natural to her sex, her years, and her low station. She went to
Vaucouleurs; procured admission to Baudricourt, the governor; informed
him of her inspirations and intentions; and conjured him not to neglect
the voice of God, who spoke through her, but to second those heavenly
revelations which impelled her to this glorious enterprise. Baudricourt
treated her, at first, with some neglect; but, on her frequent returns
to him, he gave her some attendants, who conducted her to the French
court, which at that time resided at Chinon.

It is pretended, that Joan, immediately on her admission, knew the king,
though she had never seen his face before, and though he purposely kept
himself in the crowd of courtiers, and had laid aside every thing in his
dress and apparel which might distinguish him: that she offered him, in
the name of the supreme Creator, to raise the siege of Orleans, and
conduct him to Rheims, to be there crowned and anointed; and, on his
expressing doubts of her mission, revealed to him, before some sworn
confidants, a secret, which was unknown to all the world beside himself,
and which nothing but a heavenly inspiration could have discovered to
her: and that she demanded, as the instrument of her future victories, a
particular sword, which was kept in the church of St. Catherine of
Fierbois, and which, though she had never seen it, she described by all
its marks, and by the place in which it had long lain neglected. This is
certain, that all these miraculous stories were spread abroad, in order
to captivate the vulgar. The more the king and his ministers were
determined to give in to the illusion, the more scruples they pretended.
An assembly of grave doctors and theologians cautiously examined Joan’s
mission, and pronounced it undoubted and supernatural. She was sent to
the parliament, then at Poictiers, who became convinced of her
inspiration. A ray of hope began to break through that despair in which
the minds of all men were before enveloped. She was armed cap-a-pee,
mounted on horseback, and shown in that martial habiliment before the
whole people.

Joan was sent to Blois, where a large convoy was prepared for the supply
of Orleans, and an army of ten thousand men, under the command of St.
Severe, assembled to escort it; she ordered all the soldiers to confess
themselves before they set out on the enterprise; and she displayed in
her hands a consecrated banner, whereon the Supreme Being was
represented, grasping the globe of earth, and surrounded with
flower-de-luces.

The English affected to speak with derision of the maid, and of her
heavenly commission; and said, that the French king was now indeed
reduced to a sorry pass, when he had recourse to such ridiculous
expedients. As the convoy approached the river, a sally was made by the
garrison on the side of Beausse, to prevent the English general from
sending any detachment to the other side: the provisions were peaceably
embarked in boats, which the inhabitants of Orleans had sent to receive
them: the maid covered with her troops the embarkation: Suffolk did not
venture to attack her; and Joan entered the city of Orleans arrayed in
her military garb, and displaying her consecrated standard. She was
received as a celestial deliverer by all the inhabitants, who now
believed themselves invincible under her influence. Victory followed
upon victory, and the spirit resulting from a long course of
uninterrupted success was on a sudden transferred from the conquerors to
the conquered. The maid called aloud, that the garrison should remain
no longer on the defensive. The generals seconded her ardour: an attack
was made on the English intrenchments, and all were put to the sword, or
taken prisoners. Nothing, after this success, seemed impossible to the
maid and her enthusiastic votaries; yet, in one attack, the French were
repulsed; the maid was left almost alone; she was obliged to retreat;
but displaying her sacred standard, she led them back to the charge, and
overpowered the English in their intrenchments. In the attack of another
fort, she was wounded in the neck with an arrow; she retreated a moment
behind the assailants; pulled out the arrow with her own hands; had the
wound quickly dressed; hastened back to head the troops; planted her
victorious banner on the ramparts of the enemy; returned triumphant over
the bridge, and was again received as the guardian angel of the city.
After performing such miracles, it was in vain even for the English
generals to oppose with their soldiers the prevailing opinion of
supernatural influence: the utmost they dared to advance was, that Joan
was not an instrument of God, but only the implement of the devil. In
the end the siege of Orleans was raised, and the English thought of
nothing but of making their retreat, as soon as possible, into a place
of safety; while the French esteemed the overtaking them equivalent to a
victory. So much had the events which passed before this city altered
every thing between the two nations! The raising of the siege of Orleans
was one part of the maid’s promise to Charles: the crowning of him at
Rheims was the other: and she now vehemently insisted that he should
forthwith set out on that enterprise. A few weeks before, such a
proposal would have appeared the most extravagant in the world. Rheims
lay in a distant quarter of the kingdom; was then in the hands of a
victorious enemy; the whole road which led to it was occupied by their
garrisons; and no man could be so sanguine as to imagine that such an
attempt could so soon come within the bounds of possibility. The
enthusiasm and influence of Joan prevailed over all obstacles. Charles
set out for Rheims at the head of twelve thousand men: he passed Troye,
which opened its gates to him: Chalons imitated the example: Rheims sent
him a deputation with its keys, before his approach to it; and the
ceremony of his coronation was there performed, with the maid of Orleans
by his side in complete armour, displaying her sacred banner, which had
so often dissipated and confounded his fiercest enemies. The people
shouted with unfeigned joy on viewing such a complication of wonders,
and after the completion of the ceremony, the maid threw herself at the
king’s feet, embraced his knees, and with a flood of tears, which
pleasure and tenderness extorted from her, she congratulated him on this
singular and marvellous event.

The duke of Bedford, who was regent during the minority of Henry VI.,
endeavoured to revive the declining state of his affairs by bringing
over the young king of England, and having him crowned and anointed at
Paris. The maid of Orleans, after the coronation of Charles, declared to
the count of Dunois, that her wishes were now fully gratified, and that
she had no farther desire than to return to her former condition and to
the occupation and course of life which became her sex: but that
nobleman, sensible of the great advantages which might still be reaped
from her presence in the army, exhorted her to persevere, till, by the
final expulsion of the English, she had brought all her prophecies to
their full completion. In pursuance of this advice, she threw herself
into the town of Compiegne, which was at that time besieged by the duke
of Burgundy, assisted by the earls of Arundel and Suffolk; and the
garrison, on her appearance, believed themselves thenceforth invincible.
But their joy was of short duration. The maid, next day after her
arrival (25th of May,) headed a sally upon the quarters of John of
Luxembourg; she twice drove the enemy from their intrenchments; finding
their numbers to increase every moment, she ordered a retreat; when hard
pressed by the pursuers, she turned upon them, and made them again
recoil; but being here deserted by her friends, and surrounded by the
enemy, she was at last, after exerting the utmost valour, taken prisoner
by the Burgundians. The common opinion was, that the French officers,
finding the merit of every victory ascribed to her, had, in envy to her
renown, by which they themselves were so much eclipsed, willingly
exposed her to this fatal accident.

A complete victory would not have given more joy to the English and
their partisans. The service of _Te Deum_, which has so often been
profaned by princes, was publicly celebrated on this fortunate event at
Paris. The duke of Bedford fancied, that, by the captivity of that
extraordinary woman, who had blasted all his successes, he should again
recover his former ascendant over France; and, to push farther the
present advantage, he purchased the captive from John of Luxembourg, and
formed a prosecution against her, which, whether it proceeded from
vengeance or policy, was equally barbarous and dishonourable. It was
contrived, that the bishop of Beauvais, a man wholly devoted to the
English interest, should present a petition against Joan, on pretence
that she was taken within the bounds of his diocese; and he desired to
have her tried by an ecclesiastical court, for sorcery, impiety,
idolatry, and magic. The university of Paris was so mean as to join in
the same request: several prelates, among whom the cardinal of
Winchester was the only Englishman, were appointed her judges: they held
their court at Rouen, where the young king of England then resided: and
the maid, clothed in her former military apparel, but loaded with irons,
was produced before this tribunal. Surrounded by inveterate enemies, and
brow-beaten and overawed by men of superior rank, and men invested with
the ensigns of a sacred character, which she had been accustomed to
revere, felt her spirit at last subdued; Joan gave way to the terrors of
that punishment to which she was sentenced. She declared herself willing
to recant; acknowledged the illusion of those revelations which the
church had rejected; and promised never more to maintain them. Her
sentence was mitigated: she was condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and
to be fed during life on bread and water. But the barbarous vengeance of
Joan’s enemies was not satisfied with this victory. Suspecting that the
female dress, which she had now consented to wear, was disagreeable to
her, they purposely placed in her apartment a suit of men’s apparel, and
watched for the effects of that temptation upon her. On the sight of a
dress in which she had acquired so much renown, and which, she once
believed, she wore by the particular appointment of heaven, all her
former ideas and passions revived; and she ventured in her solitude to
clothe herself again in the forbidden garment. Her insidious enemies
caught her in that situation: her fault was interpreted to be no less
than a relapse into heresy: no recantation would now suffice, and no
pardon could be granted her. She was condemned to be burned in the
market-place of Rouen, and the infamous sentence was accordingly
executed. This admirable heroine, to whom the more generous superstition
of the ancients would have erected altars, was, on pretence of heresy
and magic, delivered over alive to the flames, and expiated, by that
dreadful punishment, the signal services which she had rendered to her
native country. To the eternal infamy of Charles and his adherents, whom
she had served and saved, they made not a single effort, either by force
or negociation, to save this heroic girl from the cruel death to which
she had been condemned. Hume says she was burnt on the 14th of June.
According to Lingard she perished on the 30th of May.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lesser Spearwort. _Ranunculus flammula._
  Dedicated to _St. Ferdinand_.

  [158] Vide a Christmas Carol, by Richard Ryan, in Time’s Telescope for
  the present year.


~May 31.~

  _St. Petronilla_, 1st Cent. _St. Cantius and Cantianus_, brothers, and
  _Cantianilla_, their sister, A. D. 304.


_St. Petronilla._

“Her name,” says Butler, “is the feminine, and diminutive of Peter, and
she is said to have been a daughter of the apostle St. Peter, which
tradition is _confirmed_ by certain writings, quoted by the Manichees,
in the time of St. Austin, which affirm, that St. Peter had a daughter
whom he cured of the palsy; but it seems not certain whether she was
more than the spiritual daughter of that apostle.” Ribadeneira refers to
these Manichæan writings, by which, according to Butler, the “tradition
is _confirmed_,” and unluckily for Butler, he says, that St. Augustine
calls these writings _apocryphal_. Ribadeneira carefully adds though,
that Augustine “doth not therefore reprove it as false.” Yet it is
curious to find this jesuit telling of Augustine, that he teacheth,
“that _without prejudice of charity_ we may chastise the body of our
enemy, the heretic, for the salvation of his soul.” This saying of
Augustine’s is wholly uncalled for by any thing that Ribadeneira says
regarding Petronilla; it is a hot puff of a fiery spirit.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Turkscap Lily. _Lilium Pomponicum flavum._
  Dedicated to _St. Petronilla_.




[Illustration: JUNE.]


    And after her came jolly June, array’d
      All in green leaves, as he a player were;
    Yet in his time he wrought as well as play’d,
      That by his plough-irons mote right well appeare.
    Upon a crab he rode, that him did bare
      With crooked crawling steps an uncouth pase,
    And backward-yode, as bargemen wont to fare
      Bending their force contrary to their face;
      Like that ungracious crew which faines demurest grace.

  _Spenser._

This is the sixth month of the year. According to an old author “unto
June the Saxons gave the name of _Weyd-monat_, because their beasts did
then weyd in the meddowes, that is to say, goe to feed there, and hereof
a medow is also in the Tutonicke called a _weyd_, and of _weyd_ we yet
retaine our word _wade_, which we understand of going through watrie
places, such as medowes are wont to be.”[159] Another author likewise
says, that “_weyd_ is probably derived from _weyden_ (German), to go
about as if to pasture;” he further says, they called it _Woedmonath_,
and that _woed_ means “weed”; and that they called it also by the
following names: _Medemonath_, _Midsumormonath_, and _Braeckmonath_;
thought to be so named from the breaking up of the soil from _bræcan_
(Saxon), to break: they also named it _Lida erra_; the word _Lida_, or
_litha_, signifying in Icelandic, “to move, or pass over,” may imply the
sun’s passing its greatest height, and _Lida erra_ consequently mean the
first month of the sun’s descent. _Lida_, it is added, has been deemed
to signify _smooth-air_.[160]

Mr. Leigh Hunt observes, in his “Months,” that “the name of June, and
indeed that of May, gave rise to various etymologies; but the most
probable one derives it from Juno, in honour of whom a festival was
celebrated at the beginning of the month.” He says, “it is now complete
summer:--

    ‘Summer is ycomen in,
    Loud sing cuckoo;
      Groweth seed,
      And bloweth mead,
    And springeth the weed new.’

“Thus sings the oldest English song extant, in a measure which is its
own music.--The temperature of the air, however, is still mild, and in
our climate sometimes too chilly; but when the season is fine, this is,
perhaps, the most delightful month of the year. The hopes of spring are
realized, yet the enjoyment is but commenced: we have all summer before
us; the cuckoo’s two notes are now at what may be called their
ripest,--deep and loud; so is the hum of the bee; little clouds lie in
lumps of silver about the sky, and sometimes fall to complete the growth
of the herbage; yet we may now lie down on the grass, or the flowering
banks, to read or write; the grasshoppers click about us in the warming
verdure; and the fields and hedges are in full blossom with the clover,
the still more exquisite bean, the pea, the blue and yellow nightshade,
the fox-glove, the mallow, white briony, wild honeysuckle, and the
flower of the hip or wild rose, which blushes through all the gradations
of delicate red and white. The leaves of the hip, especially the young
ones, are as beautiful as those of any garden rose. Towards evening, the
bat and the owl venture forth, flitting through the glimmering quiet;
and at night, the moon looks silveriest, the sky at once darkest and
clearest; and when the nightingale, as well as the other birds have done
singing, you may hear the undried brooks of the spring running and
panting through their leafy channels. ‘It ceased,’ says the poet,
speaking of a sound of heavenly voices about a ship,--

    It ceased; yet still the sails made on
    A pleasant noise till noon,
    A noise like of a hidden brook,
      In the leafy month of June,
    That to the sleeping woods all night
      Singeth a quiet tune.

  _Coleridge._

“There is a greater accession of flowers in this month than in any
other. In addition to those of the last, the garden sparkles with
marygolds, golden-road, larkspur, sun-flowers, amarynths, (which Milton
intermingles with sun-beams for his angel’s hair,) lupins, carnations,
Chinese pinks, holyhocks, ladies’ slipper, annual stocks, campanulas, or
little bells, martagons, periwinkles, wall-flower, snap-dragon, orchis,
nasturtium, apocynum, chrysanthemum, cornflower, gladiolus, and
convolvulus. The reader who is fond of poetry, and of the Greek fables,
and does not happen to be acquainted with professor Martyn’s notes upon
Virgil, should here be informed, that the species of red lily, called
the martagon or Turk’s-cap, has been proved by that writer, at least to
our satisfaction, to be the real ancient hyacinth, into which the youth
of that name was turned by Apollo. The hyacinth, commonly so called, has
nothing to show for its being the ancient one, which should be of a
blood colour, and was said to be inscribed with the Greek exclamation of
sorrow AI, AI. Now, we were struck with the sort of literal black marks
with which the Turk’s-cap is speckled, and on reading the professor’s
notes, and turning to the flower again, we could plainly see, that with
some allowance, quite pardonable in a superstition, the marks might now
and then fall together, so as to indicate those characters. It is a most
beautiful, glowing flower; and shoots gracefully forth in a vase or
glass from among white lilies, and the double narcissus:--

    Νυν υακινθε, λαλει τα σα γσαμματα, και πλεον Αι Αι
      Λαμβανε σοις πεταλοισι.

  _Moschus._

    ‘Now tell your story, Hyacinth; and show
    Ai Ai the more amidst your sanguine woe.’

“The rural business of this month is made up of two employments, as
beautiful to look at as they are useful,--sheep-shearing and hay-making.
Something like a holiday is still made of the former, and in the
south-west of England, the custom, we believe, is still kept up, of
throwing flowers into the streams, an evident relic of paganism; but,
altogether, the holiday is but a gleam of the same merry period in the
cheap and rural time of our ancestors.”

  [159] Verstegan.

  [160] Dr. F. Sayers.


~June 1.~

  _St Justin_, Martyr, A. D. 167. _St. Pamphilus_, A. D. 309. _St.
  Caprais_, Abbot, A. D. 430. _St. Peter_, of Pisa, A. D. 1435. _St.
  Wistan_, Prince of Mercia, A. D. 849.


_St. Nicomede._

This saint is in the English almanacs of this day; for what reason is
unknown. He was an ancient martyr in no way distinguished from others
who perished during the persecution under Domitian.


CHRONOLOGY.

1794. Lord Howe’s memorable victory by sea over the French fleet.

1814. A newspaper of this day notices that the Tuesday preceding was
observed at Burton, in Dorsetshire, as a great festival, in consequence
of the arrival at that place of a vat of Hambro’ yarn, from London,
being the first that had come into the town for many years. The
inhabitants met the waggon, took out the horse, decorated the vat with
ribands, and various emblems of peace, plenty, trade and commerce, and
drew the same through the village, preceded by a flag and band of music,
amidst the acclamations of thousands, many of whom were regaled with
bread, cheese, and strong beer: one loaf (among others) baked for the
occasion, claimed the admiration of every one present; its length being
six feet three inches, breadth twenty-one inches, depth fourteen inches,
and its weight considerably above 100 lbs. To explain the occasion of
this rejoicing, it is necessary to state that Burton, as a manufacturing
place, had suffered under the privation which was felt more or less
throughout the British dominions, by Buonaparte declaring them to be in
a state of blockade. By this decree, from the continent of Europe being
within his power, he was enabled to injure and derange the industry and
commerce of our artisans and merchants to an extent that was not
contemplated. They have happily been liberated by an unlooked-for, and
wonderful, combination of circumstances; nor so long as good faith and
wise dispositions prevail, can they be prevented from arriving to a
height of prosperity unparalleled in our annals.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Rose. _Rosa lutea._
  Dedicated to _St. Justin._


~June 2.~

  _Sts. Pothinus_, Bp. _Sanctus_, _Attalus_, _Blandina_, &c., of Lyons,
  A. D. 177. _Sts. Marcellinus_ and _Peter_, A. D. 304. _St. Erasmus_,
  or _Ermo_, or _Elmo_, A. D. 303.


  ~Corpus Christi Day~,
  _and the performance of_
  Mysteries.

This grand festival of the Romish church is held on the Thursday next
after Trinity Sunday, in which order it also stands in the church of
England calendar, and in the English almanacs. It celebrates the
doctrine of transubstantiation. In all Roman catholic countries it is
observed with music, lights, flowers strewed in the street, rich
tapestries hung upon the walls, and with other demonstrations of
rejoicing:[161] this is the usage still. Anciently in this country, as
well as abroad, it was the custom to perform plays on this day,
representing scripture subjects. From an author before cited, the
following verses relating to these manners are extracted:--

    “Then doth ensue the solemne feast of Corpus Christi Day,
    Who then can shewe their wicked use, and fond and foolish play?
    The hallowed bread, with worship great, in silver pix they beare
    About the church, or in the citie passing here and theare.
    His armes that beares the same two of the welthiest men do holde,
    And over him a canopey of silke and cloth of golde.
    Christe’s passion here derided is, _with sundrie maskes and playes_,
    Faire Ursley, with hir maydens all, doth passe amid the wayes:
    And, valiant George, with speare thou killest the dreadfull dragon
         here,
    _The Devil’s house is drawne about, wherein there doth appere_
    A wondrous sort of damned sprites, with foule and fearefull looke,
    Great Christopher doth wade and passe with Christ amid the brooke:
    Sebastian full of feathred shaftes, the dint of dart doth feele,
    There walketh Kathren, with hir sworde in hand, and cruel wheele:
    The Challis and the singing Cake with Barbara is led,
    _And sundrie other pageants playde_, in worship of this bred.

           *       *       *       *       *

           *       *       *       *       *

    The common ways with bowes are strawde, and every streete beside,
    And to the walles and windowes all are boughes and braunches tide.
    The monkes in every place do roame, the nonnes abrode are sent,
    The priestes and schoolmen lowd do rore, some use the instrument.
    The straunger passing through the streete, upon his knees doe fall:
    And earnestly upon this bread, as on his God, doth call.
    For why, they counte it for their Lorde, and that he doth not take
    The form of flesh, but nature now of breade that we do bake.
    A number great of armed men here all this while do stande,
    To looke that no disorder be, nor any filching hande:
    For all the church-goodes out are brought, which certainly would bee
    A bootie good, if every man might have his libertie.”[162]

       *       *       *       *       *

The _Religious Plays_ performed on Corpus Christi Day, in the times of
superstition, were such as were represented at other periods, though
with less ceremony. From a volume on the subject, by the editor of the
_Every-Day-book_, he relates so much as may set forth their origin and
the nature of the performances.


_Origin of Religious Plays._

A Jewish play, of which fragments are still preserved in Greek iambics,
is the first drama known to have been written on a scripture subject. It
is taken from Exodus: a performer, in the character of Moses, delivers
the prologue in a speech of sixty lines, and his rod is turned into a
serpent on the stage. The play is supposed to have been written at the
close of the second century, by one Ezekiel, a Jew, as a political
spectacle to animate his dispersed brethren with the hopes of a future
deliverance from their captivity.

The emperor Julian made a law that no Christian should be taught in the
heathen schools, or make use of that learning; but there were two men
living at that time, who exerted their talents to supply the deficiency
of instruction and entertainment that the Christians experienced from
Julian’s edict: these were Apollinarius, bishop of Laodicea, and his
father, a priest of the same city; they were both scholars, well skilled
in oratory and the rules of composition, and of high literary renown.
Apollinarius, the elder, a profound philologer, translated the five
books of Moses into heroic verse, and in the same manner composed the
history of the Israelites to the time of Saul, into a poem of
twenty-four books, in imitation of Homer. He also wrote religious odes,
and turned particular histories and portions of the Old and New
Testament into comedies and tragedies, after the manner of Menander,
Euripides, and Pindar. His son the bishop, an eloquent rhetorician, and
already an antagonist of Julian’s, anxious that the Christians might not
be ignorant of any species of Greek composition, formed the writings of
the evangelists, and the works of the apostles, into dialogues, in the
manner of Plato.

About the same time, Gregory Nazianzen, patriarch and archbishop of
Constantinople, one of the fathers of the church, and master to the
celebrated Jerome, composed plays from the Old and New Testament, which
he substituted for the plays of Sophocles and Euripides at
Constantinople, where the old Greek stage had flourished until that
time. The ancient Greek tragedy was a religious spectacle; and the
sacred dramas of Gregory Nazianzen were formed on the same model; he
transformed the choruses into Christian hymns. One only of the
archbishop’s plays is extant: it is a tragedy called “Christ’s Passion;”
the prologue calls it an imitation of Euripides; the play is preserved
in Gregory Nazianzen’s works. The remainder of his dramas have not
survived those inimitable compositions over which they triumphed for a
time.

It is not known whether the religious dramas of the Apollinarii perished
so early as some of their other writings, that were ordered to be
destroyed for, a crime common in all ages, heresy; but this is certain,
that the learning they endeavoured to supply gradually disappeared
before the progress of Constantine’s establishment. Suddenly acquiring
power, and finally assuming infallibility, observing pagan feasts as
religious festivals, consecrating heathen rites into christian
solemnities, and transforming the non-observances of primitive
simplicity into precedents for gorgeous ceremony, the church blazed with
a scorching splendour that withered up the heart of man. Every accession
to the dominion of its ecclesiastics over his property and intellect
induced self-relaxation and sloth; to the boldness that seized a
liberal supply for spiritual support, succeeded the craft that extended
it to a boundless revenue for effeminate indulgence. The miraculous
powers of the church wonderfully multiplied; but implicit belief in
miracles was equivocal, unless the act of faith was accompanied by
liberal contributions at the altar. The purchase of pardons for sin, and
the worship of the relics exhibited in sumptuous shrines, were effectual
ways of warring with the powers of darkness, and the coffers overflowed
with contributions. These active hostilities against Satan occasioned
him to ascend upon earth, and, to terrify the devout, he often appeared
to them in the natural ugliness of his own proper person. When put to
flight, by masses and holy water, he took lodgings _incog._ in the
bodies of careless people, nor would he leave a tenement he occupied,
till he was forcibly turned out of possession by a priest acquainted
with the forms of ejectment. Dislike to clean linen was a peculiar mark
of piety, and dirty hermits emitted the odour of sanctity. Though their
holinesses were so violently hated by the devil, that he took the
trouble to assault and tempt them in the holes of the earth and trunks
of old trees where they inhabited, yet it was rewarded with visits to
their chosen abodes from all the orders of heaven; and by long
familiarity with the powers of the other world, these “tender-nosed
saints could detect the presence of invisible angels.” They who turn
their backs upon the concerns of life were especial favourites above. A
nun reported that Christ opened her side with his corporal hands, took
out her heart, and then carefully placing his own in the chasm, left it
there and closed the wound, at the same time doing her the honour to
wear her shift. Nor did the faithful, who believed the former relation,
doubt for an instant that the Virgin descended from heaven to visit the
cells of monasteries, and milk her breasts into the mouths of monks.
Doubts were effectually removed by burning doubters. All who were
privileged to shave the top of the head in a circle, as a token of
emancipation from worldly superfluities, were partners in the profitable
trade of granting licenses for unmolested existence at the price of
unconditional admission. Ecclesiastical policy accomplished its purpose:
the human mind was in a delirium; the hierarchy at the summit of its
ascendancy.

From the complete establishment of the church until within a short time
before the reformation, darkness overspread the world, and the great
mass of the clergy themselves were in a state of deplorable ignorance.
During this period, in order to wean the people from the ancient
spectacles, particularly the Bacchanalian and calendary solemnities,
religious shows were instituted partaking of the same spirit of
licentiousness.

To these shows the clergy added the acting of _mysteries_, or
representing the miraculous acts of saints circumstances from apocryphal
story, and subjects from the Old and New Testament. There are different
opinions as to the religious class by whom they were introduced into
Europe, though it seems reasonable to suppose that they were adopted by
the Italians in the depth of the dark ages from the spiritual dramas of
the Apollinarii, father and son, and Gregory Nazianzen; but, however
that may be, there is no room for surprise that all writers concur in
attributing the performance of _mysteries_, or religious plays, to the
clergy of the catholic church.

As mysteries arose with Gregory Nazianzen, it is not likely that his
example as a father of the church should be lost sight of as soon as he
had succeeded in destroying the performance of the ancient Greek plays;
yet English writers do not appear to have traced sacred representations
in a dramatic form until many centuries after Gregory Nazianzen’s death.

The first dramatic representation in Italy was a spiritual comedy,
performed at Padua in 1243; and there was a _company_ instituted at Rome
in 1264, whose chief employment was to represent the sufferings of
Christ in Passion week. The rev. Mr. Croft, and the hon. Topham
Beauclerc, collected a great number of these Italian plays or mysteries;
and at the sale of their libraries, Dr. Burney purchased many of the
most ancient, which he speaks of as being evidently much earlier than
the discovery of printing, from the gross manner in which the subjects
are treated, the coarseness of the dialogue, and the ridiculous
situation into which most sacred persons and things are thrown.

In 1313, Philip the Fair gave the most sumptuous entertainment at Paris
ever remembered in that city. Edward II. and his queen Isabella, crossed
over from England with a large retinue of nobility, and partook of the
magnificent festivities. The pomp and profusion of the banquettings,
the variety of the amusements, and the splendour of the costume were
unsurpassed. On each of the eight days the princes and nobles changed
their dresses three times; while the people were sometimes entertained
with representations of the _Glory of the blessed_, at other times with
the _Torments of the damned_, and various other spectacles. In 1402, by
an edict of Charles VI. dated Dec. 4, the mystery of the conception,
passion, and resurrection of Christ, was performed at St. Maur, about
five miles from Paris. At the council at Constance, in the year 1417,
the English fathers played the mystery of the massacre of the Holy
Innocents. The mystery of the passion was performed on the entrance of
the kings of France and England at Paris, on December 1. 1420, in the
street _Kalende_, before the palace, upon a raised scaffolding of one
hundred paces in length.

In the Royal Library of Paris, No. 4350, is _Le Mystere de la passion
Jesus Christ_; Paris, printed by Antoine Verard, 1490, folio. This is a
fine copy on vellum with every page richly illuminated, and containing a
MS. note in French, purporting to be an extract from an old chronicle,
entitled, “Histoire de Metz veritable,” whence it appears that its
performance was attended by many foreign lords and ladies whose names
are specified, and that there were lanthorns placed in the windows
during the whole time of the plays: but the most curious part of the MS.
note is, that, “in the year 1437, on the 3rd of July was represented the
game or play, _de la Passion_, _N. S._ in the plain of Vexmiel, when the
park was arranged in a very noble manner, for there were nine ranges of
seats in height rising by degrees; all around and behind were great and
long seats for the lords and ladies. On the stage was represented the
mouth of hell, it is described as having been very well done, for that
it opened and shut when the devils required to enter and come out, and
had two large eyes of steel.”

On the 27th of May, 1509, was performed at Romans, in Dauphiny, before
the Cordelier’s church, the _Mystery of the Three Dons_. In this
religious play, which lasted three days, there are emissaries who
undertake very long journeys, and must come back before the play can be
ended. The scene, besmeared with the blood of the three martyrs, the
Dons, is sometimes at Rome, sometimes at Vienna, soon after at Lyons,
and at other times in the Alps. The stage constantly represents hell
and paradise; and Europe, Asia, and Africa, are cantoned in three
towers. Some metaphysical beings are most curiously personified. Dame
Silence, for instance, speaks the prologue; Human Succour, Divine Grace,
and Divine Comfort, are the supporters of the heroes and heroines of the
piece, while hell exhibits monsters and devils, to frighten the
audience. They are constantly abusing Proserpine, who is introduced with
all the trappings of Tartarean pomp into this performance, where there
are no less than ninety-two dramatis personæ, among whom are the Virgin
and God the Father.

The story of _Le Mystere du Chevalier qui donne sa Femme au Diable_,
played by ten persons in 1505, is of a dissipated knight reduced by his
profligacy to distress and wickedness. In his misfortunes the devil
appears, and proposes to make him richer than ever, if he will assign
his wife, that the devil may have her in seven years. After some
discussion the knight consents, his promise is written out, and he signs
it with his blood. The seducer then stipulates that his victim shall
deny his God; the knight stoutly resists for a time, but in the end the
devil gains his point, and emboldened by success ventures to propose
that the knight shall deny the Virgin Mary. This, however, being a still
greater sin, he refuses to commit it with the utmost indignity and
vehemence, and the devil walks off baffled. At the end of seven years,
the promise being due, the devil presents it to the knight, who,
considering it a debt of honour, prepares to discharge it immediately.
He orders his wife to follow him to a certain spot, but on their way she
perceives a church, which after obtaining her husband’s permission she
enters, for the purpose of offering her devotion; while thus engaged,
the Virgin Mary recollecting the knight’s unsullied allegiance to her,
assumes the semblance of his wife, and in that character joins him. The
moment that they both appear before the devil, he perceives who he has
to deal with, and upbraids the unconscious knight for attempting to
deceive him. The knight protests his ignorance and astonishment, which
the Virgin corroborates, by telling the devil that it was her own plan,
for the rescue of two souls from his power, and she orders him to give
up the knight’s promise. He of course obeys so high an authority, and
runs off in great terror. The Virgin exhorts the knight to better
conduct in future, restores his wife to him, and the piece concludes.

In the reign of Francis I., 1541, the performance of a grand mystery of
the _Acts of the Apostles_, was proclaimed with great solemnity, and
acted at Paris for many successive days, before the nobility, clergy,
and a large assemblage in the Hotel de Flandres. These plays written in
French rhyme, by the brothers Greban, were printed in 2 vols, folio,
black letter, under letters patent of the king to William Alabat, a
merchant of Bourges. The dramatis personæ, were a multitude of
celestial, terrestial, and infernal personages, amounting altogether to
four hundred and eighty-five characters. Though the scenes of these
plays were chiefly scriptural, yet many were from apocryphal story, and
the whole exhibition was a strange mixture of sacred and profane
history.

Bayle calls the work entitled the _Mystere des Actes Apostres_, “a very
rare and uncommon work.” He obtained the loan of a copy from sir Hans
Sloane in England, and largely describes the volume. It is, however,
more curious than rare. From the public instruments prefixed to the
work, and the circumstances related by Bayle, it is evident that there
was much importance attached to these plays; but it cannot so well be
conceived from perusing them, as from the remarkable ceremonial of the
public proclamation for their performance, concerning which he says
nothing, probably from the extreme rarity of the tract, he had not seen
it. It ordained, that the proclamation of this play should be made by
sound of trumpets, with the city officers and serjeants attending, and
directed that the performance should take place “in the hall of the
Passion, the accustomed place for rehearsals and repetitions of the
Mysteries played in the said city of Paris; which place, being well hung
with rich tapestry chairs and forms, is for the reception of all persons
of honest and virtuous report, and of all qualities therein assisting,
as well as a great number of citizens and merchants, and other persons,
as well as clergy and laity, in the presence of the commissaries and
officers of justice appointed and deputed to hear the speeches of each
personage; and these are to make report, according to the merit of their
well doing, as in such case required, concerning which have a gracious
reception; and from day to day, every day, so to continue to do, until
the perfection of the said Mystery.” It is not necessary to trace these
plays abroad; they continue to be represented there to the present hour.
At Berlin, 1804 and 5, the grand sacred comedy of “David,” in five acts,
with battles and choruses, was performed by the comedians in the
National Theatre. Throughout March, April, and May, 1810, the same play
was represented at Vienna; and while the Congress was held there in
1815, it was again performed with the utmost possible splendour. The
back of the stage, extending into the open air, gradually ascended to a
distance sufficient to admit carriages and horses, and to allow the
evolutions of at least five hundred Austrian soldiers, infantry and
cavalry, who, habited in the characters of Jews and Philistines, carried
muskets and carbines, defiled and deployed, charged with the bayonet,
let off their fire-arms, and played artillery, to represent the battles
described in the Book of Kings. The emperor Alexander of Russia, the
king of Prussia, and other monarchs, with their ministers, and the
representatives of different courts, at the Congress, attended these
plays, which were exhibited at the great theatre (An der Wien) to
crowded audiences, at the usual prices of admission.

The first trace of theatrical representation in this country is recorded
by Matthew Paris, who wrote about 1240, and relates, that Geoffrey, a
learned Norman, master of the school of the abbey of Dunstable, composed
the play of _St. Catharine_, which was acted by his scholars. Geoffrey’s
performance took place in the year 1110, and he borrowed copes from the
sacrist of the neighbouring abbey of St. Albans, to dress his
characters. Fitzstephen writing in 1174, says that, “London, for its
theatrical exhibitions, has _religious plays_, either the
representations of miracles wrought by holy confessors, or the
sufferings of martyrs.” Besides those of Coventry, there are MSS. of the
Chester mysteries, ascribed to Ranulph Higden, compiler of the
Polychronicon, and a Benedictine monk of that city, where they were
performed at the expense of the incorporated trades, with a thousand
days of pardon from the pope, and forty days of pardon from the bishop
of Chester to all who attended the representation, which is supposed to
have been first had in the year 1328.

It is related in the Museum MS., of these Chester plays, that the
author, “was _thrice at Rome_ before he could obtain leave of the pope
to have them in the _English_ tongue.” The _subjects_ of these plays
being “from the Old and New Testament,” seem to supply the reasons for
the difficulty in obtaining the pope’s consent. Scripture in English had
been scrupulously withheld from the people, and the pope probably
anticipated, that if they were made acquainted with a portion of it, the
remainder would be demanded; while the author of the plays, better
acquainted than the pope with the more immediate difficulty of
altogether repressing the curiosity that had been excited towards it,
conceived, perhaps, that the growing desire might be delayed, by
distorted and confusing representations of certain portions. Perhaps
such corruptions and absurdities, as are in these plays, seconded by the
eloquence of their author, abated the papal fears concerning the
appearance of these _scriptural_ interludes in _English_, and finally
obtained the sanction for their performance.

It may be supposed, that the Chester plays, written in an early and dark
age, would contain a great mass of apocryphal interpolation, and that
the Coventry plays, written much later, would contain less; yet the
contrary is the fact. Among the Chester mysteries, the “Descent into
Hell” is the only one not founded on scripture, and _that_ even has a
colourable authority by implication; while among the Coventry mysteries,
which were produced ninety years afterwards, there are, besides the
“Descent,” no less than eight founded on apocryphal Testament story.
This remarkable difference of feature, may probably be accounted for.
From the fourth century, when Gregory Nazianzen, and the Apollonarii,
turned portions of the bible into tragedies and comedies, the clergy of
the continent must have done much in the same way, and with much of
apocryphal engraftment; and though “religious plays” prevailed in
England, yet _scriptural_ subjects were new to the people, and the
_Chester_ mystery-maker of 1328, found these so numerous, as to render
recourse to the New Testament _Apocrypha_ unnecessary. But the
_Coventry_ mastery-maker of 1416, was under circumstances that would
suggest powerful motives to the cunning of a monkish mind for apocryphal
adoption. He was likely to conceive that a false glare might obscure
the dawnings of the human mind. The rising day of the Reformation had
been foretold by the appearance of its “morning star,” in the person of
the intrepid Wycliffe, who exercised the right of private judgment in
England, a century and a half before Luther taught it as a principle in
Germany. It was a period of fearful foreboding to the church. In 1404,
Henry IV. held a parliament at Coventry, which, from its desire to
compel the clergy to contribute largely to the exigencies of the state,
was called the Laymen’s Parliament. The country was in imminent danger;
an abundant supply of money was immediately necessary; the church
property and income were enormous; the parliament knew that this
profusion of ecclesiastical wealth could only have been acquired from
the industry of the laity; and they represented that the clergy had been
of little service to the king, while the laity had served in his wars
with their persons, and by contributions for the same purpose had
impoverished their estates. The archbishop of Canterbury said, that if
the clergy did not fight in person their tenants fought for them, that
their contributions had been in proportion to their property, and that
the church had offered prayers and masses day and night for God’s
blessing on the king and the army. The speaker, sir John Cheyne,
answered, that the prayers of the church were a very slender supply. To
this the archbishop replied, that it might easily be seen what would
become of the kingdom when such devout addresses were so slighted. The
persistence of the archbishop saved the church at that time from the
impending storm; but the priests saw that their exactions and their
worship were only tolerated. Wycliffe had then been dead about twenty
years. After a life wonderfully preserved from the unsparing cruelty of
ecclesiastical power, by the protection of Edward III., his memory was
affectionately revered, and, as printing had not been discovered, his
writings were scarce, and earnestly sought. The good seed of dissent had
germinated, and the appearance of dissenters at intervals, was a
specimen of the harvest that had not yet come. Nothing more fearfully
alarmed the establishment than Wycliffe’s translation of the New
Testament into English. All arts were used to suppress it, and to
enliven the slumbering attachment of the people to the “good old
customs” of the church. There is abundant evidence of studious
endeavours to both these ends in the Coventry mysteries. The priests
industriously reported, that Wycliffe’s Testament was a false one; that
he had distorted the language, and concealed facts. There was no
printing press to multiply copies of his book; biblical criticism was
scarcely known but by being denounced; the ecclesiastics anathematized
scriptural inquiry as damnable heresy from their confessionals and
pulpits; and as “the churches served as theatres for holy farces,” the
Franciscan friars of Coventry, shortly after the meeting of the Laymen’s
Parliament in that city, craftily engrafting stories from the
pseudo-gospels upon narratives in the New Testament, composed and
performed the plays called the Coventry mysteries. These fraudful
productions were calculated to postpone the period of illumination, and
to stigmatize, by implication, the labours of Wycliffe. Yet, if the
simulation succeeded for a while with the vulgar, it reinvigorated the
honest and the persevering; and as the sun breaks forth after a season
of cold and darkness, so truth, finally emerging from the gulph of the
papal hierarchy, animated the torpid intellect, and cheered the “long
abused sight.”

But to return. In 1538, Ralph Radcliffe, a scholar and a lover of
graceful erudition, wrote plays in Latin and English, which were
exhibited by his pupils. Among his comedies, were “Dives and Lazarus,”
the “Delivering of Susannah,” “Job’s sufferings,” the “Burning of John
Huss,” &c. The scholars of St. Paul’s school in London, were, till a
comparatively late period, in great celebrity for their theatrical
talent, which it appears was in full exercise upon the mysteries so
early as the reign of Richard II.; for in that year, 1378, they
presented a petition to his majesty, praying him “to prohibit some
unexpert people from presenting the history of the Old and New
Testament, to the great prejudice of the said clergy, who have been at
great expense in order to represent it publicly at Christmas.”

But the more eminent performers of mysteries in London, were the society
of parish clerks. On the 18th, 19th, and 20th of July, 1390, they played
interludes at the Skinner’s-well, as the usual place of their
performance, before king Richard II., his queen, and their court; and at
the same place, in 1490, they played the “Creation of the World,” and
subjects of the like kind, for eight successive days, to splendid
audiences of the nobility and gentry from all parts of England. The
parish-clerks’ ancient performances are memorialized in raised letters
of iron, upon a pump on the east side of Rag-street, now called
Ray-street, beyond the Sessions-house, Clerkenwell.

The pump of the Skinner’s-well is let into a low dead wall. On its north
side is an earthenware shop; and on the south a humble tenement occupied
by a bird-seller, whose cages with their chirping tenants, hang over and
around the inscription. The passing admirer of linnets and redpoles, now
and then stops awhile to listen to the melody, and refresh his eye with
a few green clover turfs, that stand on a low table for sale by the side
of the door; while the monument, denoting the histrionic fame of the
place, and alluding to the miraculous powers of the water for healing
incurable diseases, which formerly attracted multitudes to the spot,
remains unobserved beneath its living attractions. The present
simplicity of the scene powerfully contrasts with the recollection of
its former splendour. The choral chant of the Benedictine nuns
accompanying the peal of the deep-toned organ through their cloisters,
and the frankincense curling its perfume from priestly censers at the
altar, are succeeded by the stunning sounds of numerous quickly-plied
hammers, and the smith’s bellows flashing the fires of Mr. Bond’s
iron-foundry, erected upon the unrecognised site of the convent. This
religious house stood about half-way down the declivity of the hill,
which commencing near the church on Clerkenwell-green, terminates at the
river Fleet. The prospect then, was uninterrupted by houses, and the
people upon the rising grounds could have had an uninterrupted view of
the performances at the well. About pistol-shot from thence, on the N.
N. E. part of the hill, there was a Bear garden; and scarcely so far
from the well, at the bottom of the hill westward, and a little to the
north, in the hollow of Air-street, lies Hockley-in the-Hole, where
different rude sports, which probably arose with the discontinuance of
the parish clerks’ acting, were carried on, within the recollection of
persons still living, to the great annoyance of this suburb.

The religious guild, or fraternity of _Corpus Christi_ at York, was
obliged annually to perform a _Corpus Christi play_. Drake says, that
this ceremony must have been in its time one of the most extraordinary
entertainments the city could exhibit. It was acted in that city till
the twenty-sixth year of queen Elizabeth, 1584.

Corpus Christi day, at _Newcastle-upon-Tyne_, was celebrated with
similar exhibitions by the incorporated trades. The earliest mention of
the performance of mysteries there, is in the ordinary of the coopers
for 1426. In 1437, the barbers played the “Baptizing of Christ.” In
1568, the “Offering of Abraham and Isaac” was exhibited by the slaters.
About 1578, the Corpus Christi plays were on the decline, and never
acted but by a special command of the magistrates of Newcastle. They are
spoken of as the general plays of the town of Newcastle, and when
thought necessary by the mayor to be set forth and played, the millers
were to perform the “Deliverance of Israel;” the house-carpenters, the
“Burial of Christ;” the masons, the “Burial of our lady Saint Mary the
Virgin.” Between the first and last mentioned periods, there are many
minutes in the trades’ books of the acting in different years.

In the reign of Henry VII., 1487, that king, in his castle of
Winchester, was entertained on a Sunday, while at dinner, with the
performance of Christ’s “Descent into Hell,” by the choir boys of Hyde
abbey and St. Swithin’s priory, two large monasteries there; and in the
same reign, 1489, there were shows and ceremonies, and (religious)
plays, exhibited in the palace at Westminster.

On the feast of St. Margaret, in 1511, the miracle play of the “Holy
Martyr St. George,” was acted on a stage in an open field at
Bassingborne, in Cambridgeshire, at which were a minstrel and three
waits hired from Cambridge, with a property-man and a painter.

It appears from the _Earl of Northumberland’s Household-book_, (1512,)
that the children of his chapel performed mysteries during the twelve
days of Christmas, and at Easter, under the direction of his master of
the revels. Bishop Percy cites several particulars of the regulated sums
payable to “parsones” and others for these performances. The exhibiting
scripture dramas on the great festivals entered into the regular
establishment, and formed part of the domestic regulations of our
ancient nobility; and what is more remarkable, it was as much the
business of the chaplain in those days to compose plays for the family,
as it is now for him to make sermons.

At London, in the year 1556, the “Passion of Christ” was performed at
the Grey Friars, before the lord mayor, the privy-council, and many
great estates of the realm. In 1577, the same play was performed at the
same place, on the day that war was proclaimed in London against France;
and in that year, the holiday of St. Olave, the patron of the church in
Silver-street, dedicated to that saint, being celebrated with great
solemnity, at eight o’clock at night, a play of the “miraculous Life of
St. Olave,” was performed for four hours, and concluded with many
religious plays. The acting of religious plays experienced interruption
during the reign of Elizabeth, and occasionally at other periods. Malone
thinks that the last mystery represented in England, was that of
“Christ’s Passion,” in the reign of king James I. Prynne relates that it
was performed at Ely-house, in Holborn, when Gondomar, the Spanish
ambassador, lay there, on Good Friday, at night, and that thousands were
present.

Concerning the Coventry mysteries, Dugdale relates, in his “History of
Warwickshire,” published in 1656, that, “Before the suppression of the
monasteries, this city was very famous for the pageants that were played
therein, upon Corpus Christi day (one of their ancient faires,) which
occasioning very great confluence of people thither from far and near,
was of no small benefit thereto: which pageants being acted with mighty
state and reverence by the Grey Friars, had theatres for the several
scenes, very large and high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all the
eminent parts of the city, for the better advantage of spectators, and
contained the story of the Old and New Testament, composed in the Old
Englishe rithme, as appeareth by an ancient MS. (in Bibl. Cotton. Vesp.
D. VIII.) intituled, _Ludus Corporis Christi_, or _Ludus Coventriæ_. ‘I
have been told,’ says Dugdale, ‘by some old people, who in their younger
years were eye-witnesses of these pageants so acted, that the yearly
confluence of people to see that shew was extraordinary great, and
yielded no small advantage to this city.’ The celebrity of the
performances may be inferred from the rank of the audiences; for, at the
festival of Corpus Christi, in 1483, Richard III. visited Coventry to
see the plays, and at the same season in 1492, they were attended by
Henry VII. and his queen, by whom they were highly commended.”

The mysteries were acted at Chester, by the trading companies of the
city. “Every company had his pagiante, or parte, which pagiantes were a
highe scafolde with two rowmes, a higher and a lower upon four wheeles.
In the lower they apparelled themselves, in the higher rowme they
played, being all open on the tope, that all behoulders might hear and
see them. The places where they played them was in every streete. They
begane first at the Abay gates, and when the pagiante was played, it was
wheeled to the High-cross before the mayor, and so to every streete; and
so every streete had a pagiante playing before them, till all the
pagiantes for the daye appointed were played, and when one pagiante was
neer ended, worde was broughte from streete to streete, that soe the
mighte come in place thereof, excedinge orderlye, and all the streetes
had their pagiante afore them, all at one time, playing together, to se
which playes was great resorte, and also scafoldes, and stages made in
the streetes, in those places where they determined to playe their
pagiantes.”

In Cornwall they had interludes in the Cornish language from scripture
history. These were called the _Gnary Miracle plays_, and were sometimes
performed in the open fields, at the bottom of earthen amphitheatres,
the people standing around on the inclined plane, which was usually
forty or fifty feet diameter. Two MSS. in the Bodleian Library contains
the Cornish plays of the “Deluge,” the “Passion,” and the
“Resurrection.”

According to Strutt, when mysteries were the only plays, the stage
consisted of three platforms, one above another. On the uppermost sat
God the Father, surrounded by his angels; on the second, the glorified
saints, and on the last and lowest, men who had not yet passed from this
life. On one side of the lowest platform was the resemblance of a dark
pitchy cavern, from whence issued the appearance of fire and flames; and
when it was necessary, the audience was treated with hideous yellings
and noises in imitation of the howlings and cries of wretched souls
tormented by relentless demons. From this yawning cave the devils
themselves constantly ascended to delight, and to instruct the
spectators.[163]


_Cat Worship on Corpus Christi Day._

In the middle ages, animals formed as prominent a part in the worship of
the time as they had done in the old religion of Egypt. The cat was a
very important personage in religious festivals. At Aix, in Provence, on
the festival of _Corpus Christi_, the finest Tom cat of the country,
wrapt in swaddling clothes like a child, was exhibited in a magnificent
shrine to public admiration. Every knee was bent, every hand strewed
flowers or poured incense, and Grimalkin was treated in all respects as
the god of the day. But on the festival of _St. John_, poor Tom’s fate
was reversed. A number of the tabby tribe were put into a wicker basket
and thrown alive into the midst of an immense fire, kindled in the
public square by the bishop and his clergy. Hymns and anthems were sung,
and processions were made by the priests and people in honour of the
sacrifice.[164]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Pimpernal. _Anagallis arvensis._
  Dedicated to _St. Erasmus_.

  [161] Brand.

  [162] Naogeorgus, by Googe.

  [163] Hone on Mysteries.

  [164] Mill’s Hist. Crusades.


~June 3.~

  _St. Cecilius_, A. D. 211. _St. Clotildis_, or _Clotilda_, Queen of
  France, A. D. 545. _St. Coemgen_, or _Keivin_, A. D. 618. _St.
  Lifard_, Abbot, about the middle of the 6th Cent. _St. Genesis_, in
  French, _Genes_, Bp. about A. D. 662.


CHRONOLOGY.

1817, June 3, _Paris_.--Yesterday the _ladies_ of the market of St.
Germain, having invited the rector of St. Sulpice to bless their new
market-place, that pastor accompanied by the clergy of the parish,
repaired there at five o’clock, and sung the hymn, _Veni Creator_. A
procession took place inside the edifice, and the _market_ was formally
_blessed_. The whole concluded with _Domine, Salvum fac Regem_. The
market was to open the next morning.--_Moniteur._


[Illustration: ~Hornsey-wood House.~]

    A house of entertainment--in a place
    So rural, that it almost doth deface
    The lovely scene: for like a beauty-spot,
    Upon a charming cheek that needs it not,
    So Hornsey Tavern seems to me. And yet,
    Tho’ nature be forgotten, to forget
    The artificial wants of the forgetters,
    Is setting up oneself to be their betters.
    This is unwise; for _they_ are passing wise,
    Who have no eyes for scenery, and despise
    Persons like me, who sometimes have sensations
    Through too much sight, and fall in contemplations,
    Which, as cold waters cramp and drown a swimmer,
    Chill and o’erwhelm me. Pleasant is that glimmer,
    Whereby trees _seem_ but wood:--The men who know
    No qualities but forms and uses, go
    Through life for happy people:--they _are_ so.

  *

Hornsey-wood house is beyond the Sluice-house, from whence anglers and
other visitors pass to it through an upland meadow, along a straight
gravel-path, angle-wise. It is a good, “plain, brown brick,”
respectable, modern, London looking building. Within the entrance to the
left, is a light and spacious room of ample accommodation, and of which
more care has been taken, than of its fine leather-folding screen in
ruins--an unseemly sight for him, who respects old requisites for their
former beauty and convenience. This once partook of both, but disuse
hath abused and “time hath written strange defeatures” on its face,
which in its early days was handsome. It still bears some remains of a
spirited painting, spread all over its leaves, to represent the
amusements and humours of a fair in the low countries. At the top of a
pole, which may have been the village May-pole, is a monkey with a cat
on his back; then there is a sturdy bear-ward, in scarlet, with a wooden
leg, exhibiting his bruin; an old woman telling fortunes to the rustics;
a showman’s drummer on a stage before a booth, beating up for spectators
to the performance within, which the show-cloth represents to be a
dancer on the tight-rope; a well set-out stall of toys, with a woman
displaying their attractions; besides other really interesting “bits” of
a crowded scene, depicted by no mean hand, especially a group coming
from a church in the distance, apparently a wedding procession, the
females well-looking and well dressed, bearing ribbons or scarfs below
their waists in festoons. The destruction of this really interesting
screen by worse than careless keeping, is to be lamented. This ruin of
art is within a ruin of nature. Hornsey-tavern and its grounds have
displaced a romantic portion of the wood, the remains of which, however,
skirt a large and pleasant piece of water, formed at a considerable
expense.


[Illustration: ~Lake of Hornsey-wood House.~]

To this water, which is well stored with fish, anglers resort with
better prospect of success than to the New River; the walk around it,
and the prospect, are very agreeable.

The _old_ Hornsey-wood house well became its situation; it was
embowered, and seemed a part of the wood. Two sisters, Mrs. Lloyd and
Mrs. Collier, kept the house; they were ancient women; large in size,
and usually sat before their door, on a seat fixed between two venerable
oaks, wherein swarms of bees hived themselves. Here the venerable and
cheerful dames tasted many a refreshing cup, with their good-natured
customers, and told tales of by-gone days, till, in very old age, one of
them passed to her grave, and the other followed in a few months. Each
died regretted by the frequenters of the rural dwelling, which was soon
afterwards pulled down, and the old oaks felled, to make room for the
present roomy and more fashionable building. To those who were
acquainted with it in its former rusticity, when it was an unassuming
“calm retreat,” it is indeed an altered spot. To produce the alteration,
a sum of ten thousand pounds was expended by the present proprietor, and
Hornsey-wood tavern is now a well-frequented house. The pleasantness of
its situation is a great attraction in fine weather.


CHRONOLOGY.

1802. On the 3d of June, madame Mara, the celebrated singer, took leave
of the English public. The _Dictionary of Musicians_, in recording the
performance, observes, that never certainly was such a transcendent
exercise of ability as a duet composed to display the mutual
accomplishments of madame Mara and Mrs. Billington, which they sung with
mutual excitement to the highest pitch of scientific expression.

Madame Mara was born at Cassel, in Germany, in 1750. Her paternal name
was Schmelling. Her early years were devoted to the study of the violin,
which, as a child, she played in England, but quitted that instrument,
and became a singer, by the advice of the English ladies, who disliked a
“female fiddler.” To this, perhaps, we owe the delight experienced from
the various excellencies of the most sublime singer the world ever saw.
Her first efforts were in songs of agility, yet her intonation was fixed
by the incessant practice of plain notes. To confirm the true foundation
of all good singing, by the purest enunciation, and the most precise
intonation of the scale, was the study of her life, and the part of her
voicing upon which she most valued herself. The late Dr. Arnold saw Mara
dance, by way of experiment, and assume the most violent gesticulations,
while going up and down the scale; yet such was her power of chest, that
the tone was as undisturbed and free as if she had stood in the
customary quiet position of the orchestra. The Italians say, that “of
the hundred requisites to make a singer, he who has a fine voice has
ninety-nine.” Mara had certainly the ninety-nine in one. Her voice was
in compass from G to E in altissimo, and all its notes were alike even
and strong; but she had the hundredth also in a supereminent degree, in
the grandest and most sublime conception. At the early age of
twenty-four, when she was at Berlin, in the immaturity of her judgment
and her voice, the best critics admitted her to have exceeded Cuzzoni,
Faustina, and indeed all those who preceded her. Our age has since seen
Billington and Catalani, yet in majesty and truth of _expression_ (a
term comprehending the most exalted gifts and requisites of vocal
science,) Mara retains her superiority. From her we deduce all that has
been learned concerning the great style of singing. The memory of her
performance of Handel’s sublime work, ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth,’
is immortalized, together with the air itself. Often as we have since
heard it, we have never witnessed even an approach to the simple majesty
of Mara: it is to this air alone that she owes her highest preeminence;
and they who, not having heard her, would picture to themselves a just
portraiture of her performance, must image a singer who is fully equal
to the truest expression of the inspired words, and the scarcely less
inspired music of the loftiest of all possible compositions. She was the
child of sensibility: every thing she did was directed to the heart; her
tone, in itself pure, sweet, rich, and powerful, took all its various
colourings from the passion of the words; and she was not less true to
nature and feeling in ‘The Soldier tir’d,’ and in the more exquisite,
‘Hope told a flattering tale,’ than in ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth.’
Her tone, perhaps, was neither so sweet nor so clear as Billington’s,
nor so rich and powerful as Catalani’s, but it was the most touching
language of the soul. It was on the mastery of the feelings of her
audience that Mara set her claims to fame. She left surprise to others,
and was wisely content with an apparently, but not really humbler,
style; and she thus chose the part of genuine greatness.” Her
_elocution_ must be taken rather as universal than as national; for
although she passed some time in England when a child, and retained some
knowledge of the language, her pronunciation was continually marred by a
foreign accent, and those mutilations of our words which are inseparable
from the constant use of foreign languages, during a long residence
abroad. Notwithstanding this drawback, the impression she made, even
upon uneducated persons, always extremely alive to the ridiculous
effects of mispronunciation, and upon the unskilled in music, was
irresistible. The fire, dignity, and tenderness of her vocal appeal
could never be misunderstood; it spoke the language of all nations, for
it spoke to the feelings of the human heart. Mrs. Billington, with a
modesty becoming her great acquirements, voluntarily declared, that she
considered Mara’s execution to be superior to her own in genuine effect,
though not in extent, compass, rapidity, and complication. Mara’s
divisions always seemed to convey a _meaning_; they were vocal, not
instrumental; they had light and shade, and variety of tone; they
relaxed from or increased upon the time, according to the sentiment of
which they always appeared to partake: these attributes were always
remarkable in her open, true, and liquid shake, which was certainly full
of expression. Neither in ornaments, learned and graceful as they were,
nor in her cadences, did she ever lose sight of the appropriate
characteristics of the sense of melody. She was, by turns, majestic,
tender, pathetic, and elegant, but in the one or the other not a note
was breathed in vain. She justly held every species of ornamental
execution, to be subordinate to the grand end of uniting the effects of
sound sense, in their operations upon the feelings of her hearers. True
to this spirit, if any one commended the agility of a singer, Mara would
ask, “Can she sing six plain notes?” In majesty and simplicity, in
grace, tenderness, and pathos, in the loftiest attributes of art, in the
elements of the great style, she far transcended all her competitors in
the list of fame. She gave to Handel’s compositions their natural
grandeur and effect, which is, in our minds, the very highest degree of
praise that we can bestow. Handel is heavy, say the musical
fashion-mongers of the day. Milton would be heavy beyond endurance, from
the mouth of a reader of talents even above mediocrity. The fact is,
that to wield such arms, demands the strength of giants. Mara possessed
this heaven-gifted strength. It was in the performance of Handel that
her finer mind fixed its expression, and called to its aid all the
powers of her voice, and all the acquisitions of her science. From the
time of her retirement from England, Mara chiefly resided in Russia; yet
as the conflagration of Moscow destroyed great part of her property,
towards the close of the year 1819, or the beginning of 1820, she
returned to London, and determined on presenting herself once more to
the judgment of the English public, who had reverenced her name so
highly and so long. She, consequently, had a concert at the Opera-house,
but her powers were so diminished that it proved unsuccessful.

Justice to the channel which supplies these particulars concerning
madame Mara requires it to be observed, that they are almost verbatim
from a book of great merit and extensive usefulness, _The Dictionary of
Musicians_. Its information obviously results from extensive research
concerning the deceased, and personal acquaintance with many of the
living individuals whose memoirs it contains. The work has experienced
the fate of originality and excellence--it has been pillaged without
acknowledgment; and the discovery of an error or two, which the
pillagers themselves were too ignorant to detect, have enabled them to
abuse it. Although written by scientific hands, it is exempt from the
meanness of envy, and honestly renders honour to whom honour is due. It
is a book full of facts, with interspersions of anecdote so eloquently
related, that it is one of the pleasantest works a lover of literature
can take up, and is therefore not only a valuable accession to our
biographical collections, but to our stores of amusement.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Rosa de meaux. _Rosa provincialis._
  Dedicated to _St. Cecilius_.


~June 4.~

  _St. Quirinus_, Bp. A. D. 304. _St. Optatus_, Bp. 4th Cent. _St.
  Walter_, Abbot, 13th Cent. _St. Petroc_, or _Perreuse_, Abbot, 6th
  Cent. _St. Breaca_, or _Breague_. _St. Burian._ _St. Nenooc_, or
  _Nennoca_, A. D. 467.


CHRONOLOGY.

1738. King George III. born: he began his reign, October 25, 1760, and
died, January 29, 1820.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Indian Pink. _Dianthus Chinensis._
  Dedicated to _St. Quirinus_.


~June 5.~

  _St. Boniface_, 8th Cent. _St. Dorotheus_, of Tyre _St. Dorotheus_,
  Abbot, 4th Cent. _St. Illidius_, Bp. 4th Cent.


_St. Boniface._

This saint is in the church of England calendar. His name was Winfred.
He was born at Crediton in Devonshire, educated in a Benedictine
monastery at Exeter, sent to Friesland as a missionary, became
archbishop of Mentz and primate of Germany and Belgium, and obtained the
appellation of apostle of the Germans. His conversions were extensive,
but many of them were effected by pious frauds; he was murdered in East
Friesland by the peasantry, while holding a confirmation, in 755.


CHRONOLOGY.

1814. From a newspaper of June the 5th in that year it appears, that on
the preceding Sunday morning, while the sexton of All Saints’ church,
at Stamford, was engaged in ringing the bells, two youths, named King
and Richards, through mere emulation, ascended the steeple by means of
the crotchets, or projecting stones on the outside of that beautiful and
lofty spire. The projecting stones on which they stepped in the ascent
are twenty-six in number, three feet asunder, and the summit of the
spire 152 feet from the ground. In ten or twelve minutes the feat was
performed, and the adventurers had safely descended; one of them
(Richards) having hung his waistcoat on the weathercock as a memento.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Three-leaved Rose. _Rosa Sinica._
  Dedicated to _St. Boniface_.


~June 6.~

  _St. Norbert_, A. D. 1134. _St. Philip_ the Deacon, A. D. 58. _St.
  Gudwall_, Bp. 6th Cent. _St. Claude_, Abp. A. D. 696 or 703.


CHRONOLOGY.

1762. George lord Anson, the circumnavigator of the world, died, at
Moor-park, near Rickmansworth, Herts; he was born at Shuckborough, in
Staffordshire, in 1700.


_Abduction._

This offence was by no means uncommon in England some years ago. In the
_London Chronicle_ for 1762, there is an extract from a letter, dated
“Sunday, Highgate, June 6,” from whence it appears, that on that
morning, between twelve and one, a postchaise, in which was a lady, was
driven through that place very furiously by two postillions, and
attended by three persons who had the appearance of gentlemen, from
which she cried out, “Murder! save me! Oh, save me!” Her voice subsided
from weakness into faint efforts of the same cries of distress; but as
there was at that time no possibility of relief, they hastily drove
towards Finchley Common. “From another quarter,” says the _London
Chronicle_, “we have undoubted intelligence of the same carriage being
seen, and the same outcries heard, as it passed through Islington, with
the additional circumstance of the two postillions being in their
shirts. Is this outrage to be suffered in England?”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Pink. _Dianthus deltoides._
  Dedicated to _St. Norbert_.


~June 7.~

  _St. Paul_, Bp. of Constantinople, A. D. 350, or 351. _St. Robert_,
  Abbot, A. D. 1159. _St. Colman_, Bp. of Dromore, A. D. 610. _St.
  Godeschalc_, Prince of the Western Vandals, and his companions. _St.
  Meriadec_, Bp. A. D. 1302.


CHRONOLOGY.

1779. William Warburton, bishop of Gloucester, died. He was born at
Newark-upon-Trent, in 1698, followed the profession of an attorney,
relinquished it for the church, and became an eminently able and learned
prelate. His writings are distinguished by genius, but deformed by a
haughty and vindictive spirit.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Red Centaury. _Chironia centaureum._
  Dedicated to _St. Paul_.


~June 8.~

  _St. Medard_, Bp. 6th Cent. _St. Gildard_, or _Godard_, Bp. A. D. 511.
  _St. Maximinus_, 1st Cent. _St. William_, Abp. of York, A. D. 1154.
  _St. Clou_, or _Clodulphus_, Bp. A. D. 696. _St. Syra_, 7th Cent.


_Thimble and Pea._

On the 8th of June, 1825, a publican in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel
was charged at the Public Office, Bow-street, by Mr. John Francis
Panchaud, a foreigner, with having, in conjunction with several other
persons, defrauded him of a 10_l._ note, at Ascot Heath race-course, on
the Thursday preceding. The alleged fraud, or robbery, was effected by
means of an unfair game known among the frequenters of races and fairs
by the name of “the thimble rig,” of which J. Smith, the officer, this
day gave the following description to Mr. Minshull, in order that the
worthy magistrate might perfectly understand the case:--A gang of seven
or eight, or more, set up a table, but they all appear strangers to
each other, and unconnected with the game, except one who conducts it,
and who appears to be the sole proprietor. This master of the ceremonies
has three thimbles, and is provided with a number of peas, or
pepper-corns. He puts one under each thimble, or perhaps only under one
or two, as the case may be. He then offers a bet as to which thimble a
pepper-corn is or is not under, and offers at first such a wager as is
eagerly taken by those round the table, and he loses. He pays the
losings freely, and the other members of this joint-stock company affect
to laugh at him, as what they call a “good flat.” Having thus drawn the
attention, and probably excited the cupidity of a stranger, who appears
to have money, they suffer him to win a stake or two, and get him to
increase his bets. When he seems thoroughly in the humour, the master of
the table lifts a thimble, under which is a pepper-corn, and turning his
head aside to speak to some one, he suffers the corn to roll off; and,
seeming to be unconscious of this, he replaces the thimble, and offers
bets to any amount that there is a corn underneath that particular
thimble. The stranger having seen the corn roll off “with his own eyes,”
as the phrase is, chuckles to himself, and eagerly takes the bet; the
thimble is removed, and behold!--there is a pepper-corn under it still,
the fellow having dexterously slipped another under it when the first
rolled off the table. “So that the plain fact is, sir,” continued Smith,
“that the stranger, fancying he is taking in the master of the table,
cheerfully stakes his money with a dead certainty, as he supposes, of
winning, and he finds that he has been taken in himself.” Smith said, he
had known instances of gentlemen getting from their carriages, and in a
few moments ridding themselves of 20_l._ or 30_l._, or perhaps more, and
going off wondering at their folly, and looking uncommon silly.

It appeared that Mr. Panchaud went up to one of these tables, at which
the defendant and many others were playing, and after winning two or
three times, the trick above described was commenced. The conductor of
the game offered a bet of 5_l._, and Mr. Panchaud having seen the
pepper-corn roll off, took the wager, and put down a 10_l._ note. In a
moment after there was a general hustling, the table was upset, and the
whole party speedily disappeared, together with the 10_l._ note. When
the bet was offered, the defendant, who stood next to him, jogged his
elbow, and said eagerly, “Bet him, bet him; you must win, the ball is
under our feet.” Mr. Panchaud had no doubt, from his whole manner, that
the defendant was concerned with the others in the trick. The case stood
over for further investigation. It is only mentioned here for the
purpose of showing a species of slight of hand continued in our own
times to defraud the unwary.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Moneywort. _Lysimachia nummularia._
  Dedicated to _St. Medard_.


[Illustration: ~Passion Flower~]

This flower, says the elegant author of the _Flora Domestica_, derives
its name from an idea, that all the instruments of Christ’s passion are
represented in it.

The above engraving from an ancient print, shows the curious distortion
of the flower in those parts whereon the imagination has indulged. The
original print bears an inscription to this effect; that nature itself
grieves at the crucifixion, as is denoted by the flower representing the
five wounds, and the column or pillar of scourging, besides the three
nails, the crown of thorns, &c.

Most of the passion-flowers are natives of the hottest parts of
America. The rose  passion-flower is a native of Virginia, and
is the species which was first known in Europe. It has since been, in a
great measure, superseded by the blue passion-flower, which is hardy
enough to flower in the open air, and makes an elegant tapestry for an
unsightly wall. The leaves of this, in the autumn, are of the most
brilliant crimson; and, when the sun is shining upon them, seem to
transport one to the gardens of Pluto.[165]

  [165] Flora Domestica.


~June 9.~

  _Sts. Primus_ and _Felicianus_, A. D. 286. _St. Columba_, or
  _Columkille_, A. D. 597. _St. Pelagia_, A. D. 311. _St. Vincent_, 3d
  Cent. _St. Richard_, Bp. of Andria, 5th Cent.


CHRONOLOGY.

1760. Nicholas Lewes, count Zinzendorf, a native of Saxony, and founder
of the religious society called Moravians, died at Chelsea.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Barberry. _Barberis vulgaris._
  Dedicated to _St. Columba_.


~June 10.~

  _St. Margaret_, Queen of Scotland, A. D. 1093. _St. Getulius_ and
  companions, 2d Cent. _St. Landry_, or _Landericus_, Bp. A. D. 650. _B.
  Henry_ of Treviso, A. D. 1315.


CHRONOLOGY.

1735. Thomas Hearne, the learned antiquary, died at Oxford: he was born
at White Waltham, in Berkshire, in 1680.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Fleur-de-lis. _Iris Pseudacorus._
  Dedicated to _St. Margaret_.


~June 11.~

  _St. Barnabas_, Apostle, 1st Cent. _St. Tochumra_, of Tochumrach in
  Ireland. Another _St. Tochumra_, diocese of Kilmore.


_St. Barnabas the Apostle._

He was of the tribe of Levi, and coadjutor with the apostle Paul for
several years. Though denominated an apostle, it seems agreed that he
was not entitled to that character; if he were, his extant epistle would
have equal claim with the writings of the other apostles to a place
among the books in the New Testament. He is said to have been martyred,
but of this there is not sufficient evidence.


_St. Barnabas’ Day._

This was a high festival in England formerly.

Besides the holy thorn, there grew in the abbey churchyard of
Glastonbury, on the north side of St. Joseph’s chapel, a miraculous
walnut-tree, which never budded forth before the feast of _St.
Barnabas_, viz. the eleventh of June, and on that very day shot forth
leaves, and flourished like its usual species. This tree is gone, and in
the place thereof stands a very fine walnut-tree of the common sort. It
is strange to say how much this tree was sought after by the credulous;
and, though not an uncommon walnut, queen Anne, king James, and many of
the nobility of the realm, even when the times of monkish superstition
had ceased, gave large sums of money for small cuttings from the
original.[166]

Midsummer, or nightless days, now begin and continue until the 2d of
July.[167] There is still this saying among country people,--

    “Barnaby Bright, Barnaby Bright,
    The longest day and the shortest night.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Midsummer Daisy. _Chrysanthemum Leucanthemum._
  Dedicated to _St. Barnabas_.

  [166] Collinson’s Somersetshire.

  [167] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.


~June 12.~

  _St. John_, Hermit, A. D. 1479. _St. Basilides_, _Quirinus_, or
  _Cyrinus_, _Nabor_, and _Nazarius_. _St. Eskill_, Bp. _St. Onuphrius_,
  Hermit. _St. Ternan_, Bp. of the Picts.


CHRONOLOGY.

1734. The duke of Berwick, illegitimate son of James II., by Arabella
Churchill, sister to the great duke of Marlborough, was killed by a
cannon ball, at the siege of Phillipsburgh, in Germany, in the 64th year
of his age. He was only excelled in the art of war by the duke of
Marlborough himself.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  White Dog Rose. _Rosa arvensis._
  Dedicated to _St. John_.


~June 13.~

  _St. Antony_ of Padua, A. D. 1231. _St. Damhanade._


CHRONOLOGY.

1625. Henrietta Maria, youngest daughter to Henry IV. of France, landed
at Dover, and was married to Charles I., at Canterbury, on the same day;
her portraits represent her to have been beautiful. She was certainly a
woman of ability, but faithless to her unfortunate consort, after whose
death on the scaffold she lived in France, and privately married her
favourite, the lord Jermyn, a descendant of whom, with that name, is (in
1825,) a grocer in Chiswell-street, and a member of the society of
friends. Henrietta Maria, though a Bourbon, was so little regarded in
the court of the Bourbons, and reduced to so great extremity, that she
was without fuel for her fire-place during the depth of winter, in the
palace assigned to her by the French monarch.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Garden Ranunculus. _Ranunculus Asiaticus._
  Dedicated to _St. Antony_.


~June 14.~

  _St. Basil_, Abp. A. D. 379. _Sts. Rufinus_ and _Valerius_, 3d Age.
  _St. Methodius_, Patriarch of Constantinople, A. D. 846. _St.
  Docmael_, 6th Cent. _St. Nennus_, or _Nehemias_, Abbot, A. D. 654.
  _St. Psalmodius_, A. D. 630.


CHRONOLOGY.

1645. The battle of Naseby, between the royalists under Charles I., and
the parliament troops under Fairfax, was decided this day by the entire
rout of the king’s army, and the seizure of all his artillery and
ammunition. Among the spoil was the king’s cabinet with his letters,
which the parliament afterwards published. Hume says, “they give an
advantageous idea both of the king’s genius and morals.” Yet it is a
fact, which every person who reads the correspondence must inevitably
arrive at, that the king purposed deception, when he professed good
faith, and that, as true genius never exists with fraud, these letters
do not entitle him to reputation for common honesty, or real ability.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet Basil. _Oscimum Basilicum._
  Dedicated to _St. Basil_.


~June 15.~

  _Sts. Vitus_, or _Guy_, _Crescentia_, and _Modestus_, 4th Cent. _St.
  Landelin_, Abbot, A. D. 686. _B. Bernard_, of Menthon, A. D. 1008.
  _St. Vauge_, Hermit, A. D. 585. _B. Gregory Lewis Barbadigo_, Cardinal
  Bp. A. D. 1697.


_St. Vitus._

This saint was a Sicilian martyr, under Dioclesian. Why the disease
called St. Vitus’s dance was so denominated, is not known. Dr. Forster
describes it as an affection of the limbs, resulting from nervous
irritation, closely connected with a disordered state of the stomach and
bowels, and other organs of the abdomen. In papal times, fowls were
offered on the festival of this saint, to avert the disease. It is a
vulgar belief, that rain on St. Vitus’s day, as on St. Swithin’s day,
indicates rain for a certain number of days following.

It is related, that after St. Vitus and his companions were martyred,
their heads were enclosed in a church wall, and forgotten, so that no
one knew where they were, until the church was repaired, when the heads
were found, and the church bells began to sound of themselves, which
causing inquiry, a writing was found, authenticating the heads; they
consequently received due honour, and worked miracles in due form.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sensitive Plant. _Mimosa sensit._
  Dedicated to _St. Vitus_.


  CEREMONY OF LAYING
  THE
  ~First Stone of the New London-bridge,~
  ON WEDNESDAY, THE 15th OF JUNE, 1825.

[Illustration: ~New London-bridge.~]

    London, like famous old Briareus,
    With fifty heads and twice told fifty arms,
    Laid one strong arm across yon noble flood,
    For free communication with each shore;
    Hence, though the thews and sinews sink and shrink,
    And we so manifold and strong have grown,
    That a renewal of the limb for purposes
    Of national and private weal be requisite,
    It is to be regarded as a friend
    That oft hath served us in our utmost need,
    With all its strength. Be ye then merciful,
    Good citizens, to this our ancient “sib,”
    Operate on it tenderly, and keep
    Some fragments of it, as memorials
    Of its former worth: for our posterity
    Will to their ancestors do reverence,
    As we, ourselves, do reverence to ours.--

  *

The present engraving is from the design at the head of the admission
tickets, and is exactly of the same form and dimensions; the tickets
themselves were large cards of about the size that the present leaf
will present when bound in the volume, and cut round the edges.

  COPY OF THE TICKET.

  _Admit the Bearer_

  to witness THE CEREMONY of laying

  THE FIRST STONE

  of the

  ~New London-bridge,~

  on Wednesday, the 15th day of June, 1825.

  (Signed) HEN^{Y} WOODTHORPE, Jun.

  Clerk of the Committee.

  Seal
  of the
  City Arms.

  _N.B._ The access is from the present bridge,
  and the time of admission will be between
  the hours of twelve and two.

  N^{o} 281.

       *       *       *       *       *

It has been truly observed of the design for the new bridge, that it is
striking for its contrast with the present gothic edifice, whose place
it is so soon to supply. It consists but of five elliptical arches,
which embrace the whole span of the river, with the exception of a
double pier on either side, and between each arch a single pier of
corresponding design: the whole is more remarkable for its simplicity
than its magnificence; so much, indeed, does the former quality appear
to have been consulted, that it has not a single balustrade from
beginning to end.

New London-bridge is the symbol of an honourable British merchant: it
unites plainness with strength and capacity, and will be found to be
more expansive and ornamental, the more its uses and purposes are
considered.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following are to be the dimensions of the new bridge:--

Centre arch--span, 150 feet; rise, 32 feet; piers, 24 feet.

Arches next the centre arch--span, 140 feet; rise, 30 feet; piers 22
feet.

Abutment arches--span, 130 feet; rise, 25 feet; abutment, 74 feet.

Total width, from water-side to water-side, 690 feet.

Length of the bridge, including the abutments, 950 feet; without the
abutments, 782 feet.

Width of the bridge, from outside to outside of the parapets, 55 feet;
carriage-way, 33 feet 4 inches.

       *       *       *       *       *

“Go and set London-bridge on fire,” said Jack Cade, at least so
Shakspeare makes him say, to “the rest” of the insurgents, who, in the
reign of Henry VI., came out of Kent, took the city itself, and there
raised a standard of revolt against the royal authority. “Sooner said
than done, master Cade,” may have been the answer; and now, when we are
about to erect a new one, let us “remember the bridge that has carried
safe over.” Though its feet were manifold as a centipede’s, and though,
in gliding between its legs, as it

    “doth bestride the Thames,”

some have, ever and anon, passed to the bottom, and craft of men, and
craft with goods, so perished, yet the health and wealth of ourselves,
and those from whom we sprung, have been increased by safe and
uninterrupted intercourse above.

       *       *       *       *       *

By admission to the entire ceremony of laying the first stone of the new
London-bridge, the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ is enabled to give an
authentic account of the proceedings from his own close observation; and
therefore, collating the narratives in every public journal of the
following day, by his own notes, he relates the ceremonial he witnessed,
from a chosen situation within the coffer-dam.

       *       *       *       *       *

At an early hour of the morning the vicinity of the new and old bridges
presented an appearance of activity, bustle, and preparation; and every
spot that could command even a bird’s-eye view of the scene, was eagerly
and early occupied by persons desirous of becoming spectators of the
intended spectacle, which, it was confidently expected, would be
extremely magnificent and striking; these anticipations were in no way
disappointed.

So early as twelve o’clock, the avenues leading to the old bridge were
filled with individuals, anxious to behold the approaching ceremony, and
shortly afterwards the various houses, which form the streets through
which the procession was to pass, had their windows graced with
numerous parties of well-dressed people. St. Magnus’ on the bridge, St.
Saviour’s church in the Borough, Fishmongers’-hall, and the different
warehouses in the vicinity, had their roofs covered with spectators;
platforms were erected in every nook from whence a sight could be
obtained, and several individuals took their seats on the Monument, to
catch a bird’s-eye view of the whole proceedings. The buildings, public
or private, that at all overlooked the scene, were literally roofed and
walled with human figures, clinging to them in all sorts of possible and
improbable attitudes. Happy were they who could purchase seats, at from
half a crown to fifteen shillings each, for so the charge varied,
according to the degree of accommodation afforded. As the day advanced,
the multitude increased in the street; the windows of the shops were
closed, or otherwise secured, and those of the upper floors became
occupied with such of the youth and beauty of the city as has not
already repaired to the river: and delightfully occupied they were: and
were the sun down, as it was not, it had scarcely been missed--for
there--

    “From every casement came the light,
    Of women’s eyes, so soft and bright,
    Peeping between the trelliced bars,
    A nearer, dearer heaven of stars!”

The wharfs on the banks of the river, between London-bridge and
Southwark-bridge, were occupied by an immense multitude.
Southwark-bridge itself was clustered over like a bee-hive; and the
river from thence to London-bridge presented the appearance of an
immense dock covered with vessels of various descriptions; or, perhaps,
it more closely resembled a vast country fair, so completely was the
water concealed by multitudes of boats and barges, and the latter again
hidden by thousands of spectators, and canvass awnings, which, with the
gay holiday company within, made them not unlike booths and tents, and
contributed to strengthen the fanciful similitude. The tops of the
houses had many of them also their flags and awnings; and, from the
appearance of them and the river, one might almost suppose the dry and
level ground altogether deserted, for this aquatic fete, worthy of
Venice at her best of times. All the vessels in the pool hoisted their
flags top-mast-high, in honour of the occasion, and many of them sent
out their boats manned, to increase the bustle and interest of the
scene.

At eleven o’clock London-bridge was wholly closed, and at the same hour
Southwark-bridge was thrown open, free of toll. At each end of
London-bridge barriers were formed, and no persons were allowed to pass,
unless provided with tickets, and these only were used for the purpose
of arriving at the coffer-dam. There was a feeling of awful solemnity at
the appearance of this, the greatest thoroughfare of the metropolis, now
completely vacated of all its foot-passengers and noisy vehicles.

       *       *       *       *       *

At one o’clock the lord mayor and sheriffs arrived at Guildhall, the
persons engaged in the procession having met at a much earlier hour.

The lady mayoress and a select party went to the coffer-dam in the lord
mayor’s private state carriage, and arrived at the bridge about
half-past two o’clock.

The Royal Artillery Company arrived in the court-yard of the Guildhall
at two o’clock.

The carriages of the members of parliament and other gentlemen, forming
part of the procession, mustered in Queen-street and the Old Jewry.

       *       *       *       *       *

At twelve o’clock, the barrier at the foot of the bridge on the city
side of the river was thrown open, and the company, who were provided
with tickets for the coffer-dam, were admitted within it, and kept
arriving till two o’clock in quick succession. At that time the barriers
were again closed, and no person was admitted till the arrival of the
chief procession. By one o’clock, however, most of the seats within the
coffer-dam were occupied, with the exception of those reserved for the
persons connected with the procession.

The tickets of admission issued by the committee, consisting of members
of the court of common council, were in great request. By their number
being judiciously limited, and by other arrangements, there was ample
accommodation for all the company. At the bottom of each ticket, there
was a notice to signify that the hours of admission were between twelve
and two, and not a few of the fortunate holders were extremely punctual
in attending at the first mentioned hour, for the purpose of securing
the best places. They were admitted at either end of the bridge, and
passed on till they came to an opening that had been made in the
balustrade, leading to the platform that surrounded the area of the
proposed ceremony. This was the coffer-dam formed in the bed of the
river, for the building of the first pier, at the Southwark side. The
greatest care had been taken to render the dam water-tight, and during
the whole of the day, from twelve till six, it was scarcely found
necessary to work the steam-engine a single stroke. On passing the
aperture in the balustrade, already mentioned, the company immediately
arrived on a most extensive platform, from which two staircases
divided--the one for the _pink_ tickets, which introduced the possessor
to the lowest stage of the works, and the other for the white ones, of
less privilege, and which were therefore more numerous. The interior of
the works was highly creditable to the committee. Not only were the
timbers, whether horizontal or upright, of immense thickness, but they
were so securely and judiciously bolted and pinned together, that the
liability of any danger or accident was entirely done away with. The
very awning which covered the whole coffer-dam, to ensure protection
from the sun or rain, had there been any, was raised on a little forest
of scaffolding poles, which, any where but by the side of the huge
blocks of timber introduced immediately beneath, would have appeared of
an unusual stability. In fact, the whole was arranged as securely and as
comfortably as though it had been intended to serve the time of all the
lord mayors for the next century to come, while on the outside, in the
river, every necessary precaution was taken to keep off boats, by
stationing officers there for that purpose. With the exception of the
lower floor, which, as already mentioned, was only attainable by the
possession of pink tickets, and a small portion of the floor next above
it, the whole was thrown open without reservation, and the visitors took
possession of the unoccupied places they liked best.

The entire coffer-dam was ornamented with as much taste and beauty as
the purposes for which it was intended would possibly admit. The
entrance to the platform from the bridge, was fitted up with crimson
drapery, tastefully festooned. The coffer-dam itself was divided into
four tiers of galleries, along which several rows of benches, covered
with scarlet cloth, were arranged for the benefit of the spectators. It
was covered with canvass to keep out the rays of the sun, and from the
transverse beams erected to support it, which were decked with rosettes
of different colours, were suspended flags and ensigns of various
descriptions brought from Woolwich yard; which by the constant motion in
which they were kept, created a current of air, which was very
refreshing. The floor of the dam, which is 45 feet below the high water
mark, was covered, like the galleries, with scarlet cloth, except in
that part of it where the first stone was to be laid. The floor is 95
feet in length, and 36 in breadth; is formed of beech planks, four
inches in thickness, and rests upon a mass of piles, which are shod at
the top with iron, and are crossed by immense beams of solid timber. By
two o’clock all the galleries were completely filled with well-dressed
company, and an eager impatience for the arrival of the procession was
visible in every countenance. The bands of the Horse Guards, red and
blue, and also that of the Artillery Company, played different tunes, to
render the interval of expectation as little tedious as possible; but,
in spite of all their endeavours, a feeling of listlessness appeared to
pervade the spectators.--In the mean time the arrangements at Guildhall
being completed, the procession moved from the court-yard, in the
following order:--

  A body of the Artillery Company.
  Band of Music.
  Marshalmen.
  Mr. Cope, the City Marshal, mounted, and in the full uniform of his
       Office.
  The private carriage of -- Saunders, Esq., the Water Bailiff,
       containing the Water-Bailiff, and Nelson, his Assistant.
  Carriage containing the Barge-masters.
  City Watermen bearing Colours.
  A party of City Watermen without Colours.
  Carriage containing Messrs. Lewis and Gillman, the Bridge-masters, and
       the Clerk of the Bridge-house Estate.
  Another party of the City Watermen.
  Carriage containing Messrs. Jolliffe and Sir E. Banks,
  the Contractors for the Building of the New Bridge.
  Model of the New Bridge.
  Carriages containing Members of the Royal Society.
  Carriage containing John Holmes, Esq., the Bailiff of Southwark.
  Carriage containing the Under-Sheriffs.
  Carriages containing Thomas Shelton, Esq., Clerk of the Peace for the
       City of London; W. L. Newman, Esq., the City Solicitor; Timothy
       Tyrrell, Esq., the Remembrancer; Samuel Collingridge, Esq., and
       P. W. Crowther, Esq., the Secondaries; J. Boudon, Esq., Clerk of
       the Chamber; W. Bolland, Esq., and George Bernard, Esq., the
       Common Pleaders; Henry Woodthorpe, Esq., the Town Clerk; Thomas
       Denman, Esq., the Common Sergeant; R. Clarke, Esq., the
       Chamberlain.
  These Carriages were followed by those of several Members of
       Parliament.
  Carriages of Members of the Privy Council.
  Band of Music and Colours, supported by City Watermen.
  Members of the Goldsmiths’ (the Lord Mayor’s) Company.
  Marshalmen.
  Lord Mayor’s Servants in their State Liveries.
  Mr. Brown, the City Marshal, mounted on horseback, and in the full
       uniform of his Office.
  The Lord Mayor’s State Carriage, drawn by six bay horses, beautifully
       caparisoned, in which were his Lordship and the Duke of York.
  The Sheriffs, in their State Carriages.
  Carriages of several Aldermen who have passed the Chair.
  Another body of the Royal Artillery Company.

The procession moved up Cornhill and down Gracechurch-street, to
London-bridge. While awaiting the arrival of the procession, wishes were
wafted from many a fair lip, that the lord of the day, as well as of the
city, would make his appearance. Small-talk had been exhausted, and the
merits of each particular timber canvassed for the hundredth time, when,
at about a quarter to three, the lady mayoress made her appearance, and
renovated the hopes of the company. They argued that his lordship as a
family man, would not be long absent from his lady. The clock tolled
three, and no lord mayor had made his appearance. At this critical
juncture a small gun made its report; but, except the noise and smoke,
it produced nothing. More than an hour elapsed before the eventful
moment arrived; a flourish of trumpets in the distance gave hope to many
hearts, and finally two six-pounders of the Artillery Company,
discharged from the wharf at Old Swan Stairs, at about a quarter-past
four o’clock, announced the arrival of the cavalcade. Every one stood
up, and in a very few minutes the city watermen, bearing their colours
flying, made their appearance at the head of the coffer-dam, and would,
if they could, have done the same thing at the bottom of it; but owing
to the unaccommodating narrowness of the staircase, they found it
inconvenient to convey their flags by the same route that they intended
to convey themselves. Necessity, however, has long been celebrated as
the mother of invention, and a plan was hit upon to wind the flags over
this timber and under that, till after a very serpentine proceeding,
they arrived in safety at the bottom. After this had been accomplished,
there was a sort of pause, and every body seemed to be thinking of what
would come next, when some one in authority hinted, that as the descent
of the flags had been performed so dexterously, or for some other reason
that did not express itself, they might as easily be conveyed back, so
that the company, whose patience, by the bye, was exemplary, were
gratified by the ceremony of those poles returning, till the arrival of
the expected personages, satisfied every desire. A sweeping train of
aldermen were seen winding in their scarlet robes through the mazes of
the pink-ticketted staircase, and in a very few minutes a great portion
of these dignified elders of the city made their appearance on the floor
below, the band above having previously struck up the “Hunter’s Chorus”
from _Der Freischütz_. Next in order entered a strong body of the
common-councilmen, who had gone to meet the procession on its arrival at
the barriers. Independently of those that made their appearance on the
lower platform, glimpses of their purple robes with fur-trimmings, were
to be caught on every stage of the scaffolding, where many of them had
been stationed throughout the day. After these entered the recorder, the
common sergeant, the city solicitor, the city clerk, the city
chamberlain, and a thousand other city officers, “all gracious in the
city’s eyes.” These were followed by the duke of York and the lord
mayor, advancing together, the duke being on his lordship’s right hand.
His royal highness was dressed in a plain blue coat with star, and wore
at his knee the garter. They were received with great cheering, and
proceeded immediately up the floor of the platform, till they arrived
opposite the place where the first stone was suspended by a tackle,
ready to be swung into the place that it is destined to occupy for
centuries. Opposite the stone, an elbowed seat had been introduced into
the line of bench, so as to afford a marked place for the chief
magistrate, without breaking in upon the direct course of the seats. His
lordship, who was in his full robes, offered the chair to his royal
highness, which was positively declined on his part. The lord mayor
therefore seated himself, and was supported on the right by his royal
highness, and on the left by Mr. Alderman Wood. The lady mayoress, with
her daughters in elegant dresses, sat near his lordship, accompanied by
two fine-looking intelligent boys, her sons; near them were the two
lovely daughters of lord Suffolk, and many other fashionable and
elegantly dressed ladies. In the train which arrived with the lord mayor
and his royal highness were the earl of Darnley, lord J. Stewart, the
right hon. C. W. Wynn, M. P., sir G. Warrender, M. P., sir I. Coffin, M.
P., sir G. Cockburn, M.P., sir R. Wilson, M.P., Mr. T. Wilson, M.P.,
Mr. W. Williams, M.P., Mr. Davies Gilbert, M.P., Mr. W. Smith, M.P., Mr.
Holme Sumner, M.P., with several other persons of distinction, and the
common sergeant, the city pleaders, and other city officers.

The lord mayor took his station by the side of the stone, attended by
four gentlemen of the committee, bearing, one, the glasscut bottle to
contain the coins of the present reign, another, an English inscription
incrusted in glass, another, the mallet, and another, the level.

The sub-chairman of the committee, bearing the golden trowel, took his
station on the side of the stone opposite the lord mayor.

The engineer, John Rennie, esq., took his place on another side of the
stone, and exhibited to the lord mayor the plans and drawings of the
bridge.

The members of the committee of management, presented to the lord mayor
the cut glass bottle which was intended to contain the several coins.

The ceremony commenced by the children belonging to the wards’ schools,
Candlewick, Bridge, and Dowgate, singing “God save the King.” They were
stationed in the highest eastern gallery for that purpose; the effect
produced by their voices, stealing through the windings caused by the
intervening timbers to the depth below, was very striking and peculiar.

The chamberlain delivered to his lordship the several pieces of coin:
his lordship put them into the bottle, and deposited the bottle in the
place whereon the foundation stone was to be laid.

The members of the committee, bearing the English inscription incrusted
on glasses, presented it to the lord mayor. His lordship deposited it in
the subjacent stone.

Mr. Jones, sub-chairman of the Bridge Committee, who attended in purple
gowns and with staves, presented the lord mayor, on behalf of the
committee, with an elegant silver-gilt trowel, embossed with the
combined arms of the “Bridge House Estate and the City of London,” and
bearing on the reverse an inscription of the date, and design of its
presentation to the right hon. the lord mayor, who was born in the ward,
and is a member of the guild wherein the new bridge is situated. This
trowel was designed by Mr. John Green, of Ludgate-hill, and executed by
Messrs. Green, Ward, and Green, in which firm he is partner. Mr. Jones,
on presenting it to the lord mayor, thus addressed his lordship: “My
lord, I have the honour to inform you, that the committee of management
has appointed your lordship, in your character of lord mayor of London,
to lay the first stone of the new London-bridge, and that they have
directed me to present to your lordship this trowel as a means of
assistance to your lordship in accomplishing that object.”

The lord mayor having signified his consent to perform the ceremony,
Henry Woodthorpe, esq., the town clerk, who has lately obtained the
degree of L. L. D., held the copper plate about to be placed beneath the
stone with the following inscription upon it, composed by Dr.
Coplestone, master of Oriel-college, Oxford:--

  Pontis vetvsti
  qvvm propter crebras nimis interiectas moles
  impedito cvrsv flvminis
  navicvlae et rates
  non levi saepe iactvra et vitae pericvlo
  per angvstas favces
  praecipiti aqvarvm impetv ferri solerent
  Civitas Londinensis
  his incommodis remidivm adhibere volens
  et celeberrimi simvl in terris emporii
  vtilitatibvs consvlens
  regni insvper senatvs avctoritate
  ac mvnificentia adivta
  pontem
  sitv prorsvs novo
  amplioribvs spatiis constrvendvm decrev
  ea scilicet forma ac magnitvdine
  qvae regiae vrbis maiestati
  tandem responderet.
  Neqve alio magis tempore
  tantum opvs inchoandvm dvxit
  qvam cvm pacato ferme toto terrarvm orbe
  Imperivm Britannicvm
  fama opibus mvltitvdine civivm et concordia pollens
  principe
  item gavderet
  artivm favtore ac patrono
  cvivs svb avspiciis
  novva indies aedificiorvm splendor vrbi accederet.

         *       *       *       *       *

  Primum operis lapidem
  posvit
  Ioannes Garratt armiger
  praetor
  xv. die Ivnii
  anno regis Georgii Quarti sexto
  a. s. m.d.ccc.xxv.

         *       *       *       *       *

  Ioanne Rennie F. R. S. architecto.

~Translation.~

  The free course of the river
  being obstructed by the numerous piers
  of the ancient bridge,
  and the passage of boats and vessels
  through its narrow channels
  being often attended with danger and loss of life
  by reason of the force and rapidity of the current,
  the City of London,
  desirous of providing a remedy for this evil,
  and at the same time consulting
  the convenience of commerce
  in this vast emporium of all nations,
  under the sanction and with the liberal aid of
  parliament,
  resolved to erect a bridge
  upon a foundation altogether new,
  with arches of wider span,
  and of a character corresponding
  to the dignity and importance
  of this royal city:
  nor does any other time seem to be more suitable
  for such an undertaking
  than when in a period of universal peace
  the British empire,
  flourishing in glory, wealth, population, and
  domestic union,
  is governed by a prince,
  the patron and encourager of the arts,
  under whose auspices
  the metropolis has been daily advancing in
  elegance and splendour.

         *       *       *       *       *

  The first stone of this work
  was laid
  by John Garratt, esquire,
  lord mayor,
  on the 15th day of June,
  in the sixth year of king George the Fourth,
  and in the year of our Lord
  m.d.ccc.xxv.

         *       *       *       *       *

  John Rennie, F. R. S. architect.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Woodthorpe read the Latin inscription aloud, and the lord mayor,
turning to the duke of York, addressed his royal highness and the rest
of the company.


_Lord Mayor’s Speech._

“It is unnecessary for me to say much upon the purpose for which we are
assembled this day, for its importance to this great commercial city
must be evident; but I cannot refrain from offering a few observations,
feeling as I do more than ordinary interest in the accomplishment of the
undertaking, of which this day’s ceremony is the primary step. I should
not consider the present a favourable moment to enter into the
chronology or detailed history of the present venerable structure, which
is now, from the increased commerce of the country, and the rapid
strides made by the sciences in this kingdom, found inadequate to its
purposes, but would rather advert to the great advantages which will
necessarily result from the execution of this national work. Whether
there be taken into consideration, the rapid and consequently dangerous
currents arising from the obstructions occasioned by the defects of this
ancient edifice, which have proved destructive to human life and to
property, or its difficult and incommodious approaches and acclivity, it
must be a matter of sincere congratulation that we are living in times
when the resources of this highly favoured country are competent to a
work of such great public utility. If ever there was a period more
suitable than another for embarking in national improvements, it must
be the present, governed as we are by a sovereign, patron of the arts,
under whose mild and paternal sway (by the blessing of divine
providence) we now enjoy profound peace; living under a government by
whose enlightened and liberal policy our trade and manufactures are in a
flourishing state; represented by a parliament whose acts of munificence
shed a lustre upon their proceedings: thus happily situated, it is
impossible not to hail such advantages with other feelings than those of
gratitude and delight. I cannot conclude these remarks without
acknowledging how highly complimentary I feel it to the honourable
office I now fill, to view such an auditory as surrounds me, among whom
are his majesty’s ministers, several distinguished nobles of the land,
the magistrates and commonalty of this ancient and loyal city, and above
all, (that which must ever enlighten and give splendour to any scene,) a
brilliant assembly of the other sex, all of whom, I feel assured, will
concur with me in expressing an earnest wish that the new London-bridge,
when completed, may reflect credit upon the architects, prove an
ornament to the metropolis, and redound to the honour of its
corporation. I offer up a sincere and fervent prayer, that in executing
this great work, there may occur no calamity; that in performing that
which is most particularly intended as a prevention of future danger, no
mischief may occur with the general admiration of the undertaking.”

The lord mayor’s address was received with cheers. His lordship then
spread the mortar, and the stone was gradually lowered by two men at a
windlass. When finally adjusted, the lord mayor struck it on the surface
several times with a long-handled mallet, and proceeded to ascertain the
accuracy of its position, by placing a level on the top of the east end,
and then to the north, west, and south; his lordship passing to each
side of the stone for that purpose, and in that order. The city sword
and mace were then placed on it crossways; the foundation of the new
London-bridge was declared to be laid; the music struck up “God save the
King;” and three times three excessive cheers, broke forth from the
company; the guns of the honourable Artillery Company, on the Old Swan
Wharf, fired a salute by signal, and every face wore smiles of
gratulation. Three cheers were afterwards given for the duke of York;
three for Old England; and three for the architect, Mr. Rennie.

It was observed in the coffer-dam, as a remarkable circumstance, that as
the day advanced, a splendid sunbeam, which had penetrated through an
accidental space in the awning above, gradually approached towards the
stone as the hour for laying it advanced, and during the ceremony, shone
upon it with dazzling lustre.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the conclusion of the proceedings, the lord mayor, with the duke of
York, and the other visitors admitted to the floor of the coffer-dam,
retired; after which, many of the company in the galleries came down to
view the stone, and several of the younger ones were allowed to ascend
and walk over it. Some ladies were handed up, and all who were so
indulged, departed with the satisfaction of being enabled to relate an
achievement honourable to their feelings.

       *       *       *       *       *

Among the candidates for a place upon the stone, was a gentleman who had
witnessed the scene with great interest, and seemed to wait with
considerable anxiety for an opportunity of joining in the pleasure of
its transient occupants. This gentleman was P. T. W., by which initials
he is known to the readers of the _Morning Herald_, and other journals.
The lightness and agility of his person, favoured the enthusiasm of his
purpose; he leapt on the stone, and there

    ------toeing it and heeling it,
    With ball-room grace, and merry face,
    Kept livelily quadrilling it,

till three cheers from the spectators announced their participation in
his merriment; he then tripped off with a graceful bow, amidst the
clapping of hands and other testimonials of satisfaction at a
performance wholly singular, because unprecedented, unimitated, and
inimitable.

       *       *       *       *       *

The lord mayor gave a grand dinner in the Egyptian-hall, at the
Mansion-house, to 376 guests; the duke of York, being engaged to dine
with the king, could not attend. The present lord mayor has won his way
to the hearts of good livers, by his entertainments, and the court of
common council commenced its proceedings on the following day by
honourable mention of him for this entertainment especially, and
complacently received a notice to do him further honour for the general
festivity of his mayoralty.

       *       *       *       *       *

His lordship’s name is Garratt; he is a tea-dealer. Stow mentions that
one of similar name, and a grocer, was commemorated by an epitaph in our
lady’s chapel, in the church of St. Saviour’s, Southwark; which church
the first pier of the proposed bridge adjoins. He says,

_Upon a faire stone under the Grocers’ arms, is this inscription_:--

    _Garret_ some cal’d him, but that was too hye,
    His name is _Garrard_, who now here doth lye;
    Weepe not for him since he is gone before
    To heaven, where _Grocers_ there are many more.[168]

       *       *       *       *       *

It is supposed that the first bridge of London was built between the
years 993 and 1016; it was of wood. There is a vulgar tradition, that
the foundation of the old stone bridge was laid upon wool-packs: this
report is imagined to have arisen from a tax laid upon wool towards its
construction. The first stone-bridge began in 1176, and finished in
1209, was much injured by a fire in the Borough, in 1212, and three
thousand people perished. On St. George’s day, 1395, there was a great
justing upon it, between David, earl of Crawford, of Scotland, and lord
Wells of England. It had a drawbridge for the passage of ships with
provisions to Queenhithe, with houses upon it, mostly tenanted by pin
and needle-makers: there was a chapel on the bridge, and a tower,
whereon the heads of unfortunate partisans were placed: an old map of
the city, in 1597, represents a terrible cluster; in 1598, Hentzner the
German traveller, counted above thirty poles with heads. Upon this
bridge was placed the head of the great chancellor, sir Thomas More,
which was blown off the pole into the Thames and found by a waterman,
who gave it to his daughter; she kept it during life as a relic, and
directed at her death it should be placed in her arms and buried with
her.

Howel, the author of “Londinopolis,” in a paraphrase of some lines by
Sannazarius, has this--

_Encomium on London-bridge._

    When Neptune from his billows London spy’d,
    Brought proudly thither by a high spring-tide,
    As thro’ a floating wood he steer’d along.
    And dancing castles cluster’d in a throng;
    When he beheld a mighty bridge give law
    Unto his surges, and their fury awe;
    When such a shelf of cataracts did roar,
    As if the Thames with Nile had chang’d her shore;
    When he such massy walls, such towers did eye,
    Such posts, such irons, upon his back to lye;
    When such vast arches he observ’d, that might
    Nineteen Rialtos make for depth and height;
    When the Cerulean god these things survey’d,
    He shook his trident, and, astonish’d, said,
    “Let the whole earth now all the wonders count,
    This bridge of wonders is the paramount.”

Thus has commenced, under the most favourable auspices, a structure
which is calculated to secure from danger the domestic commerce of the
port of London. That such a work has not long since been executed, is
attributable more to the financial difficulties under which the
corporation of London has been labouring for the last quarter of a
century, than to any doubts of its being either expedient or necessary.
A similar design to that which is now in course of execution, was in
contemplation more than thirty years ago; and we believe that many of
the first architects of the day sent in plans for the removal of the old
bridge, and the construction of a new bridge in its place. A want of
funds to complete such an undertaking compelled the projectors of it, to
abandon it for a time; but the improved condition of the finances of the
corporation, the increasing commerce of the city of London with the
internal parts of the country, the growing prosperity of the nation at
large, and we may also add, a more general conviction derived from
longer experience, that the present bridge was a nuisance which deserved
to be abated, induced them to resume it, and to resume it with a zeal
proportionate to the magnitude of the object which they had in view.
Application was made to parliament for the grant of a sum of money to a
purpose which, when considered with regard either to local or to
national interests, was of great importance. That application was met
with a spirit of liberality which conferred as much honour upon the
party who received, as upon the party who gave, the bounty. The first
results of it were beheld in the operations of _to-day_; the further
results are in the bosom of time; but from the spirit with which the
work has been commenced, we have no doubt but they will tend no less to
the benefit, than the glory, of the citizens of London.[169]

There is something peculiarly imposing and impressive in ceremonies of
this description, as they are usually conducted, and we certainly do not
recollect any previous spectacle of a similar nature, which can be said
to have surpassed in general interest, grandeur of purpose, or splendid
effect, than that just recorded.

It is at all times agreeable to a philosophical mind, and an
understanding which busies itself, not only with the surface and present
state of things, but also with their substance and remote tendencies, to
contemplate the exercise of human power, and the triumphs of human
ingenuity, whether developed in physical or mental efforts, in the
pursuit of objects which comprehend a mixture of both. And perhaps, it
is in a good degree attributable to this secret impulse of our nature,
which operates in some degree upon all, however silent and imperceptible
in its operation, that the mass of mankind are accustomed to take such
an eager interest in ceremonials like the present. It is true, that
show, and preparation, and bustle, and the excitement consequent upon
these, are the immediate and apparent motives; but it does not therefore
follow that the other reasons are inefficient, or that because they are
less prominent and apparent, they are therefore inoperative. The
erection of a bridge, without reference to the immediate object or the
extent of its design, is _per se_ a triumph of art over nature--a
conquering of one of these obstacles, which the latter, even in her most
bountiful and propitious designs, delights to present to man, as if for
the purpose of calling his powers into exercise, and affording him the
quantity of excitement necessary to the happiness of a sentient being.
But if we do not entertain these sentiments, and give them utterance in
so many words, we nevertheless feel and act upon them. We delight to
attend spectacles like the present, where the first germ of a stupendous
work is to be prepared. We look round on the complicated apparatus, and
the seemingly discordant and unorganized beams and blocks of wood and
granite, and then we think of the simple structure, the harmonious and
complete whole to which these confused elements will give birth. Such a
structure is pregnant with a multitude of almost indefinable thoughts
and anticipations. We bethink ourselves of the stream of human life,
which, some five years hence, will flow over the new London-bridge as
thickly, and almost with as little cessation, as the waters of the
Thames below: and then we reflect upon the tide of hopes and fears which
that human stream will carry in its bosom! One of our first reflections
will necessarily be of its adaptation to trade and commerce, of which it
will then constitute a new and immense conduit. Trade, and science, and
learning, and war, (Providence long avert it!) will at various periods
pass across it. Next we consider what will be the immediate and
individual destiny of the structure:--is it to moulder away after the
lapse of many ages, under the slow but effectual influence of time, or
to suffer dilapidation suddenly from the operation of some natural
convulsion? Will it fall before the wrath or wilfulness of man, or is it
to be displaced by new improvements and discoveries, in like manner as
its old and many-arched neighbour makes way for it--and as _that_ once
superseded its narrower and shop-covered predecessor? These are
questions which the imaginative man may ask himself; but who is to
answer? However, even the man of business may be well excused in
indulging some speculations such as these, upon the occasion of the
erection of a structure, which is to constitute a new artery to and fro
in the mighty heart of London--a fresh vein through which that
commerce, which is the life-blood of our national prosperity and
greatness will have to flow.[170]

       *       *       *       *       *

This is one of those public occurrences which may be considered as an
event in a man’s life, and an epoch in the city’s history--a sort of
station in one’s worldly journey, from which we measure our distances
and dates. To witness the manner and the moment, in which is laid the
first single resting stone of a grand national structure--the very
origin of the existence of a massive and magnificent pile, which will
require years to complete, and ages to destroy, has an elevating and
sublime effect on the mind.

Great public works are the truest signs of a nation’s prosperity and
power; originally its grandest ornaments, and ultimately the strongest
proofs of its existence. Its religion, language, arts, sciences,
government, and history, may be swept into nothingness; but yet its
national buildings will remain entire through the lapse of successive
ages--after their very founders are forgotten--after their local history
has become a mere matter of conjecture. The columns of Palmyra stand
over the ashes of their framers, in a desert as well of history as of
sand. The palaces of imperial Rome are still existing, though her
religion, her very language, is dead; and the history of the man-wrought
miracles of Egypt, had been looked at but as the very dreamings of
philosophy long before Napoleon said to his Egyptian army--“From the
summits of these pyramids, forty centuries are looking down upon you.”

Of all public edifices, a bridge is the most necessary, the most
generally and frequently useful--open at all hours and to all persons.
It was probably the very first public building. Some conjecture, that
the first hint of it was taken from an uprooted tree lying across a
narrow current. What a difference between that first natural bridge, and
the perfection of pontifical architecture--the vast, solid, and splendid
Waterloo--the _monumentum si quæras_ of John Rennie. We feel pleasure in
learning, that the new London-bridge has been designed by the same
distinguished architect. It falls to the lot of the son to consummate
the plans of the father--we hope with equal success, and with similar
benefits, as well to the conductor as to the public.

Old London-bridge, for which the new one is intended as a more
commodious substitute, was the first that connected the Surrey and
Middlesex banks. It was built originally of wood, about 800 years ago,
and rebuilt of stone in the reign of king John, 1209, just two years
after the chief civic officer assumed the name of mayor. Until the
middle of the last century, it was crowded with houses, which made it
very inconvenient to the passengers. The narrowness and inequality of
its arches, have caused it to be compared to “a thick wall, pierced with
small uneven holes, through which the water, dammed up by this clumsy
fabric, rushes, or rather leaps, with a velocity extremely dangerous to
boats and barges.” Of its nineteen arches, none except the centre, which
was formed by throwing two into one, is more than twenty feet wide. This
is but the width of each of the piers of Waterloo-bridge. It is the most
crowded thoroughfare in London, and, in this point, exceeds
Charing-cross, which, according to Dr. Johnson, was overflowed by the
full tide of human existence. It has been calculated, that there daily
pass over London-bridge 90,000 foot passengers; 800 waggons; 300 carts
and drays; 1,300 coaches; 500 gigs and tax carts; and 800 saddle horses.
The importance of this great point of communication, and the necessity
of rendering it adequate to the purposes of its construction, are
proved, by the numbers to whom it affords a daily passage at present,
and, still more, by the probable increase of the numbers hereafter. The
present bridge having been for some years considered destitute of the
proper facilities of transition for passengers as well as for vessels,
an Act of Parliament, passed in 1823, for building a new one, on a scale
and plan equal to the other modern improvements of the metropolis. The
first pile of the works was driven on the west side of the present
bridge, in March, 1824, and the first coffer-dam having been lately
finished, the ceremony of laying the first stone of the new bridge, has
been happily and auspiciously completed.[171]


MRS. BARBAULD.

The decease of this literary and excellent lady in the spring of 1825,
occasioned a friend to the _Every-Day Book_ to transmit the following
fugitive poem for insertion. It is not collected in any of the works
published by Mrs. Barbauld during her lifetime; this, and the rectitude
of spirit in the production itself, may justify its being recorded
within these pages.

  _To her honoured Friends_

  of the families of

  MARTINEAU AND TAYLOR

  _These lines are inscribed_

  By their affectionate

  A. L. BARBAULD

  ~On the Death~

  OF

  MRS. MARTINEAU.

    Ye who around this venerated bier
    In pious anguish pour the tender tear,
    Mourn not!--Tis Virtue’s triumph, Nature’s doom,
    When honoured Age, slow bending to the tomb,
    Earth’s vain enjoyments past, her transient woes,
    Tastes the long sabbath of well-earned repose.
    No blossom here, in vernal beauty shed,
    No lover lies, warm from the nuptial bed;
    Here rests _the full of days_,--each task fulfilled,
    Each wish accomplished, and each passion stilled.
    You raised her languid head, caught her last breath,
    And cheered with looks of love the couch of death.

    Yet mourn!--for sweet the filial sorrows flow,
    When fond affection prompts the gush of woe;
    No bitter drop, ’midst Nature’s kind relief,
    Sheds gall into the fountain of your grief;
    No tears you shed for patient love abused,
    And counsel scorned, and kind restraints refused.
    Not yours the pang the conscious bosom wrings,
    When late remorse inflicts her fruitless stings.
    Living you honoured her, you mourn for, dead;
    Her God you worship, and her path you tread.

    Your sighs shall aid reflection’s serious hour,
    And cherished virtues bless the kindly shower:
    On the loved theme your lips unblamed shall dwell;
    Your lives, more eloquent, her worth shall tell.
    --Long may that worth, fair Virtue’s heritage,
    From race to race descend, from age to age!
    Still purer with transmitted lustre shine
    The treasured birthright of the spreading line!

      For me, as o’er the frequent grave I bend,
    And pensive down the vale of years descend;
    Companions, Parents, Kindred called to mourn,
    Dropt from my side, or from my bosom torn;
    A boding voice, methinks, in Fancy’s ear
    Speaks from the tomb, and cries “Thy friends are here!”

       *       *       *       *       *

_Summer Evening’s Adventure in Wales._

Mr. Proger of Werndee, riding in the evening from Monmouth, with a
friend who was on a visit to him, heavy rain came on, and they turned
their horses a little out of the road towards Perthyer. “My cousin
Powell,” said Mr. Proger, “will, I am sure, be ready to give us a
night’s lodging.” At Perthyer all was still; the family were abed. Mr.
Proger shouted aloud under his cousin Powell’s chamber-window. Mr.
Powell soon heard him; and putting his head out, inquired, “In the name
of wonder what means all this noise? Who is there?” “It is only your
cousin Proger of Werndee, who is come to your hospitable door for
shelter from the inclemency of the weather; and hopes you will be so
kind as to give him, and a friend of his, a night’s lodging.” “What is
it you, cousin Proger? You, and your friend shall be instantly admitted;
but upon one condition, namely, that you will admit now, and never
hereafter dispute, that I am the head of your family.” “What was that
you said?” replied Mr. Proger. “Why, I say, that if you expect to pass
the night in my house, you must admit that I am the head of your
family.” “No, sir, I never will admit that--were it to rain swords and
daggers, I would ride through them this night to Werndee, sooner than
let down the consequence of my family by submitting to such an
ignominious condition. Come up, Bald! come up!” “Stop a moment, cousin
Proger; have you not often admitted, that the first earl of Pembroke
(of the name of Herbert) was a younger son of Perthyer; and will you set
yourself up above the earls of Pembroke?” “True it is I must give place
to the earl of Pembroke, because he is a peer of the realm; but still,
though a peer, he is of the youngest branch of my family, being
descended from the fourth son of Werndee, who was your ancestor, and
settled at Perthyer, whereas I am descended from the eldest son. Indeed,
my cousin Jones of Lanarth is of a branch of the family elder than you
are; and yet he never disputes my being the head of the family.” “Well,
cousin Proger, I have nothing more to say: good night to you.”--“Stop a
moment, Mr. Powell,” cried the stranger, “you see how it pours; do let
_me_ in at least; _I_ will not dispute with you about our families.”
“Pray, sir, what is your name, and where do you come from?” “My name is
so and so; and I come from such a county.” “A Saxon of course; it would
indeed be very curious, sir, were I to dispute with a Saxon about
family. No, sir, you must suffer for the obstinacy of your friend, so
good night to you both.”[172]

  [168] Stow’s Survey, 1633, page 886.

  [169] The Times.

  [170] British Press.

  [171] New Times.

  [172] Williams’s Monmouth. App. 168.


~June 16.~

  _Sts. Quirius_, or _Cyr_ and _Julitta_, Martyrs, A. D. 304. _St. John
  Francis Regis_, A. D. 1640. _Sts. Ferreolus_, or _Fargeau_, and
  _Ferrutius_, A. D. 211 or 212. _St. Aurelian_, Abp. A. D. 552.


CHRONOLOGY.

1722. John Churchill, the great duke of Marlborough, died at
Windsor-lodge, in a state of idiocy. He was son of sir Winston
Churchill, an English historian, and born at Ashe, in Devonshire, 1650.
At twelve years of age he became page to the duke of York, afterwards
James II.; at sixteen he entered the guards, and distinguished himself
under Turenne. He was called the handsome Englishman, married Miss
Jennings, (the celebrated duchess of Marlborough,) obtained
distinguished rank and offices, suppressed the duke of Monmouth’s
rebellion, and served king James with apparent fidelity in the wane of
his fortune, while he faithlessly made court to the prince of Orange.
His great military achievements, under king William and queen Anne,
were rewarded by munificent public grants, and a public funeral in
Westminster-abbey.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Moss Privince Rose. _Rosa muscosa._
  Dedicated to _St. Julitta_.


CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Dear Sir,

A great deal has been lately attempted, by men of feeling minds, to
prevent wanton cruelty towards animals; which (unhappily even in this
enlightened age,) is but too prevalent.

The lower class of persons, to whom the care of the horse is intrusted,
frequently possess less sense than those noble animals, which groan
under their tyranny; we constantly find ignorant farriers, who think
that a cure can only be effected, by most violent and painful remedies.
It is to these brutal men, that the lameness of so many horses may be
attributed; for, not understanding the beautiful and singular
construction of the interior of a horse’s foot, by cutting away the hoof
they contract the foot, and gradually prevent the elasticity so
necessary: thus by repeated shoeing, the foot is cramped, as much so, as
a man’s who would attempt to walk in a shoe considerably too tight for
him. Lameness ensues, and these farriers pronounce the seat of lameness
any where but where it actually exists; then comes firing and
blistering, and every possible torture, and the poor animal lamed for
life, long before his time, is consigned to the lowest drudgery, and
subsequently to the dogs.

The inhuman rate at which horses are driven in stage coaches, conduces
greatly to mortality; this consumption of animal life is, in some
instances, one in three annually.

Soame Jenyns, whose works are well known, and who was himself a man of
the finest feelings, in a paper _On Cruelty to Animals_, adverts to the
disciples of Pythagoras, who held that the souls of men, and all other
animals, existed in a state of perpetual transmigration, and that when
by death they were dislodged from one corporeal habitation, they were
immediately reinstated in another, happier or more miserable, according
to their behaviour in the former. Soame Jenyns favours this doctrine of
transmigration, “first, from its justice; secondly, from its utility;
and lastly, from the difficulty we lie under to account for the
sufferings of many innocent creatures without it.” He says, “If we look
around us, we cannot but observe a great and wretched variety of this
kind; numberless animals subjected by their own natures to many
miseries, and by our cruelties to many more, _incapable of crimes_, and
_consequently incapable of deserving them_, called into being, as far as
we can discover, only to be miserable for the service or diversion of
others less meritorious than themselves, without any possibility of
preventing, deserving, or receiving recompense for their unhappy lot, if
their whole existence is comprehended in the narrow and wretched circle
of their present life.” He then proceeds to observe, that “the theory
here inculcated, removes all these difficulties, and reconciles all
these seemingly unjust dispensations, with the strictest justice. It
informs us, that their sufferings may by no means be understood, but as
the just punishments of their former behaviour, in a state, where by
means of their vices, they may have escaped them. It teaches us, that
the pursued and persecuted fox, was once probably some crafty and
rapacious minister, who had purchased by his ill acquired wealth, that
safety, which he cannot now procure by his flight; that the bull, baited
with all the cruelties that human ingenuity, or human malevolence can
invent, was once some relentless tyrant, who had inflicted all the
tortures which he endures; that the poor bird, blinded, imprisoned, and
at last starved to death in a cage, may have been some unforgiving
creditor; and the widowed turtle, pining away life for the loss of her
mate, some fashionable wife, rejoicing at the death of her husband,
which her own ill-usage had occasioned. Never can the delicious repast
of roasted lobsters excite my appetite, whilst the ideas of the tortures
in which those innocent creatures have expired present themselves to my
imagination. But when I consider that they must have once probably been
Spaniards at Mexico, or Dutchmen at Amboyna, I fall to, with a good
stomach and a good conscience. Never can I repose myself with
satisfaction in a post chaise, whilst I look upon the starved,
foundered, accelerated, and excoriated animals which draw it, as mere
horses, condemned to such unmerited torments for my convenience, but I
reflect, they must have undoubtedly existed in the fathers of the holy
inquisition. I very well know that these sentiments will be treated as
ludicrous by many of my readers, but they are in themselves just and
serious, and carry with them the strongest probability of their truth.
So strong is it, that I cannot but hope it will have some good effect on
the conduct of those polite people, who are too sagacious, learned, and
courageous to be kept in awe by the threats of hell and damnation; and I
exhort every fine lady to consider, how wretched will be her condition,
if after twenty or thirty years spent at cards, in elegant rooms, kept
warm by good fires and soft carpets, she should at last be obliged to
change places with one of her coach horses; and every fine gentleman to
reflect, how much more wretched would be his, if after wasting his
estate, his health, and his life in extravagance, indolence, and luxury,
he should again revive in the situation of one of his creditors.”

Besides Jenyns’s suppositions, allow me to notice the crimping of fish,
the skinning of eels alive, the whipping of pigs to death, to make them
tender, the boiling of live crabs, having first put them in cold water
to make them lively; together with the preference given to hunted hares,
on account of their delicacy of muscles, softened by worry and exertion.
These are but too common instances of a barbarous taste.

At this season of enjoyment and leisure, when we derive pleasure from
contemplating the beautiful forms and appearances of nature, and are
grateful for annual abundance, let us reflect on the criminal
heedlessness wherewith we allow our appetites and pleasures to be
indulged, by needless sufferings in the animals we subdue to our wants
and whims. While we endeavour to inculcate kindness in our children
towards one another, let us teach them kindness to the meanest of
created beings. I know that the _Every-Day Book_ widely circulates in
families; the humane sentiments that pervade it, must therefore have
considerable influence, and for this reason I select it as a channel for
conveying a humane suggestion.

  I am, dear Sir,

  Yours sincerely,

  J. B.


THE SEASON.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

The perusal of your remarks on the season and the winds, in the
_Every-Day Book_, page 707, reminded me of some lines I wrote at
Ramsgate. If you know Wellington-crescent, where they were composed, you
know a very pretty place, for either summer or winter residence.

  I am, Sir, &c.

  _June_ 6, 1825.

  J. S.

THE EAST WIND.

    A summer sun in brightness glows,
    But, ah! the blighting east wind blows,
              And weighs the spirit down!
    All smiling is th’ enlivening ray,
    That tips with silvery tinge the spray,
              O’er ocean’s bosom thrown!

    Yet, all inviting though it seems,
    And tempts one forth to court its beams
              I tremblingly retire:
    For I am one who hate and dread
    That eastern blast, and oft have fled
              Its pestilences dire!

    But the young shoots that round me rise
    And make me old,--(though still unwise)
              Feel no such fear as I
    Brimful of joy they venture forth
    Wind blowing west, south, east, or north,
              If cloudless be the sky!

    They tripping lightly o’er the path,
    To them yet free from grief or scath,
              Press on--and onward still,
    With brow unwrinkled yet by care,
    With spirit buoyant as the air--
              They breathe at freedom’s will.

    Where shipwreck’d seamen oft deplore
    The loss of all their scanty store,
              They rove at ebb of tide
    In quest of shells, or various weed,
    That, from the bed of ocean freed,
              Their anxious search abide.

    Proud and elated with their prize,
    (All eagerness with sparkling eyes,)
              The treasures home are brought
    To me, who plunged in gloom the while.
    At home have watch’d the sea bird’s guile:--
              Or, in a sea of thought,

    Have sent _my spirit_ forth to find
    Fit food for an immortal mind,
              Else of itself the prey!
    And in th’ abstraction of that mood.
    Full oft I’ve realized the good,
              We boast not every day.

    Sometimes tho’, with a courage bold,
    As ever faced the arctic’s cold,
              I pace the Colonnade;[173]
    And then am soon compelled to beat,
    And seek a cowardly retreat,
              Within the parlour’s shade!

    Sometimes the place,[174] warm shelter’d close,
    Where Sharwood’s decorated house,
              From roof to step all flowers,
    Shines forth as Flora’s temple, where
    Dominion falls to sea and air;--
              _Napoleonic powers_!

    There, snugly shelter’d from the blast,
    My eyes right pensively I cast
              Where famed sir Williams’s bark
    Lies moor’d, awaiting the time when
    That Noah of citizens again
              Shall venture on such ark!

    But, ah! still round the corner creeps,
    That treach’rous wind! and still it sweeps
              Too clean the path I tread:
    Arm’d as with numerous needle points,
    Its painful searchings pierce my joints,
              And then capsize my head!

    So home again full trot I speed,
    As, after wound, the warrior’s steed;
              And sit me down, and sigh
    O’er the hard-hearted fate of those
    Who feel like me these east-wind woes
              That brain and marrow try!

    Again upon the sea I look,
    Of nature that exhaustless book
              With endless wonder fraught:--
    How oft upon that sea I’ve gazed,
    Whose world of waters has amazed
              Man--social or untaught.

    And, spite of all that some may say,
    _It is_ the place from day to day,
              Whereon the soul can dwell!
    _My_ soul enkindles at the sight
    Of such accumulated might;
              And loves such grandeur well!

  J. S.

  [173] Wellington-crescent.

  [174] Albion-place.


~June 17.~

  _Sts. Nicandeo_ and _Marcian_, about A. D. 303. _St. Botulph_, Abbot,
  A. D. 655. _St. Avitus_, or _Avy_, A. D. 530. _St. Molingus_, or
  _Dairchilla_, Bp. A. D. 697. _St. Prior_, Hermit, 4th Cent.


_St. Alban._

This saint, the proto-martyr of Britain, is in the church of England
calendar and almanacs on this day, but he stands in the Romish
calendar, on the 22d of the month.

St. Alban was born at Verulam, in Hertfordshire, in the third century,
and went to Rome, where he served seven years as a soldier under
Dioclesian. He afterwards returned to England, became a Christian, and
suffered martyrdom in 303, during the dreadful persecution raised by
Dioclesian. Several miracles are said by Bede to have been wrought at
his martyrdom.[175]

The fame of Alban, recorded as it was by Bede, made a deep impression on
the minds of the superstitious. “The Ecclesiastical History” of that
author, was published in 731; and in the year 795, Offa, king of the
Mercians, built a monastery to the honour of Alban, on the place where
he had suffered, then called by the Anglo-Saxons, Holmhurst, but since,
in honour of the martyr, named St. Alban’s. The town built near the
abbey still retains the latter appellation; and the abbey-church is even
yet in existence, having, at the suppression of the monasteries by Henry
the Eighth, been purchased by a rich clothier of the name of Stump, for
400_l._, and converted by him into a parochial church, for the use of
the inhabitants. In the year 1257, some workmen repairing this ancient
church, found the remains of some sheets of lead, containing relics,
with a thick plate of lead over them, upon which was cut the following
inscription:--

    “In hoc Mausoleo inventum est
    Venerabile corpus SANCTI ALBANI, _Proto_
    _Martyris Anglorum_.”[176]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Monkey Flower. _Mimulus luteus._
  Dedicated to _St. Nicandeo_.

  [175] Audley.

  [176] Brady’s Clavis.


~June 18.~

  _Sts. Marcus_ and _Marcellianus_, A. D. 286. _St. Marina_, 8th. Cent.
  _St. Elizabeth_ of Sconage, Abbess, A. D. 1165. _St. Amand_, Bp. of
  Bourdeaux.


CHRONOLOGY.

1815. The battle of Waterloo, which terminated the personal power of
Napoleon, was fought on this day.

BATTLE OF WATERLOO

      There was a sound of revelry by night,
      And Belgium’s capital had gathered then
      Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
      The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men.
      A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
      Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
      Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
      And all went merry as a marriage-bell;
    But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

      Did ye not hear it?--No; ’twas but the wind,
      Or the car rattling o’er the stony street;
      On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
      No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
      To chase the glowing hours with flying fleet--
      But, hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more,
      As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
      And nearer, nearer, deadlier than before.
    Arm! arm! it is!--it is--the cannon’s opening roar!

      Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
      And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
      And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
      Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;
      And there were sudden partings, such as press
      The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
      Which ne’er might be repeated: who could guess
      If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
    Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise?

      And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
      The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
      Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
      And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
      And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
      And near, the beat of the alarming drum
      Roused by the soldier ere the morning star;
      While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,
    Or whispering, with white lips--“The foe! they come! they come!”

      And wild, and high, the “Cameron’s gathering rose!”
      The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills
      Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:
      How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
      Savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills
      Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
      With the fierce native daring which instils
      The stirring memory of a thousand years,
    And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears.

      And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
      Dewy with Nature’s tear-drops, as they pass,
      Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves,
      Over the unreturning brave,--alas!
      Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
      Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
      In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
      Of living valour, rolling on the foe
    And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

      Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
      Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay;
      The midnight brought the signal sound of strife,
      The morn the marshalling in arms,--the day
      Battle’s magnificently-stern array!
      The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent
      The earth is covered thick with other clay,
      Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,
    Rider and horse,--friend,--foe,--in one red burial blent!

  _Byron._

On the 18th of June, 1817, the Strand-bridge, a noble structure, erected
at the expense of private individuals, was opened for the public
accommodation, under the denomination of Waterloo-bridge, with military
and other ceremonies.


[Illustration: ~“Buy a Broom?”~]

    These poor “Buy-a-Broom” girls exactly dress now,
    As Hollar etch’d such girls two cent’ries ago;
    All formal and stiff, with legs, only, at ease--
    Yet, pray, judge for yourself; and don’t, if you please,
    Like Matthews’s “Chyle,” in his Monolo-Play,
    Cry “_The Ev’ry-Day Book_ is quite _right_, I dare say;”
    But ask for the print, at old print shops, (they’ll show it,)
    And look at it, “with your own eyes,” and you’ll “_know_ it.”

  *

These girls are Flemings. They come to England from the Netherlands in
the spring, and take their departure with the summer. They have only one
low, shrill, twittering note, “Buy a broom?” sometimes varying into the
singular plural, “Buy a broom_s_?” It is a domestic cry; two or three go
together, and utter it in company with each other; not in concert, nor
to a neighbourhood, and scarcely louder than will attract the notice of
an inmate seen at a parlour window, or an open street-door, or a lady or
two passing in the street. Their hair is tightened up in front, and at
the sides, and behind, and the ends brought together, and so secured, or
skewered, at the top of the head, as if it were constricted by a
tourniquet: the little close cap, not larger than an infant’s, seems to
be put on and tied down by strings fastened beneath the chin, merely as
a concealment of the machinery. Without a single inflexion of the body,
and for any thing that appears to the contrary, it may be incased in
tin. From the waist, the form abruptly and boldly bows out like a large
beehive, or an arch of carpentry, built downward from above the hips,
for the purpose of opening and distending the enormous petticoat into
numerous plaits and folds, and thereby allowing the legs to walk without
incumbrance. Their figures are exactly miniatured in an unpainted penny
doll of turnery ware, made all round, before and behind, and sold in the
toyshops for the amusement of infancy.

These Flemish girls are of low stature, with features as formal and old
fashioned as their dress. Their gait and manner answer to both. They
carry their brooms, not under the left arm, but upon it, as they would
children, upright between the arm and the side, with the heads in front
of the shoulder. One, and one only, of the brooms is invariably held in
the right hand, and this is elevated with the sharp cry “Buy a broom?”
or “Buy a brooms?” to any one likely to become a purchaser, till it is
either bought or wholly declined. The sale of their brooms is the sole
purpose for which they cross the seas to us; and they suffer nothing to
divert them from their avocation. A broom girl’s countenance, so
wearisomely indicates unwearied attention to the “main chance,” and is
so inflexibly solemn, that you doubt whether she ever did or can smile;
yet when she does, you are astonished that she does not always: her
face does not relax by degrees, but breaks suddenly into an arch laugh.
This appearance may be extorted by a joke, while driving a bargain, but
not afterwards: she assumes it, perhaps, as a sort of “turn” to hasten
the “business transaction;” for when that is concluded, the intercourse
ends immediately. Neither lingering nor loitering, they keep constantly
walking on, and looking out for customers. They seldom speak to each
other; nor when their brooms are disposed of, do they stop and rejoice
upon it as an end to their labours; but go homewards reflectively, with
the hand every now and then dipping into the pocket of the huge
petticoat, and remaining there for a while, as if counting the receipts
of the day while they walk, and reckoning what the before accumulated
riches will total to, with the new addition. They seem influenced by
this admonition, “get all you can, and keep all you get.”

Rather late in an autumn afternoon, in Battersea-fields, I saw one of
these girls by herself; she was seated, with her brooms on her lap, in a
bit of scenery, which, from Weirotter’s etchings and other prints, I
have always fancied resembled a view in the Low Countries: it is an old
windmill, near the “Red-house,” with some low buildings among willows,
on the bank of the Thames, thrown up to keep the river from overflowing
a marshy flat. To my imagination, she was fixed to that spot in a
reverie on her “vader-land.[177]” She gazed on the strait line of
stunted trees, as if it were the line of beauty; and from the motion of
her lips, and the enthusiasm of her look, I deemed she was reciting a
passage from a poet of her native country. Elevation of feeling, in one
of these poor girls, was hardly to be looked for; and yet I know not why
I should have excluded it, as not appertaining to their character,
except from their seeming intentness on thrift alone. They are cleanly,
frugal, and no wasters of time; and that they are capable of sentiment,
I state on the authority of my imagining concerning this poor girl;
whereon, too, I pledge myself not to have been mistaken, for the
language of the heart is universal--and hers discoursed to mine; though
from the situation wherein I stood, she saw me not. I was not, nor
could I be, in love with _her_--I was in love with human nature.

The “brooms” are one entire piece of wood; the sweeping part being
slivered from the handle, and the shavings neatly turned over and bound
round into the form of a besom. They are bought to dust curtains and
hangings with; but good housewives have another use for them; one of
them dipt in fair water, sprinkles the dried clothes in the laundry, for
the process of ironing, infinitely better than the hand; it distributes
the water more equally and more quickly.


“_Buy a Broom?!!_”

There is a print with this inscription. It is a caricature
representation of Mr. Brougham, with his barrister’s wig, in the dress
of a broom girl, and for its likeness of that gentleman, and the play on
his name, it is amazingly popular; especially since he contended for a
man’s right to his own personal appearance, in the case of _Abernethy_
v. _The Lancet_, before the chancellor. Mr. Brougham’s good-humoured
allusion to his own countenance, was taken by the auditors in court, to
relate particularly to his portrait in this print, called “_Buy a
Broom?_” It is certainly as good as “The _Great Bell_ of Lincoln’s-inn,”
and two or three other prints of gentlemen eminent at the chancery-bar,
sketched and etched, apparently, by the same happy hand at a thorough
likeness.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Horned Poppy. _Chelidonium glaucum._
  Dedicated to _St. Marina_.

  [177] _Vader-land_, a word signifying country, but infinitely more
  expressive; it was first adopted by Lord Byron into our language; he
  englishes it “Fatherland.”


~June 19.~

  _Sts. Gervasius_ and _Protasius_. _St. Boniface_, Abp., Apostle of
  Russia, A. D. 1009. _St. Juliana Falconieri_, A. D. 1340. _St. Die_,
  or _Deodatus_, Bp. A. D. 679 or 680.


CHRONOLOGY.

1215. Magna Charta was signed, on compulsion, by king John, at
Runnymead, near Windsor.

1820. Sir Joseph Banks, president of the royal society, died, aged 77.

_The Summer Midnight._

    The breeze of night has sunk to rest,
    Upon the river’s tranquil breast,
    And every bird has sought her nest,
      Where silent is her minstrelsy;
    The queen of heaven is sailing high,
    A pale bark on the azure sky,
    Where not a breath is heard to sigh--
      So deep the soft tranquillity.

    Forgotten now the heat of day
    That on the burning waters lay,
    The noon of night her mantle gray,
      Spreads, from the sun’s high blazonry;
    But glittering in that gentle night
    There gleams a line of silvery light,
    As tremulous on the shores of white
      It hovers sweet and playfully.

    At peace the distant shallop rides;
    Not as when dashing o’er her sides
    The roaring bay’s unruly tides
      Were beating round her gloriously;
    But every sail is furl’d and still,
    Silent the seaman’s whistle shrill,
    While dreamy slumbers seem to thrill
      With parted hours of ecstacy.

    Stars of the many spangled heaven!
    Faintly this night your beams are given,
    Tho’ proudly where your hosts are driven
      Ye rear your dazzling galaxy;
    Since far and wide a softer hue
    Is spread across the plains of blue,
    Where in bright chorus ever true
      For ever swells your harmony.

    O! for some sadly dying note
    Upon this silent hour to float,
    Where from the bustling world remote,
      The lyre might wake its melody;
    One feeble strain is all can swell
    From mine almost deserted shell,
    In mournful accents yet to tell
      That slumbers not its minstrelsy.

    _There is an hour_ of deep repose
    That yet upon my heart shall close,
    When all that nature dreads and knows
      Shall burst upon me wond’rously;
    O may, I then awake for ever
    My harp to rapture’s high endeavour,
    And as from earth’s vain scene I sever,
      Be lost in Immortality!

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  La Julienne de Nuit. _Hesperis tristis._
  Dedicated to _St. Juliana_.


~June 20.~

  _St. Silverius_, Pope, A. D. 538. _St. Gobian_, Priest and Martyr,
  about 656. _St. Idaburga_, or _Edburge_. _St. Bain_, Bp. of Terouanne
  (now St. Omer,) and Abbot, about A. D. 711.


_Translation of Edward._

This day is so distinguished in the church of England calendar. Edward
was the king of the West Saxons, murdered by order of Elfrida. He had
not only an anniversary on the 18th of March, in commemoration of his
sufferings, or rather of the silly and absurd miracles alleged to have
been wrought at his tomb; but he was even honoured by our weak
forefathers with another festival on the 20th of June, in each year, in
remembrance of the removal, or _translation_, as it is termed, of his
relics at Wareham, where they were inhumed, to the minster at Salisbury,
three years after his decease.

It is observed by Mr. Brady, on the _translation_ of St. Edward, as
follows:--

“At the period this solemn act of absurd pomp took place, all Europe was
plunged in a state of profound ignorance and mental darkness; no marvel,
therefore, that great importance should have been attached to such
superstitious usage; but for what reason our reformers chose to keep up
a recollection of that folly, cannot readily be ascertained.

“Of the origin of translations of this kind, much has been written; and
if we are to credit the assertions of those monkish writers, whose works
are yet found in catholic countries, though they have themselves long
passed to the silent tomb, we must believe not only that they had their
source from a principle of devotion, but that peculiar advantages
accrued to those who encouraged their increase. In the year 359, the
emperor Constantius, out of a presumed and, perhaps, not inconsistent
respect, caused the remains of St. Andrew and St. Luke to be removed
from their ancient place of interment to the temple of the twelve
apostles, at Constantinople; and from that example, the practice of
searching for the bodies of saints and martyrs increased so rapidly,
that in the year 386, we find almost the whole of the devotees engaged
in that pursuit. Relics, of course, speedily became of considerable
value; and as they were all alleged to possess peculiar virtues, no
expense or labour were spared to provide such treasures for every public
religious foundation. Hence translations innumerable took place of the
decayed members of persons reputed saints; and where the entire bodies
could not be collected, the pious contented themselves with possessing
such parts alone as ‘Providence chose to bless them with.’ Without these
sacred relics, no establishments could expect to thrive; and so
provident had the persons been who laboured in their collection, that
not a single religious house but could produce one or more of those
invaluable remains; though, unless we are to believe that most relics,
like the holy cross itself, possessed the power of self-augmentation, we
must either admit, that some of our circumspect forefathers were imposed
upon, or that St. John the Baptist had more heads than that of which he
was so cruelly deprived, as well as several of their favourite saints
having each kindly afforded them two or three skeletons of their
precious bodies; circumstances that frequently occurred, ‘because,’ says
Father John Ferand, of Anecy, ‘God was pleased so to multiply and
re-produce them, for the devotion of the faithful!’

“Of the number of these relics that have been preserved, it is useless
to attempt a description, nor, indeed, could they be detailed in many
volumes; yet it may gratify curiosity to afford some brief account of
such as, in addition to the heads of St. John the Baptist, were held in
the greatest repute, were it for no other reason than to show how the
ignorance and credulity of the commonalty have, in former ages, been
imposed upon, viz.:--

“A finger of St. Andrew;

“A finger of St. John the Baptist;

“The thumb of St. Thomas;

“A tooth of our Lord;

“A rib of our Lord, or, as it is profanely styled, of the _Verbum caro
factum_, the word made flesh;

“The hem of our Lord’s garment, which cured the diseased woman;

“The seamless coat of our Lord;

“A tear which our Lord shed over Lazarus; it was preserved by an angel,
who gave it in a phial to Mary Magdalene;

“Two handkerchiefs, on which are impressions of our Saviour’s face; the
one sent by our Lord himself as a present to Agbarus, prince of Edessa;
the other given at the time of his crucifixion to a holy woman, named
Veronica;

“The rod of Moses, with which he performed his miracles;

“A lock of hair of Mary Magdalene’s;

“A hem of Joseph’s garment;

“A feather of the Holy Ghost;

“A finger of the Holy Ghost;

“A feather of the angel Gabriel;

“A finger of a cherubim;

“The water-pots used at the marriage in Galilee;

“The slippers of the antediluvian Enoch;

“The face of a seraphim, with only part of the nose;

“The ‘_snout_’ of a seraphim, thought to have belonged to the preceding;

“The coal that broiled St. Lawrence;

“The square buckler, lined with ‘red velvet,’ and the short sword of St.
Michael;

“A phial of the ‘sweat of St. Michael,’ when he contended with Satan;

“Some of the rays of the star that appeared to the Magi; with
innumerable others, not quite consistent with decency to be here
described.

“The miracles wrought by these and other such precious remains, have
been enlarged upon by writers, whose testimony, aided by the _protecting
care_ of the inquisition, no one durst openly dispute who was not of the
‘holy brotherhood;’ although it would appear, by the confessions of
some of those respectable persons, that ‘instances have occurred of
their failure,’ but that they always ‘recovered their virtue, when,’ as
Galbert, a monk of Marchiennes, informs us, ‘they were flogged with
rods, &c.!’”[178]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Doubtful Poppy. _Papaver dubium._
  Dedicated to _St. Silverius_.

  [178] Brady’s Clavis.


~June 21.~

  _St. Aloysius_, or _Lewis Gonzaga_, A. D. 1591. _St. Ralph_, Abp. of
  Bourges, A. D. 866. _St. Meen_, in Latin, _Mevennus_, also _Melanus_,
  Abbot in Britanny, about A. D. 617. _St. Aaron_, Abbot in Britanny,
  6th Cent. _St. Eusebius_, Bp. of Samosata, A. D. 379 or 380. _St.
  Leufredus_, in French, _Leufroi_, Abbot, A. D. 738.

_Summer Morning and Evening._

    The glowing morning, crown’d with youthful roses,
    Bursts on the world in virgin sweetness smiling,
    And as she treads, the waking flowers expand,
    Shaking their dewy tresses. Nature’s choir
    Of untaught minstrels blend their various powers
    In one grand anthem, emulous to salute
    Th’ approaching king of day, and vernal Hope
    Jocund trips forth to meet the healthful breeze,
    To mark th’ expanding bud, the kindling sky,
    And join the general pæan.
    While, like a matron, who has long since done
    With the gay scenes of life, whose children all
    Have sunk before her on the lap of earth--
    Upon whose mild expressive face the sun
    Has left a smile that tells of former joys--
    Grey Eve glides on in pensive silence musing.
    As the mind triumphs o’er the sinking frame,
    So as her form decays, her starry beams
    Shed brightening lustre, till on night’s still bosom
    Serene she sinks, and breathes her peaceful last,
    While on the rising breeze sad melodies,
    Sweet as the notes that soothe the dying pillow,
    When angel-music calls the saint to heaven,
    Come gently floating: ’tis the requiem
    Chaunted by Philomel for day departed.

  _Ado._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Viper’s Buglos. _Echium vulgare._
  Dedicated to _St. Aloysius._


[Illustration: ~Summer.~]

    Now cometh welcome Summer with great strength,
      Joyously smiling in high lustihood,
    Conferring on us days of longest length,
      For rest or labour, in town, field, or wood;
    Offering, to our gathering, richest stores
      Of varied herbage, corn, cool fruits, and flowers,
    As forth they rise from Nature’s open pores,
      To fill our homesteads, and to deck our bowers;
    Inviting us to renovate our health
      By recreation; or, by ready hand,
    And calculating thought, t’ improve our wealth:
      And so, invigorating all the land,
    And all the tenantry of earth or flood,
    Cometh the plenteous Summer--full of good.

  *

“How beautiful is summer,” says the elegant author of _Sylvan Sketches_,
a volume that may be regarded as a sequel to the _Flora Domestica_, from
the hand of the same lady.--“How beautiful is summer! the trees are
heavy with fruit and foliage; the sun is bright and cheering in the
morning; the shade of broad and leafy boughs is refreshing at noon; and
the calm breezes of the evening whisper gently through the leaves,
which reflect the liquid light of the moon when she is seen--

    ---------“lifting her silver rim
    Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim
    Coming into the blue with all her light.”

On page 337 of the present work, there is the spring dress of our
ancestors in the fourteenth century, from an illumination in a
manuscript copied by Strutt. From the same illumination, their summer
dress in that age is here represented.

[Illustration]


LONGEST DAY.

No day is disadvantageous to an agreeable thought or two upon “Time;”
and the present, being the _longest day_, is selected for submitting to
perusal a very pleasant little apologue from a miscellany addressed to
the young. The object of the writer was evidently to do good, and it is
hoped that its insertion here, in furtherance of the purpose, may not be
less pleasing to the editor who first introduced it to the public eye,
than it will be found by the readers of the _Every-Day Book_. This is
the tale.


THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM.

An old clock, that had stood for fifty years in a farmer’s kitchen,
without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer’s
morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped.

Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable,) changed
countenance with alarm; the hands made a vain effort to continue their
course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung
speechless; each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At
length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the
stagnation, when hands, wheels, weights, with one voice protested their
innocence. But now a faint tick was heard below from the pendulum, who
thus spoke:--

“I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am
willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth
is, that I am tired of ticking.” Upon hearing this, the old clock became
so enraged, that it was on the very point of _striking_.

“Lazy wire!” exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands.--“Very
good,” replied the pendulum: “it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial,
who have always, as every body knows, set yourself up above me,--it is
vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! You, who
have had nothing to do all the days of your life but to stare people in
the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the
kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life
in this dark closet, and to wag backwards and forwards, year after year,
and do.”--“As to that,” said the dial, “Is there not a window in your
house, on purpose for you to look through?”

“For all that,” resumed the pendulum, “it is very dark here: and,
although there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an instant, to
look out at it. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life; and, if
you wish, I’ll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. I
happened this morning to be calculating how many times I should have to
tick in the course only of the next twenty-four hours: perhaps some of
you above there can give me the exact sum.”

The minute hand, being _quick_ at figures, presently replied,
“Eighty_-_six thousand four hundred times.”

“Exactly so,” replied the pendulum; “well, I appeal to you all, if the
very thought of this was not enough to fatigue one; and when I began to
multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it
is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect; so, after a great
deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself, I’ll stop.”

The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but,
resuming its gravity, thus replied:--

“Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful,
industrious person as yourself should have been overcome by this sudden
notion. It is true you have done a great deal of work in your time; so
have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it may fatigue us to
_think_ of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to _do_. Would
you now do me the favour to give about half a dozen strokes, to
illustrate my argument?”

The pendulum complied, and ticked six times at its usual pace.--“Now,”
resumed the dial, “may I be allowed to inquire, if that exertion was at
all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?”

“Not in the least,” replied the pendulum; “it is not of six strokes that
I complain, nor of sixty, but of _millions_.”

“Very good,” replied the dial; “but recollect, that though you may
_think_ of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to
_execute_ but one; and that, however often you may hereafter have to
swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in.”

“That consideration staggers me, I confess,” said the pendulum. “Then I
hope,” resumed the dial-plate, “we shall all immediately return to our
duty; for the maids will lie in bed till noon, if we stand idling thus.”

Upon this the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used
all their influence in urging him to proceed; when, as with one consent,
the wheels began to turn, the hand began to move, the pendulum began to
swing, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a red beam of
the rising sun, that streamed through a hole in the kitchen shutter,
shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up as if nothing had
been the matter.

When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the
clock, he declared that his watch had gained half-an-hour in the night.

       *       *       *       *       *

A celebrated modern writer says, “take care of the _minutes_, and the
_hours_ will take care of themselves.” This is an admirable remark, and
might be very seasonably recollected when we begin to be “weary in
well-doing,” from the thought of having much to do. The present moment
is all we have to do with in any sense; the past is irrecoverable; the
future is uncertain; nor is it fair to burthen one moment with the
weight of the next. Sufficient unto the _moment_ is the trouble thereof.
If we had to walk a hundred miles, we should still have to set but one
step at a time, and this process continued would infallibly bring us to
our journey’s end. Fatigue generally begins, and is always increased, by
calculating in a minute the exertion of hours.

Thus, in looking forward to future life, let us recollect that we have
not to sustain all its toil, to endure all its sufferings, or encounter
all its crosses at once. One moment comes laden with its own _little_
burthens, then flies, and is succeeded by another no heavier than the
last; if _one_ could be borne, so can another, and another.

Even in looking forward to a single day, the spirit may sometimes faint
from an anticipation of the duties, the labours, the trials to temper
and patience that may be expected. Now, this is unjustly laying the
burthen of many thousand moments upon _one_. Let any one resolve always
to do right _now_, leaving _then_ to do as it can; and if he were to
live to the age of Methusalem, he would never do wrong. But the common
error is to resolve to act right after breakfast, or after dinner, or
to-morrow morning, or _next time_; but _now_, _just_ now, _this_ once,
we must go on the same as ever.

It is easy, for instance, for the most ill-tempered person to resolve,
that the next time he is provoked he will not let his temper overcome
him; but the victory would be to subdue temper on the _present_
provocation. If, without taking up the burthen of the future, we would
always make the _single_ effort at the _present_ moment, while there
would, at any time, be very little to do, yet, by this simple process
continued, every thing would at last be done.

It seems easier to do right to-morrow than to-day, merely because we
forget, that when to-morrow comes, _then_ will be _now_. Thus life
passes with many, in resolutions for the future, which the present never
fulfils.

It is not thus with those, who, “by _patient continuance in well-doing_,
seek for glory, honour, and immortality:” day by day, minute by minute,
they execute the appointed task to which the requisite measure of time
and strength is proportioned: and thus, having worked while it was
called day, they at length rest from their labours, and their “works
follow them.”

Let us then, “whatever our hands find to do, do it with all our might,
recollecting that _now_ is the proper and accepted time.”[179]

  [179] From the _Youth’s Magazine_, for November, 1819.


~June 22.~

  _St. Paulinus_, Bp. of Nola, A. D. 431. _St. Alban_, Proto-Martyr of
  Britain, A. D. 303.


_American Newspapers._

The following singular advertisement, appeared in the “Connecticut
Courant,” of June 2, 1784.

  TAKE NOTICE, DEBTORS

  _For Newspapers to the Subscriber._

This is the last time of asking in this way; all those who settle their
accounts by the 18th of June, instant, will have the thanks of their
humble servant; and those that neglect, will find their accounts in the
hands of some person, who will collect them in a more fashionable way,
but more expensive.

  JAMES JOHNSON.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Canterbury Bells. _Campanula Medium._
  Dedicated to _St. Paulinus_.


~June 23.~

  _St. Etheldreda_, or _Audry_, A. D. 679. _St. Mary_ of Oignies, A. D.
  1213.


[Illustration: ~Midsummer--The Bonfire.~]

This engraving represents a rejoicing formerly common to this season; it
is from a French print, inscribed “_Le Feu de St. Jean Mariette ex_.”

The _summer solstice_ has been celebrated throughout all ages by the
lighting up of fires, and hence on “St. John’s eve,” or the vigil of the
festival of St. John the Baptist, there have been popular ceremonials of
this kind from the earliest times of the Romish church to the present.
Before, however, particularizing any of these celebrations, it may be
worth while to notice the following practice, which is still maintained.


_Midsummer Eve, in Ireland._

At Stoole, near Downpatrick, in the north of Ireland, there is a
ceremony commencing at twelve o’clock at night on every
Midsummer-eve.--Its sacred mount is consecrated to St. Patrick: the
plain contains three wells, to which the most extraordinary virtues are
attributed. Here and there are heaps of stones, around some of which
appear great numbers of people running with as much speed as possible;
around others, crowds of worshippers kneel with bare legs and feet as an
indispensable part of the penance. The men, without coats, with
handkerchiefs on their heads instead of hats, having gone seven times
round each heap, kiss the ground, cross themselves, and proceed to the
hill; here they ascend on their bare knees, by a path so steep and
rugged that it would be difficult to walk up: many hold their hands
clasped at the back of their necks, and several carry large stones on
their heads. Having repeated this ceremony seven times, they go to what
is called St. Patrick’s chair, which are two great flat stones fixed
upright in the hill; here they cross and bless themselves as they step
in between these stones, and while repeating prayers, an old man, seated
for the purpose, turns them round on their feet three times, for which
he is paid; the devotee then goes to conclude his penance at a pile of
stones named the altar. While this busy scene of superstition is
continued by the multitude, the wells, and streams issuing from them,
are thronged by crowds of halt, maimed, and blind, pressing to wash away
their infirmities with water consecrated by their patron saint; and so
powerful is the impression of its efficacy on their minds, that many of
those who go to be healed, and who are not totally blind, or altogether
crippled, really believe for a time that they are by means of its
miraculous virtues perfectly restored. These effects of a heated
imagination are received as unquestionable miracles, and are propagated
with abundant exaggeration.[180]

The annual resort of the ignorant portion of our Roman Catholic
countrymen, was never so numerously attended as it has been during the
late anniversary of this festival, in 1825. The extent of the number of
strangers from very remote parts of the country was unprecedented. The
usual ablutions, penances, and _miraculous_ results, were performed, and
attested by the devotees, who experienced some disappointment in not
having the accustomed arch-officiater to consummate the observances by
thrice revolving the votary in the chair of St. Patrick. This
deprivation, it is said, marks the sense of a dignitary of the church
respecting this annual ceremony.[181]


  _Ancient Custom of_
  SETTING THE WATCH IN LONDON
  _on St. John’s Eve._

The curfew-bell, commanded by William Conquerour to be nightly rung at
eight of the clock, as a warning, or command, that all people should
then put out their fires and lights, was continued throughout the realm
till the time of Henry the First, when Stow says, that it followed, “by
reason of warres within the realme, that many men gave themselves to
robbery and murders in the night.” Stow then recites from an ancient
chronicler, Roger Hoveden, that in the yeare 1175, during the time of a
council held at Nottingham, a brother of the earle Ferrers, was “in the
night privily slaine at London, and thrown out of his inne into the
durty street; when the king understood thereof he sware that he would be
revenged on the citizens. It was then a common practice in this city,
that a hundred or more in a company, young and old, would make nightly
invasions upon houses of the wealthy, to the intent to rob them; and if
they found any man stirring in the city within the night, that were not
of their crue, they would presently murder him: insomuch, that when
night was come, no man durst adventure to walk in the streets. When this
had continued long, it fortuned, that a crue of young and wealthy
citizens assembling together in the night, assaulted a stone house of a
certaine rich man, and breaking through the wall, the good man of that
house having prepared himself with other in a corner, when hee perceived
one of the theeves, named Andrew Bucquint, to lead the way, with a
burning brand in the one hand, and a pot of coles in the other, which
hee assaied to kindle with the brand, he flew upon him, and smote off
his right hand, and then with a loud voyce cryed ‘theeves.’ At the
hearing whereof, the theeves took their flight, all saving he that had
lost his hand, whom the good man (in the next morning) delivered to
Richard de Lucie, the king’s justice. This theefe, upon warrant of his
life, appeached his confederates, of whom many were taken, and many
were fled. Among the rest that were apprehended, a certaine citizen of
great countenance, credit, and wealth, named John Senex, who for as much
he could not acquit himselfe by the water-doome (as that law was then
tearmed) hee offered to the king five hundred pounds of silver for his
life. But forasmuch as he was condemned by judgement of the water, the
king would not take the offer, but commanded him to be hanged on the
gallowes, which was done, and then the city became more quiet for a long
time after.”

It appears that the city of London was subject to these disorders till
1253, when Henry III. commanded watches to be kept in the cities, and
borough towns, for the preservation of the peace; and this king further
ordained “that if any man chanced to be robbed, or by any means
damnified, by any theefe or robber, he to whom the charge of keeping
that county, city, or borough, chiefly appertained, where the robbery
was done, should competently restore the losse.”

This origin of the present nightly watch in London was preceded by other
popular customs, or they rather, it may be said, assisted in its
formation. “In the months of June and July, on the vigils of festivall
dayes, and on the same festivall dayes in the evenings, after the
sun-setting, there were usually made bone-fires in the streets, every
man bestowing wood or labour towards them. The wealthier sort also
before their doores, neere to the said bone-fires, would set out tables
on the vigils, furnished with sweete bread, and good drinke, and on the
festivall dayes with meats and drinkes plentifully, whereunto they would
invite their neighbours and passengers also to sit, and be merry with
them in great familiarity, praysing God for his benefits bestowed on
them. These were called _bone-fires_, as well of amity amongst
neighbours, that being before at controversie, were there by the labour
of others reconciled, and made of bitter enemies, loving friends; as
also for the vertue that a great fire hath, to purge the infection of
the ayre.

“On the vigil of St. John Baptist, and on Sts. Peter and Paul the
apostles, every man’s doore being shaddowed with greene birch, long
fennel, St. John’s wort, orpin, white lilies, and such like, garnished
upon with garlands of beautifull flowers, had also lamps of glasse,
with oyle burning in them all the night; some hung out branches of iron
curiously wrought, containing hundreds of lamps lighted at once, which
made a goodly shew, namely in new Fish-street, Thames-street, &c.

“Then had ye, besides the _standing_ watches, all in bright harnesse, in
every ward and street of this city and suburbs, a _marching_ watch, that
passed through the principall streets thereof, to wit, from the little
conduit by Paul’s gate, through West Cheape, by the Stocks,
through Cornehill, by Leadenhall to Aldgate, then backe down
Fen-church-street, by Grasse-church, about Grasse-church conduit, and up
Grasse-church-street into Cornhill, and through it into West Cheape
again, and so broke up.

“The whole way ordered for this marching watch, extended to three
thousand two hundred taylors’ yards of assize; for the furniture whereof
with lights, there were appointed seven hundred cressets, five hundred
of them being found by the companies, the other two hundred by the
chamber of London. Besides the which lights, every constable in London,
in number more than two hundred and forty, had his _cresset_: the charge
of every cresset was in light two shillings foure pence, and every
cresset had two men, one to beare or hold it, another to beare a bag
with light, and to serve it: so that the poore men pertaining to the
cressets, taking wages, (besides that every one had a strawen hat, with
a badge painted, and his breakfast in the morning,) amounted in number
to almost two thousand.

“The marching watch contained in number two thousand men, part of them
being old souldiers, of skill to bee captaines, lieutenants, serjeants,
corporals, &c. wifflers, drummers, and fifes, standard and
ensigne-bearers, sword-players, trumpeters on horsebacke, demilaunces on
great horses, gunners with hand-guns, or halfe hakes, archers in cotes
of white fustian, signed on the breste and backe with the armes of the
city, their bowes bent in their hands, with sheafes of arrowes by their
sides, pike-men in bright corslets, burganets, &c., holbards, the like
billmen in almaine rivets, and aperns of mayle in great number.

“There were also divers pageants, and morris dancers attendant on the
setting of this marching watch. The _constables_, were divided into two
parties; one halfe consisting of one hundred and twenty, were appointed
on St. John’s eve, the other halfe on St. Peter’s eve.” They were “in
bright harnesse, some over-gilt, and every one a jornet of scarlet
thereupon and a chaine of gold, his hench-man following him, his
minstrels before him, and his _cresset_ light passing by him.” In the
procession were “the _waytes_ of the city, the maiors officers, for his
guard before him, all in a livery of wosted, or say jackets, party
; the maior himselfe well mounted on horseback, the sword-bearer
before him in faire armour, well mounted also, the maiors foot-men, and
the like torch-bearers about him; hench-men twaine, upon great stirring
horses following him. The sheriffes watches came one after the other in
like order, but not so large in number as the maiors: for whereas the
maior had, besides his giant, three pageants, each of the sheriffes had,
besides their giants, but two pageants; each their morris-dance, and one
hench-man, their officers in jackets of wosted, or say, party-,
differing from the maiors, and each from other, but having harnessed men
a great many, &c. This _Midsummer watch_ was thus accustomed yeerely,
time out of minde, untill the yeere 1539, the thirty-first of Henry the
Eighth, in which yeere, on the eighth of May, a great muster was made by
the citizens at the Miles end, all in bright harnesse, with coats of
white silke or cloth, and chaines of gold, in three great battels, to
the number of fifteen thousand, which passed thorow London to
Westminster, and so through the sanctuary, and round about the parke of
St. James, and returned home thorow Oldborne.”

In that year, 1539, king Henry VIII. forbid this muster of armed men,
and prohibited the marching watch altogether, and it was disused “til
the yeere 1548.” When sir John Gresham, then lord mayor, revived the
marching watch, both on the eve of St. John the baptist, and of St.
Peter the apostle, and set it forth, in order as before had been
accustomed; “which watch was also beautified by the number of more than
three hundred demilances and light-horsemen, prepared by the citizens to
be sent into Scotland, for the rescue of the town of Haddington.” After
that time the marching watch again fell into disuse; yet, in the year
1585, “a booke was drawne by a grave citizen, (John Mountgomery,) and by
him dedicated to sir Tho. Pullison, then l. maior, and his brethren the
aldermen, containing the manner and order of a marching watch in the
citie, upon the evens accustomed; in commendation whereof, namely, in
times of peace to be used, he hath words to this effect: ‘The artificers
of sundry sorts were thereby well set aworke, none but rich men charged,
poor men helped, old souldiers, trumpeters, drummers, fifes, and
engine-bearers, with such like men meet for the prince’s service, kept
in use, wherein the safety and defence of every common-weale consisteth.
Armour and weapons being yeerely occupied in this wise, the citizens had
of their owne readily prepared for any neede, whereas, by intermission
hereof, armorers are out of worke, souldiers out of use, weapons
overgrowne with foulnesse, few or none good being provided,’” &c.
Notwithstanding these plausible grounds, the practice was discontinued.

There can be little doubt that so great an array of armed citizens, was
not only viewed with distrust by the government, but had become of so
great charge to the corporation, that it was found mutually convenient
to substitute a less expensive and less warlike body to watch and ward
the city’s safety. The splendour wherein it was annually set forth was,
however, a goodly sight, and attracted the curiosity of royalty itself,
for we find that on St. John’s eve, in 1510, king Henry VIII. came to
the King’s-head, in Cheap, in the livery of a yeoman of the guard, with
a halbert on his shoulder, and there, in that disguise, beheld the watch
till it had passed, and was so gratified with the show, that “on St.
Peter’s night next following, he and the queen came royally riding to
the sayd place, and there, with their nobles, beheld the watch of the
city, and returned in the morning.”[182] In 1519, Christern, king of
Denmark, and his queen, being then in England, were conducted to the
King’s-head, in Cheap, there to see the watch.

On taking leave of the old London watch, on St. John’s eve, a remark or
two may be made respecting their lights.


_The Cresset._

Concerning the _cressets_ or lights of the watch, this may be observed
by way of explanation.

The cresset light was formed of a wreathed rope smeared with pitch, and
placed in a cage of iron, like a trivet suspended on pivots, in a kind
of fork; or it was a light from combustibles, in a hollow pan. It was
rendered portable by being placed on a pole, and so carried from place
to place. Mr. Douce, in his “Illustrations of Shakspeare,” gives the
following four representations from old prints and drawings of

[Illustration: CRESSETS.

~Lamps in the Old Streets,~

AND ALSO CARRIED BY THE

~Marching Watch of London~.]

Mr. Douce imagines the word cresset to have been derived from the French
word _croiset_, a cruet or earthen pot.

When the cresset light was stationary it served as a beacon, or answered
the purpose of a fixed lamp, and in this way our ancestors illuminated
or lighted up their streets. There is a volume of sermons, by Samuel
Ward, printed 1617-24, with a wood-cut frontispiece, representing two of
these fixed cressets or street-lamps, with verses between them, in
relation to his name and character, as a faithful watchman. In the first
lines old Ward is addressed thus:--

    “_Watch_ WARD, and keepe thy Garments tight,
    For I come thiefe-like at Midnight.”

Whereto WARD answers the injunction, to _watch_, in the lines
following:--

    “All-seeing, never-slumbering LORD;
    Be thou my _Watch_, Ile be thy WARD.”

Ward’s “lamp, or beacon,” is transferred from his frontispiece to the
next column, in order to show wherein our ancient standing lamps
differed from the present.

[Illustration: ~An Old Beacon~,

OR

~Standing Lamp~.]

It will be seen from this engraving that the person, whose business it
was to “watch” and trim the lamp, did not ascend for that purpose by a
ladder, as the gas-lighters do our gas-lamps, or as the lamp-lighter did
the oil-lamps which they superseded, but by climbing the pole, hand and
foot, by means of the projections on each side.


_St. John’s Eve Watch at Nottingham._

The practice of setting the watch, at Nottingham, on St. John’s eve, was
maintained until the reign of Charles I., the manner whereof is thus
described:--

“In Nottingham, by an ancient custom, they keep yearly a general watch
every Midsummer eve at night, to which every inhabitant of any ability
sets forth a man, as well voluntaries as those who are charged with
arms, with such munition as they have; some pikes, some muskets,
calivers, or other guns, some partisans, holberts, and such as have
armour send their servants in their armour. The number of these are
yearly almost two hundred, who, at sun-setting, meet on the Row, the
most open part of the town, where the mayor’s serjeant at mace gives
them an oath, the tenor whereof followeth, in these words: “They shall
well and truly keep this town till to-morrow at the sun-rising; you
shall come into no house without license, or cause reasonable. Of all
manner of casualties, of fire, of crying of children, you shall due
warning make to the parties, as the case shall require you. You shall
due search make of all manner of affrays, bloud-sheds, outcrys, and of
all other things that be suspected,” &c. Which done, they all march in
orderly array through the principal parts of the town, and then they are
sorted into several companies, and designed to several parts of the
town, where they are to keep the watch until the sun dismiss them in the
morning. In this business the fashion is for every watchman to wear a
garland, made in the fashion of a crown imperial, bedeck’d with flowers
of various kinds, some natural, some artificial, bought and kept for
that purpose; as also ribbans, jewels, and, for the better garnishing
whereof, the townsmen use the day before to ransack the gardens of all
the gentlemen within six or seven miles about Nottingham, besides what
the town itself affords them, their greatest ambition being to outdo one
another in the bravery of their garlands.”[183] So pleasant a sight must
have been reluctantly parted with; and accordingly in another place we
find that this Midsummer show was held at a much later period than at
Nottingham, and with more pageantry in the procession.


_St. John’s Eve Watch at Chester._

The annual setting of the watch on St. John’s eve, in the city of
Chester, was an affair of great moment. By an ordinance of the mayor,
aldermen, and common councilmen of that corporation, dated in the year
1564, and preserved among the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum, a
pageant which is expressly said to be “according to ancient custom,” is
ordained to consist of four giants, one unicorn, one dromedary, one
camel, one luce, one dragon, and six hobby-horses with other figures.
By another MS. in the same library it is said, that Henry Hardware,
Esq., the mayor, in 1599, caused the giants in the Midsummer show to be
broken, “and not to goe _the devil in his feathers_;” and it appears
that he caused a man in complete armour to go in their stead: but in the
year 1601, John Ratclyffe, beer-brewer, being mayor, set out the giants
and Midsummer show as of old it was wont to be kept. In the time of the
commonwealth the show was discontinued, and the giants with the beasts
were destroyed.

At the restoration of Charles II., the citizens of Chester replaced
their pageant, and caused all things to be made new, because the old
models were broken. According to the computation, the four great giants
were to cost five pounds a-piece, at the least, and the four men to
carry them were to have two shillings and six-pence each; the materials
for constructing them were to be hoops of various sizes, deal boards,
nails, pasteboard, scaleboard, paper of various sorts, buckram,
size-cloth, and old sheets for their body-sleeves and shirts, which were
to be ; also tinsel, tinfoil, gold and silver leaf, and colours
of various kinds, with glue and paste in abundance. The provision of a
pair of old sheets to cover the “father and mother giants,” and three
yards of buckram for the mother’s and daughter’s hoods, seems to prove
that three of these monstrous pasteboard figures represented females. A
desire to preserve them may be inferred from an entry in the bill of
charges:--“For arsnick to put into the paste, to save the giants from
being eaten by the rats, one shilling and four-pence.” There was an item
in the estimate--“For the new making the city mount, called the maior’s
mount, as auntiently it was, and for hireing of bays for the same, and a
man to carry it, three pounds six shillings and eight-pence.”
Twenty-pence was paid to a joiner for cutting pasteboard into several
images for the “merchant’s mount,” which being made, “as it aunciently
was with a ship to turn round,” cost four pounds, including the hiring
of the “bays,” and five men to carry it. The charge for the ship, and
new dressing it, was five shillings. Strutt, who sets forth these
particulars, conjectures, that the ship was probably made with
pasteboard, that material seeming, to him, to have been a principle
article in the manufacturing of both these movable mountains. The ship
was turned, he says, by means of a swivel, attached to an iron handle
underneath the frame; the “bays” was to hang round the bottom of the
frames to the ground, and so conceal the bearers. Then there was a new
“elephant and castell, and a cupid,” with his bows and arrows, “suitable
to it;” the castle was covered with tin foil, and the cupid with skins,
so as to appear to be naked, and the charge for these, with two men to
carry them, was one pound sixteen shillings and eight-pence. The “four
beastes called the unicorne, the antelop, the flower-de-luce (?) and the
camell,” cost one pound sixteen shillings and four-pence each, and eight
men were paid sixteen shillings to carry them. Four boys for carrying
the four hobby-horses, had four shillings, and the hobby-horses cost six
shillings and eight-pence each. The charge for the new dragon, with six
naked boys to beat at it, was one pound sixteen shillings. Six
morris-dancers, with a pipe and tabret, had twenty shillings; and
“hance-staves, garlands, and balls, for the attendants upon the mayor
and sheriffs cost one pound nineteen shillings.”[184]

These preparations it will be remembered were for the setting forth of
the Midsummer-watch at Chester, so late as the reign of Charles II.
After relating these particulars, Mr. Strutt aptly observes, that
exhibitions of this kind for the diversions of the populace, are well
described in a few lines from a dramatic piece, entitled “A pleasant and
stately Morall of the Three Lordes of London:”--

    -----“Let nothing that’s magnifical,
    Or that may tend to London’s graceful state,
    Be unperformed, as showes and solemne feastes,
    Watches in armour, triumphes, cresset lights,
    Bonefires, belles, and peales of ordinaunce
    And pleasure. See that plaies be published,
    Mai-games and maskes, with mirthe and minstrelsie,
    Pageants and school-feastes, beares and puppet-plaies.”


_Somersetshire Custom._

In the parishes of Congresbury and Puxton, are two large pieces of
common land, called East and West Dolemoors, (from the Saxon dal, which
signifies a share or portion,) which are divided into single acres, each
bearing a peculiar and different mark cut in the turf; such as a horn,
four oxen and a mare, two oxen and a mare, a pole-axe, cross, dung-fork,
oven, duck’s-nest, hand-reel, and hare’s-tail. On _the Saturday before
Old-Midsummer_, several proprietors of estates in the parishes of
Congresbury, Puxton, and Week St. Lawrence, or their tenants, assemble
on the commons. A number of apples are previously prepared, marked in
the same manner with the before-mentioned acres, which are distributed
by a young lad to each of the commoners from a bag or hat. At the close
of the distribution each person repairs to his allotment, as his apple
directs him, and takes possession for the ensuing year. An adjournment
then takes place to the house of the overseer of Dolemoors, (an officer
annually elected from the tenants,) where four acres, reserved for the
purpose of paying expenses, are let by inch of candle, and the remainder
of the day is spent in that sociability and hearty mirth so congenial to
the soul of a Somersetshire yeoman.[185]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Our Lady’s Slipper. _Cypripedium Calceolus._
  Dedicated to _St. Etheldreda_.

  [180] Hibernian Magazine, July, 1817.

  [181] Belfast Chronicle.

  [182] Stow.

  [183] Deering’s Nottingham

  [184] Strutt’s Sports.

  [185] Collinson’s Somersetshire.


~June 24.~

  _Nativity of St. John the Baptist._ _The Martyrs of Rome under Nero_,
  A. D. 64. _St. Bartholomew._


~Midsummer-day.~


_Nativity of St. John the Baptist._

At Oxford on this day there was lately a remarkable custom, mentioned by
the Rev. W. Jones of Nayland, in his “Life of Bishop Horne,” affixed to
the bishop’s works. He says, “a letter of July the 25th, 1755, informed
me that Mr. Horne according to an established custom at Magdalen-college
in Oxford, had begun to preach before the university on the day of St.
John the baptist. For the preaching of this annual sermon, a permanent
pulpit of stone is inserted into a corner of the first quadrangle; and,
so long as the stone pulpit was in use, (_of which I have been a
witness_,) the quadrangle was furnished round the sides with a large
fence of green boughs, that the preaching might more nearly resemble
that of John the baptist in the wilderness; and a pleasant sight it was:
but for many years the custom has been discontinued, and the assembly
have thought it safer to take shelter under the roof of the chapel.”


_Pulpits._

Without descanting at this time on the manifold construction of the
pulpit, it may be allowable, perhaps, to observe, that the _ambo_, or
_first_ pulpit, was an elevation consisting of two flights of stairs; on
the higher was read the gospel, on the lower the epistle. The pulpit of
the present day is that fixture in the church, or place of worship,
occupied by the minister while he delivers his sermon. Thus much is
observed for the present, in consequence of the mention of the Oxford
pulpit; and for the purpose of introducing the representation of a
remarkably beautiful structure of this kind, from a fine engraving by
Fessard in 1710.

This pulpit is larger than the pulpit of the church of England, and the
other Protestant pulpits in our own country. It is a pulpit of the
Romish church with a bishop preaching to a congregation of high rank. It
is customary for a Roman Catholic prelate to have the ensigns of his
prelacy displayed in the pulpit, and hence they are so exhibited in
Fessard’s print. This, however, is by no means so large as other pulpits
in Romish churches, which are of increased magnitude for the purpose of
congregating the clergy, when their occupations at the altar have
ceased, before the eye of the congregation; and hence it is common for
many of them to sit robed, by the side of the preacher, during the
sermon.

[Illustration: ~French Pulpit~

FROM A FINE ENGRAVING.]

An English lady visiting France, who had been mightily impressed by the
rites of the Roman Catholic religion, revived there since the
restoration of the Bourbons, was induced to attend the Protestant
worship, at the chapel of the British ambassador. She says “the
splendour of the Romish service, the superb dresses, the chanting,
accompanied by beautiful music, the lights, and the other ceremonies,
completely overpowered my mind; at last on the Sunday before I left
Paris I went to our ambassador’s chapel, just to say that I _had_ been.
There was none of the pomp I had been so lately delighted with; the
prevailing character of the worship was simplicity; the minister who
delivered the sermon was only sufficiently elevated to be seen by the
auditors; he preached to a silent and attentive congregation, whose
senses had not been previously affected; his discourse was earnest,
persuasive, and convincing. I began to perceive the difference between
appeals to the feelings and to the understanding, and I came home a
better Protestant and I hope a better Christian than when I left
England.”


~Quarter-day.~

_For the Every-Day Book._

This is _quarter-day_!--what a variety of thought and feeling it calls
up in the minds of thousands in this great metropolis. How many changes
of abode, voluntary and involuntary, for the better and for the worse,
are now destined to take place! There is the charm of novelty at least;
and when the mind is disposed to be pleased, as it is when the will
leads, it inclines to extract gratification from the anticipation of
advantages, rather than to be disturbed by any latent doubts which time
may or may not realize.

Perhaps the _removal_ is to a house of decidedly superior class to the
present; and if this step is the consequence of augmented resources, it
is the first indication to the world of the happy circumstance. Here,
then, is an additional ground of pleasure, not very heroic indeed, but
perfectly natural. Experience may have shown us that mere progression in
life is not always connected with progression in happiness; and
therefore, though we may smile at the simplicity which connects them in
idea, yet our recollection of times past, when we ourselves indulged the
delusion, precludes us from expressing feelings that we have acquired by
experience. The pleasure, if from a shallow source, is at least a
present benefit, and a sort of counterpoise to vexations from imaginary
causes. It does not seem agreeable to contemplate retrogression; to
behold a family descending from their wonted sphere, and becoming the
inmates of a humbler dwelling; yet, they who have had the resolution, I
may almost say the magnanimity, voluntarily to descend, may reasonably
be expected again to rise. They have given proof of the possession of
one quality indispensable in such an attempt--that mental decision, by
which they have achieved a task, difficult, painful, and to many,
impracticable. They have shown, too, their ability to form a correct
estimate of the value of the world’s opinion, so far as it is influenced
by external appearances, and boldly disregarding its terrors, have
wisely resolved to let go that which could not be much longer held. By
this determination, besides rescuing themselves from a variety of
perpetually recurring embarrassments and annoyances, they have
suppressed half the sneers which the malicious had in store for them,
had their decline reached its expected crisis, while they have secured
the approbation and kind wishes of all the good and considerate. The
consciousness of this consoles them for what is past, contents them with
the present, and animates their hopes for the future.

Now, let us shift the scene a little, and look at quarter-day under
another aspect. On this day some may quit, some may remain; _all_ must
pay--that can! Alas, that there should be some unable! I pass over the
rich, whether landlord or tenant; the effects of quarter-day to them are
sufficiently obvious: they feel little or no sensation on its approach
or arrival, and when it is over, they feel no alteration in their
accustomed necessaries and luxuries. Not so with the _poor_ man; I mean
the man who, in _whatever_ station, feels his growing inability to meet
the demands periodically and continually making on him. What a day
quarter-day is to _him_! He sees its approach from a distance, tries to
be prepared, counts his expected means of being so, finds them short of
even his not very sanguine expectations, counts again, but can make no
more of them; and while day after day elapses, sees his little stock
diminishing. What shall he do? He perhaps knows his landlord to be
inexorable; how then shall he satisfy him? Shall he borrow? Alas, of
whom? Where dwell the practicers of this precept--“From him that would
borrow of thee turn thou not away?” Most of the professors of the
religion which enjoins this precept, construe it differently. What shall
he do? something must be soon decided on. He sits down to consider. He
looks about his neatly-furnished house or apartments, to see what out of
his humble possessions, he can convert into money. The faithful wife of
his bosom becomes of his council. There is nothing they have, which they
did not purchase for some particular, and as they then thought,
necessary purpose; how, then, can they spare any thing? they ruminate;
they repeat the names of the various articles, they fix on
nothing--there is nothing they can part with. They are about so to
decide; but their recollection that external resources are now all dried
up, obliges them to resume their task, and resolutely determine to do
without something, however painful may be the sacrifice. Could we hear
the reasons which persons thus situated assign, why this or that article
should by no means be parted with, we should be enabled, in some
degree, to appreciate their conflicts, and the heart-aches which precede
and accompany them. In such inventories much jewellery, diamond rings,
or valuable trinkets, are not to be expected. The few that there may be,
are probably tokens of affection, either from some deceased relative or
dear friend; or not less likely from the husband to the wife, given at
their union--“when life and hope were new”--when their minds were so
full of felicity, that no room was left for doubts as to its permanence;
when every future scene appeared to their glowing imaginations dressed
in beauty; when every scheme projected, appeared already crowned with
success; when the possibility of contingencies frustrating judicious
endeavours, either did not present itself to the mind, or presenting
itself, was dismissed as an unwelcome guest, “not having on the wedding
garment.” At such a time were those tokens presented, and they are now
produced. They serve to recall moments of bliss unalloyed by cares,
since become familiar. They were once valued as pledges of affection,
and now, when that affection endures in full force and tenderness, they
wish that those pledges had no other value than affection confers on
them, that so there might be no temptation to sacrifice them to a cruel
necessity. Let us, however, suppose some of them selected for disposal,
and the money raised to meet the portentous day. Our troubled
fellow-creatures breathe again, all dread is for the present banished;
joy, temporary, but oh! how sweet after such bitterness, is diffused
through their hearts, and gratitude to Providence for tranquillity, even
by such means restored, is a pervading feeling. It is, perhaps, prudent
at this juncture to leave them, rather than follow on to the end of the
next quarter. It may be that, by superior prudence or some unexpected
supply, a repetition of the same evil, or the occurrence of a greater is
avoided; yet, we all know that evils of the kind in question, are too
frequently followed by worse. If a family, owing to the operation of
some common cause, such as a rise in the price of provisions, or a
partial diminution of income from the depression of business, become
embarrassed and with difficulty enabled to pay their rent; the addition
of a fit of sickness, the unexpected failure of a debtor, or any other
contingency of the sort, (assistance from without not being afforded,)
prevents them altogether. The case is then desperate. The power which
the law thus permits a landlord to exercise, is one of fearful
magnitude, and is certainly admirably calculated to discover the stuff
he is made of. Yet, strange as it seems, this power is often enforced in
all its rigour, and the merciless enforcers lose not, apparently, a jot
of reputation, nor forfeit the esteem of their intimates: so much does
familiarity with an oppressive action deaden the perception of its real
nature, and so apt are we to forget that owing to the imperfection of
human institutions, an action may be legal and cruel at the same time!
The common phrase, “So and so have had their goods seized for rent,”
often uttered with indifference and heard without emotion, is a phrase
pregnant with meaning of the direst import. It means that they--wife,
children, and all--who last night sat in a decent room, surrounded by
their own furniture, have now not a chair of their own to sit on; that
they, who last night could retire to a comfortable bed, after the
fatigues and anxieties of the day, have tonight not a bed to lie on--or
none but what the doubtful ability or humanity of strangers or relations
may supply: it means that sighs and tears are produced, where once
smiles and tranquillity existed; or, perhaps, that long cherished hopes
of surmounting difficulties, have by one blow been utterly
destroyed,--that the stock of expedients long becoming threadbare, is at
last quite worn out, and all past efforts rendered of no avail, though
some for a time seemed likely to be available. It means that the
hollowness of professed friends has been made manifest; that the busy
tongue of detraction has found employment; that malice is rejoicing;
envy is at a feast; and that the viands are the afflictions of the
desolate. Landlord! ponder on these consequences ere you distrain for
rent, and let your heart, rather than the law, be the guide of your
conduct. The additional money you may receive by distraining may,
indeed, add something to the luxuries of your table, but it can hardly
fail to diminish your relish. You may, perhaps, by adopting the harsh
proceeding, add down to your pillow, but trust not that your sleep will
be tranquil or your dreams pleasant. Above all remember the
benediction--“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy;”
and inspired with the sentiment, and reflecting on the fluctuations
which are every day occurring, the poor and humble raised, and the
wealthy and apparently secure brought down, you will need no other
incitement to fulfil the golden rule of your religion--“Do unto others
as ye would they should do unto you.”

  SIGMA.

       *       *       *       *       *

Concerning the _Feast of St. John the Baptist_, an author, to whom we
are obliged for recollections of preceding customs, gives us information
that should be carefully perused in the old versified version:--

    Then doth the joyfull feast of John the Baptist take his turne,
    When _bonfiers_ great, with loftie flame, in every towne doe burne;
    And yong men round about with maides, doe daunce in every streete,
    _With garlands_ wrought of Motherwort, or else with Vervain sweete,
    And many other flowres faire, with Violets in their handes,
    Whereas they all do fondly thinke, that _whosoever standes_,
    _And thorow the flowres beholds the flame, his eyes shall feel no
         paine._
    When thus till night they daunced have, _they through the fire
         amaine_,
    _With striving mindes doe runne_, and all their _hearbes they cast
         therein_,
    And then with wordes devout and prayers they solemnely begin,
    Desiring God that all their ills may there consumed bee;
    Whereby they thinke through all that yeare from agues to be free.
    Some others get a rotten _Wheele_, all worne and cast aside,
    Which _covered round about with strawe and tow_, they closely hide:
    _And caryed to some mountaines top, being all with fire light_,
    _They hurle it downe with violence_, when darke appears the night:
    _Resembling much the sunne_, that from the Heavens down should fal,
    A strange and monstrous sight it seemes, and fearefull to them all:
    But they suppose their mischiefes all are likewise throwne to hell,
    And that from harmes and daungers now, in safetie here they
         dwell.[186]

A very ancient “Homily” relates other particulars and superstitions
relating to the bonfires on this day:--

“In worshyp of Saint Johan the people waked at home, and made three
maner of fyres: one was clene bones, and noo woode, and that is called a
bone fyre; another is clene woode, and no bones, and that is called a
wood fyre, for people to sit and wake thereby; the thirde is made of
wode and bones, and it is callyd Saynt Johannys fyre. The first fyre, as
a great clerke, Johan Belleth, telleth, he was in a certayne countrey,
so in the countrey there was so soo greate hete, the which causid that
dragons to go togyther in tokenynge, that Johan dyed in brennynge love
and charyte to God and man, and they that dye in charyte shall have part
of all good prayers, and they that do not, shall never be saved. Then as
these dragons flewe in th’ ayre they shed down to that water froth of
ther kynde, and so envenymed the waters, and caused moche people for to
take theyr deth thereby, and many dyverse sykenesse. Wyse clerkes
knoweth well that dragons hate nothyng more than the stenche of
brennynge bones, and therefore they gaderyd as many as they mighte
fynde, and brent them; and so with the stenche thereof they drove away
the dragons, and so they were brought out of greete dysease. The seconde
fyre was made of woode, for that wyll brenne lyght, and wyll be seen
farre. For it is the chefe of fyre to be seen farre, and betokennynge
that Saynt Johan was a lanterne of lyght to the people. Also the people
made blases of fyre for that they shulde be seene farre, and specyally
in the nyght, in token of St. Johan’s having been seen from far in the
spirit by Jeremiah. The third fyre of bones betokenneth Johan’s
martyrdome, for hys bones were brente.”--Brand calls this “a pleasant
absurdity;” the justice of the denomination can hardly be disputed.

Gebelin observes of these fires, that “they were kindled about midnight
on the very moment of the summer solstice, by the greatest part as well
of the ancient as of modern nations; and that this fire-lighting was a
religious ceremony of the most remote antiquity, which was observed for
the prosperity of states and people, and to dispel every kind of evil.”
He then proceeds to remark, that “the origin of this fire, which is
still retained by so many nations, though enveloped in the mist of
antiquity, is very simple: it was a _feu de joie_, kindled the very
moment the year began; for the first of all years, and the most ancient
that we know of, began at this month of June. Thence the very name of
this month, junior, _the youngest_, which is renewed; while that of the
preceding one is May, major, _the ancient_. Thus the one was the month
of young people, while the other belonged to old men. These _feux de
joie_ were accompanied at the same time with vows and sacrifices for the
prosperity of the people and the fruits of the earth. They danced also
round this fire; for what feast is there without a dance? and the most
active leaped over it. Each on departing took away a fire-brand, great
or small, and the remains were scattered to the wind, which, at the same
time that it dispersed the ashes, was thought to expel every evil. When,
after a long train of years, the year ceased to commence at this
solstice, still the custom of making these fires at this time was
continued by force of habit, and of those superstitious ideas that are
annexed to it.” So far remarks Gebelin concerning the universality of
the practice.

Bourne, a chronicler of old customs, says, “that men and women were
accustomed to gather together in the evening by the sea side, or in some
certain houses, and there adorn a girl, who was her parent’s first
begotten child, after the manner of a bride. Then they feasted, and
leaped after the manner of bacchanals, and danced and shouted as they
were wont to do on their holidays; after this they poured into a
narrow-necked vessel some of the sea water, and put also into it certain
things belonging to each of them; then, as if the devil gifted the girl
with the faculty of telling future things, they would inquire with a
loud voice about the good or evil fortune that should attend them: upon
this the girl would take out of the vessel the first thing that came to
hand, and show it, and give it to the owner, who, upon receiving it, was
so foolish as to imagine himself wiser as to the good or evil fortune
that should attend him.” “In Cornwall, particularly,” says Borlase, “the
people went with lighted torches, tarred and pitched at the end, and
made their perambulations round their fires.” They went “from village to
village, carrying their torches before them, and this is certainly the
remains of the Druid superstition.”

And so in Ireland, according to sir Henry Piers, in Vallancey, “on the
eves of St. John the baptist and St. Peter, they always have in every
town a bonfire late in the evenings, and carry about bundles of reeds
fast tied and fired; these being dry, will last long, and flame better
than a torch, and be a pleasing divertive prospect to the distant
beholder; a stranger would go near to imagine the whole country was on
fire.” Brand cites further, from “The Survey of the South of Ireland,”
that--“It is not strange that many Druid remains should still exist; but
it is a little extraordinary that some of their customs should still be
practised. They annually renew the sacrifices that used to be offered to
Apollo, without knowing it. On Midsummer’s eve, every eminence, near
which is a habitation, blazes with bonfires; and round these they carry
numerous torches, shouting and dancing, which affords a beautiful sight.
Though historians had not given us the mythology of the pagan Irish, and
though they had not told us expressly that they worshipped Beal, or
Bealin, and that this Beal was the sun, and their chief god, it might,
nevertheless, be investigated from this custom, which the lapse of so
many centuries has not been able to wear away.” Brand goes on to quote
from the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for February 1795, “The Irish have ever
been worshippers of fire and of Baal, and are so to this day. This is
owing to the Roman Catholics, who have artfully yielded to the
superstitions of the natives, in order to gain and keep up an
establishment, grafting christianity upon pagan rites. The chief
festival in honour of the sun and fire is upon the 21st of June, when
the sun arrives at the summer solstice, or rather begins its retrograde
motion. I was so fortunate in the summer of 1782, as to have my
curiosity gratified by a sight of this ceremony to a very great extent
of country. At the house where I was entertained, it was told me that we
should see at midnight the most singular sight in Ireland, which was
_the lighting of fires in honour of the sun_. Accordingly, exactly at
midnight, the fires began to appear: and taking the advantage of going
up to the leads of the house, which had a widely extended view, I saw on
a radius of thirty miles, all around, the fires burning on every
eminence which the country afforded. I had a farther satisfaction in
learning, from undoubted authority, that the people _danced round the
fires_, and at the close went through these fires, and made their sons
and daughters, together with their cattle, pass the fire; and the whole
was conducted with religious solemnity.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Brand notices, that Mr. Douce has a curious French print, entitled
“L’este le Feu de la St. Jean;” _Mariette ex._ In the centre is the fire
made of wood piled up very regularly, and having a tree stuck in the
midst of it. Young men and women are represented dancing round it hand
in hand. Herbs are stuck in their hats and caps, and garlands of the
same surround their waists, or are slung across their shoulders. A boy
is represented carrying a large bough of a tree. Several spectators are
looking on. The following lines are at the bottom:--

    “Que de Feux brulans dans les airs!
    Qu’ils font une douce harmonie!
    Redoublons cette mélodie
    Par nos dances, par nos concerts!”

This “curious French print,” furnished the engraving at page 823, or to
speak more correctly, it was executed from one in the possession of the
editor of the _Every-Day Book_.

       *       *       *       *       *

To enliven the subject a little, we may recur to recent or existing
usages at this period of the year. It may be stated then on the
authority of Mr. Brand’s collections, that the Eton scholars formerly
had bonfires on St. John’s day; that bonfires are still made on
Midsummer eve in several villages of Gloucester, and also in the
northern parts of England and in Wales; to which Mr. Brand adds, that
there was one formerly at Whiteborough, a tumulus on St. Stephen’s down
near Launceston, in Cornwall. A large summer pole was fixed in the
centre, round which the fuel was heaped up. It had a large bush on the
top of it. Round this were parties of wrestlers contending for small
prizes. An honest countryman, who had often been present at these
merriments, informed Mr. Brand, that at one of them an evil spirit had
appeared in the shape of a black dog, since which none could wrestle,
even in jest, without receiving hurt: in consequence of which the
wrestling was, in a great measure, laid aside. The rustics there believe
that giants are buried in these tumuli, and nothing would tempt them to
be so sacrilegious as to disturb their bones.

In Northumberland, it is customary on this day to dress out stools with
a cushion of flowers. A layer of clay is placed on the stool, and
therein is stuck, with great regularity, an arrangement of all kinds of
flowers, so close as to form a beautiful cushion. These are exhibited at
the doors of houses in the villages, and at the ends of streets and
cross-lanes of larger towns, where the attendants beg money from
passengers, to enable them to have an evening feast and dancing.[187]

One of the “Cheap Repository Tracts,” entitled, “Tawney Rachel, or the
Fortune-Teller,” said to have been written by Miss Hannah More, relates,
among other superstitious practices of Sally Evans, that “she would
never go to bed _on Midsummer eve_, without sticking up in her room the
well-known plant called _Midsummer Men_, as the bending of the leaves to
the right, or to the left, would never fail to tell her whether her
lover was true or false.” The _Midsummer Men_ were the orpyne plants,
which Mr. Brand says is thus elegantly alluded to in the “Cottage Girl,”
a poem “written on Midsummer eve, 1786:”--

    “The rustic maid invokes her swain;
    And hails, to pensive damsels dear,
    _This eve_, though direst of the year.

           *       *       *       *       *

    “Oft on _the shrub_ she casts her eye,
    That spoke her true-love’s secret sigh;
    Or else, alas! too plainly told
    Her true-love’s faithless heart was cold.”

In the “Connoisseur,” there is mention of divinations on Midsummer eve.
“I and my two sisters tried the dumb-cake together: you must know, two
must make it, two bake it, two break it, and the third put it under each
of their pillows, (but you must not speak a word all the time), and then
you will dream of the man you are to have. This we did: and to be sure I
did nothing all night but dream of Mr. Blossom. The same night, exactly
at twelve o’clock, I sowed hemp-seed in our back-yard, and said to
myself,--‘Hemp-seed I sow, hemp-seed I hoe, and he that is my true-love
come after me and mow.’ Will you believe me? I looked back, and saw him
behind me, as plain as eyes could see him. After that, I took a clean
shift and wetted it, and turned it wrong-side out, and hung it to the
fire upon the back of a chair; and very likely my sweetheart would have
come and turned it right again, (for I heard his step) but I was
frightened, and could not help speaking, which broke the charm. I
likewise stuck up two _Midsummer Men_, one for myself and one for him.
Now if his had died away, we should never have come together, but I
assure you his blowed and turned to mine. Our maid Betty tells me, that
if I go backwards, without speaking a word, into the garden upon
Midsummer eve, and gather a rose, and keep it in a clean sheet of
paper, without looking at it till Christmas-day, it will be as fresh as
in June; and if I then stick it in my bosom, he that is to be my husband
will come and take it out. My own sister Hetty, who died just before
Christmas, stood in the church porch last Midsummer eve, to see all that
were to die that year in our parish; and she saw her own apparition.”

Gay, in one of his pastorals, says--

    At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought,
    But to the field a bag of _hemp-seed_ brought:
    I scattered round the seed on every side,
    And three times, in a trembling accent cried:--
    “This _hemp-seed_ with my virgin hand I sow,
    Who shall my true love be, the crop shall mow.”
    I straight looked back, and, if my eyes speak truth,
    With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.

It is also a popular superstition that any unmarried woman fasting on
Midsummer eve, and at midnight laying a clean cloth, with bread, cheese,
and ale, and sitting down as if going to eat, the street-door being left
open, the person whom she is afterwards to marry will come into the room
and drink to her by bowing; and after filling the glass will leave it on
the table, and, making another bow, retire.[188]

So also the ignorant believe that any person fasting on Midsummer eve,
and sitting in the church porch, will, at midnight, see the spirits of
the persons of that parish who will die that year, come and knock at the
church door, in the order and succession in which they will die.

In the “Cottage Girl,” before referred to, the gathering the rose on
Midsummer eve and wearing it, is noticed as one of the modes by which a
lass seeks to divine the sincerity of her suitor’s vows:--

      The moss-rose that, at fall of dew,
    (Ere Eve its duskier curtain drew,)
    Was freshly gather’d from its stem,
    She values as the ruby gem;
    And, guarded from the piercing air,
    With all an anxious lover’s care,
    She bids it, for her shepherd’s sake,
    Await the new-year’s frolic wake--
    When, faded, in its alter’d hue
    She reads--the rustic is untrue!
    But, if it leaves the crimson paint,
    Her sick’ning hopes no longer faint.
    The rose upon her bosom worn,
    She meets him at the peep of morn;
    And lo! her lips with kisses prest,
    He plucks it from her panting breast.

       *       *       *       *       *

In “Time’s Telescope,” there is cited the following literal version of a
beautiful ballad which has been sung for many centuries by the maidens,
on the banks of the Guadalquivir in Spain, when they go forth to gather
flowers on the morning of the festival of St John the baptist:--

_Spanish Ballad._

    Come forth, come forth, my maidens, ’tis the day of good St. John,
    It is the Baptist’s morning that breaks the hills upon;
    And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new,
    To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried
         the dew.
                                             Come forth, come forth, &c.

    Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the hedgerows all are green,
    And the little birds are singing the opening leaves between;
    And let us all go forth together, to gather trefoil by the stream,
    Ere the face of Guadalquivir glows beneath the strengthening beam.
                                            Come, forth, come forth, &c.

    Come forth, come forth, my maidens, and slumber not away
    The blessed, blessed morning of John the Baptist’s day;
    There’s trefoil on the meadow, and lilies on the lee,
    And hawthorn blossoms on the bush, which you must pluck with me.
                                             Come forth, come forth, &c.

    Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the air is calm and cool,
    And the violet blue far down ye’ll view, reflected in the pool;
    The violets and the roses, and the jasmines all together,
    We’ll bind in garlands on the brow of the strong and lovely wether.
                                             Come forth, come forth, &c.

    Come forth, come forth, my maidens, we’ll gather myrtle boughs,
    And we all shall learn, from the dews of the fern, if our lads will
         keep their vows
    If the wether be still, as we dance on the hill, and the dew hangs
         sweet on the flowers,
    Then we’ll kiss off the dew, for our lovers are true, and the
         Baptist’s blessing is ours.
                                             Come forth, come forth, &c.

    Come forth, come forth, my maidens, ’tis the day of good St. John,
    It is the Baptist’s morning that breaks the hills upon;
    And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new,
    To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried
         the dew.
                                             Come forth, come forth, &c.

There are too many obvious traces of the fact to doubt its truth, that
the making of bonfires, and the leaping through them, are vestiges of
the ancient worship of the heathen god Bal; and therefore, it is, with
propriety, that the editor of “Times’s Telescope,” adduces a recent
occurrence from Hitchin’s “History of Cornwall,” as a probable remnant
of pagan superstition in that county. He presumes that the vulgar notion
which gave rise to it, was derived from the druidical sacrifices of
beasts. “An ignorant old farmer in Cornwall, having met with some severe
losses in his cattle, about the year 1800, was much afflicted with his
misfortunes. To stop the growing evil, he applied to the farriers in his
neighbourhood, but unfortunately he applied in vain. The malady still
continuing, and all remedies failing, he thought it necessary to have
recourse to some extraordinary measure. Accordingly, on consulting with
some of his neighbours, equally ignorant with himself, and evidently not
less barbarous, they recalled to their recollections a tale, which
tradition had handed down from remote antiquity, that the calamity would
not cease until he had actually _burned alive the finest calf which he
had upon his farm_; but that, when this sacrifice was made, the murrain
would afflict his cattle no more. The old farmer, influenced by this
counsel, resolved immediately on reducing it to practice; that, by
making the detestable experiment, he might secure an advantage, which
the whisperers of tradition, and the advice of his neighbours, had
conspired to assure him would follow. He accordingly called several of
his friends together, on an appointed day, and having lighted a large
fire, brought forth his best calf; and, without ceremony or remorse,
pushed it into the flames. The innocent victim, on feeling the
intolerable heat, endeavoured to escape; but this was in vain. The
barbarians that surrounded the fire were armed with pitchforks, or
_pikes_, as in Cornwall they are generally called; and, as the burning
victim endeavoured to escape from death, with these instruments of
cruelty the wretches pushed back the tortured animal into the flames. In
this state, amidst the wounds of pitchforks, the shouts of unfeeling
ignorance and cruelty, and the corrosion of flames, the dying victim
poured out its expiring groan, and was consumed to ashes. It is scarcely
possible to reflect on this instance of superstitious barbarity, without
tracing a kind of resemblance between it, and the ancient sacrifices of
the Druids. This _calf_ was _sacrificed to fortune_, or _good luck_, to
avert impending calamity, and to ensure future prosperity, and was
selected by the farmer as the finest among his herd.” Every intelligent
native of Cornwall will perceive, that this extract from the history of
his county, is here made for the purpose of shaming the brutally
ignorant, if it be possible, into humanity.

To conclude the present notices rather pleasantly, a little poem is
subjoined, which shows that the superstition respecting the St. John’s
wort is not confined to England; it is a version of some lines
transcribed from a German almanac:--

_The St. John’s Wort._

      The young maid stole through the cottage door,
      And blushed as she sought the plant of pow’r;--
      “Thou silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light,
      I must gather the mystic St. John’s-wort to-night.
      The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide
      If the coming year shall make me a bride.”
              And the glow-worm came
              With its silvery flame,
              And sparkled and shone
              Thro’ the night of St. John,
      And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied.

                With noiseless tread
                To her chamber she sped,
      Where the spectral moon her white beams shed:--
        “Bloom here--bloom here, thou plant of pow’r,
        To deck the young bride in her bridal hour!”
        But it drooped its head that plant of power,
        And died the mute death of the voiceless flower
        And a withered wreath on the ground it lay,
        More meet for a burial than bridal day.

        And when a year was past away,
    All pale on her bier the young maid lay
                And the glow-worm came
                With its silvery flame,
                And sparkled and shone
                Thro’ the night of St. John,
    And they closed the cold grave o’er the maid’s cold clay.

It would be easy, and perhaps more agreeable to the editor than to his
readers, to accumulate many other notices concerning the usages on this
day; let it suffice, however, that we know enough to be assured, that
knowledge is engendering good sense, and that the superstitions of our
ancestors will in no long time have passed away for ever. Be it the
business of their posterity to hasten their decay.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  St. John’s Wort. _Hypericum Pulchrum._
  _Nativity of St. John._

  [186] Naogeorgus by Googe.

  [187] Hutchinson’s Northumberland.

  [188] Grose.


~June 25.~

  _St. Prosper_, A. D. 463. _St. Maximus_, Bp. A. D. 465. _St. William_
  of Monte-Vergine, A. D. 1142. _St. Adelbert_, A. D. 740. _St. Moloc_,
  Bp. 7th Cent. _Sts. Agoard_ and _Aglibert_, A. D. 400.


CHRONOLOGY.

1314. The battle of Bannockburn which secured the independence of
Scotland, and fixed Robert Bruce on the throne of that kingdom, was
fought on this day between the Scots under that chieftain, and the
English under Edward II.


_Franking of Newspapers._

By a recent regulation it is not necessary to put the name of a member
of either house of parliament on the cover; the address of the party to
whom it is sent, with the ends of the paper left open as usual, will be
sufficient to ensure its delivery. This is a praiseworthy accommodation
to common sense. The old fiction was almost universally known to be one,
and yet it is only a few years ago, that a member of parliament received
a humble letter of apology, coupled with a request from one of his
constituents, that he might be allowed to use the name of his
representative in directing a newspaper. To the ingenuous, pretences
seem realities.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet Williams. _Dianthus barbatus._
  Dedicated to _St. William._


~June 26.~

  _St. John_ and _Paul_, Martyrs about A. D. 362. _St. Maxentius_,
  Abbot, A. D. 515. _St. Vigilius_, Bp. A. D. 400, or 405. _St.
  Babolen._ _St. Anthelm_, Bp. of Bellay, A. D. 1178. _Raingarda_,
  Widow, A. D. 1135.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 26th of June, 1541, Francis Pizarro, the conqueror of Peru, was
assassinated. He was born at Truxillo, in Spain; his birth was
illegitimate, and in his youth he was a keeper of hogs. Becoming a
soldier, he went to America, and settled at Punama, where he projected
the prosecution of discoveries to the eastward of that settlement. By
means of an expedition, which he solicited, and was intrusted to command
from the court of Spain, he entered Peru when the empire was divided by
a civil war between Huascar the legitimate monarch, and Atahualpa his
half brother. Pretending succour to Atahualpa, he was permitted to
penetrate twelve days’ journey into the country, and received as an ally
by Atahualpa, whose confidence he rewarded by suddenly attacking him,
and making him prisoner. The exaction of an immense ransom for this
king’s release; the shameful breach of faith, by which he was held in
captivity after his ransom was paid; his brutal murder under the
infamous mockery of a trial; the horrible frauds by which he was
inveigled to die in the profession of the christian faith, without being
able to comprehend its tenets; and the superaddition of other acts of
perfidy and cruelty, will render the name of Pizarro infamous so long as
it exists.

His assassination was effected by the friends of Almagro, his original
associate, with whom he had quarelled, and whom he caused to be executed
when he got him into his power.


[Illustration: ~Copenhagen-house~]

        In olden times, so high a rise
    Was, perhaps, a Tor or beacon ground
    And lit, or ’larm’d, the country round,
        For pleasure, or against surprise

There is a cobler’s stall in London that I go out of my way to look at
whenever I pass its vicinity, because it was the seat of an honest old
man who patched my shoes and my mind, when I was a boy. I involuntarily
reverence the spot; and if I find myself in Red Lion-square, I, with a
like affection, look between the iron railings of its enclosure,
because, at the same age, from my mother’s window, I watched the taking
down of the obelisk, stone by stone, that stood in the centre, and
impatiently awaited the discovery of the body of Oliver Cromwell, which,
according to local legend, was certainly buried there in secrecy by
night. It is true that Oliver’s bones were not found; but then “every
body” believed that “the workmen did not dig deep enough.” Among these
believers was my friend, the cobbler, who, though no metaphysician, was
given to ruminate on “causation.” He imputed the nonpersistence of the
diggers to “private reasons of state,” which his awfully mysterious look
imported he had fathomed, but dared not reveal. From ignorance of
wisdom, I venerated the wisdom of ignorance; and though I now know
better, I respect the old man’s memory. He allowed me, though a child,
to sit on the frame of his little pushed-back window; and I obtained so
much of his good-will and confidence, that he lent me a folio of
fragments from Caxton’s “Polychronicon,” and Pynson’s “Shepherd’s
Kalendar,” which he kept in the drawer of his seat, with “St. Hugh’s
bones,” the instruments of his “gentle craft.” This black-letter lore,
with its wood-cuts, created in me a desire to be acquainted with our old
authors, and a love for engravings, which I have indulged without
satiety. It is impossible that I should be without fond recollections of
the spots wherein I received these early impressions.

From still earlier impressions, I have like recollection of the meadows
on the Highgate side of Copenhagen-house. I often rambled in them in
summer-time, when I was a boy, to frolic in the new-mown hay, or explore
the wonders of the hedges, and listen to the songs of the birds. Certain
indistinct apprehensions of danger arose in me from the rude noises of
the visitors at Copenhagen-house itself, and I scarcely ventured near
enough to observe more than that it had drinking-benches outside, and
boisterous company within. I first entered the place in the present
month of June, 1825, and the few particulars I could collect concerning
it, as an old place of public entertainment, may be acceptable to many
who recollect its former notoriety. Speculators are building up to it,
and if they continue with their present speed, it will in a few years be
hidden by their operations.

       *       *       *       *       *

Copenhagen-house stands alone in the fields north of the metropolis,
between Maiden-lane, the old road to Highgate on the west, and the very
ancient north road, or bridle-way, called Hagbush-lane, on the east; on
this latter side it is nearly in a line with Cornwall-place, Holloway.
Its name is said to have been derived from a Danish prince, or a Danish
ambassador, having resided in it during a great plague in London;
another representation is, that in the beginning of the seventeenth
century, it was opened under its present name by a Dane, as a place of
resort for his countrymen. “Coopen-Hagen” is the name given to it in the
map in Camden’s “Britannia,” published in 1695.[189] It is situated in
the parish of Islington, in the manor of St. John of Jerusalem, in the
rental of which manor, dated the 25th of February, 1624, its name does
not occur;[190] it is therefore probable from thence, and from the
appearance of the oldest part of the present edifice, that it was not
then built.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is certain that Copenhagen-house has been licensed for the sale of
beer, and wine, and spirits, upwards of a century; and for such
refreshments, and as a tea-house, with a garden and grounds for skittles
and Dutch pins, it has been greatly resorted to by Londoners. No house
of the kind commands so extensive and uninterrupted a view of the
metropolis and the immense western suburb, with the heights of Hampstead
and Highgate, and the rich intervening meadows. Those nearest to London
are now rapidly destroying for their brick-earth, and being covered with
houses; though from Copenhagen-street, which is built on the green lane
from White Conduit-house, there is a way to the footpath leading to
Copenhagen-house, from the row of handsome cottages called
Barnesbury-park.

The latter buildings are in the manor of Berners, or Bernersbury,
otherwise Barnesbury; the name being derived from the Berners’
family,[191] of whom the most distinguished individual was John
Bourchier, the last lord Berners, and “the fifth writer in order of time
among the nobility.” He was author of “a comedy usually acted in the
great church of Calais after vespers,” of which town he held the command
by appointment of king Henry VIII.;[192] he also translated several
works, and particularly “Froissart’s Cronycles, oute of Frenche into our
maternale Englysshe tongue.”

West of Barnesbury-park, and close to the footpath from thence to
Copenhagen-house, are the supposed remains of a Roman encampment. It is
a square of about one hundred and twenty feet, surrounded by a ditch,
with a high embankment or breast work to the west. This is presumed to
have been a position occupied by Suetonius, the Roman general, when he
destroyed eighty thousand of the Britons under Boadicea, in a memorable
engagement presumed to have been fought from this place in the fields of
Pentonville, and terminating in the plain at Battle-bridge, from whence
that place is said to have been so named.

       *       *       *       *       *

From Battle-bridge up Maiden-lane, and from Barnesbury-park, there are
still footways to Copenhagen-house, which, from standing alone on an
eminence, is visible from every open spot for many miles round. To the
original edifice is attached a building at the west end, with a large
parlour below for drinking and smoking, and beyond it is a
billiard-room; above is a large tea-room. The engraving represents its
present appearance, from a drawing made for that purpose.

About the year 1770, this house was kept by a person named Harrington;
at his decease the business was continued by his widow, wherein she was
assisted for several years by a young woman who came from Shropshire.
This female assistant afterwards married a person named Tomes, and kept
the Adam and Eve at Islington; she is now a widow; and from her
information the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ gathers, that at the time
of the London riots in the year 1780, a body of the rioters passed
Copenhagen-house on their way to attack the seat of lord Mansfield, at
Caen-wood: happily, they did not sack Copenhagen; but Mrs. Harrington
and her maid were so alarmed, that they despatched a man to justice
Hyde, who sent a party of soldiers to garrison this important place,
where they remained till the riots were quelled. From this spot the view
of the nightly conflagrations in the metropolis must have been terrific.
Mrs. Tomes says, she saw nine large fires at one time. On new-year’s day
previous to this, the house was broken into after the family had retired
to rest. The burglars forced the kitchen window, and mistaking the
salt-box in the chimney corner for a man’s head, fired a ball through
it. They then ran up stairs with a dark-lantern, tied the man and the
woman servant, burst the lower pannel of Mrs. Harrington’s room-door,
while she secreted fifty pounds between her bed and the mattress, and
three of them rushed to her bedside, armed with a cutlass, crowbar, and
pistol, while a fourth remained on the watch outside. They demanded her
money; and as she denied that she had any, they wrenched her drawers
open with the crowbar, refusing to use the keys she offered to them. In
these they found about ten pounds belonging to her daughter, a little
child, whom they threatened to murder unless she ceased crying, while
they packed up all the plate, linen, and clothes, which they carried
off. They then went to the cellar, set all the ale-barrels running,
broke the necks off the wine-bottles, spilt the other liquors, and
slashed a round of beef with their cutlasses. From this wanton spoil
they reserved sufficient to carouse with in the kitchen, where they ate,
drank, and sung, till they resolved to “pinch the old woman, and make
her find more money.” On this, they all ran up stairs again, where she
still lay in bed, and by their threats and violence soon obtained from
her a disclosure of the hidden fifty pounds. This rather appeared to
enrage than pacify them, and they seriously proposed cutting her throat
for the deception; but that crime was not perpetrated, and they departed
with their plunder. Rewards were offered, by government and the parish
of Islington, for the apprehension of the felons: in May following, one
of them, named Clarkson, was discovered, and hopes of mercy tendered to
him if he would discover his accomplices. This man was a watch-maker in
Clerkenwell, the other three were tradesmen; his information led to
their discovery; they were tried and executed, and Clarkson was
pardoned; though, some time afterwards, he, also, suffered death, for
obtaining a box of plate from the White-horse, in Fetter-lane, upon
pretence that it had been sent thither by mistake.

The robbery at Copenhagen-house, was so far fortunate to Mrs.
Harrington, that she obtained a subscription considerably more in amount
than the value of the money and property she had lost. Mr. Leader, the
coachmaker, in Long-acre, who was her landlord, remitted to her a year’s
rent of the premises, which at that time was 30_l._ The notoriety of the
robbery increased the visitors to the house, and Mr. Leader built the
additional rooms to the old house, instead of a wooden room, to
accommodate the new influx of custom; and soon afterwards the house was
celebrated for fives-playing. This last addition was almost accidental.
“I made the first fives-ball,” says Mrs. Tomes, “that was ever thrown up
against Copenhagen-house. One Hickman, a butcher at Highgate, a
countryman of mine, ‘used’ the house, and seeing me ‘country,’ we talked
about our country sports, and amongst the rest _fives_; I told him we’d
have a game some day: I laid down the stone in the ground myself, and,
against he came again, made a ball. I struck the ball the first blow and
he gave it the second, and so we played; and as there was company they
liked the sport, and it got talked of. This was the beginning of the
_fives-play_, which has since become so famous at Copenhagen-house.”

       *       *       *       *       *


A word or two on _ball-play_.

_Fives_ was our old _hand-tennis_, and is a very ancient game.

In the fourteenth century there was a game at ball, where a line, called
the _cord_, was traced upon the wall, below which the stroke was faulty.
Some of the players were on foot; others had the two hands tied
together, or played in a hollow cask.[193]

_Hand-ball_ was before the days of Homer. He introduces the princess
Corcyra, daughter of Alcinous, king of Phœacia, amusing herself, with
her maidens, at hand-ball:--

    “O’er the green mead the sporting virgins play;
    Their shining veils unbound, along the skies,
    Tost and re-tost, the ball incessant flies.”[194]

It is related of St. Cuthbert, who lived in the seventh century, that
“whan he was viii yere old, as he _played at the ball_ with other
chyldren, sodeynly there stode amonge them a fayre yonge chylde,” who
admonished Cuthbert against “vayne playes,” and seeing Cuthbert take no
heed, he fell down, wept sore and wrung his hands; “and than Cuthbert
and the other chyldren lefte their playe and comforted hym; and than
sodeynly he vanyshed away; and than he knewe veryly that it was an
angel; and, fro than forth on, he lefte all such vayne playes, and never
used them more.”[195]

_Ball-play_ was formerly played at Easter in churches, and statutes
passed to regulate the size of the ball. The ceremony was as follows:
the ball being received, the dean, or his representative, began an
antiphone, or chant, suited to Easter-day; then taking the ball in his
left hand, he commenced a dance to the tune, others of the clergy
dancing round, hand in hand. At intervals the ball was handed or tossed
by the dean to each of the choristers, the organ playing according to
the dance and sport: at the conclusion of the anthem and dance, they
went and took refreshment. It was the privilege of the lord, or his
locum tenens, to throw the ball, and even the archbishop did it.[196]

The French _palm-play_ consisted in receiving the ball and driving it
back again with the palm of the hand. Anciently they played with the
naked hand, then with a glove, which, in some instances, was lined;
afterwards they bound cords and tendons round their hands, to make the
ball rebound more forcibly; and hence, says St. Foix, the _racket_
derived its origin.

In the reign of Charles V., _palm-play_, which, Strutt says, may
properly enough be denominated _hand-tennis_, or _fives_, was
exceedingly fashionable in France, being played by the nobility for
large sums of money; and when they had lost all that they had about
them, they would sometimes pledge a part of their wearing apparel rather
than give up the game. The duke of Bourbon having lost sixty francs at
palm-play with M. William de Lyon, and M. Guy de la Trimouille, and not
having money enough to pay them, gave his girdle as a pledge for the
remainder.

A damsel, named Margot, who resided at Paris in 1424, played at
_hand-tennis_ with the palm, and also with the back of her hand, better
than any man; and what is most surprising, says St. Foix, at that time
the game was played with the naked hand, or at least with a double
glove.

_Hand-tennis_ still continues to be played, though under a different
name, and probably a different modification of the game: it is now
called _fives_, which denomination, perhaps, it might receive from
having five competitors in it, as the succeeding passage shews: When
queen Elizabeth was entertained at Elvetham, in Hampshire, by the earl
of Hertford, “after dinner about three o’clock, ten of his lordship’s
servants, all Somersetshire men, in a square greene court before her
majesties windowe, did hang up lines, squaring out the forme of a tennis
court, and making a cross line in the middle; in this square they, being
stripped out of their dublets, played five to five with hand-ball at
bord and cord as they tearme it, to the great liking of her
highness.”[197]

       *       *       *       *       *

_Fives-playing_ at Copenhagen-house, is recorded in a memoir of
Cavanagh, the famous _fives_-player, by Mr. Hazlitt. It first appeared
in the _Examiner_ of February 17, 1819, and is subjoined, with the
omission of a passage or two, not essentially connected with the
subject.


DEATH OF JOHN CAVANAGH.

  ----“And is old Double dead? See, see, he drew a good bow; and dead!
  he shot a fine shoot. John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much
  money on his head. Dead! he would have clapt in the clout at twelve
  score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a
  half, that it would have done a man’s heart good to see.”

Died at his house in Burbage-street, St. Giles’s, John Cavanagh, the
famous hand fives-player. When a person dies, who does any one thing
better than any one else in the world, which so many others are trying
to do well, it leaves a gap in society. It is not likely that any one
will now see the game of fives played in its perfection for many years
to come--for Cavanagh is dead, and has not left his peer behind him.

It may be said that there are things of more importance than striking a
ball against a wall--there are things indeed that make more noise and do
as little good, such as making war and peace, making speeches and
answering them, making verses and blotting them, making money and
throwing it away. But the game of fives is what no one despises who has
ever played at it. It is the finest exercise for the body, and the best
relaxation for the mind.

The Roman poet said that “Care mounted behind the horseman, and stuck to
his skirts.” But this remark would not have applied to the fives-player.
He who takes to playing at fives is twice young. He feels neither the
past nor future “in the instant.” Debts, taxes, “domestic treason,
foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.” He has no other wish, no
other thought, from the moment the game begins, but that of striking the
ball, of placing it, of _making_ it! This Cavanagh was sure to do.
Whenever he touched the ball, there was an end of the chase. His eye was
certain, his hand fatal, his presence of mind complete. He could do what
he pleased, and he always knew exactly what to do. He saw the whole
game, and played it; took instant advantage of his adversary’s weakness,
and recovered balls, as if by a miracle and from sudden thought, that
every one gave for lost. He had equal power and skill, quickness and
judgment. He could either outwit his antagonist by finesse, or beat him
by main strength. Sometimes, when he seemed preparing to send the ball
with the full swing of his arm, he would, by a slight turn of his wrist,
drop it within an inch of the line. In general, the ball came from his
hand, as if from a racket, in a strait horizontal line; so that it was
in vain to attempt to overtake or stop it. As it was said of a great
orator, that he never was at a loss for a word, and for the properest
word, so Cavanagh always could tell the degree of force necessary to be
given to a ball, and the precise direction in which it should be sent.
He did his work with the greatest ease; never took more pains than was
necessary, and while others were fagging themselves to death, was as
cool and collected as if he had just entered the court.

His style of play was as remarkable as his power of execution. He had no
affectation, no trifling. He did not throw away the game to show off an
attitude, or try an experiment. He was a fine, sensible, manly player,
who did what he could, but that was more than any one else could even
affect to do. He was the best _up-hill_ player in the world; even when
his adversary was fourteen, he would play on the same or better, and as
he never flung away the game through carelessness and conceit, he never
gave it up through laziness or want of heart. The only peculiarity of
his play was that he never _volleyed_, but let the balls hop; but if
they rose an inch from the ground, he never missed having them. There
was not only no body equal, but nobody second to him. It is supposed
that he could give any other player half the game, or beat them with his
left hand. His service was tremendous. He once played Woodward and
Meredith together (two of the best players in England) in the
Fives-court, St. Martin’s-street, and made seven and twenty aces
following by services alone--a thing unheard of. He another time played
Peru, who was considered a first-rate fives-player, a match of the best
out of five games, and in the three first games, which of course decided
the match, Peru got only one ace.

Cavanagh was an Irishman by birth, and a house-painter by profession. He
had once laid aside his working-dress, and walked up, in his smartest
clothes, to the Rosemary Branch to have an afternoon’s pleasure. A
person accosted him, and asked him if he would have a game. So they
agreed to play for half-a-crown a game, and a bottle of cider. The first
game began--it was seven, eight, ten, thirteen, fourteen, all. Cavanagh
won it. The next was the same. They played on and each game was hardly
contested. “There,” said the unconscious fives-player, “there was a
stroke that Cavanagh could not take: I never played better in my life,
and yet I can’t win a game. I don’t know how it is.” However, they
played on, Cavanagh winning every game, and the bye-standers drinking
the cider and laughing all the time. In the twelfth game, when Cavanagh
was only four, and the stranger thirteen, a person came in, and said,
“What are you here, Cavanagh!” The words were no sooner pronounced than
the astonished player let the ball drop from his hand, and saying,
“What! have I been breaking my heart all this time to beat Cavanagh?”
refused to make another effort. “And yet, I give you my word,” said
Cavanagh, telling the story with some triumph, “I played all the while
with my clenched fist.”

He used frequently to play matches at Copenhagen-house for wagers and
dinners. The wall against which they play is the same that supports the
kitchen-chimney, and when the wall resounded louder than usual, the
cooks exclaimed, “Those are the Irishman’s balls,” and the joints
trembled on the spit!

Goldsmith consoled himself that there were places where he too was
admired: and Cavanagh was the admiration of all the fives-courts where
he ever played. Mr. Powell, when he played matches in the court in St.
Martin’s-street, used to fill his gallery at half-a-crown a head, with
amateurs and admirers of talent in whatever department it is shown. He
could not have shown himself in any ground in England, but he would have
been immediately surrounded with inquisitive gazers, trying to find out
in what part of his frame his unrivalled skill lay.

He was a young fellow of sense, humour, and courage. He once had a
quarrel with a waterman at Hungerford-stairs, and they say, “served him
out” in great style. In a word, there are hundreds at this day, who
cannot mention his name without admiration, as the best fives-player
that perhaps ever lived (the greatest excellence of which they have any
notion)--and the noisy shout of the ring happily stood him instead of
the unheard voice of posterity.

The only person who seems to have excelled as much in another way as
Cavanagh did in his, was the late John Davies, the racket-player. It was
remarked of him that he did not seem to follow the ball, but the ball
seemed to follow him. Give him a foot of wall, and he was sure to make
the ball. The four best racket-players of that day were Jack Spines, Jem
Harding, Armitage, and Church. Davies could give any one of these two
hands a time, that is, half the game, and each of these at their best,
could give the best player now in London the same odds. Such are the
gradations in all exertions of human skill and art. He once played four
capital players together, and beat them. He was also a first-rate
tennis-player, and an excellent fives-player. In the Fleet or King’s
Bench, he would have stood against Powell, who was reckoned the best
open-ground player of his time. This last-mentioned player is at present
the keeper of the Fives-court, and we might recommend to him for a motto
over his door,--“Who enters here, forgets himself, his country, and his
friends.” And the best of it is, that by the calculation of the odds,
none of the three are worth remembering!

Cavanagh died from the bursting of a blood-vessel, which prevented him
from playing for the last two or three years. This, he was often heard
to say, he thought hard upon him. He was fast recovering, however, when
he was suddenly carried off to the regret of all who knew him.

Jack Cavanagh was a zealous Catholic, and could not be persuaded to eat
meat on a Friday, the day on which he died. We have paid this willing
tribute to his memory.

    “Let no rude hand deface it,
    And his forlorn ‘_Hic Jacet_.’”

_Fives-play_ from the year 1780 was a chief diversion at
Copenhagen-house, particularly while Mrs. Harrington remained the
landlady. She was careless of all customers, except they came in shoals
to drink tea in the gardens and long room up stairs, or to play at
fives, skittles, and Dutch pins, and swill and smoke. The house was
afterwards kept by a person named Orchard, during whose time the London
Corresponding Society, in 1795, held meetings in the adjacent
fields.[198] In 1812, it was proposed by a company of projectors to
bring sea-water through iron pipes “from the coast of Essex to
_Copenhagen fields_,” and construct baths, which, according to the
proposals, would yield twelve and a half per cent. on a capital of
200,000_l._; but the subscription was not filled up, though the names of
several eminent physicians sanctioned the undertaking, and the project
failed.[199]

After Orchard’s tenancy, Copenhagen-house was kept by one Tooth, who
encouraged brutal sports for the sake of the liquors he sold. On a
Sunday morning the fives-ground was filled by bull-dogs and ruffians,
who lounged and drank to intoxication; so many as fifty or sixty
bull-dogs have been seen tied up to the benches at once, while their
masters boozed and made match after match, and went out and fought their
dogs before the house, amid the uproar of idlers attracted to the “bad
eminence” by its infamy. This scene lasted throughout every Sunday
forenoon, and then the mob dispersed, and the vicinity was annoyed by
the yells of the dogs and their drunken masters on their return home.
There was also a common field, east of the house, wherein bulls were
baited; this was called the bull-field. These excesses, although
committed at a distance from other habitations, occasioned so much
disturbance, that the magistrates, after repeated warnings to Tooth,
refused him a license in 1816, and granted it to Mr. Bath, the present
landlord, who abated the nuisance by refusing to draw beer or afford
refreshment to any one who had a bull-dog at his heels. The bull-field
has since been possessed and occupied by a great cow-keeping landlord in
the neighbourhood, though by what title he holds it is not known,
certainly not by admission to it as _waste_ of the manor. This field is
close to the mud cottage hereafter mentioned in Hagbush-lane, an ancient
way to Highgate-hill.

       *       *       *       *       *

Near the spot at which Hagbush-lane comes out into the Holloway-road to
Highgate, the great lord Bacon met with the cause of his death, in a way
not generally known. He was taking an airing in his coach, on a
winter-day, with Dr. Witherborne, a Scotchman, physician to James I.,
and the snow laying on the ground. It occurred to lord Bacon that flesh
might be preserved in snow as well as in salt; resolving to try the
experiment, they alighted from the carriage, and going into a poor
woman’s cottage at the foot of Highgate-hill, they bought a hen; his
lordship helped to stuff the body with snow, which so chilled him that
he fell ill, and could not return to his lodgings; he therefore went to
the earl of Arundel’s house at Highgate, where a bed was warmed for him
with a pan of coals; but the bed not having been lain in for about a
year before was damp, and so increased his disorder that in two or three
days he died.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is not to defame so great a man, the greatest of modern times, but
merely to illustrate his well-known attachment to particular
_favourites_, that a paper is here for the first time printed. It is a
bill of fees to counsel, upon an order made in the court of chancery by
lord Bacon, as keeper of the great seal, during the first year he held
it. From this it appears that counsel had been retained to argue a
demurrer, on the first day of Michaelmas term, 1617; and that the
hearing stood over till the following Tuesday, before which day “one of
my lord-keeper’s _favourites_” was retained as other counsel, and,
“_being_ one of my lord-keeper’s _favourites_,” had a double fee for his
services. The mention of so extraordinary a fact in a common bill of
costs may perhaps justify its rather out-of-the-way introduction in this
place. The paper from whence it is here printed, the editor of the
_Every-Day Book_ has selected from among other old unpublished
manuscripts in his possession, connected with the affairs of sir Philip
Hoby, who was ambassador to the emperor of Germany from Henry VIII., and
held other offices during that reign.

  (COPY.)

  _Termino Micalis_, 1617.

  To Mr. Bagger of the Iner-Temple, Councellor, the firste day
  of the Tearme, for attending at the Chancery barr, to
  mayntain o^{r}. demurrer against S^{r}. Tho. Hoby, by my Lo:
  Keeper’s order, that daye to attend the Corte, w^{ch}. herd
  noe motions that daye, but deferd it of until Tusday
  following                                                     xxii. s.

  Uppon Tusdaye following wee had yonge Mr. Tho: Finch, and Mr.
  Bagger, of our Councell, to attend there to mayntaine the
  same demurrer, and the cause be cancelled; Upon (which) my
  Lo: Keeper ordered, that he refferred the cause to be heard
  before S^{r}. Charles Cesér King, one of the docters of the
  Chancery, to make a reporte unto his Lo: of the Cause, that
  his Lo: might better consider, whether the demurrer should
  stand good, or noe:--Mr. Tho: Finch his fee, _being one of
  my Lo: favourites, had_                                         44_s._

  Mr. Bager his Fee                                               22_s._

       *       *       *       *       *

At Copenhagen-house, the eye and the stomach may be satisfied together.
A walk to it through the fresh air creates an appetite, and the sight
must be allowed some time to take in the surrounding prospect. A seat
for an hour or two at the upstairs tea-room windows on a fine day is a
luxury. As the clouds intercept the sun’s rays, and as the winds
disperse or congregate the London atmosphere, the appearance of the
objects it hovers over continually varies. Masses of building in that
direction daily stretch out further and further across the fields, so
that the metropolis may be imagined a moving billow coming up the
heights to drown the country. Behind the house the

    “Hedge-row elms, o’er hillocks green,”

is exquisitely beautiful, and the fine amphitheatre of wood, from
Primrose-hill to Highgate-archway and Hornsey, seems built up to meet
the skies. A stroll towards either of these places from
Copenhagen-house, is pleasant beyond imagination. Many residents in
London to whom walking would be eminently serviceable, cannot “take a
walk” without a motive; to such is recommended the “delightful task” of
endeavouring to trace Hagbush-lane.

Crossing the meadow west of Copenhagen-house, to the north-east corner,
there is a mud built cottage in the widest part of Hagbush-lane, as it
runs due north from the angle formed by its eastern direction. It stands
on the site of one still more rude, at which until destroyed, labouring
men and humble wayfarers, attracted by the sequestered and rural
beauties of the lane, stopped to recreate. It was just such a scene as
Morland would have coveted to sketch, and therefore Mr. Fussell with “an
eye for the picturesque,” and with a taste akin to Morland’s, made a
drawing of it while it was standing, and placed it on the wood whereon
it is engraven, to adorn the next page.


[Illustration: ~Cottage formerly in Hagbush-lane.~

“Why this cottage, sir, not three miles from London, is as secluded as
if it were in the weald of Kent.”]

This cottage stands no longer: its history is in the “simple annals of
the poor.” About seven years ago, an aged and almost decayed labouring
man, a native of Cheshunt, in Hertfordshire, with his wife and child,
lay out every night upon the road side of Hagbush-lane, under what of
bough and branch they could creep for shelter, till “winter’s cold” came
on, and then he erected this “mud edifice.” He had worked for some great
land-holders and owners in Islington, and still jobbed about. Like them,
he was, to this extent of building, a speculator; and to eke out his
insufficient means, he profited, in his humble abode, by the sale of
small beer to stragglers and rustic wayfarers. His cottage stood between
the lands of two rich men; not upon the land of either, but partly on
the disused road, and partly on the waste of the manor. Deeming him by
no means a respectable neighbour for their cattle, they “warned him
off;” he, not choosing to be houseless, nor conceiving that their
domains could be injured by his little enclosure between the banks of
the road, refused to accept this notice, and he remained. For this
offence, one of them caused his labourers to level the miserable
dwelling to the earth, and the “houseless child of want,” was compelled
by this wanton act to apply for his family and himself to be taken into
the workhouse. His application was refused, but he received advice to
build again, with information that his disturber was not justified in
disturbing him. In vain he pleaded incompetent power to resist; the
workhouse was shut against him, and he began to build another hut. He
had proceeded so far as to keep off the weather in one direction, when
wealth again made war upon poverty, and while away from his wife and
child, his scarcely half raised hut was pulled down during a heavy rain,
and his wife and child left in the lane shelterless. A second
application for a home in the workhouse was rejected, with still
stronger assurances that he had been illegally disturbed, and with
renewed advice to build again. The old man has built for the third time;
and on the site of the cottage represented in the engraving, erected
another, wherein he dwells, and sells his small beer to people who
choose to sit and drink it on the turf seat against the wall of his
cottage; it is chiefly in request, however, among the brickmakers in the
neighbourhood, and the labourers on the new road, cutting across
Hagbush-lane from Holloway to the Kentish-town road, which will
ultimately connect the Regent’s-park and the western suburb, with the
eastern extremity of this immensely growing metropolis. Though
immediately contiguous to Mr. Bath, the landlord of “Copenhagen-house,”
he has no way assisted in obstructing this poor creature’s endeavour to
get a morsel of bread. For the present he remains unmolested in his
almost sequestered nook, and the place and himself are worth seeing, for
they are perhaps the nearest specimens to London, of the old country
labourer and his dwelling.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the many intelligent persons a stroller may meet among the thirty
thousand inhabitants of Islington, on his way along Hagbush-lane, he
will perhaps not find one to answer a question that will occur to him
during his walk. “Why is this place called Hagbush-lane?” Before giving
satisfaction here to the inquirer, he is informed that, if a Londoner,
Hagbush-lane is, or ought to be, to him, the most interesting way that
he can find to walk in; and presuming him to be influenced by the
feelings and motives that actuate his fellow-citizens to the improvement
and adornment of their city, by the making of a _new_ north road, he is
informed that Hagbush-lane, though now wholly disused, and in many parts
destroyed, was the _old_, or rather the _oldest_ north road, or ancient
bridle-way to and from London, and the northern parts of the kingdom.

Now for its name--Hagbush-lane. _Hag_ is the old Saxon word _hæg_, which
became corrupted into _hawgh_, and afterwards into _haw_, and is the
name for the berry of the hawthorn; also the Saxon word _haga_
signified a hedge or any enclosure. _Hag_ afterwards signified a
bramble, and hence, for instance, the blackberry-bush, or any other
bramble, would be properly denominated a _hag_. Hagbush-lane, therefore,
may be taken to signify either Hawthornbush-lane, Bramble-lane, or
Hedgebush-lane; more probably the latter. Within recent recollection,
Whitcomb-street, near Charing-cross, was called _Hedge_-lane.

Supposing the reader to proceed from the old man’s mud-cottage in a
northerly direction, he will find that the widest part of Hagbush-lane
reaches, from that spot, to the road now cutting from Holloway. Crossing
immediately over the road, he comes again into the lane, which he will
there find so narrow as only to admit convenient passage to a man on
horseback. This was the general width of the road throughout, and the
usual width of all the English roads made in ancient times. They did not
travel in carriages, or carry their goods in carts, as we do, but rode
on horseback, and conveyed their wares or merchandise in pack-saddles or
packages on horses’ backs. They likewise conveyed their money in the
same way. In an objection raised in the reign of Elizabeth to a clause
in the Hue and Cry bill, then passing through parliament, it was urged,
regarding some travellers who had been robbed in open day within the
hundred of Beyntesh, in the county of Berks, that “they were clothiers,
and yet travailed not withe the great trope of clothiers; they also
carried their money openlye in wallets upon their saddles.”[200] The
customary width of their roads was either four feet or eight feet. Some
parts of Hagbush-lane are much lower than the meadows on each side; and
this defect is common to parts of every ancient way, as might be
exemplified, were it necessary, with reasons founded on their ignorance
of every essential connected with the formation, and perhaps the use, of
a road.

It is not intended to point out the tortuous directions of Hagbush-lane;
for the chief object of this notice is to excite the reader to one of
the pleasantest walks he can imagine, and to tax his ingenuity to the
discovery of the route the road takes. This, the _ancient_ north road,
comes into the _present_ north road, in Upper Holloway, at the foot of
Highgate-hill, and went in that direction to Hornsey. From the
mud-cottage towards London, it proceeded between Paradise-house, the
residence of Mr. Greig, the engraver, and the Adam and Eve public-house,
in the Holloway back-road, and by circuitous windings approached London,
at the distance of a few feet on the eastern side of the City Arms
public-house, in the City-road, and continued towards Old-street, St.
Luke’s. It no where communicated with the back-road, leading from
Battle-bridge to the top of Highgate-hill, called Maiden-lane.

Hagbush-lane is well known to every botanizing perambulator on the west
side of London. The wild onion, clowns-wound-wort, wake-robin, and
abundance of other simples, lovely in their form, and of high medicinal
repute in our old herbals and receipt-books, take root, and seed and
flower here in great variety. How long beneath the tall elms and pollard
oaks, and the luxuriant beauties on the banks, the infirm may be
suffered to seek health, and the healthy to recreate, who shall say?
Spoilers are abroad.

_Through_ Hagbush-lane every man has a right to ride and walk; _in_
Hagbush-lane no one man has even a shadow of right to an inch as private
property. It is a public road, and public property. The trees, as well
as the road, are public property; and the very form of the road is
public property. Yet bargains and sales have been made, and are said to
be now making, under which the trees are cut down and sold, and the
public road thrown, bit by bit, into private fields as pasture. Under no
conveyance or admission to land by any proprietor, whether freeholder
or lord of a manor, can any person legally dispossess the public of a
single foot of Hagbush-lane, or obstruct the passage of any individual
through it. All the people of London, and indeed all the people of
England, have a right in this road as a common highway. Hitherto, among
the inhabitants of Islington, many of whom are opulent, and all of whom
are the local guardians of the public rights in this road, not one has
been found with sufficient public virtue, or rather with enough of
common manly spirit, to compel the restoration of public plunder, and in
his own defence, and on the behalf of the public, arrest the _highway_
robber.

Building, or what may more properly be termed the tumbling up of
tumbledown houses, to the north of London, is so rapidly increasing,
that in a year or two there will scarcely be a green spot for the resort
of the inhabitants. Against covering of private ground in this way,
there is no resistance; but against its evil consequences to health,
some remedy should be provided by the setting apart of open spaces for
the exercise of walking in the fresh air. The preservation of
Hagbush-lane therefore is, in this point of view, an object of public
importance. Where it has not been thrown into private fields, from
whence, however, it is recoverable, it is one of the loveliest of our
green lanes; and though persons from the country smile at Londoners when
they talk of being “rural” at the distance of a few miles from town, a
countryman would find it difficult to name any lane in his own county,
more sequestered or of greater beauty.

LINES

WRITTEN IN HAGBUSH-LANE.

            A scene like this,
    Would woo the care-worn wise
            To moralize,
    And courting lovers court to tell their bliss.

          Had I a cottage here
          I’d be content; for where
              I have my books
                I have old friends,
              Whose cheering looks
                Make me amends.

        For coldnesses in men: and so,
        With them departed long ago,
            And with wild-flowers and trees
            And with the living breeze,
            And with the “still small voice”
            Within, I would rejoice,
            And converse hold, while breath
            Held me, and then--come Death!

  *

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Blue Sowthistle. _Sonchus Cœruleus._
  Dedicated to _B. Raingarda_.

  [189] Mr. Nelson’s History of Islington.

  [190] To Mr. Simes, bailiff of the manor, I am indebted for a sight of
  this rental.

  [191] Mr. Nelson’s History of Islington.

  [192] Mr. Utterson’s Preface to his edition of Lord Berners’
  Froissart, 2 vols. 4to.

  [193] Mr. Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities.

  [194] Pope’s Homer.

  [195] Golden Legend.

  [196] Mr. Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiquities.

  [197] Strutt’s sports, from Mr. Nichol’s Progresses of Queen
  Elizabeth, &c.

  [198] Mr. Nelson’s History of Islington.

  [199] Ibid.

  [200] Hoby MSS.


~June 27.~

  _St. Ladislas_ I., king of Hungary, A. D. 1095. _St. John_, of
  Moutier, 6th Cent.


THE SEASON.

Mr. Howard, in his work on the weather, is of opinion, that farmers and
others, who are particularly interested in being acquainted with the
variations in the weather, derive considerable aid from the use of the
barometer. He says, “in fact, much less of valuable fodder is spoiled by
wet now than in the days of our forefathers. But there is yet room for
improvement in the knowledge of our farmers on the subject of the
atmosphere. It must be a subject of great satisfaction and confidence to
the husbandman, to know, at the beginning of a summer, by the certain
evidence of meteorological results on record, that the season, in the
ordinary course of things, may be expected to be a dry and warm one; or
to find, in a certain period of it, that the average quantity of rain to
be expected for the month has already fallen. On the other hand, when
there is reason, from the same source of information, to expect much
rain, the man who has courage to begin his operations under an
unfavourable sky, but with good ground to conclude, from the state of
his instruments and his collateral knowledge, that a fair interval is
approaching, may often be profiting by his observations; while his
cautious neighbour, who waited for the weather to ‘settle,’ may find
that he has let the opportunity go by. This superiority, however, is
attainable by a very moderate share of application to the subject; and
by the keeping of a plain diary of the barometer and raingauge with the
hygrometer and the vane under his daily notice.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Perforated St. John’s Wort. _Hypericum perforatum._
  Dedicated to _St. John_.


~June 28.~

  _St. Irenæus_, Bp. of Lyons, A. D. 202. _St. Leo_ II., Pope A. D. 683.
  _Sts. Plutarch_ and others, Martyrs, about A. D. 202. _Sts. Potamiana_
  and _Basilides_, Martyrs.


CHRONOLOGY.

1797. George Keate, F.R.S., died, aged sixty-seven. He was born at
Trowbridge in Wilts, educated at Kingston school, called to the bar,
abandoned the profession of the law, amused himself with his pen, and
wrote several works. His chief production is the account of “Capt.
Wilson’s Voyage to the Pelew Islands;” his “Sketches from Nature,”
written in the manner of Sterne, are pleasing and popular.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Blue Cornflower. _Centaurea Cyanus._
  Dedicated to _St. Irenæus_.


  NOW,
  _A hot day_.

Now the rosy- (and lazy-) fingered Aurora, issuing from her saffron
house, calls up the moist vapours to surround her, and goes veiled with
them as long as she can; till Phœbus, coming forth in his power, looks
every thing out of the sky, and holds sharp uninterrupted empire from
his throne of beams. Now the mower begins to make his sweeping cuts more
slowly, and resorts oftener to the beer. Now the carter sleeps a-top of
his load of hay, or plods with double slouch of shoulder, looking out
with eyes winking under his shading hat, and with a hitch upward of one
side of his mouth. Now the little girl at her grandmother’s cottage-door
watches the coaches that go by, with her hand held up over her sunny
forehead. Now labourers look well, resting in their white shirts at the
doors of rural alehouses. Now an elm is fine there, with a seat under
it; and horses drink out of the trough, stretching their yearning necks
with loosened collars; and the traveller calls for his glass of ale,
having been without one for more than ten minutes; and his horse stands
wincing at the flies, giving sharp shivers of his skin, and moving to
and fro his ineffectual docked tail; and now Miss Betty Wilson, the
host’s daughter, comes streaming forth in a flowered gown and earrings,
carrying with four of her beautiful fingers the foaming glass, for
which, after the traveller has drank it, she receives with an
indifferent eye, looking another way, the lawful two-pence: that is to
say, unless the traveller, nodding his ruddy face, pays some gallant
compliment to her before he drinks, such as “I’d rather kiss you, my
dear, than the tumbler,”--or “I’ll wait for you, my love, if you’ll
marry me;” upon which, if the man is good-looking and the lady in
good-humour, she smiles and bites her lips, and says “Ah--men can talk
fast enough;” upon which the old stage-coachman, who is buckling
something near her, before he sets off, says in a hoarse voice, “So can
women too for that matter,” and John Boots grins through his ragged red
locks, and doats on the repartee all the day after. Now grasshoppers
“fry,” as Dryden says. Now cattle stand in water, and ducks are envied.
Now boots and shoes, and trees by the road side, are thick with dust;
and dogs rolling in it, after issuing out of the water, into which they
have been thrown to fetch sticks, come scattering horror among the legs
of the spectators. Now a fellow who finds he has three miles further to
go in a pair of tight shoes, is in a pretty situation. Now rooms with
the sun upon them become intolerable; and the apothecary’s apprentice,
with a bitterness beyond aloes, thinks of the pond he used to bathe in
at school. Now men with powdered heads (especially if thick) envy those
that are unpowdered, and stop to wipe them up hill, with countenances
that seem to expostulate with destiny. Now boys assemble round the
village pump with a ladle to it, and delight to make a forbidden splash
and get wet through the shoes. Now also they make suckers of leather,
and bathe all day long in rivers and ponds, and follow the fish into
their cool corners, and say millions of “_my_ eyes!” at “tittlebats.”
Now the bee, as he hums along, seems to be talking heavily of the heat.
Now doors and brick-walls are burning to the hand; and a walled lane,
with dust and broken bottles in it, near a brick-field, is a thing not
to be thought of. Now a green lane, on the contrary, thick-set with
hedge-row elms, and having the noise of a brook “rumbling in
pebble-stone,” is one of the pleasantest things in the world. Now youths
and damsels walk through hay-fields by chance; and the latter say, “ha’
done then, William;” and the overseer in the next field calls out to
“let thic thear hay thear bide;” and the girls persist, merely to plague
“such a frumpish old fellow.”

Now, in town, gossips talk more than ever to one another, in rooms, in
doorways, and out of windows, always beginning the conversation with
saying that the heat is overpowering. Now blinds are let down, and doors
thrown open, and flannel waistcoats left off, and cold meat preferred to
hot, and wonder expressed why tea continues so refreshing, and people
delight to sliver lettuces into bowls, and apprentices water doorways
with tin-canisters that lay several atoms of dust. Now the water-cart,
jumbling along the middle of the streets, and jolting the showers out of
its box of water, really does something. Now boys delight to have a
waterpipe let out, and set it bubbling away in a tall and frothy volume.
Now fruiterers’ shops and dairies look pleasant, and ices are the only
things to those who can get them. Now ladies loiter in baths; and people
make presents of flowers; and wine is put into ice; and the after-dinner
lounger recreates his head with applications of perfumed water out of
long-necked bottles. Now the lounger, who cannot resist riding his new
horse, feels his boots burn him. Now buckskins are not the lawn of Cos.
Now jockies, walking in great coats to lose flesh, curse inwardly. Now
five fat people in a stage coach, hate the sixth fat one who is coming
in, and think he has no right to be so large. Now clerks in offices do
nothing, but drink soda-water and spruce-beer, and read the newspaper.
Now the old clothes-man drops his solitary cry more deeply into the
areas on the hot and forsaken side of the street; and bakers look
vicious; and cooks are aggravated: and the steam of a tavern kitchen
catches hold of one like the breath of Tartarus. Now delicate skins are
beset with gnats; and boys make their sleeping companion start up, with
playing a burning-glass on his hand; and blacksmiths are
super-carbonated; and coblers in their stalls almost feel a wish to be
transplanted; and butter is too easy to spread; and the dragoons wonder
whether the Romans liked their helmets; and old ladies, with their
lappets unpinned, walk along in a state of dilapidation; and the
servant-maids are afraid they look vulgarly hot; and the author, who has
a plate of strawberries brought him, finds that he has come to the end
of his writing.--_Indicator._

       *       *       *       *       *

In the “Miscellanies,” published by the Spalding Society of Antiquaries
there is a poem of high feeling and strong expression against “man’s
cruelty to man:”--

    Why should mans high aspiring mind
      Burn in him, with so proud a breath;
    When all his haughty views can find
      In this world, yields to death;
    The fair, the brave, the vain, the wise,
      The rich, the poor, and great, and small,
    Are each, but worms anatomys,
      To strew, his quiet hall.

    Power, may make many earthly gods,
      Where gold, and bribery’s guilt, prevails;
    But death’s, unwelcome honest odds,
      Kicks oer, the unequal scales.
    The flatter’d great, may clamours raise
      Of Power,--and, their own weakness hide,
    But death, shall find unlooked for ways
      To end the Farce of pride.--

    An arrow, hurtel’d ere so high
      From e’en a giant’s sinewy strength,
    In time’s untraced eternity,
      Goes, but a pigmy length--
    Nay, whirring from the tortured string,
      With all its pomp, of hurried flight,
    Tis, by the Skylarks little wing,
      Outmeasured, in its height.

    Just so, mans boasted strength, and power,
      Shall fade, before deaths lightest stroke;
    Laid lower, than the meanest flower--
      Whose pride, oertopt the oak.
    And he, who like a blighting blast,
      Dispeopled worlds, with wars alarms,
    Shall be himself destroyed at last,
      By poor, despised worms.

    Tyrants in vain, their powers secure.
      And awe slaves’ murmurs, with a frown;
    But unawed death, at last is sure,
      To sap the Babels down--
    A stone thrown upward, to the skye,
      Will quickly meet, the ground agen:
    So men-gods, of earths vanity,
      Shall drop at last, to men;

    And power, and pomp, their all resign
      Blood purchased Thrones, and banquet Halls.
    Fate, waits to sack ambitions shrine
      As bare, as prison walls,
    Where, the poor suffering wretch bows down,
      To laws, a lawless power hath past;--
    And pride, and power, and King, and Clown,
      Shall be death’s slaves at last.

    Time, the prime minister of death,
      There’s nought, can bribe his honest will
    He, stops the richest Tyrants breath,
      And lays, his mischief still:
    Each wicked scheme for power, all stops,
      With grandeurs false, and mock display,
    As Eve’s shades, from high mountain tops.
      Fade with the rest, away.

    Death levels all things, in his march,
      Nought, can resist his mighty strength;
    The Pallace proud,--triumphal arch,
      Shall mete, their shadows length:
    The rich, the poor, one common bed,
      Shall find, in the unhonoured grave,
    Where weeds shall crown alike, the head,
      Of Tyrant, and of Slave.

  _Marvel._


~June 29.~

  Holiday at the Public Offices, except Excise, Stamp, and Custom.

  _St. Peter_, the Apostle. _St. Hemma_, A. D. 1045.


_St. Peter._

From this apostle the Romish church assumes to derive her authority, and
appoints this his anniversary, which she splendidly celebrates. The
illuminations at Rome on this day would astonish the apostle were he
alive. From the account of a recent traveller, they appear to be more
brilliant than an Englishman can well imagine; he witnessed them, and
describes them in these words:--

“At Ave Maria we drove to the piazza of St. Peter’s. The lighting of the
lanternoni, or large paper lanterns, each of which looks like a globe of
ethereal fire, had been going on for an hour, and, by the time we
arrived there, was nearly completed. As we passed the Ponte San Angelo,
the appearance of this magnificent church, glowing in its own
brightness--the millions of lights reflected in the calm waters of the
Tiber, and mingling with the last golden glow of evening, so as to make
the whole building seem covered with burnished gold, had a most striking
and magical effect.

“Our progress was slow, being much impeded by the long line of carriages
before us; but at length we arrived at the piazza of St. Peter’s, and
took our station on the right of its farther extremity, so as to lose
the deformity of the dark, dingy Vatican palace. The gathering shades of
night rendered the illumination every moment more brilliant. The whole
of this immense church--its columns, capitals, cornices, and
pediments--the beautiful swell of the lofty dome, towering into heaven,
the ribs converging into one point at top, surmounted by the lantern of
the church, and crowned by the cross,--all were designed in lines of
fire; and the vast sweep of the circling colonnades, in every rib, line,
mould, cornice, and column, were resplendent in the same beautiful
light.

“While we were gazing upon it, suddenly a bell chimed. On the cross of
fire at the top waved a brilliant light, as if wielded by some celestial
hand, and instantly ten thousand globes and stars of vivid fire seemed
to roll spontaneously along the building, as if by magic; and
self-kindled, it blazed in a moment into one dazzling flood of glory.
Fancy herself, in her most sportive mood, could scarcely have conceived
so wonderful a spectacle as the instantaneous illumination of this
magnificent fabric: the agents by whom it was effected were unseen, and
it seemed the work of enchantment. In the first instance, the
illuminations had appeared to be complete, and one could not dream that
thousands and tens of thousands of lamps were still to be illumined.
Their vivid blaze harmonized beautifully with the softer, milder light
of the lanternoni; while the brilliant glow of the whole illumination
shed a rosy light upon the fountains, whose silver fall, and
ever-playing showers, accorded well with the magic of the scene.

“Viewed from the Trinità de’ Monti, its effect was unspeakably
beautiful: it seemed to be an enchanted palace hung in air, and called
up by the wand of some invisible spirit. We did not, however, drive to
the Trinità de’ Monti till after the exhibition of the girandola, or
great fire-works from the castle of St. Angelo, which commenced by a
tremendous explosion that represented the raging eruption of a volcano.
Red sheets of fire seemed to blaze upwards into the glowing heavens, and
then to pour down their liquid streams upon the earth. This was followed
by an incessant and complicated display of every varied device that
imagination could figure--one changing into another, and the beauty of
the first effaced by that of the last. Hundreds of immense wheels turned
round with a velocity that almost seemed as if demons were whirling
them, letting fall thousands of hissing dragons, and scorpions, and
fiery snakes, whose long convolutions, darting forward as far as the eye
could reach in every direction, at length vanished into air. Fountains
and jets of fire threw up their blazing cascades into the skies. The
whole vault of heaven shone with the vivid fires, and seemed to receive
into itself innumerable stars and suns, which, shooting up into it in
brightness almost insufferable, vanished, like earth-born hopes. The
reflection in the depth of the calm clear waters of the Tiber, was
scarcely less beautiful than the spectacle itself; and the whole ended
in a tremendous burst of fire, that, while it lasted, almost seemed to
threaten conflagration to the world.

“The expense of the illumination of St. Peter’s, and of the girandola,
when repeated two successive evenings, as they invariably are at the
festival of St. Peter, is one thousand crowns; when only exhibited one
night they cost seven hundred. Eighty men were employed in the
instantaneous illuminations of the lamps, which to us seemed the work of
enchantment: they were so posted as to be unseen.”[201]

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Forster, in certain remarks on the excitement of the imagination,
cites some “Verses by a modern poet, on an appearance beheld in the
clouds,” which may aptly come after the glowing description of the
illumination of St. Peter’s:--

    The appearance, instantaneously disclosed,
    Was of a mighty city--boldly say
    A wilderness of building, sinking far
    And self-withdrawn into a wondrous depth
    Far sinking into splendour, without end!
    Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold,
    With alabaster domes and silver spires,
    And blazing terrace upon terrace, high
    Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright
    In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt
    With battlements, that on their restless fronts
    Bore stars--illumination of all gems!
    By earthly nature had the effect been wrought
    Upon the dark materials of the storm
    Now pacified; on them, and on the coves,
    And mountain steeps and summits, whereunto
    The vapours had receded--taking there
    Their station under a cerulean sky.


CHRONOLOGY.

363. The emperor Julian died, aged thirty-two. He was denominated the
apostate, from having professed Christianity before he ascended the
throne, and afterwards relapsing to Paganism. He received his death
wound in a battle with the Persians. Dr. Watkins in his “Biographical
Dictionary” says, that he was virtuous and modest in his manners, and
liberal in his disposition, an enemy to luxury, and averse to public
amusements.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Rattle. _Rhinanthus Galli._
  Dedicated to _St. Peter_.

  [201] Rome in the Nineteenth Century.


~June 30.~

  _St. Paul_, the Apostle. _St. Martial_, Bp. of Limoges, 3d Cent.


_St. Paul._

Paul, the apostle, was martyred, according to some accounts, on the 29th
of June, in the year, 65; according to others in the month of May,
66.[202] A Romish writer fables that, before he was beheaded, he “loked
vp into heuen, markynge his foreheed and his breste with the sygne of
the crosse,” although that sign was an after invention; and that, “as
soone as the heed was from the body,” it said “Jesus Christus fyfty
tymes.”[203] Another pretends from St. Chrysostom, that “from the head
of St. Paul when it was cut off there came not one drop of blood, but
there ran fountains of milk;” and that “we have by tradition, that the
blessed head gave three leaps, and at each of them there sprung up a
fountain where the head fell: which fountains remain to this day, and
are reverenced with singular devotion by all Christian Catholics.”[204]
The fictions of the Romish church, and its devotions to devices, are
innumerable.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Cistus. _Cistus Helianthemum._
  Dedicated to _St. Paul_.

  [202] Butler.

  [203] Golden Legend.

  [204] Ribadeneira.




[Illustration: JULY.]


      Then came hot July, boiling like to fire,
        That all his garments he had cast away.
      Upon a lyon raging yet with ire
        He boldly rode, and made him to obey:
      (It was the beast that whilom did forray
        The Nemæan forest, till the Amphitrionide
      Him slew, and with his hide did him array:)
        Behind his backe a sithe, and by his side
    Under his belt he bore a sickle circling wide.

July is the seventh month of the year. According to ancient reckoning it
was the fifth, and called QUINTILIS, until Mark Antony denominated it
July, in compliment to Caius Cæsar, the Roman dictator, whose surname
was Julius, who improved the calendar, and was born in this month.

July was called by the Saxons _hen-monath_, which probably expressed the
meaning of the German word _hain_, signifying wood or trees; and hence
_hen-monath_ might mean foliage month. They likewise called it
_heymonath_, or _haymonth_; “because,” says Verstegan, “therein they
usually mowed and made their hay harvest;” and they also denominated it
_Lida-aftera_, meaning the second “Lida,” or second month after the
sun’s descent.[205]

The beautiful representation preceding Spenser’s personification of
July, on the preceding page, was designed and engraved by Mr. Samuel
Williams, of whom it should in justice be said, that his talents have
enriched the _Every-Day Book_ with most of its best illustrations.

    Now comes July, and with his fervid noon
    Unsinews labour. The swinkt mower sleeps;
    The weary maid rakes feebly; the warm swain
    Pitches his load reluctant; the faint steer,
    Lashing his sides, draws sulkily along
    The slow encumbered wain in midday heat.

Mr. Leigh Hunt in his _Months_, after remarking that “July is so called
after Julius Cæsar, who contrived to divide his names between months and
dynasties, and among his better deeds of ambition reformed the
calendar,” proceeds to notice, that--“The heat is greatest in this month
on account of its previous duration. The reason why it is less so in
August is, that the days are then much shorter, and the influence of the
sun has been gradually diminishing. The farmer is still occupied in
getting the productions of the earth into his garners; but those who can
avoid labour enjoy as much rest and shade as possible. There is a sense
of heat and quiet all over nature. The birds are silent. The little
brooks are dried up. The earth is chapped with parching. The shadows of
the trees are particularly grateful, heavy, and still. The oaks, which
are freshest because latest in leaf, form noble clumpy canopies,
looking, as you lie under them, of a strong and emulous green against
the blue sky. The traveller delights to cut across the country through
the fields and the leafy lanes, where nevertheless the flints sparkle
with heat. The cattle get into the shade, or stand in the water. The
active and air-cutting swallows, now beginning to assemble for
migration, seek their prey about the shady places, where the insects,
though of differently compounded natures, ‘fleshless and bloodless,’
seem to get for coolness, as they do at other times for warmth. The
sound of insects is also the only audible thing now, increasing rather
than lessening the sense of quiet by its gentle contrast. The bee now
and then sweeps across the ear with his gravest tone. The gnats

    Their murmuring small trumpets sounden wide;

  _Spenser._

and here and there the little musician of the grass touches forth his
tricksy note.

    The poetry of earth is never dead;
    When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
    And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
    From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:
    That is the grasshopper’s.

  _Keats._

“Besides some of the flowers of last month, there are now candy-tufts,
catchfly, columbines, egg-plant, French marygolds, lavateras,
London-pride, marvel of Peru, veronicas, tuberoses, which seem born of
the white rose and lily; and scarlet-beans, which though we are apt to
think little of them because they furnish us with a good vegetable, are
quick and beautiful growers, and in a few weeks will hang a walk or
trellis with an exuberant tapestry of scarlet and green.

“The additional trees and shrubs in flower are bramble, button-wood,
iteas, cistuses, climbers, and broom. Pimpernel, cockle, and fumitory,
are now to be found in corn-fields, the blue-bell in wastes or by the
road-sides; and the luxuriant hop is flowering.

“The fruits begin to abound and are more noticed, in proportion to the
necessity for them occasioned by the summer heat. The strawberries are
in their greatest quantity and perfection; and currants, gooseberries,
and raspberries, have a world of juice for us, prepared, as it were, in
so many crowds of little bottles, in which the sunshine has turned the
dews of April into wine. The strawberry lurks about under a beautiful
leaf. Currants are also extremely beautiful. A handsome bunch looks like
pearls or rubies, and an imitation of it would make a most graceful
ear-ring. We have seen it, when held lightly by fair fingers, present as
lovely a drop, and piece of contrast, as any holding hand in a picture
of Titian.

“Bulbous rooted flowers, that have almost done with their leaves, should
now be taken up, and deposited in shallow wooden boxes. Mignionette
should be transplanted into small pots, carnations be well attended to
and supported, and auriculas kept clean from dead leaves and weeds, and
in dry weather frequently watered.

“It is now the weather for bathing, a refreshment too little taken in
this country, either in summer or winter. We say in winter, because with
very little care in placing it near a cistern, and having a leathern
pipe for it, a bath may be easily filled once or twice a week with warm
water; and it is a vulgar error that the warm bath relaxes. An excess,
either warm or cold, will relax; and so will any other excess: but the
sole effect of the warm bath moderately taken is, that it throws off the
bad humours of the body by opening and clearing the pores. As to summer
bathing, a father may soon teach his children to swim, and thus perhaps
might be the means of saving their lives some day or other, as well as
health. Ladies also, though they cannot bathe in the open air as they do
in some of the West Indian islands and other countries, by means of
natural basins among the rocks, might oftener make a substitute for it
at home in tepid baths. The most beautiful aspects under which Venus has
been painted or sculptured, have been connected with bathing: and indeed
there is perhaps no one thing that so equally contributes to the three
graces of health, beauty, and good temper;--to health, in putting the
body into its best state; to beauty, in clearing and tinting the skin;
and to good temper, in rescuing the spirits from the irritability
occasioned by those formidable personages ‘the nerves,’ which nothing
else allays in so quick and entire a manner. See a lovely passage on the
subject of bathing in sir Philip Sydney’s ‘Arcadia,’ where ‘Philoclea,
blushing, and withall smiling, making shamefastnesse pleasant, and
pleasure shamefast, tenderly moved her feet, unwonted to feel the naked
ground, until the touch of the cold water made a pretty kind of
shrugging come over her body, like the twinkling of the fairest among
the fixed stars.’”

  [205] Dr. Frank Sayers.


~July 1.~

  _St. Rumbold_, Bp. A. D. 775. _Sts. Julius_ and _Aaron_. _St.
  Theobald_, or _Thibault_, 11th Cent. _St. Gal I._ Bp. 5th Cent. _St.
  Calais_, or _Carilephus_, A. D. 542. _St. Leonorus_, or _Lunaire_, Bp.
  _St. Simeon Salus_, 6th Cent. _St. Thieri_, A. D. 533. _St. Cybar_, A.
  D. 581.


CHRONOLOGY.

1690. The battle of the Boyne, fought on this day, decided the fate of
James II. and the Stuart tyranny, and established William III. on the
throne of the people.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Agrimony. _Agrimonia Eupatoria._
  Dedicated to _St. Aaron_.


~July 2.~

  _Visitation of the B. Virgin._ _Sts. Processus_ and _Martinian_, 1st
  Cent. _St. Otho_, Bp. 12th Cent. _St. Monegoude_, A. D. 570. _St.
  Oudoceus_, Bp. of Landaff, 6th Cent.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  White Lily. _Lilium candidum._
  Dedicated to the _Virgin Mary_.

_A Morning’s Walk in July._

    But when mild morn, in saffron stole,
    First issues from her eastern goal,
    Let not my due feet fail to climb
    Some breezy summit’s brow sublime,
    Whence Nature’s universal face
    Illumined smiles with newborn grace,
    The misty streams that wind below
    With silver sparkling lustre glow,
    The groves and castled cliffs appear
    Invested all in radiance clear;
    O! every village charm beneath.
    The smoke that mounts in azure wreath
    O beauteous rural interchange!
    The simple spire and elmy grange;
    Content, indulging blissful hours,
    Whistles o’er the fragrant flowers:
    And cattle rous’d to pasture new,
    Shake jocund from their sides the dew.[206]

  [206] Ode on the Approach of Summer.


~July 3.~

  _St. Phocas_, a Gardener, A. D. 303. _St. Guthagon._ _St. Gunthiern_,
  a Welsh Prince, 6th Cent. _St. Bertram_, 6th Cent.


_The Bleeding Image._

On the 3d of July is annually celebrated, in Paris, in the church of St.
Leu and St. Giles, a solemn office, in commemoration of a _miracle_
wrought by the blessed virgin, in la Rue aux Ours, or the street for the
bears; the history of which is as follows:--In the year 1518, a soldier
coming out of a tavern in this Bear-street, where he had been gambling,
and losing his money and clothes, was blaspheming the name of God; and
as he passed by the image of the holy virgin, standing very quietly and
inoffensively at the corner of the street, he struck it, _or her_,
furiously with a knife he had in his hand; on which _God permitted_, as
the modern and modest tellers of this tale say, the image to bleed
abundantly. The ministers of justice were informed, and the wretch was
seized, conducted to the spot where he had committed the sacrilege, tied
to a post, and scourged, from six o’clock in the morning till night,
till his eyes dropped out; his tongue was bored with a hot iron, and his
body was cast into the fire. The blessed image was transported to Rome.
This was the origin of a ceremony still remembered, and which once was
very curious. The zeal of the inhabitants of Bear-street was
conspicuous, and their devotion to the blessed virgin not less so. At
first they only made the figure of the soldier, as we in England do of
Guy Faux, and threw it into the fire; by degrees the feast became more
solemn, and the soldier, who had been rudely fashioned out of <DW19>s,
was at last a composition of fireworks, which, after being carried in
procession through the streets of Paris, took a flight into the air, to
the great joy and edification of the Parisians, particularly of
Bear-street. At last, however, the magistrates wisely recollected that
the streets being narrow, and the buildings numerous in that part of the
city, a fire might happen, and it would then be still more miraculous if
the holy image should travel from Rome to Paris to extinguish the
flames: not to mention that the holy image might not at that precise
moment be so plentifully supplied as on a similar occasion our friend
Gulliver was. In 1744, therefore, they forbad any future fire-work
soldiers, and the poor distressed inhabitants of Bear-street, were once
more reduced to their man of wood, whom they continue to burn with great
affection every 3d of July, after having walked him about Paris three
days. This figure is now made of osier, clothed, and armed with a knife,
and of so horrid an appearance, it would undoubtedly frighten women and
children who did not know the story of the sacrilegious soldier; as it
is, they believe they see him breathe blasphemy. Messieurs, the
associated gentlemen of Bear-street, give the money formerly spent in
fireworks, to make a procession to the proxy of the blessed image which
now stands where the bleeding one did, and to say a solemn mass to the
blessed virgin, for the souls of the defunct gentlemen, associates of
Bear-street. The mummery existed under Napoleon, as appears by the
preceding particulars, dated Paris, July 12, 1807, and may be seen in
the _Sunday Advertiser_, of the 19th of that month.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 3d of July, 1810, a small loaf fastened by a string, was
suspended from the equestrian statue at Charing-cross, to which was
attached a placard, stating that it was purchased from a baker, and was
extremely deficient in weight, and was one of a numerous batch. The
notice concluded by simply observing, “Does this not deserve the _aid_
of parliament?” This exhibition attracted a great crowd of people,
until the whole of the loaf was nearly washed away by subsequent heavy
rain.


~The Dog-days.~

[Illustration: “The Dog-star rages.”]

Sirius, or the Dog-star, is represented as in the above engraving, on a
garnet gem, in lord Besborough’s collection, etched by Worlidge. The
late Mr. William Butler, in his _Chronological Exercises_, says, that on
this day “commence, according to the almanacs, the Canicular, or
Dog-days, which are a certain number of days preceding and following the
heliacal rising of Canicula, or the Dog-star, in the morning. Their
beginning is usually fixed in the calendars on the 3d of July, and their
termination on the 11th of August; but this is a palpable mistake, since
the heliacal rising of this star does not now take place, at least in
our latitude, till near the latter end of August; and in five or six
thousand years more, Canicula may chance to be charged with bringing
frost and snow, as it will then, owing to the precession of the
equinoxes, rise in November and December.”

Dr. Hutton remarks, that some authors say, from Hippocrates and Pliny,
that the day this star first rises in the morning, the sea boils, wine
turns sour, dogs begin to grow mad, the bile increases and irritates,
and all animals grow languid; also, “the diseases it usually occasions
in men are burning fevers, hysterics, and phrensies. The Romans
sacrificed a _brown dog_ every year to Canicula, at his first rising to
appease his rage.”

A Cambridge contributor to the _Every-Day Book_ affirms, that, in the
year 1824, an edict was issued there for all persons keeping dogs either
to _muzzle_ or _tie them up_, and many a dog was tied up by the neck as
a sacrifice; whether to the _Mayor_ or _Canicular_, this deponent saith
not; but the act and deed gave rise to the following

JEU D’ESPRIT.

        Good mister Mayor
        All _dogs_ declare
    The beam of justice falters!
    To miss the _puppies_--sure she’s blind,
    For _dogs_ they are alone consign’d
    To _muzzles_ or to _halters_!

  _Cambridge_,

  T. N.

Mr. Brady observes, in his “Clavis Calendaria,” “That the weather in
July and August is generally more sultry than at any other period of the
year, and that some particular diseases are consequently at that time
more to be dreaded, both to man and beast, is past dispute. The
exaggerated effects of the rising of Sirius are now, however, known to
be groundless; and the superior heat usually felt during the Dog-days
has been more philosophically accounted for. The sun, at this period of
the year, not only darts his rays almost perpendicularly upon us, and of
course with greater power; but has also continued to exert his influence
through the spring and summer seasons, whereby the atmosphere and earth
have received a warmth, proportioned to the continuity of its action;
and moisture, in itself naturally cold, has been dissipated. Even in the
course of a _day_, which has been aptly typified as a _short year_, the
greatest effect of the sun is generally felt at about two o’clock,
although it has then passed the meridian, because by having so much
longer exerted its powers, its consequent effects are more than
commensurate for the diminution of heat in its rays. The cold of winter
in like manner augments about the time the days begin to _increase_, and
_continues_ to do so, for a considerable time after, because, at that
season, the earth has become wet and chilled, from the effects of the
preceding gradual _decrease of power in the sun_, although, _at that
time_, when the cold is usually most severe, that orb is ascensive, and
returning from the winter solstice: and our Saxon ancestors were
_experimentally_ so well aware of this latter circumstance, that in the
delineation on their calendars, to illustrate the characters of the
months they represented February, as a man in the act of striking his
arms across his body to warm himself: while there is also yet in common
use a very old saying, grounded upon the like conviction, that ‘when the
days lengthen, the frost is sure to strengthen.’

“The early Egyptians, whose _hieroglyphical characters_, aptly adapted
by _them_ to the peculiarity of their climate and circumstances, were
the principal or perhaps sole origin of all the heathenish superstitions
of other nations, were taught by long observation and experience, that
as soon as a particular star became visible, the _Nile_ would overflow
its banks; and they accordingly upon its very first appearance retreated
to their terraces, where they remained until the inundation had
subsided. This star, therefore, was called by them _Sihor_, i. e. the
Nile; as Σείριος is in Greek, and _Sirius_ in Latin; and from the
_warning_ it afforded them, they typified it as a _dog_, or in most
cases as a man with a dog’s head; that faithful animal having been, even
in those times, distinguished for his peculiar qualities of watching
over the affairs of man, and affording _warning_ of approaching danger.
The names assigned to this star by the Egyptians was _Thaaut_, or
_Tayout_, the _dog_; and in later times _Sothis_, _Thotes_, or _Thot_,
each bearing the like signification; but it was left for the subsequent
ignorance of those other nations who adopted that character for _Sihor_,
now _Sirius_, without considering the true origin of its appellation,
falsely to assign to it, the increasing heat of the season, and its
consequent effects upon animated nature. The idea, however, of any such
effects, either as to heat, or to disorders, from the influence of the
canicular star, is now wholly exploded, from the reasons already
assigned, and because ‘that star not only varies in its rising every
year, as the latitude varies, but that it rises later and later every
year in all latitudes;’ so that when it rises in winter, which, by the
way, cannot be for five or six thousand years, it might, with equal
propriety, be charged with increasing the frost: and besides, it is to
be observed, that although Sirius is the nearest to the earth of any of
the _fixed stars_, it is computed to be at the enormous distance of
2,200,000,000,000 miles from our globe; a space too prodigious to admit
of its rays affording _any sensible heat_: and which could not be
passed by a cannon-ball, flying with its calculated velocity of 480
miles in one hour, in less than 523,211 years! Upon the whole,
therefore, it evidently appears, that the origin of the name of this
star was not only wholly disregarded, but that common and undigested
opinion made its _conjunction_ with the _sun_, the _cause_ of heat, &c.
instead of having regarded it as a _sign_ of the period when such
effects might naturally be expected.”


~Mad Dogs.~

_There is no cure for the bite of a mad dog_; and as at this time dogs
go mad, it is proper to observe, that immediate burning out of the
bitten part by caustic, or the cutting of it out by the surgeon’s knife,
is the only remedy. If either burning or cutting be omitted, the bitten
person, unless opiumed to death, or smothered between featherbeds, will
in a few days or weeks die in unspeakable agony. The latter means are
said to have been sometimes resorted to as a merciful method of
extinguishing life. It is an appalling fact, that _there is no cure for
hydrophobia_.

Preventive is better than cure, and in this case it is easy. Dogs,
however useful in some situations, are wholly useless in towns.
Exterminate them.

Against this a cry will go forth from all dog-owners: they will condemn
the measure as proceeding from a barbarian; but _they_ are the
barbarians who keep animals subject to a disease fatal to human life.
Such persons, so far from being entitled to a voice against its
execution, merit abhorrence and contempt for daring to propose that
every man, woman, and child among their friends and neighbours, should
run the risk of a cruel death for the gratification of selfishness.
Every honest man in every town who keeps a dog, should destroy it, and
use his influence with others to destroy theirs. No means of preventing
_hydrophobia_ exists but the destruction of dogs.

Oh! but dogs are useful; they guard our houses at night; they go in
carts and guard our goods by day; they catch our rats; and, then, they
are such faithful creatures! All this, though very true, does not urge
one reason against their destruction as a preventive from their
communicating a fatal and wholly incurable disease. Instead of
house-dogs at night, get additional watchmen, or secure watchmen more
vigilant than those you have, by paying a proper price for the important
services required of them, which in most places are not half requited.
Instead of cart-dogs, employ boys, of whom there are scores
half-starving, who would willingly take charge of carts at little more
than the expense of dog-keep. If rats must be caught, cats can catch
them, or they may be poisoned. Instead of cultivating the fidelity of
dogs, let dog-keepers cultivate a little fidelity in themselves towards
their neighbours, and do as they would be done unto, by destroying their
dogs.

Oh, but would you deprive the “poor” man of his dog? Yes. The poorer he
is, the less occasion he has for a dog, and the less ability he has to
maintain a dog. Few poor men in towns keep dogs but for the purpose of
sport of some kind; making matches to fight them, drawing badgers with
them, baiting bulls with them, or otherwise brutally misemploying them.

An act of parliament, inflicting heavy penalties for keeping dogs in
towns, and empowering constables, beadles, street-keepers, and others,
with rewards for carrying it into effect on every dog they meet, would
put an end to _hydrophobia_.

It is a common practice to kill dogs at this season in some parts of the
continent, and so did our ancestors. Ben Jonson, in his “Bartholomew
Fair,” speaks of “the _dog-killer_ in this month of August.” A
dog-destroyer in every parish would be an important public officer.
REMEMBER! _there is no cure for the bite of a mad dog_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_To the Bellflower._

    With drooping bells of clearest blue
    Thou didst attract my childish view,
        Almost resembling
    The azure butterflies that flew
    Where on the heath thy blossoms grew
        So lightly trembling.

    Where feathery fern and golden broom
    Increase the sandrock cavern’s gloom
        I’ve seen thee tangled,
    ’Mid tufts of purple heather bloom
    By vain Arachne’s treacherous loom
        With dewdrops spangled.

    ’Mid ruins tumbling to decay,
    Thy flowers their heavenly hues display,
        Still freshly springing,
    Where pride and pomp have passed away
    On mossy tomb and turret gray,
        Like friendship clinging.

    When glowworm lamps illume the scene
    And silvery daisies dot the green,
        Thy flowers revealing,
    Perchance to soothe the fairy queen,
    With faint sweet tones on night serene
        Soft bells are pealing.

    But most I love thine azure braid,
    When softer flowers are all decayed,
        And thou appearest
    Stealing beneath the hedgerow shade,
    Like joys that linger as they fade,
        Whose last are dearest.

    Thou art the flower of memory;
    The pensive soul recalls in thee
        The year’s past pleasures;
    And, led by kindred thought, will flee,
    Till, back to careless infancy,
        The path she measures.

    Beneath autumnal breezes bleak,
    So faintly fair, so sadly meek,
        I’ve seen thee bending,
    Pale as the pale blue veins that streak
    Consumption’s thin, transparent cheek,
        With death hues blending.

    Thou shalt be sorrow’s love and mine
    The violet and the eglantine
        With Spring are banished.
    In Summer pinks and roses shine,
    But I of thee my wreath will twine,
        When these are vanished.

                            _May you like it._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tried Mallow. _Malva Sylvestris._
  Dedicated to _St. Phocas_.


~July 4.~

  _St. Ulric_, or _Udalric_. _St. Odo_, Abp. of Canterbury, 10th Cent.
  _St. Sisoes_, or _Sisoy_, A. D. 429. _St. Bertha_, 8th Cent. _St.
  Finbar_, of Crimlen. _St. Bolcan_, disciple of St. Patrick.


_St. Ulric._

He was son of count Hucbald, one of the first dukes of higher Germany.
He became bishop of Augsburg, and rebuilt the celebrated cathedral
there, in 962, dedicating it to St. Afra, patroness of that city, and
died eighty years old, in 973, on ashes laid in the form of a cross upon
a floor. Customs peculiar to this day are related in these verses:--

_St. Huldryche._

    Wheresoeuer Huldryche hath his place, the people there brings in
    Both carpes, and pykes, and mullets fat, his fauour here to win.
    Amid the church there sitteth one, and to the aultar nie,
    That selleth fish, and so good cheepe, that euery man may buie:
    Nor any thing he loseth here, bestowing thus his paine,
    For when it hath beene offred once, ’tis brought him all againe,
    That twise or thrise he selles the same vngodlinesse such gaine
    Doth still bring in, and plentiously the kitchin doth maintaine.
    Whence comes this same religion newe? what kind of God is this
    Same Huldryche here, that so desires, and so delightes in fish?[207]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Copper Day Lily. _Hemerocallis fulva._
  Dedicated to _St. Ulric_.


[Illustration: ~The London Barrow-woman~]

    See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,
    With thread so white in tempting posies ty’d,
    Scatt’ring like blooming maid their glances round
    With pamper’d look draw little eyes aside,
    And must be bought.

  _Shenstone._

This is cherry season, but it is not to me as cherry seasons were. I
like a great deal that _is_, but I have an affection for what _was_.
By-gone days seem to have been more fair than these; and I cannot help
trying to

    “catch the manners _dying_ as they _fall_.”

I have lived through the extremity of one age, into the beginning of
another, and I believe a better; yet the former has been too much
detracted: every thing new is not, therefore, good; nor was every thing
old, bad. When I was a boy, I speak of just after the French revolution
broke out, my admiration and taste were pure and natural, and one of my
favourites at all times, and in cherry-time especially, was the London
barrow-woman. There are no barrow-women now. They are quite “gone out,”
or, rather, they have been “put down,” and by many they are not even
missed. Look around; there is not one to be seen.

In those days there were _women_ on the earth; finely grown, every way
well-proportioned, handsome, and in stature like Mrs. Siddons. I speak
of London women. Let not the ladies of the metropolis conceive offence,
if I maintain that some of their mothers, and more among their
grandmothers, were taller and more robust than they. That _they_ are
otherwise may not be in their eyes a misfortune; should they, however,
think it so “their _schools_ are more in fault than they.” Be that as it
may, I am merely stating a fact. They have declined in personal
elevation, as they have increased in moral elevation.

At that time lived the London barrow-woman:--

    Her hair loose curl’d, the rest tuck’d up between
    Her neatly frill’d mob-cap, was scarcely seen;
    A black chip-hat, peculiarly her own,
    With ribbon puff’d around the small flat crown
    Pinn’d to her head-dress, gave her blooming face
    A jaunty openness and winning grace.

  *

On her legs were “women’s blacks,” or, in dry sunny weather, as at this
season, stockings of white cotton, with black high-heeled shoes, and a
pair of bright sparkling buckles; tight lacing distended her hips, which
were further enlarged by her flowered cotton or chintz gown being drawn
through the pocket-holes to balloon out behind, and display a quilted
glazed petticoat of black or pink stuff, terminating about four inches
above the ancles; she wore on her bosom, which was not so confined as to
injure its fullness, a light gauze or muslin kerchief. This was her full
dress, as she rolled through the street, and cried--

        “Round and sound,
         Two-pence a pound,
    Cherries! rare ripe cherries!”

“Green and ripe gooseberries! amber-berries! ripe amber-berries!”
“Currants! rare ripe currants!” ending, as she began, with cherries:--

    “Cherries a ha’penny a stick!
    Come and pick! come and pick
    Cherries! big as plums!
    Who comes? who comes?”

Each side of her well-laden barrow was dressed nearly halfway along with
a row of sticks having cherries tied on them. To assist in retailing her
other fruit, there lay before her a “full alehouse measure” of clean
pewter, and a pair of shining brass scales, with thick turn-over rims,
and leaden weights, for the “real black-hearts” that dyed the white
cloth they lay on with purple stains. If she had an infant, she was
sometimes met with it, at a particular spot, for her to suckle. She was
then a study for a painter. Her hearty caresses of her child, while she
hastily sat down on the arm of her barrow, and bared her bountiful bosom
to give it nourishment; the frolic with which she tickled it; the
tenderness with which she looked into its young, up-turned eyes, while
the bland fluid overflowed its laughing mouth; her smothering kisses
upon its crowing lips after its nurture; and her loud affectionate “God
bless it!” when it was carried away, were indescribably beautiful.

As the seasons changed, so her wares varied. With the “rolling year,”
she rolled round to us its successive fruits; but cherry-time was the
meridian of her glory. Her clear and confident cry was then listened
for, in the distance, with as much anxiety to hear it, as the
proclamation of a herald, in the full authority of office, was awaited
in ancient times. “What can keep the barrow-woman so long?--Surely she
has not gone another way!--Hush! there she is; I hear her!” These were
tokens of her importance in the neighbourhood she circled; and good
housewives and servant girls came to the doors, with basins and dishes,
to await her approach, and make their purchases of fruit for their pies
and puddings. As she slowly trundled her barrow along the pavement, what
doating looks were cast upon its delicacies by boys with ever-ready
appetites! How he who had nothing to lay out envied him who a halfpenny
entitled to a perplexing choice amidst the tempting variety! If currants
were fixed on, the question was mooted, “Which are best--red or white?”
If cherries--“white hearts, or blacks?” If gooseberries--“red or
yellow?” Sometimes the decision as to the comparative merits of colour
was negatived by a sudden impulsive preference for “the other sort,” or
“something else;” and not seldom, after these deliberations, and being
“served,” arose doubts and regrets, and an application to be allowed to
change “these” for “them,” and perhaps the last choice was, in the end,
the least satisfactory. Indecisiveness is not peculiar to childhood;
“men are but children of a larger growth,” and their “conduct of the
understanding” is nearly the same.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. George Cruikshank, whose pencil is distinguished by power of
decision in every character he sketches, and whose close observation of
passing manners is unrivalled by any artist of the day, has sketched the
barrow-woman for the _Every-Day Book_, from his own recollection of her,
aided somewhat by my own. It is engraved on wood by Mr. Henry White, and
placed at the head of this article.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before barrow-women quite “went out,” the poor things were sadly used.
If they stopped to rest, or pitched their seat of custom where customers
were likely to pass, street-keepers, authorized by orders unauthorized
by law, drove them off, or beadles overthrew their fruit into the road.
At last, an act of parliament made it penal to roll a wheel or keep a
stand for the sale of any articles upon the pavement; and barrow-women
and fruit-stalls were “put down.”


_Fruit Stalls._

These daily purveyors to the refreshment of passengers in hot weather
are not wholly extinct; a few, very few, still exist by mere
sufferance--no more. Upon recollection of their number, and the grateful
abundance heaped upon them, I could almost exclaim, in the words of the
old Scotch-woman’s epitaph--

    “Such desolation in my time has been
    I have an end of all perfection seen!”

Ah! what a goodly sight was Holborn-hill in “_my_ time.” _Then_ there
was a comely row of fruit-stalls, skirting the edge of the pavement from
opposite the steps of St. Andrew’s church to the corner of Shoe-lane.
The fruit stood on tables covered with white cloths, and placed end to
end, in one long line. In autumn, it was a lovely sight. The pears and
apples were neatly piled in “ha’p’orths,” for there were then no
pennyworths; “a pen’orth” would have been more than sufficient for
moderate eating at one time. First, of the pears, came the “ripe
Kat’er’nes;” these were succeeded by “fine Windsors,” and “real
bergamys.” Apples “came in” with “green codlins;” then followed “golden
rennets,” “golden pippins,” and “ripe nonpareils.” These were the common
street-fruits. Such “golden pippins” as were then sold, three and four
for a halfpenny, are now worth pence a piece, and the true “golden
rennet” can only be heard of at great fruiterers. The decrease in the
growth of this delightful apple is one of the “signs of the times!”

The finest apples in Covent-garden market come from Kent. Growers in
that county, by leaving only a few branches upon the tree, produce the
most delicious kinds, of a surprisingly large size. For these they
demand and obtain very high prices; but instead of London in general
being supplied, as it was formerly, with the best apples, little else is
seen except swine-feed, or French, or American apples. The importations
of this fruit are very large, and under the almost total disappearance
of some of our finest sorts, very thankful we are to get inferior ones
of foreign growth. Really good English apples are scarcely within the
purchase of persons of moderate means.

       *       *       *       *       *


“_Women’s Blacks._”

This is the name of the common black worsted stockings, formerly an
article of extensive consumption; they are now little made, because
little worn. One of the greatest wholesale dealers in “women’s blacks,”
in a manufacturing town, was celebrated for the largeness of his stock;
his means enabled him to purchase all that were offered to him for sale,
and it was his favourite article. He was an old-fashioned man, and while
the servant-maids were leaving them off, he was unconscious of the
change, because he could not believe it; he insisted it was impossible
that household work could be done in “white cottons.” Offers of
quantities were made to him at reduced prices, which he bought; his
immense capital became locked up in his favourite “women’s blacks;”
whenever their price in the market lowered, he could not make his mind
up to be quite low enough; his warehouses were filled with them; when he
determined to sell, the demand had wholly ceased; he could effect no
sales; and, becoming bankrupt, he literally died of a broken heart--from
an excessive and unrequited attachment to “women’s blacks.”

  [207] Naogeorgus by Googe.


~July 5.~

  _St. Peter_, of Luxemburg, Card. A. D. 1387. _St. Modwena_, 9th Cent.
  _St. Edana_, of Elphim and Tuam.

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a beautiful mention of flowers, at this season, in some lines
from the Italian of Louis Gonzago.

_With an Indian Perfume-box to Maria de Mancini_, 1648.

    Oh! the Florence rose is freshe and faire,
      And rich the young carnations blowe,
    Wreathing in beauties’ ebonne haire,
      Or sighing on her breaste of snowe,
    But onlie violette shall twine
    Thy ebonne tresses, ladye mine.

    Oh! dazzling shines the noon-daye sunne,
      So kinglye in his golden carre,
    But sweeter ’tis when day is done,
      To watche the evening’s dewye starre,
    In silence lighting fielde and grove,
    How like mye heart, how like mye love!

    Then, ladye, lowlye at thy feete
      I lay this gift of memorie,
    All strange and rude, but treasures sweete
      Within its gloomy bosome lie.
    Trifles, Marie! may telle the tale,
    When wisdom, witte, and courage faile.

  _Pulci._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Double Yellow Rose. _Rosa Sulphurea._
  Dedicated to _St. Edana_.


~July 6.~

  _St. Palladius_, A. D. 450. _St. Julian_, Anchorite, 4th Cent. _St.
  Sexburgh_, 7th Cent. _St. Goar_, A. D. 575. _St. Moninna_, A. D. 518.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Garden Hawks’-eyes. _Crepis barbara._
  Dedicated to _St. Julian_.


~July 7.~

  _St. Pantænus_, 3d Cent. _St. Willibald_, Bp. 8th Cent. _St. Hedda_,
  A. D. 705. _St. Edelburga._ _St. Felix_, Bp. of Nantes, A. D. 584.
  _St. Benedict_ XI. Pope, A. D. 1304.


CHRONOLOGY.

1816. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the poet, dramatist, orator, and
statesman, died. He was the third son of Mr. Thomas Sheridan, celebrated
as an actor, eminent as a lecturer on elocution, and entitled to the
gratitude of the public for his judicious and indefatigable exertions to
improve the system of education in this country. His father, the rev.
Dr. Thomas Sheridan, was a distinguished divine, the ablest
school-master of his time, and the intimate friend of the dean of St.
Patrick. Mr. Thomas Sheridan died at Margate, on the 14th of August,
1788. Mrs. Frances Sheridan, the mother of Richard Brinsley, was the
author of “Sidney Biddulph,” a novel, which has the merit of combining
the purest morality with the most powerful interest. She also wrote
“Nourjahad,” an oriental tale, and the comedies of the “Discovery,” the
“Dupe,” and “A Trip to Bath.” She died at Blois, in France, the 17th of
September, 1766.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born in Dorset-street, Dublin, in the
month of October, 1751. He was placed, in his seventh year, under the
tuition of Mr. Samuel Whyte, of Dublin, the friend of their father. He
was placed at Harrow school, after the christmas of 1762. His literary
advancement at this seminary appears to have been at first retarded; and
it was reserved for the late Dr. Parr, who was at that time one of the
sub-preceptors, to discover and call into activity the faculties of
young Sheridan’s mind. His memory was found to be uncommonly retentive,
and his judgment correct; so that when his mind was quickened by
competition, his genius gradually expanded. But to be admired seemed his
only object, and when that end was attained, he relaxed in his
application, and sunk into his former indolence. His last year at Harrow
was spent more in reflecting on the acquirements he had made, and the
eventful scenes of a busy life, which were opening to his view, than in
enlarging the circle of his classical and literary attainments. His
father deemed it unnecessary to send him to the university; and he was,
a short time after his departure from Harrow, entered as a student of
the Middle Temple.

Mr. Sheridan, when about twenty, was peculiarly fond of the society of
men of taste and learning, and soon gave proofs that he was inferior to
none of his companions in wit and argument. At this age he had recourse
to his literary talents for pecuniary supplies, and directed his
attention to the drama; but disgusted with some sketches of comic
character which he drew, he actually destroyed them, and in a moment of
despair renounced every hope of excellence as a dramatic writer. His
views with respect to the cultivation and exertion of his genius in
literary pursuits, or to the study of the profession to which he had
been destined by his father, were all lost in a passion that mastered
his reason. He at once saw and loved Miss Linley, a lady no less
admirable for the elegant accomplishments of her sex and the affecting
simplicity of her conversation, than for the charms of her person and
the fascinating powers of her voice. She was the principal performer in
the oratorios at Drury-lane theatre. The strains which she poured forth
were the happiest combinations of nature and art; but nature
predominated over art. Her accents were so melodious and captivating,
and their passage to the heart so sudden and irresistable, that
“list’ning Envy would have dropped her snakes, and stern-ey’d Fury’s
self have melted” at the sounds.

Her father, Mr. Linley, the late ingenious composer, was not at first
propitious to Mr. Sheridan’s passion, and he had many rivals to overcome
in his attempts to gain the lady’s affections. His perseverance,
however, increased with the difficulties that presented themselves, and
his courage and resolution were displayed in vindicating Miss Linley’s
reputation from a calumnious report, which had been basely thrown out
against it.

Mr. Mathews, a gentleman then well known in the fashionable circles at
Bath, had caused a paragraph to be inserted in a public paper at that
place, and had set out for London. He was closely pursued by Mr.
Sheridan. They met and fought a duel with swords at a tavern in
Henrietta-street, Covent-garden, the house at the north-west corner,
opposite Bedford-court. Mr. Sheridan’s second on the occasion was his
brother, Charles Francis, a late secretary at war in Ireland. Great
courage and skill were displayed on both sides; but Mr. Sheridan having
succeeded in disarming his adversary, compelled him to sign a formal
retraction of the paragraph which had been published. The conqueror
instantly returned to Bath; and thinking that, as the insult had been
publicly given, the apology should have equal notoriety, he caused it to
be published in the same paper. Mr. Mathews soon heard of this
circumstance, and, irritated at his defeat, as well as the use which his
antagonist had made of his apology, repaired to Bath, and called upon
Mr. Sheridan for satisfaction. The parties met on Kingsdown. The victory
was desperately contested, and, after a discharge of pistols, they
fought with swords. They were both wounded, and closing with each other
fell on the ground, where the fight was continued until they were
separated. They received several cuts and contusions in this arduous
struggle for life and honour, and a part of his opponent’s weapon was
left in Mr. Sheridan’s ear. Miss Linley rewarded Mr. Sheridan for the
dangers he had braved in her defence, by accompanying him on a
matrimonial excursion to the continent. The ceremony was again performed
on their return to England, with the consent of her parents; from the
period of her marriage, Mrs. Sheridan never appeared as a public
performer.

Mr. Sheridan, when encumbered with the cares of a family, felt the
necessity of immediate exertion to provide for the pressing calls
inseparable from a domestic establishment, which, if not splendid, was
marked with all the appearance of genteel life.

On finishing his play of the “Rivals,” he presented it to the manager of
Covent-garden theatre, and it was represented on the 17th of January,
1775. In consequence of some slight disapprobation, it was laid aside
for a time, after the first night’s performance. Mr. Sheridan having
made some judicious alterations, both in the progress of the plot and in
the language, it was shortly after brought forward again, and received
in the most favourable manner. His next production was the farce of “St.
Patrick’s Day, or The Scheming Lieutenant.” This was followed by the
comic opera of the “Duenna,” a composition in every respect superior to
the general class of English operas then in fashion. It surpassed even
the “Beggar’s Opera” in attraction and popularity, and was performed
seventy-five nights during the season, while Gay’s singular production
ran only sixty-five.

Mr. Garrick having resolved to retire from the management of Drury-lane
theatre, his share of the patent was sold to Mr. Sheridan, who, in
1776, paid 30,000_l._ for it. He immediately brought out the “Trip to
Scarborough,” altered from Vanburgh’s comedy of the “Relapse.” It was
performed on the 24th of February, 1777. His next production was the
comedy of the “School for Scandal,” which raised his fame to undisputed
preeminence over contemporary dramatic writers, and conferred, in the
opinion of foreign _literati_, a lustre on the British comedy which it
did not previously possess. It was first performed on the 8th of May,
1777.

Early in the following season, he produced the musical piece of “The
Camp.” His “Critic,” written upon the model of the duke of Buckingham’s
“Rehearsal,” came out on the 30th of October, 1787.

On the death of Mr. Garrick, in 1779, Mr. Sheridan wrote the monody to
the memory of Mr. Garrick, recited at Drury-lane theatre by Mrs. Yates.

Notwithstanding the profits which he derived from his pieces, and the
share he had in the theatre, which was very considerable, as he had
obtained Mr. Lacy’s interest in the patent, a property equally valuable
with that of Mr. Garrick, and of course worth, on the lowest
calculation, 30,000_l._, his pecuniary embarrassments had considerably
increased. His domestic establishment was not only very expensive, but
conducted without any kind of economy. The persuasions of Mr. Fox, whose
friendship he had carefully cultivated, operated, with a firm conviction
of his own abilities, in determining him to obtain a seat in the house
of commons, and a general election taking place in 1780, Mr. Sheridan
was returned for Stafford; and though he contented himself at the
commencement of the session with giving a silent vote against the
minister, he was indefatigable without doors in seconding the views of
the whigs under Mr. Fox, against the measures of the ministry. He had a
considerable share in the “Englishman,” a paper opposed to the
administration of lord North; and when the Rockingham party came into
power, in 1782, his exertions were rewarded with the appointment of
under secretary to Mr. Fox, then secretary of state for the foreign
department.

The death of the marquis of Rockingham, and the unexpected elevation of
the earl of Shelburne to the important office of first lord of the
treasury, completely defeated the views of himself and friends and the
ever-memorable coalition having been formed between Mr. Fox and lord
North, Mr. Sheridan was once more called upon to commence literary
hostilities against the new administration. The periodical work of the
“Jesuit” soon appeared, and several very distinguished members of the
party contributed to that production.

At length the coalition having gained a decisive victory over the new
administration, formed by the Shelburne party, Mr. Sheridan was once
more brought into place, in April, 1783, as secretary of the treasury.
Under Mr. Pitt, an entire change took place in men and measures, and on
the trial of an _ex officio_ information against the “Jesuit,” Mr.
Wilkie, who had the courage to conceal the names of the gentlemen by
whom he had been employed, was sentenced to an imprisonment of twelve
months.

Mr. Sheridan’s speech in defence of Mr. Fox’s celebrated East-India Bill
was so masterly, as to induce the public opinion to select him from the
second class of parliamentary speakers. He was viewed as a formidable
opponent by Mr. Pitt, and looked up to with admiration, as a principal
leader of the opposition.

He was rapidly approaching to perfection as an orator, when the
impeachment of Mr. Hastings supplied him with an opportunity of
displaying powers which were then unrivalled. He was one of the managers
of the prosecution, and his speech delivered in the house of commons, in
April, 1787, on the eighth article as stated in the order laid down by
Mr. Burke, relative to “money corruptly and illegally taken,” was
allowed to equal the most argumentative and impassioned orations that
had ever been addressed to the judgment and feelings of the British
parliament. He fixed the uninterrupted attention of the house for
upwards of five hours, confirmed the minds of those who wavered, and
produced co-operation from a quarter which it was supposed would have
been hostile to any further proceeding. In the long examination of Mr.
Middleton, he gave decided proofs of a strong and discriminating mind;
but when, in June, 1788, he summed up the evidence on the charge,
respecting the confinement and imprisonment of the princesses of Oude,
and the seizure of their treasures, his superiority over his colleagues
was established by universal consent. To form a just opinion of this
memorable oration, which occupied the attention of the court and excited
the admiration of the public for several hours, it would be necessary to
have heard Mr. Sheridan himself. It is difficult to select any part of
it as the subject of peculiar encomium. The address with which he
arranged his materials; the art and force with which he anticipated
objections; the unexampled ingenuity with which he commented on the
evidence, and the natural boldness of his imagery, are equally entitled
to panegyric. He combined the three kinds of eloquence. He was clear and
unadorned--diffuse and pathetic--animated and vehement. There was
nothing superfluous--no affected turn--no glittering point--no false
sublimity. Compassion and indignation were alternately excited, and the
wonderful effects related of the eloquence of Greece and Rome were
almost revived.

During the indisposition of his late majesty, Mr. Sheridan took a
leading part in the attempts which were made to declare the prince of
Wales regent, without such restrictions as parliament should think fit
to impose. He contended, that the immediate nomination of the
heir-apparent ought to take place, as a matter of constitutional right.

He was ever the zealous supporter of parliamentary reform, and the
uniform friend of the liberty of the press and of religious toleration;
but he rose superior to the selfish drudgery of a mere partizan, and his
conduct, during the crisis of the naval mutiny, received the thanks of
the minister.

Mrs. Sheridan died in June, 1792, and he had a son by that lady, Mr.
Thomas Sheridan, who inherited much of his father’s talents, but fell a
victim to indulgence. In 1795, Mr. Sheridan married his second wife,
Miss Ogle, youngest daughter of the rev. Dr. Newton Ogle, dean of
Winchester. The issue of this second marriage was also a son.

His conduct as manager and principal proprietor of the first theatre in
the kingdom, and his punctuality in the discharge of the duties
contracted by him in that situation, have rarely been the subject of
praise; but in the legal discussion of the claims of the proprietors of
Drury-lane theatre, in the court of chancery, so far from any imputation
being thrown out against his conduct, it was generally commended; and
the chancellor himself (lord Eldon) spoke in the handsomest terms of Mr.
Sheridan’s _integrity_, though certainly he thought his _prudence_ was,
in some instances, liable to be questioned.

On the formation of the Fox and Grenville administration, after the
death of Mr. Pitt, Mr. Sheridan was appointed treasurer of the navy, and
returned member for Westminster, after a strong opposition on the part
of Mr. Paul. But in the latter years of his life he had not sat in
parliament; where, during the period after his last return, he attended
irregularly, and spoke seldom. One of the wittiest of his closing
efforts in the house, was a speech, in answer to Mr. Yorke, respecting a
discussion on the “Nightly Watch,” which had arisen out of the murder of
the families of Marr and Williamson, at Wapping.

Mr. Sheridan was one of that circle denominated the prince’s friends. So
long as his mind remained unaffected by the pressure of personal
distress and embarrassment, and whilst he could contribute to the
hilarity of the table by his wit, as he had formerly contributed to
forward the interests of the prince by his earnest and unremitted
endeavours, he appears to have been a welcome visitor at
Carlton-house--but this was all. Nor the brilliancy of genius, nor the
master of talent, nor time, nor intellect employed and exhausted in the
service of the prince, obtained for this great man the means of a
peaceful existence, on his cession from public life. In June, 1816, his
constitution was completely broken up, and his speedy dissolution seemed
inevitable.

He died at noon, on Sunday, the 7th of July, 1816. For several weeks
prior to his death he lay under arrest, and it was only by the firmness
and humanity of the two eminent physicians who attended him, Dr. Baillie
and Dr. Bain, that an obdurate attorney was prevented from executing a
threat to remove him from his house to a death-bed in gaol. He enjoyed,
however, to the last moment, the sweetest consolation that the heart can
feel in the affectionate tenderness, sympathy, and attention of his
amiable wife and son. Mrs. Sheridan, though herself labouring under
severe illness watched over him with the most anxious solicitude through
the whole of that protracted suffering, which has parted them for ever.

To these particulars of this extraordinary individual, which are
extracted from a memoir of him that appeared in _The Times_ newspaper,
must be added a passage or two from a celebrated “Estimate of his
Character and Talents” in the same journal.

“Mr. Sheridan in his happiest days never effected any thing by steady
application. He was capable of intense, but not of regular study. When
public duty or private difficulty urged him, he endured the burden as if
asleep under its pressure. At length, when the pain could be no longer
borne, he roused himself with one mighty effort, and burst like a lion
through the toils. There are reasons for believing that his
constitutional indolence began its operation upon his habits at an early
age. His very first dramatic scenes were written by snatches, with
considerable intervals between them. Convivial pleasures had lively
charms for one whose wit was the soul of the table; and the sparkling
glass--the medium of social intercourse--had no small share of his
affection. These were joys to be indulged without effort: as such they
were too well calculated to absorb the time of Mr. Sheridan, and sooner
or later to make large encroachments on his character. His attendance in
parliament became every year more languid--the _vis inertiæ_ more
incurable--the plunges by which his genius had now and then extricated
him in former times less frequent and more feeble. We never witnessed a
contrast much more melancholy than between the brilliant and commanding
talent displayed by Mr. Sheridan throughout the first regency
discussions, and the low scale of nerve, activity, and capacity, to
which he seemed reduced when that subject was more recently agitated in
parliament. But indolence and intemperance must banish reflection, if
not corrected by it; since no man could support the torture of perpetual
self-reproach. Aggravated, we fear, by some such causes, the naturally
careless temper of Mr. Sheridan became ruinous to all his better hopes
and prospects. Without a direct appetite for spending money, he thought
not of checking its expenditure. The economy of time was as much
disregarded as that of money. All the arrangements, punctualities, and
minor obligations of life were forgotten, and the household of Mr.
Sheridan was always in a state of nature. His domestic feelings were
originally kind, and his manners gentle: but the same bad habits
seduced him from the house of commons, and from home; and equally
injured him as an agent of the public good, and as a dispenser of
private happiness. It is painful, it is mortifying, but it is our sacred
duty, to pursue this history to the end. Pecuniary embarrassments often
lead men to shifts and expedients--these exhausted, to others of a less
doubtful colour. Blunted sensibility--renewed excesses--loss of cast in
society--follow each other in melancholy succession, until solitude and
darkness close the scene.

“It has been made a reproach by some persons, in lamenting Mr.
Sheridan’s cruel destiny, that ‘his friends’ had not done more for him.
We freely and conscientiously declare it as our opinion, that had Mr.
Sheridan enjoyed ten receiverships of Cornwall instead of one, he would
not have died in affluence. He never would have attained to comfort or
independence in his fortune. A vain man may become rich, because his
vanity may thirst for only a single mode of gratification; an ambitious
man, a _bon vivant_, a sportsman, may severally control their expenses;
but a man who is inveterately thoughtless of consequences, and callous
to reproof--who knows not when he squanders money, because he feels not
those obligations which constitute or direct its uses--such a man it is
impossible to rescue from destruction. We go further--we profess not to
conjecture to what individuals the above reproach of forgotten
friendships has been applied. If against persons of illustrious rank,
there never was a more unfounded accusation. Mr. Sheridan, throughout
his whole life, stood as high as he ought to have done in the quarters
alluded to. He received the most substantial proofs of kind and anxious
attachment from these personages; and it is to his credit that he was
not insensible to their regard. If the mistaken advocates of Mr.
Sheridan were so much his enemies as to wish he had been raised to some
elevated office, are they not aware that even one month’s active
attendance out of twelve he was at times utterly incapable of giving?
But what friends are blamed for neglecting Mr. Sheridan? What
_friendships_ did he ever form? We more than doubt whether he could
fairly claim the rights of friendship with any leader of the whig
administration. We know that he has publicly asserted Mr. Fox to be his
friend, and that he has dwelt with much eloquence on the sweets and
enjoyments of that connection; but it has never been our fortune to find
out that Mr. Fox had, on any public or private occasion, bound himself
by reciprocal pledges. Evidence against the admission of such ties on
his part may be drawn from the well-known anecdotes of what occurred
within a few days of that statesman’s death. The fact is, that a life of
conviviality and intemperance seldom favours the cultivation of those
better tastes and affections which are necessary to the existence of
intimate friendship. That Mr. Sheridan had as many admirers as
acquaintances, there is no room to doubt; but they admired only his
astonishing powers; there never was a second opinion or feeling as to
the unfortunate use which he made of them.

“Never were such gifts as those which Providence showered upon Mr.
Sheridan so abused--never were talents so miserably perverted. The term
‘greatness’ has been most ridiculously, and, in a moral sense, most
perniciously applied to the character of one who, to speak charitably of
him, was the weakest of men. Had he employed his matchless endowments
with but ordinary judgment, nothing in England, hardly any thing in
Europe, could have eclipsed his name, or obstructed his progress.”

May they who read, and he who writes, reflect, and profit by reflection,
on

    The talents lost--the moments run
      To waste--the sins of act, of thought,
    Ten thousand deeds of folly done,
      And countless virtues cherish’d not.

  _Bowring._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Nasturtium. _Tropocolum majus._
  Dedicated to _St. Felix_.

_To the Summer Zephyr._

    Zephyr, stay thy vagrant flight,
      And tell me where you’re going.--
    Is it to sip off the dew-drop bright
    That hangs on the breast of the lily white
      In yonder pasture growing;
    Or to revel ’mid roses and mignionette sweet;
    Or wing’st thou away some fair lady to meet?--
    If so, then, hie thee away, bland boy;
    Thou canst not engage in a sweeter employ.

    “From kissing the blue of yon bright summer sky,
    To the vine-cover’d cottage, delighted, I fly,
      Where Lucy the gay is shining;
    To sport in the beams of her lovely eye,
      While her temples with roses she’s twining.
    Then do not detain me; I sigh to be there,
    To fan her young bosom--to play ’mid her hair!”


~July 8.~

  _St. Elizabeth_, Queen of Portugal, A. D. 1336. _St. Procopius_, A. D.
  303. _Sts. Kilian_, _Colman_, and _Totnam_, A. D. 688. _St.
  Withburge_, 10th Cent. _B. Theobald_, 13th Cent. _St. Grimbald_, A. D.
  903.


_New Churches._

Every one must have been struck by the great number of new churches
erected within the suburbs of the metropolis, and the novel forms of
their steeples; yet few have been aware of the difficulties encountered
by architects in their endeavours to accommodate large congregations in
edifices for public worship. Sir Christopher Wren experienced the
inconvenience when the fifty churches were erected in queen Anne’s time.
He says, “The Romanists, indeed, may build large churches; it is enough
if they hear the murmur of the mass, and see the elevation of the host,
but ours are to be fitted for auditories. I can hardly think it
practicable to make a single room so capacious with pews and galleries,
as to hold above two thousand persons, and both to hear distinctly, and
see the preacher. I endeavoured to effect this, in building the parish
church of St. James’s, Westminster, which I presume is the most
capacious, with these qualifications, that hath yet been built; and yet,
at a solemn time, when the church was much crowded, I could not discern
from a gallery that two thousand were present. A moderate voice may be
heard fifty feet distant before the preacher, thirty feet on each side,
and twenty behind the pulpit; and not this, unless the pronunciation be
distinct and equal, without losing the voice at the last word of the
sentence, which is commonly emphatical, and, if obscured, spoils the
whole sense. A French is heard further than an English preacher, because
he raises his voice, and does not sink his last words. I mention this as
an insufferable fault in the pronunciation of some of our otherwise
excellent preachers; which schoolmasters might correct in the young, as
a vicious pronunciation, and not as the Roman orator spoke; for the
principal verb is in Latin usually the last word; and if that be lost,
what becomes of the sentence?”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Evening Primrose. _Oenothera biennis._
  Dedicated to _St. Elizabeth_.


~July 9.~

  _St. Ephrem_ of Edessa, A. D. 378. _The Martyrs of Gorcum_, A. D.
  1572. _St. Everildis._


_Health._

In hot weather walk slowly, and as much as possible in the shade.

When fatigued recline on a sofa, and avoid all drafts.

Eat sparingly of meat, and indeed of every thing.

Especially shun unripe fruits, and be moderate with cherries.

Strawberries may be safely indulged in; with a little cream and bread
they make a delightful supper, an hour or two before retiring to rest.

If the frame be weakened by excessive heat, a table spoonfull of the
best brandy, thrown into a tumbler of spring water, becomes a cooling
restorative; otherwise spirits should not be touched.

Spring water, with a toast in it, is the best drink.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Marsh Sowthistle. _Sonchus palustris._
  Dedicated to _St. Everildis_.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: ~Captain Starkey.~]

_Died, July 9, 1822._

    Reader! see the famous Captain
    Starkey, in his own coat wrapt in;
    Mark his mark’d nose, and mark his eye,
    His lengthen’d chin, his forehead high,
    His little stick, his humble hat,
    The modest tie of his cravat;
    Mark how easy sit his hose,
    Mark the shoes that hold his toes;
    So he look’d when Ranson sketch’d him
    While alive--but Death has fetch’d him.

  *

Auto-biography is agreeable in the writing, and sometimes profitable in
the publication, to persons whose names would otherwise die and be
buried with them. Of this numerous class was captain Starkey, who to his
“immortal memory” wrote and published his own “Memoirs.”[208]

The preface to a fine uncut copy of captain Starkey’s very rare
“Memoirs,” _penes me_, commences thus:--“The writers of biographical
accounts have _always_ prepared articles, which at once, when held forth
to the public, _were highly entertaining, useful, and satisfactory_.”
This particular representation, so directly opposed to general
experience, is decisively original. Its expression bespeaks an
independence of character, rendered further conspicuous by an amiable
humility. “I am afraid,” says the captain, “I shall fall infinitely
short in commanding your attention; none, on _this_ side of time, are
perfect, and it is in the nature of things impossible it should be
otherwise.” He trusts, “if truth has any force,” that “patience and
candour” will hear him out. Of captain Starkey then--it may be said,
that “he knew the truth, and knowing dared maintain it.”

The captain declares, he was born of honest and poor parents, natives of
Newcastle upon Tyne, at the Lying-in Hospital, Brownlow-street,
Long-acre, London, on the 19th of December, 1757. “My infantile years,”
he observes, “were attended with much indisposition.” The nature of his
“indisposition” does not appear; but it is reasonable to presume, that
as the “infantile years” of all of “living born,” at that time, were
passed in “much indisposition,” the captain suffered no more than fell
to him in the common lot. It was then the practice to afflict a child as
soon as it breathed the air, by forcing spoonfulls of “unctuousities”
down its throat, “oil of sweet almonds and syrup of blue violets.” A
strong cotton swathe of about six inches in width, and from ten to
twenty feet in length, was tightly rolled round the body, beginning
under the arm pits and ending at the hips, so as to stiffly encase the
entire trunk. After the child was dressed, if its constraint would allow
it to suck, it was suckled; but whether suckled or not, the effect of
the swathing was soon visible; its eyes rolled in agony, it was
pronounced convulsed, and a dose of “Dalby’s Carminative” was
administered as “the finest thing in the world for convulsions.” With
“pap” made of bread and water, and milk loaded with brown sugar, it was
fed from a “pap-boat,” an earthen vessel in the form of a butter-boat.
If “these contents” were not quickly “received in full,” the infant was
declared “not very well,” but if by crying, kicking of the legs,
stiffening of the back, and eructation from the stomach, it resisted
further overloading, then it was affirmed that it was “troubled with
wind,” and was drenched with “Daffy’s Elixir,” as “the finest thing in
the world for wind.” As soon as the “wind” had “a little broken off,
poor thing!” it was suckled again, and fed again; being so suckled and
fed, and fed and suckled, it was wonderful if it could sleep soundly,
and therefore, after it was undressed at night, it had a dose of
“Godfrey’s Cordial,” as “the finest thing in the world for composing to
rest.” If it was not “composed” out of the world before morning, it
awoke to undergo the manifold process of being again over-swathed,
over-fed, “Dalby’d, Daffy’d, and Godfrey’d” for that day; and so, day by
day, it was put in bonds, “carminativ’d, elixir’d, and cordial’d,” till
in a few weeks or months it died, or escaped, as by miracle, to be
weaned and made to walk. It was not to be put on its legs “too soon,”
and therefore, while the work of repletion was going on, it was not to
feel that it had legs, but was kept in arms, or rather kept lolling on
the arm, till ten or twelve months old. By this means its body, being
unduly distended, was too heavy to be sustained by its weak and
comparatively diminutive sized limbs; and then a “go-cart” was provided.
The go-cart was a sort of circular frame-work, running upon wheels, with
a door to open for admission of the child; wherein, being bolted, and
the upper part being only so large as to admit its body from below the
arms, the child rested by the arm pits, and kicking its legs on the
floor, set the machine rolling on its wheels. This being the customary
mode of “bringing children up” at the time of captain Starkey’s birth,
and until about the year 1790, few were without a general disorder and
weakness of the frame, called “the rickets.” These afflicted ones were
sometimes hump-backed, and usually bow-shinned, or knock-kneed, for
life, though to remedy the latter defects in some degree, the legs were
fastened by straps to jointed irons. From the whole length portrait at
the head of this article, which is copied from an etching by Mr. Thomas
Ranson, prefixed to captain Starkey’s “Memoirs,” it is reasonably to be
conjectured that the captain in his childhood had been ricketty and had
worn irons. Mr. Ranson has draped the figure in a long coat. Had this
been done to conceal the inward inclination of the captain’s knees, it
would have been creditable to Mr. Ranson’s delicacy; for there is a
sentiment connected with the meeting of the knees, in the owner’s mind,
which he who knows human nature and has human feelings, knows how to
respect; and no one either as a man or an artist is better acquainted
with the “humanities” than Mr. Ranson. But that gentleman drew the
captain from the life, and the captain’s coat is from the coat he
actually wore when he stood for his picture. There is a remarkable
dereliction of the nose from the eyebrows. It was a practice with the
race of nurses who existed when the captain’s nose came into the world,
to pinch up that feature of our infant ancestors from an hour old, till
“the month was up.” This was from a persuasion that nature, on that part
of the face, required to be assisted. A few only of these ancient
females remain, and it does not accord with the experience of one of the
most experienced among them, that they ever _depressed_ that sensible
feature; she is fully of opinion, that for the protrusion at the end of
the captain’s, he was indebted to his nurse “during the month;” and she
says that, “it’s this, that makes him look so sensible.”

According to captain Starkey’s narrative, when “learning to walk alone,”
he unfortunately fell, “and so hurt his left arm, that it turned to a
white swelling as large as a child’s head.” The captain says, “my poor
parents immediately applied to two gentlemen of the faculty, at the west
end of the town, named Bloomfield and Hawkins, physicians and surgeons
to his then reigning majesty, king George the Second, of these kingdoms,
who declared that, _they could not do any more than cut it off_; unto
which _my tender parents_ would not consent.” A French surgeon restored
to him the use of his arm, and gave him advice “not to employ it in any
arduous employment.” “I, _therefore_,” says the captain, “as my mother
kept a preparatory school, was _learned_ by her to read and spell.” At
seven years old he was “put to a master to learn to write, cipher, and
the classics.” After this, desiring to be acquainted with other
languages, he was sent to another master, and “improved,” to the
pleasure of himself and friends, but was “not so successful” as he could
wish; for which he says, “I am, as I ought to be, thankful to divine
providence.” With him he stayed, improving and not succeeding till he
was fourteen, “at which age,” says the captain, “I was bound apprentice
to Mr. William Bird, an eminent writer and teacher of languages and
mathematics, in Fetter-lane, Holborn.” After his apprenticeship the
captain, in the year 1780, went with his father, during an election, to
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, his parents’ native town. Returning to London, he,
in 1784, went electioneering again to Newcastle, having left a small
school in London to the care of a substitute, who managed to reduce
twenty-five scholars to ten, “although he was paid a weekly allowance.”
Being “filled with trouble by the loss,” he was assisted to a school in
Sunderland; “but,” the captain remarks, “as the greatest success did not
attend me in _that_, I had the happiness and honour of receiving a
better employment in the aforesaid town of Sunderland, from that ever to
be remembered gentleman, William Gooch, esq., comptroller of the
customs, who died in the year 1791, and did not die unmindful of _me_:
for he left me in his will the sum of 10_l._, with which, had I been
prudent enough, and left his employ immediately after his interment, I
might have done well; but foolishly relying on the continuance of my
place, continued doing the duties for nine months without receiving any
remuneration; and at last was obliged to leave, it not being the
pleasure of the then collector, C. Hill, esq., that I should _continue
any longer in office_.” Great as the sensation must have been at
Sunderland on this important change “_in office_,” the fact is entirely
omitted in the journals of the period, and might at this time have been
wholly forgotten if the captain had not been his own chronicler. On his
forced “retirement” he returned to Newcastle, willing to take “office”
there, but there being no opening he resolved once more to try his
fortune in London. For that purpose he crossed the Tyne-bridge, with two
shillings in his pocket, and arriving at Chester-le-street, obtained a
subscription of two guineas, by which, “with helps and hopes,” and
“walking some stages,” and getting “casts by coaches,” he arrived in the
metropolis, where he obtained a recommendation back, to the then mayor
of Newcastle. Thither he again repaired, and presented his letter to the
mayor, who promised him a place in the Freemen’s Hospital, and gave it
him on the first vacancy. “In which situation,” says captain Starkey, “I
have now been twenty-six years enjoying the invaluable blessing of
health and good friends.” So ends his “Memoir written by himself.”

To what end captain Starkey wrote his history, or how he came by his
rank, he does not say; but in the “Local Records, or Historical Register
of Remarkable Events in Durham, Northumberland, Newcastle, and Berwick,”
a volume compiled and published by Mr. JOHN SYKES, of Newcastle, there
is a notice which throws some light on the matter. “Mr. Starkey, who was
uncommonly polite, had a peculiarly smooth method of obtaining the
_loan_ of a halfpenny, for which he was always ready to give his
promissory note, which his creditors held as curiosities.” Halfpenny
debentures were tedious instruments for small “loans,” and Starkey may
have compiled his “Memoirs,” without affixing a price, for the purpose
of saying, “what you please,” and thereby raising “supplies” by sixpence
and a shilling at a time. It is to be observed to his credit, that had
he made his book more entertaining, it would have had far less claim
upon an honest reader. It is the adventureless history of a man who did
no harm in the world, and thought he had a right to live, because he was
a living being. Mr. Ranson’s portrait represents him as he was. His
stick, instead of a staff of support, appears symbolical of the
assistance he required towards existence. He holds his hat behind, as if
to intimate that his head is not entitled to be covered in “a
gentleman’s _presence_.” He seems to have been a poor powerless
creature, sensible of incompetency to do; anxious not to suffer; and
with just enough of worldly cunning, to derive to himself a little of
the superabundance enjoyed by men, who obtain for greater cunning the
name of cleverness.


  QUATRAINS
  TO THE EDITOR OF THE EVERY-DAY BOOK.

[_From the London Magazine._]

    I like you, and your book, ingenuous Hone!
      In whose capacious, all-embracing leaves
    The very marrow of tradition’s shown;
      And all that history--much that fiction--weaves.

    By every sort of taste your work is graced.
      Vast stores of modern anecdote we find,
    With good old story quaintly interlaced--
      The theme as various as the reader’s mind.

    Rome’s lie-fraught legends you so truly paint--
      Yet kindly--that the half-turn’d Catholic
    Scarcely forbears to smile at his own saint,
      And cannot curse the candid Heretic.

    Rags, relics, witches, ghosts, fiends, crowd your page;
      Our father’s mummeries we well-pleased behold;
    And, proudly conscious of a purer age,
      Forgive some fopperies in the times of old.

    Verse-honouring Phœbus, Father of bright _Days_,
      Must needs bestow on you both good and many,
    Who, building trophies to his children’s praise,
      Run their rich Zodiac through, not missing any.

    Dan Phœbus loves your book--trust me, friend Hone--
      The title only errs, he bids me say:
    For while such art--wit--reading--there are shown,
      He swears, ’tis not a work of _every day_.

  C. LAMB


  QUATORZAINS
  TO THE AUTHOR OF “QUATRAINS.”

    In feeling, like a stricken deer, I’ve been
      Self-put out from the herd, friend Lamb; for I
    Imagined all the sympathies between
      Mankind and me had ceased, till your full cry
    Of kindness reach’d and roused me, as I lay
      “Musing--on divers things foreknown:” it bid
    Me know, in you, a friend; with a fine gay
      Sincerity, before all men it chid,
    Or rather, by not chiding, seem’d to chide
      Me, for long absence from you; re-invited
    Me, with a herald’s trump, and so defied
      Me to remain immured; and it requited
    Me, for others’ harsh misdeeming--which I trust is
    Now, or will be, known by them, to be injustice.

    I _am_ “ingenuous:” it is all I can
      Pretend to; it is all I wish to be;
    Yet, through obliquity of sight in man,
      From constant gaze on tortuosity,
    Few people understand me: still, I am
      Warmly affection’d to each human being;
    Loving the right, for right’s sake; and, friend Lamb,
      Trying to see things as they are; hence, seeing
    _Some_ “good in ev’ry thing” however bad,
      Evil in many things that look most fair,
    And pondering on all: this may be mad-
      ness, but it is my method; and I dare
    Deductions from a strange diversity
    Of things, not taught within a University.

    No schools of science open’d to my youth;
      No learned halls, no academic bowers;
    No one had I to point my way to truth,
      Instruct my ign’rance, or direct my powers:
    Yet I, though all unlearned, p’rhaps may aid
      The march of knowledge in our “purer age,”
    And, without seeming, may perchance persuade
      The young to think,--to virtue some engage:
    So have I hoped, and with this end in view,
      My little _Every-Day Book_ I design’d;
    Praise of the work, and of its author too,
      From you, friend Lamb, is more than good and kind:
    To such high meed I did not dare aspire
    As public honour, from the hand of ALLWORTHY ELIA.

    As to the message from your friend above:--
      Do me the favour to present my best
    Respects to old “Dan Phœbus,” for the “love”
      He bears the _Every-Day Book_: for the rest,
    That is, the handsome mode he has selected
      Of making me fine compliments by you, ’tis
    So flatt’ring to me, and so much respected
      By me, that, if you please, and it should suit his
    Highness, I must rely upon you, for
      Obtaining his command, to introduce me
    To him yourself, when quite convenient; or
      I trust, at any rate, you’ll not refuse me
    A line, to signify, that I’m the person known
    To him, through you, friend Lamb, as

  _Your Friend_

  WILLIAM HONE

  [208] “Memoirs of the Life of Benj. Starkey, late of London, but now
  an inmate of the Freemen’s Hospital, in Newcastle. Written by himself.
  With a portrait of the Author and a Fac-simile of his hand writing.
  Printed and sold by William Hall, Great Market, Newcastle.” 1818.
  12mo. pp. 14.


~July 10.~

  _The Seven Brothers_, Martyrs, and _St. Felicitas_, their Mother. 2nd
  Cent. _Sts. Rufina_ and _Secunda_, V. A. D. 257.


_Spider Barometers._

If the weather is likely to become rainy, windy, or in other respects
disagreeable, spiders fix the terminating filaments, on which the whole
web is suspended, unusually short. If the terminating filaments are made
uncommonly long, the weather will be serene, and continue so, at least
for ten or twelve days. If spiders be totally indolent, rain generally
succeeds; though their activity during rain is certain proof that it
will be only of short duration, and followed by fair and constant
weather. Spiders usually make some alterations in their webs every
twenty-four hours; if these changes take place between the hours of six
and seven in the evening, they indicate a clear and pleasant night.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Speckled Snapdragon. _Antirrhinum triphyllum._
  Dedicated to _Sts. Rufina_ and _Secunda_.


~July 11.~

  _St. James_, Bp. of Nisibis, A. D. 350. _St. Hidulphus_, Bp. A. D.
  707, or 713. _St. Pius_ I., Pope, A. D. 157. _St. Drostan_, A. D. 809.

_Sun-set._

    Soft o’er the mountain’s purple brow,
      Meek twilight draws her shadowy grey;
    From tufted woods, and valleys low,
      Light’s magic colours steal away.

    Yet still, amid the spreading gloom,
      Resplendent glow the western waves
    That roll o’er Neptune’s coral caves
      A zone of light on evening’s dome.

    On this lone summit let me rest,
      And view the forms to fancy dear,
    ’Till on the ocean’s darkened breast,
      The stars of evening tremble clear;
    Or the moon’s pale orb appear,
      Throwing her light of radiance wide,
    Far o’er the lightly curling tide.

    No sounds o’er silence now prevail,
      Save of the murm’ring brook below,
    Or sailor’s song borne on the gale,
      Or oar at distance striking slow.

    So sweet, so tranquil, may my evening ray,
    Set to this world--and rise in future day.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Lupin. _Lupinus flævus._
  Dedicated to _St. James_.


~July 12.~

  _St. John Gualbert_, Abbot, A. D. 1073. _Sts. Nabor_ and _Felix_,
  Martyrs, A. D. 304.

In the “Poems” of Mr. Gent, there are some lines of tranquillizing
tendency.

_To Mary._

    Oh! is there not in infant smiles
      A witching power, a cheering ray,
    A charm that every care beguiles,
      And bids the weary soul be gay?

    There surely is--for thou hast been
      Child of my heart, my peaceful dove,
    Gladd’ning life’s sad and checquered scene,
      An emblem of the peace above.

    Now all is calm and dark and still,
      And bright the beam the moonlight throws
    On ocean wave, and gentle rill,
      And on thy slumb’ring cheek of rose.

    And may no care disturb that breast,
      Nor sorrow dim that brow serene;
    And may thy latest years be blest
      As thy sweet infancy has been.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Snapdragon. _Antirrhinum purpureum._
  Dedicated to _St. John Gualbert_.


~July 13.~

  _St. Eugenius_, Bp. A. D. 505. _St. Anacletus_, Pope, A. D. 107. _St.
  Turiaf_, Bp. A. D. 749.

How soothing is a calm stroll on a summer’s evening after sun-set, while
the breeze of health is floating gently over the verdure, the moon
ascending, and the evening star glistening like a diamond.

    Diana’s bright crescent, like a silver bow,
    New strung in Heaven, lifts high its beamy horns
    Impatient for the night, and seems to push
    Her brother down the sky; fair Venus shines
    Ev’n in the eye of day; with sweetest beam,
    Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood
    Of softened radiance from her dewy locks.
    The shadows spread apace; while meek-ey’d eve,
    Her cheeks yet warm with blushes, slow retires
    Thro’ the Hesperian garden of the west,
    And shuts the gates of day.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Blue Lupin. _Lupinus cœruleus._
  Dedicated to _St. Eugenius_.


~July 14.~

  _St. Bonaventure_, Card. Bp. A. D. 1274. _St. Camillus de Lellis_, A.
  D. 1614. _St. Idus_, Bp. in Leinster.


WARMTH.

The heat of the season, unless patiently endured, has a tendency to
inflame the mind, and render it irritable. On some infants its effects
are visible in their restlessness and peevishness. Parents, and those
who have the care of childhood, must now watch themselves as well as
their offspring.

    A father’s voice in threat’ning tone
      The storm of rage revealing,
    His flashing eye and angry frown,
      Would rouse a kindred feeling.
    But where’s the child his sigh can hear,
      When grief his heart is rending?
    And who unmov’d can see the tear,
      A parent’s cheek descending.

    Oh, yes! a child may brave the heat,
      A father’s rage confessing,
    But, ah! how sweet his smile to meet,
      And, oh! how dear his blessing!
    Then let me shun with shrinking fear,
      The thought of not conceding,
    I could not bear affection’s tear,
      When parent’s lips were pleading.


_The Cross Bill._ (_Loxia curvi rostra._)

In July, 1821, at West Felton, in Shropshire, this rare and beautiful
bird was seen, in a flight of about eighteen or twenty, alighting on the
tops of pine trees and larch; the cone of which it opens with adroit
neatness, holding it in one claw, like a parrot, and picking out the
seeds. They were of various colours, brown, green, yellow, and crimson,
and some entirely of the most lovely rose colour; hanging and climbing
in fanciful attitudes, and much resembling a group of small paroquets.
Their unusual note, somewhat like the quick chirp of linnets, but much
louder, first attracted attention. The observer had repeated
opportunities of viewing them to the greatest advantage, by means of a
small telescope. They also eat excrescent knobs, or the insects formed
therein by the _cynips_, at the ends of the young spruce branches. These
birds are natives of Germany and the Pyrenees, and are very rarely seen
in England. It was remarked, that the same mandible of the bill crossed
on the right side in some birds, and on the left in others.[209]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Red Lupin. _Lupinus perennis._
  Dedicated to _St. Bonaventure_.


[Illustration: ~Destruction of the Bastile.~]

                                 ---------- Sir, ’tis the Bastile,
    Full of such dark, deep, damp, chill dungeons of horror and silence.
    Young men shut therein oft grew gray-haired in a twelvemonth;
    Old men lost their senses, forgetting they had not been born there;
    Thumb-screws, weapons of torture, were found, most shocking to think
         of!
    Fetters still lock’d on the limbs of unburied skeletons starved
         there,
    Curses engraved with a nail in the stone walls.

  _Hexameters_, _in Annual Anthology_, vol. ii.

The Bastile of Paris, the great state prison of France, was stormed and
destroyed by the populace on the 14th of July, 1789. This extraordinary
event took place during the sitting of the national assembly convened by
Louis XVI. under great exigency. The French government at that time
afforded no security to life or property. Persons offensive to the state
were arrested under arbitrary warrants, called _Lettres de Cachet_,
consigned to the dungeons of the Bastile, remained there without trial,
often for life, and sometimes perished from neglect, or the cruelties
incident to imprisonment in the fortress.

Louis XVI. was surrounded by advisers, who insisted on the maintenance
of the royal prerogative, in opposition to the growing and loudly
expressed desires of the most intelligent men in France, for an
administration of public affairs, and the formation of a government, on
principles of acknowledged right and justice. The king refused to yield;
and, to crush the popular power, and overawe the national assembly in
its deliberations, troops were ordered to approach Paris. At this
juncture the assembly addressed the king, praying the removal of the
troops; he refused, the troops prepared to enter Paris, the people flew
to arms, the Bastile was taken, and fatal ills prevailed in the
cabinet, till popular fury arrived at a height uncontrollable by public
virtue, and the king himself perished on the scaffold, with several of
his family.

In recording the destruction of the Bastile on this day, it is necessary
to remark, that on the morning of the day before, (the 13th of July,)
the populace marched in a body to the _Hotel des Invalides_, with intent
to seize the arms deposited there. The governor, M. de Sombreuil,
sensible that resistance was vain, opened the gates, and suffered them
to carry away the arms and the cannon. At the same time, the curate of
the parish church of _St. Etienne du Mont_, having put himself at the
head of his parishioners, invited his neighbours to arm themselves in
their own defence, and in support of good order.

By the interception of couriers, the grand plan of hostility against the
city was universally known and understood. It was ascertained that
marshall Broglio had accepted the command of the troops; that he had
made dispositions for the blockade of Paris; and that considerable
convoys of artillery had arrived for that purpose. These facts
occasioned violent agitation, and eager search for arms, wherever they
could be found. Every one flew to the post of danger; and, without
reflection, commenced perilous attacks, seemingly reserved only for
military science and cool reflection, to achieve with success.

On the 14th, there was a sudden exclamation among the people, _Let us
storm the Bastile!_ If they had only said, let us attack the Bastile,
the immense walls that surrounded the edifice, the broad and deep
ditches that prevented approach to its walls, and the batteries of
cannon placed on them, would have at least cooled their resolution. But
insensible of the danger and hazard of the assault, all at once, and
with one voice, a numerous body of men, among whom were many of the
national guards, exclaimed, _Let us storm the Bastile!_ and that instant
they proceeded towards it, with such arms as they happened to be
provided with, and presented themselves before this tremendous fortress,
by the great street of St. Anthony. M. de Launay, the governor,
perceiving this insurrection, caused a flag of truce to be hung out.
Upon this appearance, a detachment of the patriotic guards, with five or
six hundred citizens, introduced themselves into the outer court, and
the governor, advancing to the draw-bridge, inquired of the people what
they wanted. They answered, _ammunition and arms_. He promised to
furnish them, _when any persons presented themselves on the part of the
Hotel de Ville_; meaning by that, from Des Flesselles, _Prevot des
Marchands_. The people, little satisfied with this answer, replied by
menaces, threats, and great appearance of violence. De Launay then
caused the draw-bridge to be raised, and ordered a discharge of
artillery on the persons who by this means he had cut off from the main
body, and enclosed within the court. Several soldiers, and a greater
number of the citizens, fell, and the cannon fired on the city threw the
neighbourhood into the greatest disorder. The besiegers, burning to
retaliate the loss of their comrades, applied to the districts for
reinforcements, sent for the artillery they had just taken from the
invalids, and obtained five pieces of cannon, with six gunners, who
offered their services, and brought ammunition for the attack. Two
serjeants of the patriotic corps, M. Warguier and Labarthe, at the head
of a party of their comrades, supported by a troop of citizens, headed
by M. Hulin, whom they had unanimously chosen for their commander,
traversed on the side of the _Celestins_, all the passages near the
arsenal, and with three pieces of artillery which they brought into the
court _des Saltpetres_, contiguous to the Bastile, immediately commenced
a brisk fire, the besiegers endeavouring to outdo each other in courage
and intrepidity. M. Hely, an officer of the regiment of infantry (_de la
Reine_,) caused several waggons loaded with straw to be unloaded and set
on fire, and by means of the smoke that issued from them, the besieged
were prevented from seeing the operations of the besiegers. The
governor, knowing that he could not hold out against an incessant fire
on the fortress, and seeing that the chains of the first draw-bridge
were carried away by the shot from the besiegers’ cannon, again hung out
a white flag, as a token of peace. The besiegers, determined to revenge
the massacre of their comrades by the perfidy of De Launay, were deaf to
all entreaties, and would look at nothing that would lessen their
resentment. In vain the governor made a second attempt to pacify the
assailants. Through the crevices of the inward draw-bridge, he affixed
a writing, which a person went in quest of, at the hazard of his life.
The paper was to this purport: “_We have twenty thousand weight of
gunpowder, and we will blow up the garrison and all its environs, if you
do not accept of our capitulation._” The besiegers despising the menace,
redoubled their firing, and continued their operations with additional
vigour. Numberless spectators of all ages, of all conditions, and many
English, were present at this wonderful enterprise; and it is recorded,
that a British female, unrestrained by the delicacy of her sex, accepted
a lighted match on its being offered to her, and fired one of the cannon
against the fortress.

Three pieces of artillery being brought forward to beat down the
draw-bridge, the governor demolished the little bridge of passage on the
left hand, at the entrance of the fortress; but three persons, named
Hely, Hulin, and Maillard, leaped on the bridge, and demanding that the
inmost gate should be instantly opened, the besieged obeyed, and the
besiegers pushed forward to make good their entrance. The garrison still
persisted in a vain resistance. The people massacred all who came in
their way, and the victorious standard was soon hoisted from the highest
tower. In the mean time, the principal draw-bridge having been let down,
a great crowd rushed in at once, and every one looked out for the
governor. Arné, a grenadier, singled him out, seized, and disarmed him,
and delivered him up to M. Hulin and Hely. The people tore from his coat
the badge of honour; numerous hands were lifted against him; and De
Launay threw himself into the arms of M. Templement, and conjured him to
protect him from the rage of the populace.

The deputy governor, major, and the captain of the gunners, were now
united in one group. The horrid dungeons of the fortress were thrown
open, never more to be closed; unhappy victims, with hoary locks and
emaciated bodies, were astonished at beholding the light, on their
release, and shouts of joy and victory resounded through the remotest
cells of the Bastile.

The victors formed a kind of march, and while some uttered acclamations
of triumph, others vented their passions in threats of revenge against
the vanquished. The city militia mixing with the patriotic guards,
crowns of laurel, garlands, and ribands, were offered to them by the
spectators. The conquerors, proceeding to the _Hotel de Ville_, were
scarcely arrived at the square before that edifice, _La Place de Greve_,
when the multitude called aloud for sudden vengeance on the objects of
their resentment. The governor and the other officers were impetuously
torn from the hands of their conquerors, and De Launay, with several
other victims, perished beneath the weapons of an infuriated populace.

Thus fell the Bastile, after a siege of only three hours. Tumultuous joy
prevailed throughout Paris, and the city was illuminated in the evening.
By the most experienced military engineers under Louis XIV., it had been
deemed impregnable.

The Bastile consisted of eight strong towers. It was surrounded with a
_fossé_ one hundred and twenty yards wide, and on the summit of the
towers there was a platform, connected by terraces, whereon prisoners
were sometimes permitted to walk, attended by a guard. Thirteen pieces
of cannon mounted on this platform were fired on days of public
rejoicing. There were five sorts of chambers in the Bastile. The
dungeons under these towers exhaled noxious vapours and stench, and were
frequented by rats, lizards, toads, and other loathsome reptiles. In the
angle of each dungeon, was a camp-bedstead, of planks resting on bars of
iron fixed in the wall. These cells were dark and hideous, without
windows or apertures, to admit either fresh air or light. They were
secured by double doors of seven inches thick, the interior one covered
with iron-plates, and fastened by strong bolts and heavy locks. The most
horrible receptacles were the dungeons, wherein the iron cages were
fixed. These cages, the disgrace of human nature, were eight feet high,
by six feet wide, and formed of strong beams, strengthened further by
iron plates. As this building is amply described in several works,
further particulars of it may here cease.

Cowper, after an eloquent passage upon the blessings of liberty to man,
says, “The author hopes that he shall not be censured for unnecessary
warmth upon so interesting a subject. He is aware that it is become
almost fashionable, to stigmatize such sentiments as no better than
empty declamation; but it is an ill symptom, and peculiar to modern
times.” He then rolls a flood of indignation against the Bastile. The
dreadful fortress was at that time standing. His imagination of human
endurance under the horrors of confinement in its cells, beautifully
illustrates his compassionate feelings. He says,--

    Shame to manhood, and opprobrious more
    To France than all her losses and defeats,
    Old or of later date, by sea or land,
    Her house of bondage, worse than that of old
    Which God aveng’d on Pharaoh--the Bastile.
    Ye horrid tow’rs, th’ abode of broken hearts;
    Ye dungeons and ye cages of despair,
    That monarchs have supplied from age to age
    With music, such as suits their sov’reign ears,
    The sighs and groans of miserable men!
    There’s not an English heart, that would not leap,
    To hear that ye were fall’n at last; to know
    That ev’n our enemies, so oft employ’d
    In forging chains for us, themselves were free.
    For he, who values liberty, confines
    His zeal for her predominance within
    No narrow bounds; her cause engages him
    Wherever pleaded. ’Tis the cause of man.
    There dwell the most forlorn of human kind,
    Immur’d though unaccus’d, condemn’d untried,
    Cruelly spar’d, and hopeless of escape.
    There, like the visionary emblem seen
    By him of Babylon, life stands a stump,
    And, filleted about with hoops of brass,
    Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone.
    To count the hour-bell, and expect no change;
    And ever, as the sullen sound is heard,
    Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note
    To him, whose moments all have one dull pace,
    Ten thousand rovers in the world at large
    Account it music; that it summons some
    To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball:
    The wearied hireling finds it a release
    From labour; and the lover, who has chid
    Its long delay, feels ev’ry welcome stroke
    Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight--
    To fly for refuge from distracting thought
    To such amusements, as ingenious woe
    Contrives, hard-fighting, and without her tools--
    To read engraven on the mouldy walls,
    In stagg’ring types, his predecessor’s tale
    A sad memorial, and subjoin his own--
    To turn purveyor to an overgorg’d
    And bloated spider, till the pamper’d pest
    Is made familiar, watches his approach,
    Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend--
    To wear out time in numb’ring to and fro
    The studs, that thick emboss his iron door;
    Then downward and then upward, then aslant
    And then alternate; with a sickly hope
    By dint of change to give his tasteless task
    Some relish; till the sum, exactly found
    In all directions, he begins again--
    Oh, comfortless existence! hemm’d around
    With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel
    And beg for exile, or the pangs of death.
    That man should thus encroach on fellow man,
    Abridge him of his just and native rights,
    Eradicate him, tear him from his hold
    Upon th’ endearments of domestic life
    And social, nip his fruitfulness and use,
    And doom him for perhaps a heedless word
    To barrenness, and solitude, and tears,
    Moves indignation, makes the name of king
    (Of king whom such prerogative can please)
    As dreadful as the Manichean god,
    Ador’d through fear, strong only to destroy.


_Witchcraft._

In July, 1825, a man was “swam for a wizard,” at Wickham-Skeith, in
Suffolk, in the presence of some hundreds of people! In that parish
lives Isaac Stebbings, a little spare man about sixty-seven years old,
who obtains a livelihood as a huckster; and hard by his cottage lives a
thatcher, whose wife is afflicted in mind. In the same parish there
happens to be a farmer whose mind is occasionally disturbed. Some one or
other put forth the surmise, that these two afflicted persons were
bewitched, and Stebbings was spoken of as the “worker of the mischief.”
Story grew on story; accumulated hearsays were accepted, as “proof
undeniable.” Among other things it was said, that the friends of the
afflicted woman had recourse to some means recorded in the annals of
witchcraft for detecting the devil’s agent; and that whilst the
operation was going on at night, Stebbings came dancing up to the door.
In his denial of this circumstance, Stebbings admitted that he did once
call at his neighbour’s with mackarel for sale at four o’clock in the
morning, before the family were up, and this admission was taken to be
as much as he was likely to make. Besides this, the village shoemaker
persisted that one morning, as Stebbings passed two or three times
before his house, he could not “make” his wax--the ingredients would
neither melt nor mix. Dubbed a wizard beyond all doubt, poor Stebbings,
ignorant as his neighbours, and teased beyond bearing, proposed at
length of himself, the _good_ old-fashioned ordeal of “sink or swim.”
The proposal was readily caught at, and on the following Saturday, at
two o’clock, in a large pond, called the _Grimmer_, on Wickham-green,
four men walked into the water with him, and the constable of the parish
engaged to attend and keep the peace! The sides of the pond were crowded
with spectators--men, women, and children. Stebbings had on his breeches
and shirt; and when the men had walked with him into the water
breast-high, they lifted him up and laid him flat upon his back on the
water. Stebbings moved neither hand nor foot, and continued in that
position for ten minutes. This was the first trial, and the spectators
called out “give him another.” Another trial was accordingly given, for
the same length of time, and with the same result. “Try him again, and
dip him under the the water,” was then the cry. They did so: one of the
four men pressed his chest, and down went his head, whilst up came his
heels; in a word, he was like a piece of cork in the water. These trials
kept the poor old fellow three-quarters of an hour in the pond, and he
came out “more dead than alive.” Still, some were not satisfied. Another
man, they said, of his age and size, ought to be swam with him.
Stebbings agreed even to this, for he was determined to get rid of the
imputation, or die. The following Saturday was appointed for the
purpose, and a man called Tom Wilden, of Bacton parish, hard by, was
named for his companion. The story now got more wind, and hundreds of
people from all the neighbouring parishes attended to witness the second
ordeal. But, in the interval, the clergyman of the parish, and the two
churchwardens, had interfered, and the swimmers were kept away, to the
no small vexation and disappointment of the deluded multitude. It is
gravely told, that at the very time Stebbings was swam, the afflicted
farmer alluded to above was unusually perturbed; he cried out, “I can
see the imps all about me; I must frighten them away with my voice;” and
his delusion and his noise, as Stebbings did not sink, are put down to
his account. To complete the affair, a respectable farmer in a
neighbouring parish went, it is said, to some “cunning man,” and learnt
to a certainty that Stebbings was a wizard. The sum of 3_l._ was paid
for this intelligence, and for the assurance that Stebbings should be
“killed by inches.”

These particulars in _The Times_ newspaper of July 19, 1825, extracted
from the _Suffolk Chronicle_, prove the deplorable ignorance of certain
human beings in England. It is to be hoped, that such persons are not
allowed to bring up their offspring in the same darkness. Little can be
done towards civilizing adults of this description, but their infants
may be reared as intelligent members of society.


~Dog Days.~

“Now Sirius rages.”

  _To the Editor of the Every-day Book._

  Sir,

I am one of those unfortunate creatures, who, at this season of the
year, are exposed to the effects of an illiberal prejudice. Warrants are
issued out in form, and whole scores of us are taken up and executed
annually, under an obsolete statute, on what is called suspicion of
lunacy. It is very hard that a sober, sensible dog, cannot go quietly
through a village about his business, without having his motions
watched, or some impertinent fellow observing that there is an “odd look
about his eyes.” My pulse, for instance, at this present writing, is as
temperate as yours, Mr. Editor, and my head as little rambling, but I
hardly dare to show my face out of doors for fear of these scrutinizers.
If I look up in a stranger’s face, he thinks I am going to bite him. If
I go with my eyes fixed upon the ground, they say I have got the mopes,
which is but a short stage from the disorder. If I wag my tail, I am too
lively; if I do not wag it, I am sulky--either of which appearances
passes alike for a prognostic. If I pass a dirty puddle without
drinking, sentence is infallibly pronounced upon me. I am perfectly
swilled with the quantity of ditch-water I am forced to swallow in a
day, to clear me from imputations--a worse cruelty than the water ordeal
of your old Saxon ancestors. If I snap at a bone, I am furious; if I
refuse it, I have got the sullens, and that is a bad symptom. I dare not
bark outright, for fear of being adjudged to rave. It was but yesterday,
that I indulged in a little innocent _yelp_ only, on occasion of a
cart-wheel going over my leg, and the populace was up in arms, as if I
had betrayed some marks of flightiness in my conversation.

Really our case is one which calls for the interference of the
chancellor. He should see, as in cases of other lunatics, that
commissions are only issued out against proper objects; and not a whole
race be proscribed, because some dreaming Chaldean, two thousand years
ago, fancied a canine resemblance in some star or other, that was
supposed to predominate over addle brains, with as little justice as
Mercury was held to be influential over rogues and swindlers; no
compliment I am sure to either star or planet. Pray attend to my
complaint, Mr. Editor, and speak a good word for us this hot weather.

  Your faithful, though sad dog,

  POMPEY.

This “sad dog” is a “sensible dog,” and must know, that England is by no
means favourable to him or his fellow-creatures. Dogs here are mostly
the property of persons who by “training,” and “working,” and “fighting”
them, drive many of them mad, and render every dog at this season an
object of fear. They have, at present, the right to do wrong to dogs,
and the liberty of making them as brutal as themselves. If a few of
these dog-masters were tied up, as an example to others, dogs might have
rights and liberties. The condition of the lower animals will improve
with the subjugation of the passions in the master-animal, man.


ARCHITECTURE OF THE NEW CHURCHES.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Taking into consideration the competition excited amongst architects by
the public advertizing for designs for the new churches, it might
reasonably have been expected that greater specimens of genius would
have been elicited, and more variety displayed in the elevations than we
at present see. From whatever cause it arises, whether from the
interference of individual partiality, or the predominating influence of
a bad taste, it is certain that a tameness of design is too generally
apparent in these buildings.

Mr. Grey Bennett, speaking of the church in Langham-place, in the house
of commons said, “that it was deplorable, a horrible object, and never
had he seen so shameful a disgrace to the metropolis. It was like a
flat candlestick with an extinguisher on it. He saw a great number of
churches building, of all of which it might be said, that one was worse
than the other; it seemed as if an adventurous spirit of architecture
prevailed, and that its professors had resolved to follow nothing that
had ever appeared before, and to invent nothing new that was not purely
absurd. No man who knew what architecture was, would have put up the
edifices he alluded to, and which disgusted every body, while it made
every body wonder who could be the asses that planned, and the fools
that built them.”[210] These remarks are upon the whole, perhaps, too
severe and sweeping. The greatest fault in the new churches is the want
of variety, the eye is tired with the repetition of the same design, and
looks with eagerness for something to relieve the general monotony. We
have before us so many examples of good church-building, that the
spectator is more fastidious in his judgment upon any new specimen, and
is led to judge of its merits by comparison with some favourite design,
rather than by an examination of its intrinsic beauties or defects: in
this view the new churches have not been fairly treated.

Much has been written on the style of architecture most proper for
churches. The balance of argument is in favour of the gothic. Architects
would decide for the Grecian, but their judgments are so biassed by
education, that very few who look at the subject professionally, are
likely to form an opinion upon it of any value. If the beauty of a
building consists in its appropriateness to the objects for which it is
intended, then the gothic style will ever bear away the palm when put
into competition with the Greek or Roman architecture for ecclesiastical
edifices.

By gothic architecture it should here be understood, that the
fashionable mode of building, correctly styled “_modern_ gothic,” is not
referred to. So widely different is it from the correct and beautiful
architecture which it professes to imitate, that it may with great
justness be called a new order. The late Mr. Carter, than whom, no man
ever entered into the spirit of gothic architecture with more attention,
or ever understood its properties and beauties more soundly, very
justly called this splendid invention of modern genius, the “fantastic
order;” the correctness of the cognomen is now so far acknowledged, that
even architects are giving up this their favourite child, and
endeavouring to assume a greater justness of detail, and form a closer
imitation of the genuine style. From the reports of the commissioners
for building new churches, it appears that the gothic style is adopted
in the majority of those churches built in the country; in the environs
of the metropolis but in a very few instances. This is to be lamented;
it would have been more desirable had the gothic churches been allowed
to have borne a proportion to the others, at least of one in three. It
has been often urged, that the rejection of this style arises from the
expensiveness of its details.--To show at once how little weight there
is in this objection, let any one contrast the splendid gothic church
lately erected at Chelsea, rich in crockets and mullions, with its stone
roof, and pinnacled tower, against the frigid ionic temple built for the
parish of St. Pancras. The estimate of the first is, perhaps, little
more than a third of the cost of the latter building; the dimensions are
at least equal; and which of these buildings displays the most ornament?
In the one much money is consumed in delicate mouldings and rich
friezes; delicate, minute, and scarcely seen embellishments, which the
smoke and damp of a London atmosphere will soon fill with dirt, while it
will corrode the composition in which they are worked. In the other,
though the gothic detail is marked with a want of coldness, yet what
ornament is introduced shows to advantage, and is more calculated to
endure than the other. The gothic style in detail is bold and
conspicuous, and a little money laid out in embellishment with judgment
goes a long way--witness the beautiful chapel at Mile-end, which proves
beyond all dispute, that even an ornamented gothic building can be
erected at a very limited expense. The architect was the late Mr.
Walters, and had he built nothing more than this chapel, he would be
entitled to have ranked high in his profession. Another edifice in the
gothic style may be worth notice as affording a striking contrast to
that last mentioned, this is a church now building in Somers-town. Its
only characteristics are meanness and poverty; the style resembles that
of a Chinese summer-house, without its lightness; it is clumsy where
solidity is required, and possesses not one redeeming quality to atone
for the many absurdities it contains.

As to the Grecian architecture of the present day, it is much a matter
of question, whether the style of many of the new churches is not as
much removed from the original as the gothic I have complained of. It
would, however, occupy too much time to inquire into the classical
authorities to warrant many of these edifices, and it is very
questionable whether many of their architects have done so. It has
already been remarked that, a great sameness appears in the new
churches. This is in a great measure to be attributed to the designs of
the steeples being cramped by the style, which admits of little more
than a square tower supporting a circular or polygonal story. It is,
however, rather an error of choice than the effect of necessity; the
architect does not appear to have been guided by what he can or cannot
do; but a want of energy seems the principal cause; he forms a design
and fears to deviate from it. This may be exemplified in the three
churches erected from Mr. Smirke’s designs, at Wandsworth,
Bryanstone-square, and West Hackney. In all, the same design is seen;
the same round tower, the same cupola, differing only in height and
situation. The bodies of the churches too are so strikingly similar,
that the spectator cannot help feeling disappointment from the plainness
of the designs and their want of variety; it is not what he has been led
to expect from an architect of the eminence to which Mr. Smirke has been
raised. The same observations apply even more forcibly to four churches
in Surrey: viz. Camberwell, Norwood, Trinity church, Newington, and St.
John’s in the Waterloo-road. The steeples of the three latter, as
originally designed, would have been exact copies of each other. The
first differs but little. The last named church has the good fortune to
have had a spire added, as far superior to the others, as it is to the
generality of the modern designs. The bodies of all these churches are
so closely copied that it would be a difficult matter to point out in
what respect they differ. It will be almost needless to add, that the
whole four are the work of one architect, Mr. Bedford, of Camberwell. It
is not only the sameness of design, but the sameness of style, which I
complain of. Though Grecian edifices may be tolerated amidst modern
houses, as assimilating with their architecture, they are out of all
character in the country. Lambeth parish for instance has built four
churches. The Grecian style prevails in the whole, and though the
buildings are creditable to their architects, yet, in the case of
Brixton, which is certainly a very chaste and pretty doric church, and
does honour to the genius of Mr. Porden, and at Norwood, where in every
point of view at the least distance, and particularly the latter place,
the steeples are seen in connection with trees and country scenery, the
pepper-box towers remind the spectator more of pigeon-houses than church
steeples; and he, to whom the sight of a village-spire brings almost
enthusiastic feelings, and an earnest desire of arriving at it, would
scarce bestow any notice on these modern and unappropriate objects. Let
the town and the city retain the portico and the dome, the country
claims the gothic spire, the mullioned window, and the buttressed wall;
but things are now reversed and changed from their natural order. The
slender pointed spire is now made to terminate a splendid street of
modern houses, where it appears as awkward as the cupola does amidst
fields and hedges. Mr. Nash is to build a gothic church at Haggerstone,
and let us hope he will atone for his fault at the west, by bestowing a
more orthodox steeple upon the eastern erection. Mr. Soane is the
architect of Walworth church, which is the first specimen of his
ecclesiastical structures; it differs from the generality of new
churches, in having a range of arches rising from the parts of the
galleries, dividing the structure longitudinally into three aisles, in
the style of the older churches. It formed one of the groupes of
churches exhibited by this gentleman at Somerset-house in the present
year. One recommendation it has, and that by no means a trifling one;
the voice of the clergyman may be distinctly heard in every part of the
building without the least echo or indistinctness, a fault very common
in large buildings.

It would occupy too much space to notice, even briefly, every new
church. In regard to steeples, that of the new church building at Hoxton
(architect Edwards) is one of the prettiest designs of the modern school
of cupolas; and the spire of St. Paul’s, Shadwell, of which Mr.
Walters, before spoken of, was the architect, forms a brilliant
exception; it is closely formed on the model of Bow steeple, but there
are some variations so pleasing, that the design may justly be said to
be the architect’s own property--he has followed sir Christopher Wren
without copying him. The spire at Poplar is a fine object, but decidedly
inferior to the last, inasmuch as it diminishes more abruptly. The
steeple attached to St. John’s church, in the Waterloo-road, is a very
finely proportioned erection, and shows exceedingly well from the Strand
and the Temple-gardens; those who have seen an engraving of this church
with the tower originally designed for it, will see what has been gained
by the exchange.

There are more new churches still to be built; let us hope then, that
the architects who may be selected to erect them, having seen the faults
and defects of their predecessors, will produce something better; or, at
least, that their designs will differ from the generality of those
already built, if only for the sake of variety.

In conclusion, the writer has only to add, that much more might be said
both on old and new churches; it is a subject which has more than once
employed his pen; he feels, however, that he has already occupied a
larger space than he is entitled to do, if he has trespassed on your
readers’ patience he has to beg their pardon; his excuse is, that the
subject is a favourite one.

  E. I. C.

  _July_, 1825.


  A HOT LETTER

  _For Captain Lion, Brighton._

  My dear sir,

I anticipated a sojournment in your “neat little country cottage” during
your absence, with more pleasure than I expressed, when you made me the
offer of it. I imagined how much more comfortable I should be there,
than in my own out-of-town single-room. I was mistaken. I have been
comfortable nowhere. The malignity of an evil star is against me; I mean
the dog-star. You recollect the heat I fell into during our Hornsey
walk. I have been hot ever since, “hissing hot,--think of that Master
Brook;” I would that thou wert really a brook, I would cleave thy
bosom, and, unless thou wert cool to me, I would not acknowledge thee
for a true friend.

After returning from the coach wherein you and your lady-cousin
departed, I “larded the lean earth” to my own house in town. That
evening I got into a hackney coach to enjoy your “cool” residence; but
it was hot; and there was no “cool of the evening;” I went to bed hot,
and slept hot all night, and got up hot to a hot tea-breakfast, looking
all the while on the hot print opposite, Hogarth’s “Evening,” with the
fat hot citizen’s wife sweltering between her husband and the New River,
the hot little dog looking wistfully into the reachless warm water, her
crying hot boy on her husband’s stick, the scolding hot sister, and all
the other heats of that ever-to-be-warmly-admired engraving. The coldest
picture in the room, to my heated eye, was the fruit-piece worked in
worsted--worsted in the dog-days!

How I got through that hot day I cannot remember. At night, when,
according to Addison, “evening shades prevail,” the heat prevailed;
there were no “cool” shades, and I got no rest; and therefore I got up
restless, and walked out and saw the morning star, which I suppose was
the dog-star, for I sought coolness and found it not; but the sun arose,
and methought there was no atmosphere but burning beams; and the
metropolis poured out its heated thousands towards the New River, at
Newington; and it was filled with men, and boys, and dogs; and all
looked as “comfortable” as live eels in a stew pan.

I am too hot to proceed. What a summer! The very pumps refuse “spring”
water; and, I suppose, we shall have no more till next spring.

My heart melts within me, and I am not so inhuman as to request the
servant to broil with this letter to the post-office, but I have ordered
her to give it to the newsman, and ask him to slip it into the first
letter-box he passes, and to tell him, if he forgets, it is of no
consequence, and in no hurry; he may take it on to Ludgate-hill, and Mr.
Hone, if he please, may print it in his _Every-Day Book_. I dare say he
is too hot to write, and this may help to fill up; so that you’ll get
it, at any rate. I don’t care if all the world reads it, for the hot
weather is no secret. As Mr. Freeling cannot say that printing a letter
is privately conveying it, I shall not get into hot water at the
post-office.

  I am, my dear sir,

  Your warmest friend, till winter,

  _Coleman Cottage_,

  _Sun Day_.

  I. FRY.

P. S. I am told the sight of the postmen in their scarlet coats is not
bearable in London; they look _red_-hot.


_Weather._

Duncomb, for many years the principal vender of Dunstable larks, resided
at the village of Haughton-Regis, near Dunstable. He was an eccentric
character, and, according to Dunno’s “Originals,” (himself an
“original”) he was “remarkable for his humorous and droll method of
rhyming.” The following lines are shrewd and pleasant:--

_Duncomb’s Answer in Hay-time relating to the Weather._

    Well, Duncomb, how will be the weather?
    Sir, it looks cloudy altogether.
    And coming ’cross our Houghton Green,
    I stopp’d and talk’d with old Frank Beane.
    While we stood there, sir, old Jan Swain,
    Went by and said, he know’d ’twood rain.
    The next that came was Master Hunt,
    And he declar’d, he knew it wont.
    And then I met with farmer Blow,
    He told me plainly he di’nt know.
    So, sir, when doctors disagree
    Who’s to decide it, you or me?


_Dunstable Larks._

The larks which are caught at Dunstable are unequalled for their size
and richness of flavour. Their superiority is said to be owing in a
great measure to the chalky soil. On their first arrival they are very
lean and weak, but they recover in a short time, and are braced and
fattened by picking considerable quantities of the finest particles of
chalk with their food. They are usually taken in great quantities, with
trammelling nets, on evenings and mornings from Michaelmas to February.
When dressed and served up at some of the inns in the town, “in great
perfection, by a peculiar and secret method in the process of cooking
them,” they are admired as a luxury by travellers during the time they
are in season; and by an ingenious contrivance in their package, they
are sent ready dressed to all parts of England.

  [209] Shrewsbury Chronicle.

  [210] The Times, March 31, 1824.


~July 15.~

  _St. Henry_ II., Emperor, A. D. 1024. _St. Plechelm_, A. D. 714. _St.
  Swithin_, Bp. A. D. 862.

_Swithin_ is still retained on this day in our almanacs, and at some
public offices is a holiday.


_St. Swithin._

He was of noble parentage, and also called Swithun, or in the Saxon
language Swithum. He received the tonsure in the church at Winchester,
and became a monk in the old monastery there, of which, after being
ordained priest, he was made provost or dean. He studied grammar,
philosophy, and theology. For his learning and virtue, Egbert, king of
England, appointed him his priest, in which character he subscribed a
charter to the abbey of Croyland, in 833. Egbert also committed to him
the education of his son Ethelwolf, who on succeeding to the throne
procured Swithin to be chosen bishop of Winchester in 852.

Tithes were established in England through St. Swithin, who prevailed on
Ethelwolf to enact a law, by which he gave the tenth of the land to the
church, on condition that the king should have a prayer said for his
soul every Wednesday in all the churches for ever. Ethelwolf solemnized
the grant by laying the charter on the altar of St. Peter at Rome, in a
pilgrimage he made to that city, and by procuring the pope to confirm
it.

St. Swithin died on the 2d of July, 862, in the reign of king Ethelbert,
and he was buried, according to his own order, in the churchyard. Alban
Butler, from whom these particulars are related, affirms the translation
of his relics into the church a hundred years afterwards, and refers to
the monkish historians for the relation of “such a number of miraculous
cures of all kinds wrought by them, as was never known in any other
place.” His relics were afterwards removed into the cathedral of
Winchester, on its being built under William the Conqueror. It was
dedicated to the Holy Trinity, under the patronage of St. Peter,
afterwards to St. Swithin, in 980, and was called St. Swithin’s until
Henry VIII. ordered it to be called by the name of the Holy Trinity.

Among the notable miracles alleged to have been worked by St. Swithin is
this, that after he had built the bridge at Winchester, a woman came
over it with her lap full of eggs, which a rude fellow broke, but the
woman showed the eggs to the saint, who was passing at the time, and he
lifted up his hand and blessed the eggs, “and they were made hole and
sounde.” To this may be added another story; that when his body was
translated, or removed, two rings of iron, fastened on his grave-stone,
came out as soon as they were touched, and left no mark of their place
in the stone; but when the stone was taken up, and touched by the rings,
they of themselves fastened to it again.[211]


~St. Swithin’s Day.~

“If it rains on St. Swithin’s day, there will be rain the next forty
days afterwards.” The occasion of this old and well-known saying is
obscure. In Mr. Douce’s interleaved copy of Brand’s “Popular
Antiquities,” there is a printed statement “seemingly cut out of a
newspaper” cited, in the last edition of Mr. Brand’s work, thus:--“In
the year 865, St. Swithin, bishop of Winchester, to which rank he was
raised by king Ethelwolfe, the dane, dying, was canonized by the then
pope. He was singular for his desire to be buried in the open
church-yard, and not in the chancel of the minster, as was usual with
other bishops, which request was complied with; but the monks, on his
being canonized, taking it into their heads that it was disgraceful for
the saint to lie in the open church-yard, resolved to remove his body
into the choir, which was to have been done with solemn procession on
the 15th of July. It rained, however, so violently on that day, and for
forty days succeeding, as had hardly ever been known, which made them
set aside their design as heretical and blasphemous: and, instead, they
erected a chapel over his grave, at which many miracles are said to have
been wrought.”

Also in “Poor Robin’s Almanac” for 1697, the saying, together with one
of the miracles before related, is noticed in these lines:--

    “In this month is St. Swithin’s day;
    On which, if that it rain, they say
    Full forty days after it will,
    Or more or less, some rain distill.
    This Swithin was a saint, I trow,
    And Winchester’s bishop also.
    Who in his time did many a feat,
    As popish legends do repeat:
    A woman having broke her eggs
    By stumbling at another’s legs,
    For which she made a woful cry
    St. Swithin chanc’d for to come by,
    Who made them all as sound, or more
    Than ever that they were before.
    But whether this were so or no
    ’Tis more than you or I do know:
    Better it is to rise betime,
    And to make hay while sun doth shine,
    Than to believe in tales and lies
    Which idle monks and friars devise.”

The satirical Churchill also mentions the superstitious notions
concerning rain on this day:--

    “July, to whom, the dog-star in her train,
    St. James gives oisters, and St. Swithin rain.”

The same legend is recorded by Mr. Brand, from a memorandum by Mr.
Douce: “I have heard these lines upon St. Swithin’s day:--

    “St. Swithin’s day if thou dost rain,
    For forty days it will remain:
    St. Swithin’s day if thou be fair
    For forty days ’t will rain na mair.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Ben Jonson, in “Every man out of his humour,” has a touch at
almanac-wisdom, and on St. Swithin’s power over the weather:--

“Enter _Sordido_, _Macilente_, _Hine_.

“_Sord._--(_looking at an almanac_)--O rare! good, good, good, good,
good! I thank my stars, I thank my stars for it.

  “_Maci._--(_aside_)--Said I not true, ’tis Sordido, the farmer,

  A boar, and brother, to that swine was here.

“_Sord._ Excellent, excellent, excellent! as I could wish, as I could
wish!--Ha, ha, ha! I will not sow my grounds this year. Let me see what
harvest shall we have? _June_, _July_, _August_?

“_Maci._--(_aside_)--What is’t, a prognostication raps him so?

“_Sord._--(_reading_)--The xx, xxi, xxii days, Rain and Wind; O good,
good! the xxiii and xxiv Rain and some Wind: the xxv, Rain, good still!
xxvi, xxvii, xxviii, wind and some rain; would it had been rain and some
wind; well, ’tis good (when it can be no better;) xxix inclining to
rain: inclining to rain? that’s not so good now: xxx and xxxi wind and
no rain: no rain? ’Slid stay; this is worse and worse: what says he of
Saint _Swithin’s_? turn back, look, Saint _Swithin’s_: no rain?--O,
here, Saint _Swithin’s_, the XV day; variable weather, for the most part
rain, good; for the most part rain: why, it should rain forty days
after, now, more or less, it was a rule held, afore I was able to hold a
plough, and yet here are two days no rain; ha! it makes me muse.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Gay, whilst he admonishes against falling into the vulgar superstition,
reminds his readers of necessary precautions in a wet season, which make
us smile, who forbear from hats to loop and unloop, and do not wear
wigs:--

    Now, if on Swithin’s feast the welkin lours,
    And every penthouse streams with hasty showers,
    Twice twenty days shall clouds their fleeces drain
    And wash the pavements with incessant rain.
    Let not such vulgar tales debase thy mind;
    Nor Paul nor Swithin rule the clouds and wind
      If you the precepts of the Muse despise,
    And slight the faithful warning of the skies,
    Others you’ll see, when all the town’s afloat,
    Wrapt in the embraces of a kersey coat,
    Or double bottomed frieze; their guarded feet
    Defy the muddy dangers of the street;
    While you, with hat unlooped, the fury dread
    Of spouts high streaming, and with cautious tread
    Shun every dashing pool, or idly stop,
    To seek the kind protection of a shop.
    But business summons; now with hasty scud
    You jostle for the wall; the spattered mud
    Hides all thy hose behind; in vain you scour
    Thy wig, alas! uncurled, admits the shower.
    So fierce Electo’s snaky tresses fell,
    When Orpheus charmed the rigorous powers of hell;
    Or thus hung Glaucus’ beard, with briny dew
    Clotted and straight, when first his amorous view
    Surprised the bathing fair; the frighted maid
    Now stands a rock, transformed by Circe’s aid.

Dr. Forster, in his “Perennial Calendar,” cites from Mr. Howard’s work
on the climate of London the following--

  “_Examination of the popular Adage of ‘Forty Days’ Rain after St.
  Swithin’ how far it may be founded in fact._”

The opinion of the people on subjects connected with natural history is
commonly founded in some degree on fact or experience; though in this
case vague and inconsistent conclusions are too frequently drawn from
real premises. The notion commonly entertained on this subject, if put
strictly to the test of experience _at any one station_ in this part of
the island, will be found fallacious. To do justice to popular
observation, I may now state, that in a majority of our summers, a
showery period, which, with some latitude as to time and local
circumstances, may be admitted to constitute daily rain for forty days,
does come on about the time indicated by this tradition: not that any
long space before is often so dry as to mark distinctly its
commencement.

The tradition, it seems, took origin from the following circumstances.
Swithin or Swithum, bishop of Winchester, who died in 868, desired that
he might be buried in the open churchyard, and not in the chancel of the
minster, as was usual with other bishops, and his request was complied
with; but the monks, on his being canonized, considering it disgraceful
for the saint to lie in a public cemetery, resolved to remove his body
into the choir, which was to have been done with solemn procession, on
the 15th of July: it rained, however, so violently for forty days
together at this season, that the design was abandoned. Now, without
entering into the case of the bishop, who was probably a man of sense,
and wished to set the example of a more wholesome, as well as a more
humble, mode of resigning the perishable clay to the destructive
elements, I may observe, that the fact of the hinderance of the ceremony
by the cause related is sufficiently authenticated by tradition; and
the tradition is so far valuable, as it proves that the summers in this
southern part of our island were subject a thousand years ago to
occasional heavy rains, in the same way as at present. Let us see how,
in point of fact, the matter now stands.

In 1807, it rained with us on the day in question, and a dry time
followed. In 1808, it again rained on this day, though but a few drops:
there was much lightning in the west at night, yet it was nearly dry to
the close of the lunar period, at the new moon, on the 22d of this
month, the whole period having yielded only a quarter of an inch of
rain; but the next moon was very wet, and there fell 5·10 inches of
rain.

In 1818 and 1819, it was dry on the 15th, and a very dry time in each
case followed. The remainder of the summers occurring betwixt 1807 and
1819, appear to come under the general proposition already advanced: but
it must be observed, that in 1816, the wettest year of the series, the
solstitial abundance of rain belongs to the lunar period, ending, with
the moon’s approach to the third quarter, on the 16th of the seventh
month; in which period there fell 5·13 inches, while the ensuing period,
which falls wholly within the forty days, though it had rain on
twenty-five out of thirty days, gave only 2·41 inches.

I have paid no regard to the change effected in the relative position of
this so much noted day by the reformation of the calendar, because
common observation is now directed to the day as we find it in the
almanac; nor would this piece of accuracy, without greater certainty as
to a definite commencement of this showery period in former times, have
helped us to more conclusive reasoning on the subject.

_Solstitial and Equinoctial Rains._--Our year, then, in respect of
quantities of rain, exhibits a dry and a wet moiety. The latter again
divides itself into two periods distinctly marked. The first period is
that which connects itself with the popular opinion we have been
discussing. It may be said on the whole, to set in with the decline of
the diurnal mean temperature, the maximum of which, we may recollect,
has been shown to follow the summer solstice at such an interval as to
fall between the 12th and 25th of the month called July. Now the 15th of
that month, or Swithin’s day in the old style, corresponds to the 26th
in the new; so that common observation has long since settled the limits
of the effect, without being sensible of its real causes. The operation
of this cause being continued usually through great part of the eighth
month, the rain of this month exceeds the mean by about as much as that
of the ninth falls below it.

       *       *       *       *       *

As regards St. Swithin and his day, it may be observed, that according
to bishop Hall when Swithin died, he directed that “his body should not
be laid within the church, but where the drops of rain might wet his
grave; thinking that no vault was so good to cover his grave as that of
heaven.” This is scarcely an exposition of the old saying, which, like
other old sayings, still has its votaries. It is yet common on this day
to say, “Ah! this is St. Swithin; I wonder whether it will rain?” An old
lady who so far observed this festival, on one occasion when it was fair
and sunshiny till the afternoon, predicted fair weather; but tea-time
came, and--

    “there follow’d some droppings of rain.”

This was quite enough. “Ah!” said she, “now we shall have rain every day
for forty days;” nor would she be persuaded of the contrary. Forty days
of our humid climate passed, and many, by their having been perfectly
dry, falsified her prediction. “Nay, nay,” said she, “but there was wet
in the night, depend upon it.” According to such persons St. Swithin
cannot err.

       *       *       *       *       *

It appears from the parish accounts of Kingston upon Thames, in 1508,
that “any householder kepying a brode gate” was to pay to the parish
priest’s “wages 3d.” with a halfpenny “to the paschall:” this was the
great wax taper in the church; the halfpenny was towards its purchase
and maintaining its light; also he was to give to _St. Swithin_ a
halfpenny. A holder of one tenement paid twopence to the priest’s wages,
a halfpenny to the “paschall;” likewise St. Swithin a halfpenny.

Rain on St. Swithin’s day is noticed in some places by this old saying,
“St. Swithin is christening the apples.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Small Cape Marigold. _Calendula pluvialis._
  Dedicated to _St. Swithin_.

  [211] Golden Legend.


~July 16.~

  _St. Eustathius_, Patriarch of Antioch, A. D. 338. _St. Elier_ or
  _Helier_.


_French Hoaxing._

_July_, 1817.--A man of imposing figure, wearing a large sabre and
immense mustachios, arrived at one of the principal inns of a provincial
city, with a female of agreeable shape and enchanting mien. He alighted
at the moment that dinner was serving up at the _table d’hote_. At his
martial appearance all the guests rose with respect; they felt assured
that it must be a lieutenant-general, or a major-general at least. A new
governor was expected in the province about this time, and every body
believed that it was he who had arrived _incognito_. The officer of
gendarmerie gave him the place of honour, the comptroller of the customs
and the receiver of taxes sat by the side of Madame, and exerted their
wit and gallantry to the utmost. All the tit-bits, all the most
exquisite wines, were placed before the fortunate couple. At length the
party broke up, and every one ran to report through the city that
Monsieur the governor had arrived. But, oh! what was their surprise,
when the next day “his excellence,” clad in a scarlet coat, and his
august companion dressed out in a gown glittering with tinsel, mounted a
small open calash, and preceded by some musicians, went about the
squares and public ways, selling Swiss tea and balm of Mecca. Imagine
the fury of the guests! They complained to the mayor, and demanded that
the audacious quack should be compelled to lay aside the characteristic
mark of the brave. The prudent magistrate assembled the common council;
and those respectable persons, after a long deliberation, considering
that nothing in the charter forbad the citizens to let their beard grow
on their upper lip, dismissed the complaint altogether. The same evening
the supposed governor gave a serenade to the complainants, and the next
day took his leave, and continued his journey amidst the acclamations
of the populace; who, in small as well as in great cities, are very apt
to become passionately fond of charlatans.[212]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Garden Convolvulus. _Convolvulus purpureus._
  Dedicated to _St. Eustathius_.

  [212] Journal des Debats.


~July 17.~

  _St. Alexius_, 5th Cent. _St. Speratus_ and his Companions. _St.
  Marcellina_, A. D. 397. _St. Ennodius_, Bp. A. D. 521. _St. Leo_ IV.,
  Pope, A. D. 855. _St. Turninus_, 8th Cent.


_Mackerel._

The mackerel season is one of great interest on the coast, where these
beautiful fish are caught. The going out and coming in of the boats are
really “sights.” The prices of mackerel vary according to the different
degrees of success. In 1807, the first Brighton boat of mackerel, on the
14th of May, sold at Billingsgate, for forty guineas per hundred, seven
shillings each, the highest price ever known at that market. The next
boat that came in reduced their value to thirteen guineas per hundred.
In 1808, these fish were caught so plentifully at Dover, that they sold
sixty for a shilling. At Brighton, in June, the same year, the shoal of
mackerel was so great, that one of the boats had the meshes of her nets
so completely occupied by them, that it was impossible to drag them in.
The fish and nets, therefore, in the end sank together; the fisherman
thereby sustaining a loss of nearly sixty pounds, exclusive of what his
cargo, could he have got it into the boat, would have produced. The
success of the fishery in 1821, was beyond all precedent. The value of
the catch of sixteen boats from Lowestoft, on the 30th of June, amounted
to 5,252_l._ 15_s._ 1¼_d._, being an average of 328_l._ 5_s._ 11¼_d._
per each boat; and it is supposed that there was no less a sum than
14,000_l._ altogether realized by the owners and men concerned in the
fishery of the Suffolk coast.[213]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet Pea. _Lathyrus odoratus._
  Dedicated to _St. Marcellina_.

  [213] Daniel’s Rural Sports.


~July 18.~

  _Sts. Symphorosa_ and her seven Sons, Martyrs, A. D. 120. _St.
  Philastrius_, Bp. A. D. 384. _St. Arnoul_, Bp. A. D. 640. _St.
  Arnoul_, A. D. 534. _St. Frederic_, Bp. A. D. 838. _St. Odulph._ _St.
  Bruno_, Bp. of Segni, A. D. 1125.

_Summer Morning._

    The cocks have now the morn foretold,
      The sun again begins to peep,
    The shepherd, whistling to his fold,
      Unpens and frees the captive sheep.
    O’er pathless plains at early hours
      The sleepy rustic sloomy goes;
    The dews, brushed off from grass and flowers,
      Bemoistening sop his hardened shoes;

    While every leaf that forms a shade,
      And every floweret’s silken top,
    And every shivering bent and blade,
      Stoops, bowing with a diamond drop.
    But soon shall fly those diamond drops,
      The red round sun advances higher,
    And, stretching o’er the mountain tops,
      Is gilding sweet the village-spire.

    ’Tis sweet to meet the morning breeze,
      Or list the gurgling of the brook;
    Or, stretched beneath the shade of trees,
      Peruse and pause on Nature’s book,
    When Nature every sweet prepares
      To entertain our wished delay,--
    The images which morning wears,
      The wakening charms of early day!

    Now let me tread the meadow paths
      While glittering dew the ground illumes,
    As, sprinkled o’er the withering swaths,
      Their moisture shrinks in sweet perfumes;
    And hear the beetle sound his horn;
      And hear the skylark whistling nigh,
    Sprung from his bed of tufted corn,
      A hailing minstrel in the sky.

  _Clare._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Autumn Marigold. _Chrysanthemum coronarium._
  Dedicated to _St. Bruno._


~July 19.~

  _St. Vincent_, of Paul, A. D. 1660. _St. Arsenius_, A. D. 449. _St.
  Symmachus_, Pope, A. D. 514. _St. Macrina_ V., A. D. 379.

In July, 1797, as Mr. Wright, of Saint Faith’s, in Norwich, was walking
in his garden, a flight of bees alighted on his head, and entirely
covered his hair, till they made an appearance like a judge’s wig. Mr.
W. stood upwards of two hours in this situation, while the customary
means were used for hiving them, which was completely done without his
receiving any injury. Mr. Wright had expressed a strong wish, for some
days before, that a flight of bees might come on his premises.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Golden Hawkweed. _Hieracium Aurantiacum._
  Dedicated to _St. Vincent_ of Paul.


~July 20.~

  _St. Joseph Barsabas_, the Disciple. _St. Margaret_, of Antioch. _Sts.
  Justa_ and _Rufina_, A. D. 304. _St. Ceslas_, A. D. 1242. _St.
  Aurelius_, Abp., A. D. 423. _St. Ulmar_, or _Wulmar_, A. D. 710. _St.
  Jerom Æmiliani_, A. D. 1537.

_Midnight and the Moon._

    Now sleep is busy with the world,
    The moon and midnight come; and curl’d
    Are the light shadows round the hills;
    The many-tongued and babbling rills
    Play on the drowsy ear of night,
    Gushing at times into the light
    From out their beds, and hastening all
    To join the trembling waterfall.

    Fair planet! when I watch on high,
    Star-heralded along the sky,
    That face of light and holiness,
    I turn, and all my brethren bless:
    And it must be--(the hour is gone
    When the fair world thou smilest upon,
    Lay chained in darkness,) thou wert sent
    Ministering in the firmament,
    To be--calm, beautiful, above--
    The eye of universal love.

    ’Twere good to die in such an hour,
    And rest beneath the almighty power,
    (Beside yon ruin still and rude)
    Of beauty and of solitude.

  _Literary Pocket Book._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Virginian Dragon’s Head. _Dracocephalus Virginianum._
  Dedicated to _St. Margaret_.


~July 21.~

  _St. Praxedes._ _St. Zodicus_, Bp., A. D. 204. _St. Barhadbesciabas_,
  A. D. 354. _St. Victor_, of Marseilles. _St. Arbogastus_, Bp. A. D.
  678.

_Flowers._

    A sensitive plant in a garden grew
    And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
    And it opened its fanlike leaves to the light,
    And closed them beneath the kisses of night.

    And the spring arose on the garden fair,
    Like the spirit of love felt every where;
    And each flower and shrub on earth’s dark breast,
    Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

    But none ever trembled and panted with bliss,
    In the garden, the field, or the wilderness,
    Like a doe in the noontide with love’s sweet want,
    As the companionless sensitive plant.

    The snowdrop, and then the violet,
    Arose from the ground with warm rain wet,
    And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent,
    From the turf, like the voice and the instrument.

    Then the pied windflowers, and the tulip tall,
    And narcissi, the fairest among them all,
    Who gaze on their eyes in the stream’s recess,
    Till they die of their own dear loveliness.

    And the naiadlike lily of the vale,
    Whom youth makes so fair, and passion so pale,
    That the light of its tremulous bells is seen,
    Through their pavilions of tender green.

    And the hyacinth purple, white, and blue,
    Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew
    Of music so delicate, soft, and intense,
    It was felt like an odour within the sense.

    And the rose, like a nymph to the bath addrest,
    Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast,
    Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air
    The soul of her beauty and love lay bare.

    And the wandlike lily, which lifted up,
    As a Moenad, its moonlight- cup,
    Till the fiery star, which is its eye,
    Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky.

    And the jessamine faint, and sweet tuberose,
    The sweetest flower, for scent, that blows;
    And all rare blossoms from every clime,
    Grew in that garden in perfect prime.

  _Shelley._

       *       *       *       *       *


CAPTAIN STARKEY.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Dear Sir,

I read your account of this unfortunate Being, and his forlorn piece of
self-history, with that smile of half-interest which the Annals of
Insignificance excite, till I came to where he says “I was bound
apprentice to Mr. William Bird, an eminent writer and Teacher of
languages and Mathematics,” &c.--when I started as one does on the
recognition of an old acquaintance in a supposed stranger. This then was
that Starkey of whom I have heard my Sister relate so many pleasant
anecdotes; and whom, never having seen, I yet seem almost to remember.
For nearly fifty years she had lost all sight of him--and behold the
gentle Usher of her youth, grown into an aged Beggar, dubbed with an
opprobrious title, to which he had no pretensions; an object, and a May
game! To what base purposes may we not return! What may not have been
the meek creature’s sufferings--what his wanderings--before he finally
settled down in the comparative comfort of an old Hospitaller of the
Almonry of Newcastle? And is poor Starkey dead?--

I was a scholar of that “eminent writer” that he speaks of; but Starkey
had quitted the school about a year before I came to it. Still the odour
of his merits had left a fragrancy upon the recollection of the elder
pupils. The school-room stands where it did, looking into a discoloured
dingy garden in the passage leading from Fetter Lane into Bartlett’s
Buildings. It is still a School, though the main prop, alas! has fallen
so ingloriously; and bears a Latin inscription over the entrance in the
Lane, which was unknown in our humbler times. Heaven knows what
“languages” were taught in it then; I am sure that neither my Sister nor
myself brought any out of it, but a little of our native English. By
“mathematics,” reader, must be understood “cyphering.” It was in fact a
humble day-school, at which reading and writing were taught to us boys
in the morning, and the same slender erudition was communicated to the
girls, our sisters, &c. in the evening. Now Starkey presided, under
Bird, over both establishments. In my time, Mr. Cook, now or lately a
respectable Singer and Performer at Drury-lane Theatre, and Nephew to
Mr. Bird, had succeeded to him. I well remember Bird. He was a squat,
corpulent, middle-sized man, with something of the gentleman about him,
and that peculiar mild tone--especially while he was inflicting
punishment--which is so much more terrible to children, than the
angriest looks and gestures. Whippings were not frequent; but when they
took place, the correction was performed in a private room adjoining,
whence we could only hear the plaints, but saw nothing. This heightened
the decorum and the solemnity. But the ordinary public chastisement was
the bastinado, a stroke or two on the palm with that almost obsolete
weapon now--the ferule. A ferule was a sort of flat ruler, widened at
the inflicting end into a shape resembling a pear,--but nothing like so
sweet--with a delectable hole in the middle, to raise blisters, like a
cupping-glass. I have an intense recollection of that disused instrument
of torture--and the malignancy, in proportion to the apparent mildness,
with which its strokes were applied. The idea of a rod is accompanied
with something ludicrous; but by no process can I look back upon this
blister-raiser with any thing but unmingled horror.--To make him look
more formidable--if a pedagogue had need of these heightenings--Bird
wore one of those flowered Indian gowns, formerly in use with
schoolmasters; the strange figures upon which we used to interpret into
hieroglyphics of pain and suffering. But boyish fears apart--Bird I
believe was in the main a humane and judicious master.

O, how I remember our legs wedged in to those uncomfortable sloping
desks, where we sat elbowing each other--and the injunctions to attain a
free hand, unattainable in that position; the first copy I wrote after,
with its moral lesson “Art improves Nature;” the still earlier pot-hooks
and the hangers some traces of which I fear may yet be apparent in this
manuscript; the truant looks side-long to the garden, which seemed a
mockery of our imprisonment; the prize for best spelling, which had
almost turned my head, and which to this day I cannot reflect upon
without a vanity, which I ought to be ashamed of--our little leaden
ink-stands, not separately subsisting, but sunk into the desks; the
bright, punctually-washed morning fingers, darkening gradually with
another and another ink-spot: what a world of little associated
circumstances, pains and pleasures mingling their quotas of pleasure,
arise at the reading of those few simple words--“Mr. William Bird, an
eminent Writer and Teacher of languages and mathematics in Fetter Lane,
Holborn!”

Poor Starkey, when young, had that peculiar stamp of old-fashionedness
in his face, which makes it impossible for a beholder to predicate any
particular age in the object. You can scarce make a guess between
seventeen and seven and thirty. This antique cast always seems to
promise ill-luck and penury. Yet it seems, he was not always the abject
thing he came to. My Sister, who well remembers him, can hardly forgive
Mr. Thomas Ranson for making an etching so unlike her idea of him, when
he was a youthful teacher at Mr. Bird’s school. Old age and poverty--a
life-long poverty she thinks, could at no time have so effaced the marks
of native gentility, which were once so visible in a face, otherwise
strikingly ugly, thin, and care-worn. From her recollections of him, she
thinks that he would have wanted bread, before he would have begged or
borrowed a halfpenny. If any of the girls (she says) who were my
school-fellows should be reading, through their aged spectacles, tidings
from the dead of their youthful friend Starkey, they will feel a pang,
as I do, at ever having teased his gentle spirit. They were big girls,
it seems, too old to attend his instructions with the silence necessary;
and however old age, and a long state of beggary, seem to have reduced
his writing faculties to a state of imbecility, in those days, his
language occasionally rose to the bold and figurative, for when he was
in despair to stop their chattering, his ordinary phrase was, “Ladies,
if you will not hold your peace, not all the powers in heaven can make
you.” Once he was missing for a day or two; he had run away. A little
old unhappy-looking man brought him back--it was his father--and he did
no business in the school that day, but sate moping in a corner, with
his hands before his face; and the girls, his tormentors, in pity for
his case, for the rest of that day forbore to annoy him. I had been
there but a few months (adds she) when Starkey, who was the chief
instructor of us girls, communicated to us as a profound secret, that
the tragedy of “Cato” was shortly to be acted by the elder boys, and
that we were to be invited to the representation. That Starkey lent a
helping hand in fashioning the actors, she remembers; and but for his
unfortunate person, he might have had some distinguished part in the
scene to enact; as it was, he had the arduous task of prompter assigned
to him, and his feeble voice was heard clear and distinct, repeating the
text during the whole performance. She describes her recollection of the
cast of characters even now with a relish. Martia, by the handsome Edgar
Hickman, who afterwards went to Africa, and of whom she never afterwards
heard tidings,--Lucia, by Master Walker, whose sister was her
particular friend; Cato, by John Hunter, a masterly declaimer, but a
plain boy, and shorter by the head than his two sons in the scene, &c.
In conclusion, Starkey appears to have been one of those mild spirits,
which, not originally deficient in understanding, are crushed by penury
into dejection and feebleness. He might have proved a useful adjunct, if
not an ornament to Society, if Fortune had taken him into a very little
fostering, but wanting that, he became a Captain--a by-word--and lived,
and died, a broken bulrush.

  C. L.


[Illustration: ~Peerless Pool.~]

            --------The sprightly youth
    Speeds to the well-known Pool. Awhile he stands
    Gazing th’ inverted landscape, half afraid
    To meditate the blue profound below;
    Then plunges headlong down the circling flood.
    His ebon tresses, and his rosy cheek,
    Instant emerge; and thro’ th’ obedient wave,
    At each short breathing by his lip repell’d,
    With arms and legs according well, he makes,
    As humour leads, an easy winding path;
    While, from his polish’d sides, a dewy light
    Effuses on the pleas’d spectators round.

  _Thomson._

Coming from the city, on the left-hand side of the City-road, just
beyond Old-street, and immediately at the back of St. Luke’s hospital,
Peerless Pool

                    -------- flows unseen,
    And wastes its waters in the silver Thames.

It is a pleasure-bath in the open air, a hundred and seventy feet long,
and upwards of a hundred feet wide, nearly surrounded by trees, with an
arcade divided off into boxes for privately dressing and undressing; and
is therefore, both in magnitude and convenience, the greatest
bathing-place in the metropolis. Here the lover of cleanliness, or of a
“cool dip” in a hot day, may at all times, for a shilling, enjoy the
refreshment he desires, without the offensive publicity, and without the
risk of life, attendant on river-bathing; while there is “ample room
and verge enough” for all the sports and delights which “_swimmers_ only
know.” It is no where so deep as five feet, and on one side only three;
the experienced and the inexperienced are alike safe. There is likewise
a capacious cold-bath in an adjacent building, for the use of those who
prefer a temperature below that of the atmosphere.

       *       *       *       *       *

Peerless Pool is distinguished for having been one of the ancient
springs that supplied the metropolis with water, when our ancestors drew
that essential element from public conduits; that is to say, before the
“old” water-works at London-bridge “commenced to be,” or the “New River”
had been brought to London by sir Hugh Myddelton. The streams of this
“pool” at that time were conveyed, for the convenience of the
inhabitants near Lothbury, through pipes terminating “close to the
south-west corner of the church.”[214] Stow speaks of it as a “cleere
water, called _Perilous Pond_, because,” says our chronicler, “divers
youths, by swimming therein, have been drowned.”[215] “Upon Saterday the
19 of January, 1633, sixe pretty young lads, going to sport themselves
upon the frozen Ducking-pond, neere to Clearkenwell, the ice too weake
to support them, fell into the water, concluding their pastime with the
lamentable losse of their lives: to the great griefe of many that saw
them dying, many more that afterward saw them dead, with the
in-expressible griefe of their parents.”[216] In consequence of such
accidents, and the worthy inhabitants of Lothbury having obtained their
water from other sources, Perilous Pond was entirely filled up, and
rendered useless, till Mr. William Kemp, “an eminent jeweller and
citizen of London,” “after ten years’ experience of the temperature” of
this water, and “the happy success of getting clear of a violent pain of
the head by bathing in it, to which he had for many years been subject,
was generously led for public benefit” to open the spring in the year
1743, and “to form the completest swimming-bath in the whole world;”
and “in reference to the improvements he had made on the ruins of that
once _Perilous Pond_,” and by a very natural transition, he changed that
disagreeable appellation of _Perilous_, “that is,” says Maitland,
“_dangerous_, or _hazardous_, to the more agreeable name of _Peerless
Pool_, that is, _Matchless Bath_, a name which carries its own reason
with it.”

Maitland says, that Kemp “spared no expense nor contrivance to render it
quite private and retired from public inspection, decent in its
regulation, and as genteel in its furniture as such a place could be
made.” He added a cold-bath, “generally allowed,” says Maitland, “to be
the largest in England, being forty feet long, and twenty feet broad;
this bath is supplied by a remarkably cold spring, with a convenient
room for dressing.” The present cold-bath, faced with marble and paved
with stone, was executed by sir William Staines, when he was a
journeyman mason. He was afterwards lord mayor of London, and often
boasted of this, while he smoked his pipe at the Jacob’s-well in
Barbican, as amongst his “best work.”

Kemp’s improvements provided an entrance to it across a bowling-green on
the south side, through a neat marble pavilion or saloon, thirty feet
long, with a large gilt sconce over a marble table. Contiguous to this
saloon were the dressing apartments, some of which were open, others
were private with doors. There was also a green bower on each side of
the bath, divided into other apartments for dressing. At the upper end
was a circus-bench, capable of accommodating forty persons, under the
cover of a wall twelve feet high, surmounted on one side by a lofty bank
with shrubs, and encircled by a terrace-walk planted with lime-trees at
the top. The descent to the bath was by four pair of marble stairs, as
it still is, to a fine gravel-bottom, through which the springs gently
bubbled and supplied, as they do at this time, the entire basin with the
crystal fluid. Hither many a “lover and preserver” of health and long
life, and many an admirer of calm retreat, resorted “ever and anon:”--

    And in hyghe sommer eueriche daye I wene,
      Scapyng the hot son’s euer bemyng face,
      He dyd hym wend unto a pleasaunt place,
    Where auncient trees shut owht escorchyng shene;
    And in a solempne lyghte, through braunches grene,
      In quyet, sytting on a lytel stole,
    For hys delection he woulde ther’ unlace,
      Wythin an arbre, where bryddes onlie bene
    And goe, and bayn hym in the waters cool
    That alway wellyd there, and made a peerlesse poole.

  *

The most remarkable feature of Peerless Pool, to the public eye, was a
noble fish-pond, constructed by Kemp, due east and west. It was three
hundred and twenty feet long, ninety-three feet broad, and eleven feet
deep, stocked with carp, tench, and a great variety of the finny tribe,
wherein subscribers and frequenters of either the pleasure or the
cold-bath were privileged to angle. On each side was a high <DW72> or
bank, with thousands of variegated shrubs, terminated at the top by a
gravelled walk between stately lime-trees:--

    These beautiful plantations shadow’d all;
    And flung their beauteous greens so deep and full,
    Into the surface of the quiet lake,
    That the cool water seem’d an open mirror
    Reflecting patterns of all liveries
    The gentle seasons give the constant earth
    Wherein to wait on man; or rather seem’d
    An open portal to the great abyss
    Inviting entrance.

  *

At the head of the fish-pond, westward, stood the house that
Kemp built for his own residence, with a garden and orchard of
pears and apple-trees, and walled round. It was a handsome
old-country-’squire-like building, very similar to the present
parsonage-house of St. Luke’s in Helmet-row; the back-front looked upon
the water, and had an arch in the embankment on that side, beneath which
two boats, kept for the accommodation of gentlemen of the rod and line,
were drawn in at night.

Mr. Kemp expired before his lease; but he left property to his family,
and his son in possession of the “Pool,” and of his lease. He was not so
successful as his father; and after him the premises were held by a
person named Taylor, and subsequently by one Crewe. At the expiration of
his lease, a new lease upon building terms was obtained of St.
Bartholomew’s hospital, at a rental of 600_l._ per annum, by Mr. Joseph
Watts, the present occupier and proprietor of the baths, who, to
remunerate himself, set about “improving,” by draining the fish-pond,
pulling down Kemp’s house, and felling the trees. He built
Baldwyn-street on the site of the fish-pond; Bath-buildings on the
ground of Kemp’s orchard; and erected other adjoining streets;
preserving the baths as he found them, and in many respects improving
them. The pleasure-bath is still a pleasant spot, and both that and the
cold-bath retain their ancient capabilities. Indeed, the attractions to
the pleasure-bath are undiminished. Its size is the same as in Kemp’s
time, and trees enough remain to shade the visitor from the heat of the
sun while on the brink, irresolute whether to plunge gloriously in, or
ignobly walk down the steps. On a summer evening it is amusing to survey
the conduct of the bathers: some boldly dive; others “timorous stand,”
and then descend step by step, “unwillingly and slow.” Choice swimmers
attract attention by divings and somersets, and the whole sheet of water
sometimes rings with merriment. Every fine Thursday and Saturday
afternoon in the summer, columns of blue-coat boys, more than three
score in each, headed by their respective beadles, arrive, and some
half-strip themselves ere they reach their destination; the rapid
plunges they make into the pool, and their hilarity in the bath, testify
their enjoyment of the tepid fluid.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. John Cleghorn, of Chapman-street, Islington, the architectural
draftsman and engraver, was resident near Peerless Pool many years.
There being no representation of the fish-pond and house, as they
remained within the recollection of himself and the editor of the
_Every-Day Book_, this gentleman, whose taste and knowledge of
perspective have by the pencil and the graver exquisitely and
accurately illustrated Mr. Rutter’s “Description of Fonthill,” has
supplied the drawing from whence the subjoined engraving has been made.
Mr. Cleghorn also made the drawing of the pleasure-bath, as it now is,
for the engraving at the commencement of this article.


[Illustration: ~The old Fish-pond at Peerless Pool.~]

    To the Shepherd and Shepherdess then they go
      To tea with their wives, for a constant rule;
    And next cross the road to the Fountain also,
      And there they all sit, so pleasant and cool,
            And see, in and out,
            The folks walk about,
      And gentlemen angling in Peerless Pool.

  *

The great earthquake, on the first of November, 1755, which destroyed
seventy thousand human beings at Lisbon, and swallowed up the greatest
part of the city, affected Peerless Pool. Dr. Birch, then secretary to
the Royal Society, authenticated the fact, and records it in the
“Philosophical Transactions.” It appears, that on reports that the
agitation of the waters observed in many parts of England, Ireland,
Scotland, Holland, &c. on that day, had likewise been noticed in
Peerless Pool, Dr. Birch, being desirous of as accurate and
circumstantial an account as possible of a fact which he had not heard
to have been remarked in any other part of London or its suburbs,
himself went thither, on Saturday, December the 6th, 1755, and there
took down the particulars from the mouth of one of the two waiters, who
were eye-witnesses of it. This waiter said, that having been engaged,
between ten and eleven in the morning, with his fellow-waiter, near the
wall which enclosed the ground of the fish-pond, he accidentally cast
his eye on the water, and was surprised to see it greatly moved without
the least apparent cause, as the air was quite calm. He called to his
companion to take notice of it, who at first neglected, but being urged
to attend to so extraordinary an appearance, he was equally struck with
the sight of it. Large waves rolled slowly to and from the bank near
them for some time, and at last left the bed of the pond dry for several
feet, and in their reflux overflowed the bank ten or twelve feet, as
they did the opposite one, which was evident from the wetness of the
ground about it. This motion having continued for five or six minutes,
the two waiters stepped to the cold-bath near the fish-pond, to see what
passed there; but no motion was observed in it by them, or by a
gentleman who had been in it, and was then dressing himself, and who, on
being told of the agitation in the fish-pond, went directly thither with
the waiters, and was a third witness of it. On the ceasing of it, they
all three went to the pleasure-bath, between which and the fish-pond the
cold-bath was situated; they found the pleasure-bath then motionless,
but to have been agitated in the same manner with the fish-pond, the
water having left plain marks of its having overflown the banks, and
risen to the bushes on their sides. The motion in the fish-pond had also
been observed by some persons in Mr. Kemp’s house.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Philadelphian Lily. _Lilium Philadelphicum._
  Dedicated to _St. Praxedes_.

  [214] Maitland.

  [215] Stow’s Survey, edit. 1633, p. 11.

  [216] Ibid. p. 782.


~July 22.~

  _St. Mary Magdalen._ _St. Vandrille_, or _Wandregisilus_, A. D. 666.
  _St. Joseph_, of Palestine, called _Count Joseph_, about A. D. 356.
  _St. Meneve_, Abbot, A. D. 720. _St. Dabius_ or _Davius_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  African Lily. _Agapanthus umbellatus._
  Dedicated to _St. Mary Magdalen._


~July 23.~

  _St. Apollinaris_, Bp. of Ravenna. _St. Liborius_, Bp. A. D. 397.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Muskflower. _Scabiosa atropurpurea._
  Dedicated to St. _Apollinaris._


~July 24.~

  _St. Lupus_, Bp. A. D. 478. _St. Francis Solano_, A. D. 1610. _Sts.
  Romanus_ and _David_, Patrons of Muscovy. _St. Christina._ _Sts.
  Wulfhad_ and _Ruffin_, A. D. 670. _St. Lewine._ _St. Declan_, Bp. _St.
  Kinga_, or _Cunegundes_, A. D. 1292.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tree Lupin. _Lupinus arboreus._
  Dedicated to _St. Lupus_.


~July 25.~

  _St. James the Great_, Apostle, A. D. 43. _St. Christopher._ _Sts.
  Thea_, and _Valentina_, and _Paul_, A. D. 308. _St. Cucufas_, A. D.
  304. _St. Nissen_, Abbot.


_St. James’s Day._

On this day oysters come in; by act of parliament they are prohibited
until its arrival. It is a vulgar superstition, that whoever eats
oysters on St. James’s day will _never_ want money. The indifference to
industry which such notions engender in many minds, can be testified by
some of themselves, who falsify the frivolous legend by their present
abodes in workhouses.

Apples were blessed on this day by the priest. There is a special form
for blessing them in the manual of the church of Sarum. A greater
blessing is conferred at Cliff, in Kent, by the rector there: by an old
custom he distributes “at his parsonage-house on St. James’s day,
annually, a mutton pye and a loaf to as many as choose to demand it, the
expense of which amounts to about 15_l._ per annum.”[217]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Herb Christopher. _Actæa Spicata._
  Dedicated to _St. Christopher_.

  [217] Brand, from Hasted’s Kent.


~July 26.~

  _St. Anne_, Mother of the Virgin. _St. Germanus_, Bp. A. D. 448.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Field Chamomile. _Matricaria Chamomilla._
  Dedicated to _St. Anne_.


LION FIGHT.

On Tuesday, the 26th of July, 1825 there was a “fight,” if so it might
be called, between a lion and dogs, which ls thus reported in the public
journals.--

This extremely gratuitous, as well as disgusting, exhibition of
brutality, took place, at a late hour on Tuesday evening, at Warwick;
and, except that it was even still more offensive and cruel than was
anticipated, the result was purely that which had been predicted in _The
Times_ newspaper.

The show was got up in an extensive enclosure, called the “Old
Factory-yard,” just in the suburbs of Warwick, on the road towards
Northampton; and the cage in which the fight took place stood in the
centre of a hollow square, formed on two sides by ranges of empty
workshops, the windows of which were fitted up with planks on barrels as
seats for the spectators; and, in the remaining two, by the whole of Mr.
Wombwell’s wild “collection,” as they have been on show for some days
past, arranged in their respective dens and travelling carriages.

In the course of the morning, the dogs were shown, for the fee of a
shilling, at a public-house in Warwick, called the “Green Dragon.” Eight
had been brought over originally; but, by a mistake of locking them up
together on the preceding night, they had fallen out among themselves,
and one had been killed entirely; a second escaping only with the loss
of an ear, and a portion of one cheek. The guardian of the beasts being
rebuked for this accident, declared he could not have supposed they
would have fought each other--being “all on the same side:” six,
however, still remained in condition, as _Mrs. Heidelberg_ expresses it,
for the “runcounter.”

The price of admission demanded in the first instance for the fight
seemed to have been founded on very gross miscalculation. Three guineas
were asked for seats at the windows in the first, second, and third
floors of the unoccupied manufactory; two guineas for seats on the
fourth floor of this building; one guinea for places at a still more
distant point; and half-a-guinea for standing room in the square. The
appearance of the cage when erected was rather fragile, considering the
furious struggle which was to take place within it. It measured fifteen
feet square, and ten feet high, the floor of it standing about six feet
from the ground. The top, as well as the sides, was composed merely of
iron bars, apparently slight, and placed at such a distance from each
other that the dogs might enter or escape between, but too close for the
lion to follow. Some doubts were expressed about the sufficiency of
this last precaution--merely because a number of “ladies,” it was
understood, would be present; but the ladies in general escaped that
disgrace, for not a single female came; and, at all events, the
attendant bear-wards swore in the most solemn way--that is to say, using
a hundred imprecations instead of one--that the security of the whole
was past a doubt. Towards afternoon the determination as to “prices”
seemed a little to abate; and it was suspected that, in the end, the
speculator would take whatever prices he could get. The fact became
pretty clear, too, that no real match, nor any thing approaching to one,
was pending; because the parties themselves, in their printed notices,
did not settle any circumstances satisfactorily, under which the contest
could be considered as concluded. Wheeler, Mr. Martin’s agent, who had
come down on Monday, applied to the local authorities to stop the
exhibition; but the mayor, and afterwards, as we understood, a
magistrate of the name of Wade, declined interfering, on the ground
that, under Mr. Martin’s present act, no steps could be taken before the
act constituting “cruelty” had been committed. A gentleman, a quaker,
who resides near Warwick, also went down to the menagerie, in person, to
remonstrate with Mr. Wombwell; but, against the hope of letting seats at
“three guineas” a-head, of course his mediation could have very little
chance of success.

In the mean time, the unfortunate lion lay in a caravan by himself all
day, in front of the cage in which he was to be baited, surveying the
preparations for his own annoyance with great simplicity and apparent
good humour; and not at all discomfited by the notice of the numerous
persons who came to look at him. In the course of the day, the dogs who
were to fight were brought into the menagerie in slips, it being not the
least singular feature of this combat that it was to take place
immediately under the eyes of an immense host of wild beasts of all
descriptions (not including the human spectators); three other lions; a
she wolf, with cubs; a hyæna; a white bear; a lioness; two female
leopards, with cubs; two zebras, male and female; a large assortment of
monkeys; and two wild asses; with a variety of other interesting
foreigners, being arranged within a few yards of the grand stand.

These animals, generally, looked clean and in good condition; and were
(as is the custom with such creatures when confined) perpetually in
motion; but the dogs disappointed expectation--they were very little
excited by the introduction. They were strong, however, and lively;
crossed, apparently the majority of them, between the bull and the
mastiff breed; one or two showed a touch of the lurcher, a point in the
descent of fighting dogs which is held to give an increased capacity of
mouth. The average weight of those which fought was from about five and
thirty to five and forty pounds each; one had been brought over that
weighed more than sixty, but he was on some account or other excluded
from the contest.

The cub leopards were “fine darling little creatures,” as an old lady
observed in the morning, fully marked and , and about the size
of a two months’ old kitten. The young wolves had a haggard, cur-like
look; but were so completely like sheep-dog puppies, that a mother of
that race might have suckled them for her own. A story was told of the
lion “Nero” having already had a trial in the way of “give and take,”
with a bull bitch, who had attacked him, but, at the first onset, been
bitten through the throat. The bitch was said to have been got off by
throwing meat to the lion; and if the account were true, the result was
only such as with a single dog, against such odds, might reasonably have
been expected. Up to a late hour of the day, the arrival of strangers
was far less considerable than had been anticipated; and doubts were
entertained, whether, in the end, the owner of the lion would not
declare off.

At a quarter past seven, however, in the evening, from about four to
five hundred persons of different descriptions being assembled,
preparations were made for commencing


_The Combat._

The dens which contained the animals on show were covered in with
shutters; the lion’s travelling caravan was drawn close to the fighting
cage, so that a door could be opened from one into the other; and the
keeper, Wombwell, then going into the travelling caravan, in which
another man had already been staying with the lion for some time, the
animal followed him into the cage as tamely as a Newfoundland dog. The
whole demeanour of the beast, indeed, was so quiet and generous, that,
at his first appearance, it became very much doubted whether he would
attempt to fight at all. While the multitude shouted, and the dogs were
yelling in the ground below, he walked up and down his cage, Wombwell
still remaining in it, with the most perfect composure, not at all
angered, or even excited; but looking with apparently great curiosity at
his new dwelling and the objects generally about him; and there can
hardly be a question, that, during the whole contest, such as it turned
out, any one of the keepers might have remained close to him with entire
safety.

Wombwell, however, having quitted the cage, the first relay of dogs was
laid on. These were a fallow- dog, a brown with white legs, and
a third brown altogether--averaging about forty pounds in weight
a-piece, and described in the printed papers which were distributed, by
the names of Captain, Tiger, and Turk. As the dogs were held for a
minute in slips, upon the inclined plane which ran from the ground to
the stage, the lion crouched on his belly to receive them; but with so
perfect an absence of any thing like ferocity, that many persons were of
opinion he was rather disposed to play: at all events, the next moment
showed clearly that the idea of fighting, or doing mischief to any
living creature, never had occurred to him.

At the first rush of the dogs--which the lion evidently had not
expected, and did not at all know how to meet--they all fixed themselves
upon him, but caught only by the dewlap and the mane. With a single
effort, he shook them off, without attempting to return the attack. He
then flew from side to side of the cage, endeavouring to get away; but
in the next moment the assailants were upon him again, and the brown
dog, Turk, seized him by the nose, while the two others fastened at the
same time on the fleshy part of his lips and under-jaw. The lion then
roared dreadfully, but evidently only from the pain he suffered--not at
all from anger. As the dogs hung to his throat and head, he pawed them
off by sheer strength; and in doing this, and in rolling upon them, did
them considerable mischief; but it amounts to a most curious fact, that
he never once bit, or attempted to bite, during the whole contest, or
seemed to have any desire to retaliate any of the punishment which was
inflicted upon him. When he was first “pinned,” for instance, (to use
the phraseology of the bear-garden,) the dogs hung to him for more than
a minute, and were drawn, holding to his nose and lips, several times
round the ring. After a short time, roaring tremendously, he tore them
off with his claws, mauling two a good deal in the operation, but still
not attempting afterwards to act on the offensive. After about five
minutes’ fighting, the fallow- dog was taken away, lame, and
apparently much distressed, and the remaining two continued the combat
alone, the lion still working only with his paws, as though seeking to
rid himself of a torture, the nature of which he did not well
understand. In two or three minutes more, the second dog, Tiger, being
dreadfully maimed, crawled out of the cage; and the brown dog, Turk,
which was the lightest of the three, but of admirable courage, went on
fighting by himself. A most extraordinary scene then ensued: the dog,
left entirely alone with an animal of twenty times its weight, continued
the battle with unabated fury, and, though bleeding all over from the
effect of the lion’s claws, seized and pinned him by the nose at least
half a dozen times; when at length, releasing himself with a desperate
effort, the lion flung his whole weight upon the dog, and held him lying
between his fore paws for more than a minute, during which time he could
have bitten his head off a hundred times over, but did not make the
slightest effort to hurt him. Poor Turk was then taken away by the
dog-keepers, grievously mangled but still alive, and seized the lion,
for at least the twentieth time, the very same moment that he was
released from under him.

It would be tiresome to go at length into the detail of the “second
fight,” as it was called, which followed this; the undertaking being to
the assembly--for the notion of “match” now began to be too obvious a
humbug to be talked about--that there should be two onsets, at twenty
minutes’ interval, by three dogs at each time. When the last dog of the
first set, _Turk_, was removed, poor _Nero’s_ temper was just as good as
before the affair began. The keeper, Wombwell, went into the cage
instantly, and alone, carrying a pan of water, with which he first
sluiced the animal, and then offered him some to drink. After a few
minutes the lion laid down, rubbing the parts of his head which had been
torn (as a cat would do) with his paw; and presently a pan of fresh
water being brought, he lapped out of it for some moments, while a
second keeper patted and caressed him through the iron grate. The second
combat presented only a repetition of the barbarities committed in the
first, except that it completely settled the doubt--if any existed--as
to a sum of money being depending. In throwing water upon the lion, a
good deal had been thrown upon the stage. This made the floor of course
extremely slippery; and so far it was a very absurd blunder to commit.
But the second set of dogs let in being heavier than the first, and the
lion more exhausted, he was unable to keep his footing on the wet
boards, and fell in endeavouring to shake them off, bleeding freely from
the nose and head, and evidently in a fair way to be seriously injured.
The dogs, all three, seized him on going in, and he endeavoured to get
rid of them in the same way as before, using his paws, and not thinking
of fighting, but not with the same success. He fell now, and showed
symptoms of weakness, upon which the dogs were taken away. This
termination, however, did not please the crowd, who cried out loudly
that the dogs were not beaten. Some confusion then followed; after which
the dogs were again put in, and again seized the lion, who by this time,
as well as bleeding freely from the head, appeared to have got a hurt in
one of his fore feet. At length the danger of mischief becoming
pressing, and the two divisions of the second combat having lasted about
five minutes, Mr. Wombwell announced that he gave up on the part of the
lion; and the exhibition was declared to be at an end.

       *       *       *       *       *

The first struggle between the lion and his assailants lasted about
eleven minutes, and the last something less than five; but the affair
altogether wanted even the savage interest which generally belongs to a
common bull or bear bait. For, from the beginning of the matter to the
end, the lion was merely a sufferer--he never struck a blow. The only
picturesque point which could present itself in such a contest would
have been, the seeing an animal like the lion in a high state of fury
and excitation; but before the battle began, we felt assured that no
such event would take place; because the animal in question, had not
merely been bred up in such a manner as would go far to extinguish all
natural disposition to ferocity, but the greatest pains had been taken
to render him tame, and gentle, and submissive. Wombwell, the keeper,
walked about in the cage with the lion at least as much at his ease as
he could have done with any one of the dogs who were to be matched
against him. At the end of the first combat, the very moment the dogs
were removed, he goes into the cage and gives him water. At the end of
the last battle, while he is wounded and bleeding, he goes to him again
without the least hesitation. Wombwell must have known, to certainty,
that the animal’s temper was not capable of being roused into ferocity.
It might admit, perhaps, of some question, whether the supposed
untameable nature of many wild animals is not something overrated: and
whether it would not be the irresistible strength of a domestic lion (in
case he should become excited,) that could render him a dangerous
inmate, rather than any probability that he would easily become furious;
but, as regards the particular animal in question, and the battle which
he had to fight, he evidently had no understanding of it, no notion that
the dog was his enemy. A very large dog, the property of a gentleman in
Warwick, was led up to his caravan on the day before the fight; this
dog’s appearance did not produce the slightest impression upon him. So,
with the other wild beasts of Wombwell’s collection, who were shown to
the fighting dogs, as we observed above, on the morning of Tuesday, not
one of them appeared to be roused by the meeting in the smallest degree.
A common house cat would have been upon the _qui vive_, and _aux mains_
too probably, in a moment. All the contest that did take place arose out
of the fact, that the dogs were of a breed too small and light to
destroy an animal of the lion’s weight and strength, even if he did not
defend himself. It was quite clear, from the moment when the combat
began, that he had no more thought or knowledge of fighting, than a
sheep would have had under the same circumstances. His absolute refusal
to _bite_ is a curious fact; he had evidently no idea of using his mouth
or teeth as a means for his defence. The dogs, most of them, showed
considerable game; the brown dog Turk, perhaps as much as ever was
exhibited, and none of them seemed to feel any of that instinctive
dread or horror which some writers have attributed to dogs in the
presence of a lion.

[Illustration: ~Tame Lion Bait.~

“The dogs would not give him a moment’s respite, and all three set on
him again, while the poor animal howling with pain, threw his great paws
awkwardly upon them as they came.”

_Morning Herald._]

It would be a joke to say any thing about the feelings of any man, who,
for the sake of pecuniary advantage, could make up his mind to expose a
noble animal which he had bred, and which had become attached to him, to
a horrible and lingering death. About as little reliance we should be
disposed to place upon any appeal to the humanity of those persons who
make animal suffering--in the shape of dog-fighting, bear-baiting, &c.,
a sort of daily sport--an indemnification, perhaps, for the not being
permitted to torture their fellow-creatures. But as, probably, a number
of persons were present at this detestable exhibition, which we have
been describing, who were attracted merely by its novelty, and would be
as much disgusted as we ourselves were with its details, we recommend
their attention to the following letter, which a gentleman, a member of
the Society of Friends, who applied personally to Mr. Wombwell to omit
the performance, delivered to him as expressive of his own opinions upon
the question, and those of his friends. Of course, addressed to such a
quarter, it produced no effect; but it does infinite credit both to the
head and heart of the writer, and contains almost every thing that, to
honourable and feeling men, need be said upon such a subject:--

“Friend,--I have heard with a great degree of horror, of an intended
fight between a lion that has long been exhibited by thee, consequently
has long been under thy protection, and six bull-dogs. I seem impelled
to write to thee on the subject, and to entreat thee, I believe in
christian love, that, whatever may be thy hope of gain by this very
cruel and very disgraceful exhibition, thou wilt not proceed. Recollect
that they are God’s creatures, and we are informed by the holy
scriptures, that not even a sparrow falls to the ground without his
notice; and as this very shocking scene must be to gratify a spirit of
cruelty, as well as a spirit of gambling,--for it is asserted that large
sums of money are wagered on the event of the contest,--it must be
marked with divine displeasure. Depend upon it that the Almighty will
avenge the sufferings of his tormented creatures on their tormentors;
for, though he is a God of love, he is also a God of justice; and I
believe that no deed of cruelty has ever passed unpunished. Allow me to
ask thee how thou wilt endure to see the noble animal thou hast so long
protected, and which has been in part the means of supplying thee with
the means of life, mangled and bleeding before thee? It is unmanly, it
is mean and cowardly, to torment any thing that cannot defend
itself,--that cannot speak to tell its pains and sufferings,--that
cannot ask for mercy. Oh, spare thy poor lion the pangs of such a death
as may perhaps be his,--save him from being torn to pieces--have pity on
the dogs that may be torn by him. Spare the horrid spectacle--spare
thyself the sufferings that I fear will yet reach thee if thou
persist--show a noble example of humanity. Whoever have persuaded thee
to expose thy lion to the chance of being torn to pieces, or of tearing
other animals, are far beneath the brutes they torment, are unworthy the
name of men, or rational creatures. Whatever thou mayest gain by this
disgraceful exhibition will, I fear, prove like a canker-worm among the
rest of thy substance. The writer of this most earnestly entreats thee
to refrain from the intended evil, and to protect the animals in thy
possession from all unnecessary suffering. The practice of benevolence
will afford thee more true comfort than the possession of thousands.
Remember, that He who gave life did not give it to be the sport of cruel
man; and that He will assuredly call man to account for his conduct
towards his dumb creatures. Remember, also, that cowards are always
cruel, but the brave love mercy, and delight to save. With sincere
desire for the preservation of thy honour, as a man of humanity, and for
thy happiness and welfare, I am, thy friend,

  “S. HOARE.”

Mr. Hoare’s excellent letter, with the particulars of this brutal
transaction, thus far, are from _The Times_ newspaper which observes in
its leading article thus:

“With great sincerity we offered a few days ago our earnest remonstrance
against the barbarous spectacle then preparing, and since, in spite of
every better feeling, indulged--we mean the torture of a noble lion,
with the full consent, and for the profit, of a mercenary being, who had
gained large sums of money by hawking the poor animal about the world
and exhibiting him. It is vain, however, to make any appeal to humanity
where none exists, or to expatiate on mercy, justice, and retribution
hereafter, when those whom we strive to influence have never learned
that language in which alone we can address them.

“Little more can be said upon this painful and degrading subject, beyond
a relation of the occurrence itself, which it was more our wish than our
hope to have prevented. Nothing, at least, could be so well said by any
other person, as it has by a humane and eloquent member of the Society
of Friends, in his excellent though unavailing letter to Wombwell. What
must have been the texture of that mind, on which such sentiments could
make no impression?”

This question may be illustrated by Wombwell’s subsequent conduct.

       *       *       *       *       *

To the preceding account, extracted from _The Times_, additional
circumstances are subjoined, in order to preserve a full record of this
disgraceful act.

The _Morning Herald_ says--For several months the country has been
amused with notices that a fight between a lion and dogs was intended,
and time and place were more than once appointed. This had the desired
effect--making the lion an object of great attraction in the provincial
towns, and a golden harvest was secured by showing him at two shillings
a head. The next move was to get up such a fight as would draw all the
world from London, as well as from the villages, to fill places marked
at one and two guineas each to see it; and lastly, to find dogs of such
weight and inferior quality as to stand no chance before an enraged
lion--thus securing the lion from injury, and making him still a greater
lion than before, or that the world ever saw to be exhibited as the
wonderful animal that beat six British bred mastiffs. The repeated
disappointments as to time and place led people to conclude that the
affair was altogether a hoax, and the magnitude of the stake of
5,000_l._ said to be at issue, was so far out of any reasonable
calculation, that the whole was looked upon as a fabrication, and the
majority became incredulous on the subject. Nay, the very persons who
saw the lion and the dogs, and the stage, disbelieved even to the last
moment that the fight was in reality intended. But the proprietor of the
concern was too good a judge to let the flats altogether escape him,
though his draught was diminished from having troubled the waters too
much. Wombwell, the proprietor, as the leader of a collection of wild
beasts, may be excused for his proficiency in trickery, which is the
essence and spirit of his calling, but we think him accountable, as a
man, for his excessive cruelty in exposing a poor animal that he has
reared himself, and made so attached that it plays with him, and fondles
him like a spaniel--that has never been taught to know its own powers,
or the force of its savage nature, to the attacks of dogs trained to
blood, and bred for fighting. The lion now five years old, was whelped
in Edinburgh, and has been brought up with so much softness, that it
appears as inoffensive as a kitten, and suffers the attendants of the
menagerie to ride upon its back or to sleep in its cage. Its nature
seems to be gentleness itself, and its education has rendered it
perfectly domestic, and deprived it of all savage instinct. In the only
experiment made upon its disposition, he turned from a dog which had
been run at him, and on which he had fastened, to a piece of meat which
was thrown into the cage. Nero is said to be one of the largest lions
ever exhibited, and certainly a finer or more noble looking animal
cannot be imagined.

Wombwell announced in his posting-bills at Birmingham, Coventry,
Manchester, and all the neighbouring towns, that the battle was to be
for 5,000_l._, but communicated, by way of secret, that, in reality, it
was but 300_l._ aside, which he asserted was made good with the owner of
the dogs on Monday night, at the Bear, in Warwick; but who the owner of
the dogs was, or the maker of the match, it was impossible to ascertain;
and though well aware of the impropriety of doubting the authority of
the keeper of the menagerie, we must admit that our impression is, that
no match was made, that no wagers were laid, and that the affair was got
up for the laudable purpose hinted at in the commencement of this
notice. The dogs to be sure, were open to the inspection of the curious
on Monday, and a rough-coated, game-keeping, butcher-like, honest,
ruffianly person from the north, announced himself as their ostensible
friend on the occasion; but by whom employed he was unwilling to
declare. His orders were to bring the dogs to “the scratch,” and very
busy we saw him preparing them for slaughter, and anointing the wounds
of one little bitter animal that got its head laid open in the course of
the night, while laudably engaged in mangling the throat and forcing
out the windpipe of one of its companions, near whom it had been
unfortunately chained. The other dogs were good-looking savage vermin,
averaging about 40lbs. weight; one of them being less than 30lbs., and
the largest not over 60lbs. Four were described as real bull dogs, and
the other bull and mastiff crossed. The keeper said they were quite
equal to the work; but, to one not given to the fancy dog line, they
appeared quite unequal to attack and master a lion, many times as large
as all the curs put together. Wedgbury, a person well known in London
for his breed of dogs, brought down one over 70lbs., of most ferocious
and villanous aspect, with the intention of entering him for a run, but
it was set aside by Wombwell; thus affording another proof that Wombwell
had the whole concern in his hands, and selected dogs unable, from their
weight or size, to do a mortal injury to his lion.

Wombwell appointed seven in the evening as the hour of combat.
Accommodations were prepared for about a thousand people, but owing to
the frequent disappointments and to the exorbitant prices demanded, not
more than two hundred and fifty persons appeared willing or able to pay
for the best places, and about as many more admitted on the ground. The
charge to the former was reduced to two guineas and one guinea, and to
the latter from half a guinea to 7_s._ 6_d._ About 400_l._ was
collected, from which, deducting 100_l._ for expenses, 300_l._ was
cleared by the exhibition, a sum barely the value of the lion if he
should lose his life in the contest. The cages in which the other beasts
were confined, were all closed up. It was well understood that no match
had really been made, and consequently no betting of consequence took
place, but among a few countrymen, who, contrasting the size of the lion
with the dogs, backed him at 2 to 1.

Wombwell, having no longer the fear of the law before him, proceeded to
complete his engagements, and distributed the following bills:--

“THE LION FIGHT.

“The following are the conditions under which the combat between Nero
and the dogs will be decided:--

“1st. Three dogs are at once to be slipped at him.

“2d. If one or any of them turn tail, he or they are to be considered as
beaten, and no one of the other remaining three shall be allowed to
attack him until twenty minutes shall be expired, in order to give Nero
rest; for he must be allowed to beat the first three, one by one, or as
he may choose before the remaining three shall be started.

“After the expiration of the stipulated time, the remaining three dogs
are to start according to the foregoing rules, and be regulated as the
umpires shall adjudge.

“The dogs to be handled by Mr. Edwards, John Jones, and William Davis,
assisted by Samuel Wedgbury.

“1. Turk, a brown  dog.--2. Captain, a fallow and white dog,
with skewbald face.--3. Tiger, a brown dog, with white legs.--4. Nettle,
a little brindled bitch, with black head.--5. Rose, a skewbald
bitch.--6. Nelson, a white dog, with brindled spots.”

The place chosen for the exhibition was, as we have said, the yard of a
large factory, in the centre of which an iron cage, about fifteen feet
square, elevated five feet from the ground, was fixed as the place of
combat. This was secured at top by strong open iron work, and at the
sides by wrought iron bars, with spaces sufficient between to admit the
dogs, and an ascending platform for them to run up. Temporary stations
were fixed at the windows of the factory, and all round the yard, and
the price for these accommodations named at the outrageous charge of
three guineas for the best places, two guineas for the second, one for
the third, and half a guinea for standing on the ground. Though the
place was tolerably well fitted up, it fell far short of what the mind
conceived should be the arena for for such a combat; but Mr. Wombwell
cared not a jot for the pleasures of the imagination, and counted only
the golden sovereign to which every deal board would be turned in the
course of the day, while his whole collection of wild beasts, lions,
tigresses, and wolves, with their whelps and cubs, apes and monkeys,
made up a goodly show, and roared and grinned in concert, delighted with
the bustle about them, as if in anticipation of the coming fun.

       *       *       *       *       *

The _Morning Chronicle_ says,--The place chosen for the combat, was the
factory yard in which the first stage was erected for the fight between
Ward and Cannon. This spot, which was, in fact, extremely well
calculated for the exhibition, was now completely enclosed. We formerly
stated that two sides of the yard were formed by high buildings, the
windows of which looked upon the area; the vacant spaces were now filled
up by Mr. Wombwell’s collection of wild beasts, which were openly
exposed, in their respective cages, on the one side, and by paintings
and canvass on the other, so that, in fact, a compact square was formed,
which was securely hidden from external observation. There was but one
door of admission, and that was next the town. Upon the tops of the
cages seats were erected, in amphitheatrical order; and for
accommodation here, one guinea was charged. The higher prices were taken
for the windows in the factories, and the standing places were 10_s._
each. The centre of the square was occupied by the den, a large iron
cage, the bars of which were sufficiently far asunder to permit the dogs
to pass in and out, while the caravan in which Nero was usually
confined, was drawn up close to it. The den itself was elevated upon a
platform, fixed on wheels about four feet from the ground, and an
inclined plane formed of thick planks was placed against it, so as to
enable the dogs to rush to the attack. It was into this den that Nero
was enticed to be baited. Wombwell’s trumpeters then went forth, mounted
on horses, and in gaudy array, to announce the fight, which was fixed to
take place between five and seven in the evening. They travelled to
Leamington, and the adjacent villages; but to have done good they should
have gone still farther, for all who ventured from a distance on
speculation, announced that those they left behind fully believed that
their labour would be in vain.

The dogs attracted a good deal of curiosity. They took up their quarters
at the Green Dragon, where they held a levee, and a great number of
persons paid sixpence each to have an opportunity of judging of their
qualities, and certainly as far as appearance went, they seemed capable
of doing much mischief.

On Tuesday morning several persons were admitted to the factory to see
the preparations, and at about ten o’clock the dogs were brought in.
They seemed perfectly ready to quarrel with each other, but did not
evince any very hostile disposition either towards Nero, who, from his
private apartment, eyed them with great complacency, or towards the
other lion and lionesses by whom they were surrounded, and who, as it
were, taunted them by repeated howlings, in which Nero joined chorus
with his deep and sonorous voice. The cruelty of unnecessarily exposing
such an animal to torture, naturally produced severe comments; and among
other persons, a quaker, being in the town of Warwick, waited upon Mr.
Wombwell, on Tuesday morning, with Mr. Hoare’s letter, which he said he
had received twenty miles from the town. However well meant this letter
was, and that it arose in the purest motives of christian charity no man
could doubt: with Mr. Wombwell it had no effect. He looked at his
preparations, he looked at his lion, and he cast a glance forward to his
profits, and then shook his head.

The pain of the lion was to be Wombwell’s profit; and between agony to
the animal, and lucre to himself, the showman did not hesitate.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the _Morning Herald_ report of this lion bait, several marked
circumstances are selected, and subjoined under a denomination suitable
to their character--viz:--


  POINTS OF CRUELTY.
  _First Combat._

1. The dogs, as if in concert, flew at the lion’s nose and endeavoured
to pin him, but Nero still kept up his head, striking with his
fore-paws, and seemingly endeavouring more to get rid of the annoyance
than to injure them.

2. They unceasingly kept goading, biting, and darting at his nose,
sometimes hanging from his mouth, or one endeavouring to pin a paw,
while the others mangled the head.

3. Turk made a most desperate spring at the nose, and absolutely held
there for a moment, while Captain and Tiger each seized a paw; the force
of all three brought the lion from his feet, and he was pinned to the
floor for the instant.

4. His great strength enabled him to shake off the dogs, and then, as if
quite terrified at their fury, he turned round and endeavoured to fly;
and if the bars of the cage had not confined him, would certainly have
made away. Beaten to the end of the cage, he lay extended in one corner,
his great tail hanging out through the bars.

5. Nero appeared quite exhausted, and turned a forlorn and despairing
look on every side for assistance. The dogs became faint, and panting
with their tongues out, stood beside him for a few seconds, until
cheered and excited by their keepers’ voices they again commenced the
attack, and roused Nero to exertion. The poor beast’s heart seemed to
fail him altogether at this fresh assault, and he lay against the side
of the stage totally defenceless, while his foes endeavoured to make an
impression on his carcase.

6. Turk turned to the head once more, and goaded the lion, almost to
madness, by the severity of his punishment on the jaws and nose.

7. The attack had continued about six minutes, and both lion and dogs
were brought to a stand still; but Turk got his wind in a moment, and
flew at his old mark of the jaw, which he laid hold of, and hung from
it, while Nero roared with anguish.

8. The lion attempted to break away, and flung himself with desperation
against the bars of the stage--the dogs giving chase, darting at his
flank, and worrying his head, until all three being almost spent,
another pause took place, and the dogs spared their victim for an
instant.

9. Turk got under his chest, and endeavoured to fix himself on his
throat, while Tiger imitating his fierceness, flew at the head. This
joint attack worked the spirit of the poor lion a little, he struck
Tiger from him with a severe blow of his paw, and fell upon Turk with
all the weight of the fore part of his body, and then grasping his paws
upon him, held him as in a vice.

10. Here the innocent nature of poor Nero was conspicuous, and the
brutality of the person who fought him made more evident, for the fine
animal having its totally defenceless enemy within the power of his paw,
did not put it upon him and crush his head to mince meat, but lay with
his mouth open, panting for breath, nor could all the exertions of
Wombwell from outside the bars direct his fury at the dog who was
between his feet.

11. It now became a question what was to be done, as Tiger crawled away
and was taken to his kennel, and there appeared no chance of the lion
moving from his position and relieving the other dog. However, after
about a minute’s pause, the lion opened his hold, released the dog and
got upon his legs, as if he became at ease when freed from the
punishment of his assailants.

12. Turk finding himself at liberty, faced the lion, flew at his nose,
and there fastened himself like a leech, while poor Nero roared again
with anguish. The lion contrived, by a violent exertion, to shake him
off. Thus terminated the first round in eleven minutes.


_Second Combat._

1. The three dogs were brought to their station, and pointed and excited
at the lion; but the inoffensive, innocent creature walked about the
stage, evidently unprepared for a second attack.

2. Word being given, the three dogs were slipped at once, and all darted
at the flank of the lion, amid the horrid din of the cries of their
handlers, and the clapping and applause of the mob. The lion finding
himself again assailed, did not turn against his foes, but broke away
with a roar, and went several times round the cage seeking to escape
from their fury.

3. The dogs pursued him, and all heading him as if by the same impulse,
flew at his nose together, brought him down, and pinned him to the
floor. Their united strength being now evidently superior to his, he was
held fast for several seconds, while the mob shouted with renewed
delight.

4. Nero, by a desperate exertion, cleared himself at length from their
fury, and broke away; but the dogs again gave chase and headed him once
more, sprung at his nose, and pinned him all three together. The poor
beast, lacerated and torn, groaned with pain and heart-rending anguish,
and a few people, with something of a human feeling about them, called
out to Wombwell to give in for the lion; but he was callous to their
entreaties, and Nero was left to his fate.

5. Poor Nero lay panting on the stage, his mouth, nose, and chaps full
of blood, while a contest took place between Wombwell and the keepers of
the dogs, the one refusing, and the other claiming the victory. At
length brutality prevailed, and the dogs were slipped again for the
purpose of finishing.

6. Nero was unable to rise and meet them, and suffered himself to be
torn and pulled about as they pleased; while the dogs, exulting over
their prey, mumbled his carcase, as he lay quite powerless and
exhausted. Wombwell then seeing that all chance of the lion coming round
was hopeless, and dreading that the death of the poor animal must be the
consequence of further punishment, gave in at last, and the handlers of
the dogs laid hold of them by the legs, and pulled them by main force
away, on which another shout of brutal exultation was set up, and the
savage sport of the day concluded.


_Nero’s Tameness._

Had he exerted a tithe of his strength, struck with his paws, or used
his fangs, he must have killed all the dogs, but the poor beast never
bit his foes, or attempted any thing further than defending himself from
an annoyance. On the whole, the exhibition was the most brutal we have
ever witnessed, and appears to be indefensible in every point of view.

       *       *       *       *       *

In reprobating the baiting of this tame lion by trained and savage dogs,
the periodical press has been unanimous. The _New Times_ says, “We
rejoice to observe the strong feeling of aversion with which the public
in general have heard of this cruel exhibition. As a question of natural
history, it may be deemed curious to ascertain the comparative ferocity
of the lion and the bull-dog; but even in this respect the Warwick fight
cannot be deemed satisfactory; for though the lion was a large and
majestic animal, yet, as he had been born and brought up in a domestic
state, he had evidently little or nothing of the fury which a wild
animal of the same species evinces in combat. Buffon observes, that ‘the
lion is very susceptible of the impressions given to him, and has always
docility enough to be rendered tame to a certain degree.’ He adds, that
‘the lion, if taken young, and brought up among domestic animals, easily
accustoms himself to live with them, and even to play without doing them
injury; that he is mild to his keeper, and even caressing, especially in
the early part of his life; and that if his natural fierceness now and
then breaks out, it is seldom turned against those who have treated him
with kindness.’ These remarks of the great naturalist are very fully
confirmed by the conduct of poor Nero; for both before and after the
combat, he suffered his keeper, Wombwell, with impunity to enter his
den, give him water to drink, and throw the remainder over his head.--We
begin now to feel that a man has no _right_ to torment inferior animals
for his amusement; but it must be confessed that this sentiment is
rather of recent predominance. The gladiatorial shows of Rome, the
quail-fights of India, the bull-fights of Spain, may, in some measure,
keep our barbarous ancestors in countenance; but the fact is, that
bear-baiting, badger-baiting, bull-baiting, cock-fighting, and such
elegant modes of setting on poor animals to worry and torment each
other, were, little more than a century ago, the fashionable amusement
of persons in all ranks of life. They have gradually descended to the
lowest of the vulgar; and though there always will be found persons who
adopt the follies and vices of their inferiors, yet these form a very
small and inconsiderable minority of the respectable classes; and in
another generation it will probably be deemed disgraceful in a gentleman
to associate, on any occasion, with prize-fighters and pickpockets.” By
right education, and the diffusion of humane principles, we may teach
youth to shun the inhuman example of their forefathers.


WOMBWELL’S SECOND LION BAIT.

Determined not to forego a shilling which could be obtained by the
exposure of an animal to torture, Wombwell in the same week submitted
another of his lions to be baited.

_The Times_, in giving an account of this renewed brutality, after a
forcible expression of its “disgust and indignation at the cruelty of
the spectacle, and the supineness of the magistracy,” proceeds thus:
“Wombwell has, notwithstanding the public indignation which accompanied
the exposure of the lion Nero to the six dogs, kept his word with the
lovers of cruel sports by a second exhibition. He matched his ‘Wallace,’
a fine lion, cubbed in Scotland, against six of the best dogs that could
be found. Wallace’s temper is the very opposite of that of the gentle
Nero. It is but seldom that he lets even his feeders approach him, and
he soon shows that he cannot reconcile himself to familiarity from any
creature not of his own species. Towards eight o’clock the factory-yard
was well attended, at 5_s._ each person, and soon after the battle
commenced. The lion was turned from his den to the same stage on which
Nero fought. The match was--1st. Three couples of dogs to be slipped at
him, two at a time--2d. Twenty minutes or more, as the umpires should
think fit, to be allowed between each attack--3d. The dogs to be handed
to the cage once only. Tinker, Ball, Billy, Sweep, Turpin, Tiger.”


THE FIGHT.

“In the first round, Tinker and Ball were let loose, and both made a
gallant attack; the lion having waited for them as if aware of the
approach of his foes. He showed himself a forest lion, and fought like
one. He clapped his paw upon poor Ball, took Tinker in his teeth, and
deliberately walked round the stage with him as a cat would with a
mouse. Ball, released from the paw, worked all he could, but Wallace
treated his slight punishment by a kick now and then. He at length
dropped Tinker, and that poor animal crawled off the stage as well as he
could. The lion then seized Ball by the mouth, and played precisely the
same game with him as if he had actually been trained to it. Ball would
have been almost devoured, but his second got hold of him through the
bars, and hauled him away. Turpin, a London, and Sweep, a Liverpool dog,
made an excellent attack, but it was three or four minutes before the
ingenuity of their seconds could get them on. Wallace squatted on his
haunches, and placed himself erect at the <DW72> where the dogs mounted
the stage, as if he thought they dared not approach. The dogs, when on,
fought gallantly; but both were vanquished in less than a minute after
their attack. The London dog bolted as soon as he could extricate
himself from the lion’s grasp, but Sweep would have been killed on the
spot, but he was released. Wedgbury untied Billy and Tiger, casting a
most piteous look upon the wounded dogs around him. Both went to work.
Wallace seized Billy by the loins, and when shaking him, Tiger having
run away, Wedgbury cried out, ‘There, you see how you’ve gammoned me to
have the best dog in England killed.’ Billy, however, escaped with his
life; he was dragged through the railing, after having received a mark
in the loins, which (if he recovers at all) will probably render him
unfit for any future contest. The victory of course was declared in
favour of the lion.--Several well-dressed women viewed the contest from
the upper apartment of the factory.”--_Women!_


_Lion Fights in England._

It is more than two hundred years since an attempt has been made in
this country to fight a lion against dogs. In the time of James I., the
exhibition took place for the amusement of the court. Those who are
curious on the subject, will find in “Seymour’s Survey,” a description
of an experiment of that nature, in 1610. Two lions and a bear were
first put into a pit together, but they agreed perfectly well, and
disappointed the royal spectators in not assaulting each other. A
high-spirited horse was then put in with them, but neither the bear nor
the lions attacked him. Six mastiffs were next let loose, but they
directed all their fury against the horse, flew upon it, and would have
torn it in pieces, but for the interference of the bear-wards, who went
into the pit, and drew the dogs away, the lions and bear remaining
unconcerned. Your profound antiquarian will vouch for the truth of this
narration, but it goes a very little way to establish the fact of an
actual fight between a lion and dogs. Perhaps an extract from _Stow’s
Annals_ may be more satisfactory. It is an account of a contest stated
to have taken place in the presence of James I., and his son, prince
Henry. “One of the dogs being put into the den, was soon disabled by the
lion, who took him by the head and neck, and dragged him about. Another
dog was then let loose, and served in the same manner; but the third
being put in, immediately seized the lion by the lip, and held him for a
considerable time; till being severely torn by his claws, the dog was
obliged to quit his hold; and the lion, greatly exhausted by the
conflict, refused to renew the engagement; but, taking a sudden leap
over the dogs, fled into the interior of his den. Two of the dogs soon
died of their wounds; the third survived, and was taken great care of by
the prince, who said, ‘he that had fought with the king of beasts should
never after fight with an inferior creature.’”[218]


_Lion Fight at Vienna._

There was a lion fight at the amphitheatre of Vienna, in the summer of
1790, which was almost the last permitted in that capital.

The amphitheatre at Vienna embraced an area of from eighty to a hundred
feet in diameter. The lower part of the structure comprised the dens of
the different animals. Above those dens, and about ten feet from the
ground, were the first and principal seats, over which were galleries.
In the course of the entertainment, a den was opened, out of which
stalked, in free and ample range, a most majestic lion; and, soon after,
a fallow deer was let into the circus from another den. The deer
instantly fled, and bounded round the circular space, pursued by the
lion; but the quick and sudden turnings of the former continually
baulked the effort of its pursuer. After this ineffectual chase had
continued for several minutes, a door was opened, through which the deer
escaped; and presently five or six of the large and fierce Hungarian
mastiffs were sent in. The lion, at the moment of their entrance, was
leisurely returning to his den, the door of which stood open. The dogs,
which entered behind him, flew towards him in a body, with the utmost
fury, making the amphitheatre ring with their barkings. When they
reached the lion, the noble animal stopped, and deliberately turned
towards them. The dogs instantly retreated a few steps, increasing their
vociferations, and the lion slowly resumed his progress towards his den.
The dogs again approached; the lion turned his head; his adversaries
halted; and this continued until, on his nearing his den, the dogs
separated, and approached him on different sides. The lion then turned
quickly round, like one whose dignified patience could brook the
harrassment of insolence no longer. The dogs fled far, as if
instinctively sensible of the power of wrath they had at length
provoked. One unfortunate dog, however, which had approached too near to
effect his escape, was suddenly seized by the paw of the lion; and the
piercing yells which he sent forth quickly caused his comrades to recede
to the door of entrance at the opposite site of the area, where they
stood in a row, barking and yelling in concert with their miserable
associate.

After arresting the struggling and yelling prisoner for a short time,
the lion couched upon him with his forepaws and mouth. The struggles of
the sufferer grew feebler and feebler, until at length he became
perfectly motionless. We all concluded him to be dead. In this composed
posture of executive justice, the lion remained for at least ten
minutes, when he majestically rose, and with a slow step entered his
den, and disappeared. The apparent corpse continued to lie motionless
for a few minutes; presently the dog, to his amazement, and that of the
whole amphitheatre, found himself alive, and rose with his nose pointed
to the ground, his tail between his hind legs pressing his belly, and,
as soon as he was certified of his existence, he made off for the door
in a long trot, through which he escaped with his more fortunate
companions.[219]


_Another Lion Fight at Vienna._

Of late years the truth of the accounts which have been so long current,
respecting the generous disposition of the lion, have been called in
question. Several travellers, in their accounts of Asia and Africa,
describe him as of a more rapacious and sanguinary disposition than had
formerly been supposed, although few of them have had the opportunity to
make him a particular object of their attention.

A circumstance that occurred not long since in Vienna seems, however, to
confirm the more ancient accounts. In the year 1791, at which period the
custom of baiting wild beasts still existed in that city, a combat was
to be exhibited between a lion and a number of large dogs. As soon as
the noble animal made his appearance, four large bull-dogs were turned
loose upon him, three of which, however, as soon as they came near him,
took fright, and ran away. One only had courage to remain, and make the
attack. The lion, however, without rising from the ground upon which he
was lying, showed him, by a single stroke with his paw, how greatly his
superior he was in strength; for the dog was instantly stretched
motionless on the ground. The lion drew him towards him, and laid his
fore-paws upon him in such a manner that only a small part of his body
could be seen. Every one imagined that the dog was dead, and that the
lion would soon rise and devour him. But they were mistaken. The dog
began to move, and struggled to get loose, which the lion permitted him
to do. He seemed merely to have warned him not to meddle with him any
more; but when the dog attempted to run away, and had already got half
over the enclosure, the lion’s indignation seemed to be excited. He
sprang from the ground, and in two leaps reached the fugitive, who had
just got as far as the paling, and was whining to have it opened for him
to escape. The flying animal had called the instinctive propensity of
the monarch of the forest into action: the defenceless enemy now excited
his pity; for the generous lion stepped a few paces backward, and looked
quietly on, while a small door was opened to let the dog out of the
enclosure.

This unequivocal trait of generosity moved every spectator. A shout of
applause resounded throughout the assembly, who had enjoyed a
satisfaction of a description far superior to what they had expected.

It is possible that the African lion, when, under the impulse of hunger,
he goes out to seek his prey, may not so often exhibit this magnanimous
disposition; for in that case he is compelled by imperious necessity to
satisfy the cravings of nature; but when his appetite is satiated, he
never seeks for prey, nor does he ever destroy to gratify a
blood-thirsty disposition.[220]


_A Man killed by a Lion._

Under the reign of Augustus, king of Poland and elector of Saxony, a
lion was kept in the menagerie at Dresden, between whom and his
attendant such a good understanding subsisted, that the latter used not
to lay the food which he brought to him before the grate, but carried it
into his cage. Generally the man wore a green jacket; and a considerable
time had elapsed, during which the lion had always appeared very
friendly and grateful whenever he received a visit from him.

Once the keeper, having been to church to receive the sacrament, had put
on a black coat, as is usual in that country upon such occasions, and he
still wore it when he gave the lion his dinner. The unusual appearance
of the black coat excited the lion’s rage; he leapt at his keeper, and
struck his claws into his shoulder. The man spoke to him gently, when
the well-known tone of his voice brought the lion in some degree to
recollection. Doubt appeared expressed in his terrific features;
however, he did not quit his hold. An alarm was raised: the wife and
children ran to the place with shrieks of terror. Soon some grenadiers
of the guard arrived, and offered to shoot the animal, as there seemed,
in this critical moment, to be no other means of extricating the man
from him; but the keeper, who was attached to the lion, begged them not
to do it, as he hoped he should be able to extricate himself at a less
expense. For nearly a quarter of an hour, he capitulated with his
enraged friend, who still would not let go his hold, but shook his mane,
lashed his sides with his tail, and rolled his fiery eyes. At length the
man felt himself unable to sustain the weight of the lion, and yet any
serious effort to extricate himself would have been at the immediate
hazard of his life. He therefore desired the grenadiers to fire, which
they did through the grate, and killed the lion on the spot; but in the
same moment, perhaps only by a convulsive dying grasp, he squeezed the
keeper between his powerful claws with such force, that he broke his
arms, ribs, and spine; and they both fell down dead together.[221]


_A Woman killed by a Lion._

In the beginning of the last century, there was in the menagerie at
Cassel, a lion that showed an astonishing degree of tameness towards the
woman that had the care of him. This went so far, that the woman, in
order to amuse the company that came to see the animal, would often
rashly place not only her hand, but even her head, between his
tremendous jaws. She had frequently performed this experiment without
suffering any injury; but having once introduced her head into the
lion’s mouth, the animal made a sudden snap, and killed her on the spot.
Undoubtedly, this catastrophe was unintentional on the part of the lion;
for probably at the fatal moment the hair of the woman’s head irritated
the lion’s throat, and compelled him to sneeze or cough; at least, this
supposition seems to be confirmed by what followed: for as soon as the
lion perceived that he had killed his attendant, the good-tempered,
grateful animal exhibited signs of the deepest melancholy, laid himself
down by the side of the dead body, which he would not suffer to be taken
from him, refused to take any food, and in a few days pined himself to
death.[222]


_The Lions in the Tower._

Lions, with other beasts of prey and curious animals presented to the
king of England, are committed to the Tower on their arrival, there to
remain in the custody of a keeper especially appointed to that office by
letters patent; he has apartments for himself, with an allowance of
sixpence a day, and a further sixpence a day for every lion and leopard.
Maitland says the office was usually filled by some person of
distinction and quality, and he instances the appointment of Robert
Marsfield, Esq., in the reign of king Henry VI.[223] It appears from the
patent rolls, that in 1382, Richard II. appointed John Evesham, one of
his valets, keeper of the lions, and one of the valets-at-arms in the
Tower of London, during pleasure. His predecessor was Robert
Bowyer.[224] Maitland supposes lions and leopards to have been the only
beasts kept there for many ages, except a white bear and an elephant in
the reign of Henry III. That monarch, on the 26th of February, 1256,
honoured the sheriff of London with the following precept:--“The King to
the Sheriffs of London, greeting: We command you, that of the farm of
our city ye cause, without delay, to be built at our Tower of London one
house of forty feet long, and twenty feet deep, for our Elephant.” Next
year, on the 11th of October, the king in like manner commanded the
sheriffs “to find for the said Elephant and his keeper such necessaries
as should be reasonable needful.” He had previously ordered them to
allow fourpence a day for keeping the white bear and his keeper; and the
sheriffs were royally favoured with an injunction to provide a muzzle
and an iron chain to hold the bear out of the water, and also a long and
strong cord to hold him while he washed himself in the Thames.

Stow relates, that James I., on a visit to the lion and lioness in the
Tower, caused a live lamb to be put into them; but they refused to harm
it, although the lamb in its innocence went close to them. An anecdote
equally striking was related to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ by an
individual whose friend, a few years ago, saw a young calf thrust into
the den of a lion abroad. The calf walked to the lion, and rubbed itself
against him as he lay; the lion looked, but did not move; the calf, by
thrusting its nose under the side of the lion, indicated a desire to
suck, and the lion then slowly rose and walked away, from mere
disinclination to be interfered with, but without the least expression
of resentment, although the calf continued to follow him.

On the 13th of August, 1731, a litter of young lions was whelped in the
Tower, from a lioness and lion whelped there six years before. In the
_Gentleman’s Magazine_ for February, 1739, there is an engraving of
Marco, a lion then in the Tower.

On the 6th of April, 1775, a lion was landed at the Tower, as a present
to his late majesty from Senegal. He was taken in the woods, out of a
snare, by a private soldier, who, being attacked by two natives that had
laid it, killed them both, and brought away the lion. The king ordered
his discharge for this act, and further rewarded him by a pension of
fifty pounds a year for life. On this fact, related in the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_ for that year, a correspondent inquires of Mr. Urban whether
“a lion’s whelp is an equivalent for the lives of two human creatures.”
To this question, reiterated by another, it is answered in the same
volume, with rectitude of principle and feeling, that “if the fact be
_true_, the person who recommended the soldier to his majesty’s notice,
must have considered the action in a military light only, and must
totally have overlooked the criminality of it in a moral sense. The
killing two innocent fellow-creatures, _unprovoked_, only to rob them of
the fruits of their ingenuity, can never surely be accounted
_meritorious_ in one who calls himself a christian. If it is not
_meritorious_, but contrary, the murderer was a very improper object to
be recommended as worthy to be rewarded by a humane and christian king.”
This settled the question, and the subject was not revived.


THE LION’S HEAD.

Because the inundation of the Nile happened during the progress of the
sun in Leo, the ancients caused the water of their fountains to issue
from the mouth of a lion’s head, sculptured in stone. The circumstance
is pleasant to notice at this season; a few remarks will be made on
fountains by-and-bye.

The _Lion’s Head_, at Button’s coffee-house, is well remembered in
literary annals. It was a carving with an orifice at the mouth, through
which communications for the “Guardian” were thrown. Button had been a
servant in the countess of Warwick’s family, and by the patronage of
Addison, kept a coffee-house on the south side of Russell-street, about
two doors from Covent-garden, where the wits of that day used to
assemble. Addison studied all the morning, dined at a tavern, and
afterwards went to Button’s. “The Lion’s Head” was inscribed with two
lines from Martial:--

    Cervantur magnis isti Cervicibus ungues:
    Non nisi delectâ pascitur ille fera.

This has been translated in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ thus:--

    Bring here nice morceaus; be it understood
    The lion vindicates his choicest food.

Button’s “Lion’s Head” was afterwards preserved at the Shakspeare
Tavern, where it was sold by auction on the 8th of November, 1804, to
Mr. Richardson of the Grand Hotel, the indefatigable collector and
possessor of an immense mass of materials for the history of St. Paul,
Covent-garden, the parish wherein he resides. The late duke of Norfolk
was his ineffectual competitor at the sale: the noble peer suffered the
spirited commoner to gain the prize for 17_l._ 10_s._ Subsequently the
duke frequently dined at Mr. Richardson’s, whom he courted in vain to
relinquish the gem. Mr. R. had the head with its inscription handsomely
engraved for his “great seal,” from which he has caused delicate
impressions to be presented in oak-boxes, to a few whom it has pleased
him so to gratify; and among them the editor of the _Every-Day Book_,
who thus acknowledges the acceptable civility.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the _London Magazine_ the “Lion’s Head,” fronts each number, greeting
its correspondents, and others who expect announcements, with “short
affable roars,” and inviting “communications” from all “who may have
committed a particularly good action, or a particularly bad one--or said
or written any thing very clever, or very stupid, during the month.” By
too literal a construction of this comprehensive invitation, some got
into the “head,” who, not having reach enough for the “body” of the
magazine, were happy to get out with a slight scratch, and others remain
without daring to say “their souls are their own”--to the reformation of
themselves, and as examples to others contemplating like offences. The
“Lion” of the “London” is of delicate scent, and shows high masterhood
in the great forest of literature.


~St. Anne.~

Her name, which in Hebrew signifies gracious, is in the church of
England calendar and almanacs on this day, which is kept as a great
holiday by the Romish church.

The history of St. Anne is an old fiction. It pretends that she and her
husband Joachim were Jews of substance, and lived twenty years without
issue, when the high priest, on Joachim making his offerings in the
temple, at the feast of the dedication, asked him why he, who had no
children, presumed to appear among those who had; adding, that his
offerings were not acceptable to God, who had judged him unworthy to
have children, nor, until he had, would his offerings be accepted.
Joachim retired, and bewailed his reproach among his shepherds in the
pastures without returning home, lest his neighbours also should
reproach him. The story relates that, in this state, an angel appeared
to him and consoled him, by assuring him that he should have a daughter,
who should be called Mary, and for a sign he declared that Joachim on
arriving at the Golden Gate of Jerusalem should there meet his wife
Anne, who being very much troubled that he had not returned sooner,
should rejoice to see him. Afterwards the angel appeared to Anne, who
was equally disconsolate, and comforted her by a promise to the same
effect, and assured her by a like token, namely, that at the Golden Gate
she should meet her husband for whose safety she had been so much
concerned. Accordingly both of them left the places where they were, and
met each other at the Golden Gate, and rejoiced at each others’ vision,
and returned thanks, and lived in cheerful expectation that the promise
would be fulfilled.

The meeting between St. Anne and St. Joachim at the Golden Gate was a
favourite subject among catholic painters, and there are many prints of
it. From one of them in the “Salisbury Missal,” (1534 fo. xix) the
annexed engraving is copied. The curious reader will find notices of
others in a volume on the “Ancient Mysteries,” by the editor of the
_Every-Day Book_. The wood engraving in the “Missal” is improperly
placed there to illustrate the meeting between the Virgin Mary and
Elizabeth.

[Illustration: ~Meeting of St. Anne and St. Joachim~

_AT THE GOLDEN GATE_.]

It is further pretended, that the result of the angel’s communication to
Joachim and Anne was the miraculous birth of the Virgin Mary, and that
she was afterwards dedicated by Anne to the service of the temple, where
she remained till the time of her espousal by Joseph.

In the Romish breviary of Sarum there are forms of prayer to St. Anne,
which show how extraordinarily highly these stories placed her. One of
them is thus translated by bishop Patrick:[225]

    “O vessel of celestial grace,
      Blest mother to the virgins’ queen,
    By thee we beg, in the first place,
      Remission of all former sin.

    “Great mother, always keep in mind
      The power thou hast, by thy sweet daughter,
    And, by thy wonted prayer, let’s find
      God’s grace procur’d to us hereafter.”

Another, after high commendations to St. Anne, concludes thus:--

    “Therefore, still asking, we remain,
      And thy unwearied suitors are,
    That, what thou canst, thou wouldst obtain,
      And give us heaven by thy prayer.
    Do thou appease the daughter, thou didst bear,
    She her own son, and thou thy _grandson_ dear.”

The nuns of St. Anne at Rome show a rude silver ring as the wedding-ring
of Anne and Joachim; both ring and story are ingenious fabrications.
There are of course plenty of her relics and miracles from the same
sources. They are further noticed in the work on the “Mysteries”
referred to before.


SUMMER HOLIDAYS.

A young, and not unknown correspondent of the _Every-Day Book_, has had
a holiday--his first holiday since he came to London, and settled down
into an every-day occupation of every hour of his time. He seems until
now not to have known that the environs of London abound in natural as
well as artificial beauties. What he has seen will be productive of this
advantage; it will induce residents in London, who never saw Dulwich, to
pay it a visit, and see all that he saw. Messrs. Colnaghi and Son, of
Pall-mall East, Mr. Clay of Ludgate-hill, or any other respectable
printseller, will supply an applicant with a ticket of admission for a
party, to see the noble gallery of pictures there. These tickets are
gratuitous, and a summer holiday may be delightfully spent by viewing
the paintings, and walking in the pleasant places adjacent: the pictures
will be agreeable topics for conversation during the stroll.

MY HOLIDAY!

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  My dear Sir,

The kind and benevolent feelings which you are so wont to discover, and
the sparkling good-humour and sympathy which characterize your
_Every-Day Book_, encourage me to describe to you “My holiday!” I
approach you with familiarity, being well known as your _constant
reader_. You also know me to be a _provincial_ cockney--a transplant.
Oh! why then do you so often paint nature in her enchanting loveliness?
What cruelty! You know my destiny is foreign to my desires: I cannot now
seek the shade of a retired grove, carelessly throw myself on the bank
of a “babbling brook,” there muse and angle, as I was wont to do, and,
as my old friend Izaak Walton bade me,--

          “watch the sun to rise and set,
    There meditate my time away,
    And beg to have a quiet passage to a welcome grave.”

But, I have had a holiday! The desk was forsaken for eight-and-forty
hours! Think of that! I have experienced what Leigh Hunt desires every
christian to experience--that there is a green and gay world, as well as
a brick and mortar one. Months previous was the spot fixed upon which
was to receive my choice, happy spirit. Dulwich was the place. It was an
easy distance from town; moreover, it was a “rustic” spot; moreover, it
had a picture-gallery; in a word, it was just the sort of place for me.
The happy morning dawned. I could say with Horace, with the like
feelings of enraptured delight--

    “Insanire juvat. Sparge rosas.”

Such was the disposition of my mind.

We met (for I was accompanied) at that general rendezvous for carts,
stages, waggons, and sociables, the Elephant and Castle. There were the
honest, valiant, laughter-loving J--; the pensive, kindly-hearted G--;
and the sanguine, romantic, speculative M--. A conveyance was soon
sought. It was a square, covered vehicle, set on two wheels, drawn by
one horse, which was a noble creature, creditable to its humane master,
who has my best wishes, as I presume he will never have cause to answer
under Mr. Martin’s Act. Thus equipaged and curtained in, we merrily
trotted by the Montpelier Gardens, and soon _overtook_ the
“Fox-under-the-Hill.” To this “Fox” I was an entire stranger, having
never hunted in that part of the country before. The beautiful hill
which brought us to the heights of Camberwell being gained, we sharply
turned to the left, which gave us the view of Dulwich and its adjoining
domains in the distance. Oh, ecstacy of thought! Gentle hills, dark
valleys, far-spreading groves, luxuriant corn-fields, magnificent
prospects, then sparkled before me. The rich carpet of nature decked
with Flora’s choicest flowers, and wafting perfumes of odoriferous herbs
floating on the breezes, expanded and made my heart replete with joy.
What kind-heartedness then beamed in our countenances! We talked, and
joked, and prattled; and so fast did our transports impulse, that to
expect an answer to _one_ of my eager inquiries as to “who lives here or
there?” was out of the question. Our hearts were redolent of joy. It was
our holiday!

By the side of the neat, grassy, picturesque burying-ground we alighted,
in front of Dulwich-college. Now for the picture-gallery. Some demur
took place as to the safety of the “ticket.” After a few moments’
intense anxiety, it appeared. How important was that square bit of
card!--it was the key to our hopes--“Admit Mr. R--and friends to view
the Bourgeois Gallery.” We entered by the gate which conducts into the
clean, neat, and well-paved courtyard contiguous to the gallery. In the
lodge, which is situate at the end of this paved footpath, you see a
comely, urbane personage. With a polite bend of the head, and a gentle
smile of good-nature on his countenance on the production of the
“ticket,” he bids you welcome. The small folding doors on your right
hand are then opened, and this magnificent gallery is before you. This
collection is extremely rich in the works of the old masters,
particularly Poussin, Teniers, Vandyke, Claude, Rubens, Cuype, Murillo,
Velasquez, Annibal Caracci, Vandervelt, Vanderwerf, and Vanhuysem. Here
I luxuriated. With my catalogue in hand, and the eye steadily fixed upon
the subject, I gazed, and although neither connoisseur nor student, felt
that calmness, devotion, and serenity of soul, which the admiration of
either the works of a poet, or the “sweet harmony” of sound, or form,
alone work upon my heart. I love nature, and _here_ she was imitated in
her simplest and truest colourings. The gallery, or rather the five
elegant rooms, are well designed, and the pictures admirably arranged.
We entered by a door about midway in the gallery, on the left, and were
particularly pleased with the mausoleum. The design is clever and
ingenious, and highly creditable to the talents of Mr. Soane. Here lie
sir Francis Bourgeois, and Mr. and Mrs. Desenfans, surrounded by these
exquisite pictures. The masterly painting of the _Death of Cardinal
Beaufort_ is observed nearly over this entrance-door. But, time
hastens--and after noticing yonder picture which hangs at the farther
extremity of the gallery, I will retire. It is the _Martyrdom of St.
Sebastian_, by Annibal Caracci. Upon this sublime painting I could
meditate away an age. It is full of power, of _real_ feeling and poetry.
Mark that countenance--the uplifted eye “with holy fervour bright!”--the
resignation, calmness, and holy serenity, which speak of truth and
magnanimity, contrasted with the physical sufferings and agonies of a
horrid death. I was lost--my mind was slumbering on this ocean of
sublimity!

The lover of rural sights will return from Dulwich-college by the
retired footpath that strikes off to the right by the “cage” and
“stocks” opposite the burying-ground. On ascending the verdant hill
which leads to Camberwell Grove, the rising objects that gradually open
to the view are most beautifully picturesque and enchanting. We reached
the summit of the _Five Fields_:--

    “Heav’ns! what a goodly prospect spread around
    Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires,
    And glittering towns, and gilded streams.”

This is a fairy region. The ravished eye glances from villa to grove,
turret, pleasure-ground, hill, dale; and “figured streams in waves of
silver” roll. Here are seen Norwood, Shooter’s-hill, Seven Droog Castle,
Peckham, Walworth, Greenwich, Deptford, and bounding the horizon, the
vast gloom of Epping Forest. What a holiday! What a feast for the mind,
the eye, and the heart! A few paces from us we suddenly discerned a
humble, aged, wintry object, sitting as if in mockery of the golden
sunbeam which played across his furrowed cheek. The philanthropy of the
good and gentle Elia inspired our hearts on viewing this “dim speck,”
this monument of days gone by. Love is charity, and it was charitable
thus to love. The good old patriarch asked not, but received alms with
humility and gratitude. His poverty was honourable: his character was
noble and elevated in lowliness. He gracelessly doffed his many-
cap in thanks (for hat he had none), and the snowy locks floating on the
breeze rendered him an object as interesting as he was venerable. Could
we have made _all_ sad hearts gay, we should but have realized the
essayings of our souls. Our imaginings were of gladness and of joy. It
was our holiday!

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, my holiday is past! Hope, like a glimmering star, appears to me
through the dark waves of time, and is ominous of future days like
these. We are now “at home,” homely in use as occupation. I am hugging
the desk, and calculating. I can now only request others who have
leisure and opportunity to take a “holiday,” and make it a “holiday”
similar to this. Health will be improved, the heart delighted, and the
mind strengthened. The grovelling sensualist, who sees pleasure only in
confusion, never can know pleasures comparable with these. There is a
moral to every circumstance of life. One may be traced in the events of
“My holiday!”

  I am, dear Sir,

  Yours very truly,

  S. R.


WEATHER.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

The subjoined table for foretelling weather, appears strictly within the
plan of the _Every-Day Book_, for who that purposes out-door
recreation, would not seize the probability of fixing on a fine day for
the purpose; or what agriculturist would decline information that I
venture to affirm may be relied on? It is copied from the Rev. Dr. Adam
Clarke. (See the “Wesleyan Methodist Magazine,” New Series, vol. iii.,
p. 457, 458.) Believing that it will be gratifying and useful to your
readers,

  I am, &c.,

  O. F. S.

  _Doctors Commons._

THE WEATHER PROGNOSTICATOR

_Through all the Lunations of each Year for ever._

  This table and the accompanying remarks are the result of many years’
  actual observation; the whole being constructed on a due consideration
  of the attraction of the sun and moon in their several positions
  respecting the earth; and will, by simple inspection, show the
  observer what kind of weather will most probably follow the entrance
  of the moon into any of her _quarters_, and that so near the truth as
  to be seldom or never found to fail.

  +-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+
  | Moon. |      Time of Change.        |   In     |     In Winter.    |
  |       |                             | Summer.  |                   |
  +-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+
  |       |Between midnight and two in  |Fair      |Hard frost, unless |
  |       |the morning                  |          |the wind be S. or  |
  |       |                             |          |W.                 |
  |       |                             |          |                   |
  |       | ----       2    and  4 morn.|Cold with |Snow and stormy.   |
  |       |                             |frequent  |                   |
  |       |                             |showers   |                   |
  |       |                             |          |                   |
  |       | ----       4    and  6      |Rain      |Rain.              |
  |       |                             |          |                   |
  |       | ----       6    and  8      |Wind and  |Stormy.            |
  |If the |                             |rain      |                   |
  |new    |                             |          |                   |
  |moon-- | ----       8    and 10      |Changeable|Cold rain, if wind |
  |the    |                             |          |W.; snow if E.     |
  |first  |                             |          |                   |
  |quarter| ----      10    and 12      |Frequent  |Cold and high wind.|
  |--the  |                             |showers   |                   |
  |full   |                             |          |                   |
  |moon-- |At twelve o’clock at noon and|Very rainy|Snow or rain.      |
  |or the |to two P. M.                 |          |                   |
  |last   |                             |          |                   |
  |quarter|Between     2    and  4 Af-  |Changeable|Fair and mild.     |
  |happens|                      tern.  |          |                   |
  |       |                             |          |                   |
  |       | ----       4    and  6      |Fair      |Fair.              |
  |       |                             |Fair if   |Fair and frosty if |
  |       |                             |wind NW.  |wind N. or NE.     |
  |       |                             |          |                   |
  |       | ----       6    and  8      |Rainy, if |Rain or snow if S. |
  |       |                             |S. or SW. |or SW.             |
  |       |                             |          |                   |
  |       | ----       8    and 10      |Ditto     |Ditto.             |
  |       |                             |          |                   |
  |       | ----      10    and midnight|Fair      |Fair and frosty.   |
  +-------+-----------------------------+----------+-------------------+

  OBSERVATIONS.

  1. The nearer the time of the moon’s change, first quarter, full, and
  last quarter, is to midnight, the fairer will the weather be during
  the seven days following.

  2. The space for this calculation occupies from ten at night till two
  next morning.

  3. The nearer to mid-day or noon these phases of the moon happen, the
  more foul or wet the weather may be expected during the next seven
  days.

  4. The space for this calculation occupies from ten in the forenoon to
  two in the afternoon. These observations refer principally to summer,
  though they affect spring and autumn nearly in the same ratio.

  5. The moon’s change--first quarter--full--and last quarter, happening
  during six of the afternoon hours, i. e. from four to ten, may be
  followed by fair weather: but this is mostly dependent on the wind, as
  it is noted in the table.

  6. Though the weather, from a variety of irregular causes, is more
  uncertain in the latter part of autumn, the whole of winter, and the
  beginning of spring; yet, in the main, the above observations will
  apply to those periods also.


[Illustration: ~The Editor’s Visits to Claude Ambroise Seurat,~

EXHIBITED IN PALL MALL UNDER THE APPELLATION OF THE

=_ANATOMIE VIVANTE_; or, LIVING SKELETON!=]

    Thou com’st in such a questionable shape,
    That I will speak to thee.

  _Shakspeare._

I have visited CLAUDE AMBROISE SEURAT. Some would call him an unhappy or
a miserable creature; he is neither unhappy nor miserable. “God tempers
the wind to the shorn limb.”

    How little do they see what _is_, who frame
    Their hasty judgment upon that which _seems_.

  _Southey._

If Seurat had not seen men of firmer make, he would not know that the
infirmity peculiar to himself is unnatural. Were he dressed like other
persons, there is nothing in his countenance or speech to denote him
different from themselves; and yet the difference is so great, that it
is wonderful that he should “live, and move, and have his being.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The “Interesting Account and Anatomical Description” of this
extraordinary individual, sold at the Chinese Saloon, where he is
exhibited, is to the following effect:--

Claude Ambroise Seurat was born at Troyes, in the department of
Champaigne, on the 10th of April, 1797, and is now therefore
twenty-eight years of age. His parents were respectable, but poor, and
neither of them presented any deformity, or uncommon appearance; on the
contrary, they are stated to have enjoyed robust health. The child on
coming into the world, presented the customary baby form, but in
proportion as the _infant_ grew, _the frame gradually wasted_ away, and
so continued to decrease until the attainment of its full stature, which
occurred at the usual term of life, at which period Claude had attained
his present height, while his frame had dwindled to the skeleton form
which it now so decidedly presents.

In France, where he ate very little of any animal food, a penny French
roll was enough for a day’s sustenance; but as he now partakes of a
small quantity of animal diet, his bread is reduced accordingly.

As regards his feeding, those dishes which afford most nourishment
satisfy him the quickest; and two or three ounces a day are quite
sufficient.

In France he was accustomed to drink the wine of his country; but in
England he partakes of wines greatly diluted with water, finding the
liquors here so much stronger, as the Champaigne he usually drank was
what is denominated _vin de pays_, or small wine, of which there is none
in this country. In eating, he masticates his victuals very much,
taking small pieces, as the passage to the stomach would not admit of
any great repletion, and in drinking the same precaution is required,
otherwise suffocation would ensue. His digestion is extremely good, and
the consequent functions of nature are regularly performed.

It is a singular fact, that such is the extreme sensitiveness of this
almost nondescript, or sport of nature, that when touched on the left
side with the finger, the surface of the body, to a certain extent, is
observed to manifest its sympathy, by an involuntary chill, which
contracts the pores, and produces that roughness of surface vulgarly
known by the denomination of goose’s skin. In raising either of his feet
from the floor, the limb appears to be distended uselessly from the
knee, and we cannot better illustrate the idea than by that sensation we
commonly experience upon allowing a limb to remain too long in one
position, thereby causing a temporary strangulation of the vessels,
known by the common term of the foot being asleep.

Previous to the arrival of Seurat in England, the French physicians who
had inspected him, gave it as their opinion, that his lungs were placed
in a different position to that usually occupied in the human frame.

Since his arrival, sir Astley Cooper, by whom he has been visited, finds
that his heart is placed so much out of the common region allotted to
it, that it is precisely its own length lower than if properly placed.

Many attempts were made to have Claude Ambroise Seurat presented to the
French king; but the father conceiving that he might be consigned to
some wretched asylum, there to subsist upon a miserable pension,
uniformly objected to it. From the statements made by the father, it
appears that the French gentlemen of the faculty, who visited his son,
handling him roughly, and pinching him in every direction, the son
refused to see them at all afterwards, and thus imbibed such a distaste
for his professional countrymen, that he determined not to show himself
to them any more. In consequence, the Parisian _Ecole de Medicine_ has
never been made acquainted with his existence.

Many proposals made to the father for the purchase of the body of his
son, Claude Ambroise Seurat, in the event of his demise, were uniformly
rejected. A medical gentleman particularly, in Burgundy, offered a
_carte blanche_, which the parent, with feelings highly honourable to
himself, refused, stating his determination, that in the event of his
son’s demise, he should be peaceably consigned to the cemetery of his
native city. While at Rouen, no less than one thousand five hundred
persons flocked in one day to see Seurat on his road to England.

The health of this singular being has been very good. His respiration is
somewhat confined, being the necessary result of a contraction of the
lungs; yet, upon the whole, he does not appear to be much inconvenienced
on that account, in consequence of the little exercise he takes, and the
quiescent state of the animal system.

The texture of the skin is of a dry, parchment-like appearance, which,
covering any other human form, would not answer the purposes of its
functions, but seems calculated alone to cover the slender, juiceless
body of the being arrayed with it.

The ribs are not only capable of being distinguished, but may be clearly
separated and counted one by one, and handled like so many pieces of
cane; and, together with the skin which covers them, resemble more the
hoops and outer covering of a small balloon, than any thing in the
ordinary course of nature.

If any thing can exceed the unearthly appearance displayed by this
wonderful phenomenon, it is that taken by profile; which, from the
projection of the shoulder, pursuing the same down through the extreme
hollow of the back, and then following the line to the front of the hip,
nearly forms a figure of 3. In the front appears the unnatural
projection of the chest, from the falling in of the abdomen; the
prominence of the left side of the body, in consequence of the position
of the heart; and the sudden protrusion of the posteriors.

The action produced by the effort of the lungs does not proceed from the
chest, as in ordinary cases, but from the lower extremity of the
abdomen, as though the organs of respiration, from excessive laxity,
had absolutely descended from their proper sphere, and that by a
tenacious effort of nature, unwilling to yield possession of her
functions, they had accommodated themselves, by time, to such an
unnatural and incredible a position.

Seurat is presented to view in a state of nudity, save a mere covering
of several inches deep round the loins, through which are cut large
holes to admit the hip bones to pass through, for the purpose of keeping
it in its place. His general appearance is that of a person almost
entirely devoid of muscular substance, and conveys to the mind the idea
of a being composed of bones, cellular substance and skin only on. It is
true, the appearances of the face, neck, fore-arm, and calves of the
legs, may, in some measure, form exceptions to this general assertion,
since in these situations there is something like flesh.

His height is about five feet seven inches and a half. The length of his
extremities proportionate to the height of his body. His head is small
rather than otherwise. The _cranium_, (or skull,) at the back part, over
the _occipital_ protuberance above the neck, is much flattened; the
cervical organs in this situation being very sparely developed. In other
respects the skull is tolerably well formed. Seurat’s countenance is by
no means displeasing; for though the cheek-bones are prominent, the
cheeks themselves sunk, and the other features of the face plain, still
there is a placid and contemplative expression, which indicates the
presence of a serene and thoughtful mind, claiming for itself from the
spectators, feelings of pity and regret.

The neck, on being examined from before, appears short, flat, and broad.
The shortness is principally owing to his inability to hold the face
properly elevated, in consequence of which the chin drops down, and
conceals the upper part of the neck. The flatness depends on the little
muscular and cellular substance present, and on the great breadth of the
neck, which takes from its natural rotundity. This great breadth is
caused by the peculiar form and situation of the _scapulæ_, (or
shoulder-blades,) the upper angles of which, instead of laying on the
posterior portions of the uppermost ribs, are turned over the shoulder,
and pass so far forward as nearly to reach the middle of the
_clavicles_, (the collar-bones,) where their situation may be easily
seen from before. Of course, the muscles called _levatores scapulæ_,
which arise from the upper vertebræ of the neck, and usually pass
downwards, and a very little outwards, in this case, pass very much
outwards, in a direction towards the shoulder-joint, and extend the neck
considerably in a lateral direction. These muscles, from their size and
turgidity, have the appearance of bones in Seurat.

The _larynx_, as far as can be judged of from an external examination,
is well formed, and that protuberance of the _thysoir cartilage_ called
_pomum adami_, or the apple of the throat, is prominent.

The formation of the upper extremities and chest, is one of the most
remarkable features of this man. The left _scapula_ is higher than the
right; both are remarkably prominent; so much so, that, when viewed
sideways, there appears to be a large tumour underneath the skin, over
the lower angle: this arises from the great projection of the lower
angle itself from the ribs. It has been already stated, that the upper
angle is placed unusually forwards, and at the bottom of the neck, from
this point, the _scapula_ proceeds backwards, and, to permit its closer
application to the upper and back part of the chest, its concave surface
is remarkably curved, but still not sufficiently so to prevent the lower
angle from projecting in an unseemly manner. This arrangement of the
component parts of the _scapula_ and its muscles, interferes very much
with the freedom of its movements, particularly the rotatory ones, which
in other subjects are so varied.

Seurat can raise his hands and arms from his side, in a lateral
direction, to a position nearly horizontal. He cannot, however, pass
them far forwards, when thus elevated. He can throw the _scapula_
backwards, so as to make them almost meet at their lower ends;
nevertheless, he is unable to lift his hands to his mouth, so as to feed
himself in the ordinary way. When eating, he places his elbow on the
table before him, then, by raising his hand, thus supported, and passing
his head downwards, so as to meet it half way as it were, he is able to
put his food into his mouth.

The _humerus_, or bone of the arm, from the elbow to the shoulder,
appears quite destitute of muscle, and as if it consisted of bone, skin,
vessels, and cellular membrane only. It may be remarked, however, that
at that part where the _biceps_ muscle is generally, there is a
trifling fulness, probably caused by a few fibres of that muscle.

The _piner_, the bone of the arm from the elbow to the wrist, seems at
the elbow joint considerably enlarged, but, in fact, it is only of its
natural dimensions. The muscles of the fore-arm, though small, may,
nevertheless, be distinctly traced. The hands are perfect in appearance.
Seurat, however, cannot straighten his fingers, but keeps them in a
semi-bent position; with this exception, he can use them freely.

The trunk is singularly shaped. Viewed from the front, the chest is not
particularly narrow; it measures, from one shoulder to the other, across
the _sternum_, or breast-bone, sixteen inches. The _sternum_ is much
flattened, as though it had been driven inwards, towards the _dorsal
vertebra_, or back-bone. In well-formed people, the _sternum_ is a
little convex, externally, and concave, internally, permitting all
possible room for the _thoracic viscera_. In Seurat, however, this order
of things is changed, the outer surface of the breast-bone being
concave, and the internal convex. It is pushed so far inwards, as
scarcely to leave more than one and a half inches, or two inches between
itself and the opposite _vertebræ_.

This position of the _sternum_, and of the ribs, may probably afford an
explanation of the causes which produce a slight impediment to his
swallowing with despatch, or such morsels as are not cut very small; and
of the unnatural situation of the heart, which, instead of being placed
behind the 3d, 4th, and 5th ribs, is observed pulsating very low down
behind the 7th, 8th, and 9th, ribs, in the situation of the left
_hypochondrium_. The five or six lower ribs, called false or floating
ribs, are rounder, and approach nearer to nature in their form, thereby
affording sufficient space for the heart, stomach, and liver, and some
other of the abdominal _viscera_. It is conceived, that without this
freer sweep of the lower ribs, life could not have been maintained, so
much would the functions of the heart, and _chylopretic viscera_ have
been interrupted. The false ribs descend very low down, on each side,
there being scarcely one and a half inch between them and the crest of
the _ileum_. The _pelvis_ is capacious, and on its front aspect presents
nothing very extraordinary.

There is an appearance of the abdomen, which must not be passed over.
When looking at it, one might almost suppose that it consisted of two
cavities, an upper and a lower one, so much is this poor fellow
contracted round the loins. The following admeasurement may afford some
idea of this circumstance:--

                                                              Ft.   In.
  Circumference of the chest, directly under the armpits       2     6¾
  Circumference lower down, opposite the second false rib      2     2
  Circumference round the loins                                1     9
  Circumference round the _pelvis_                             2     3½

The muscles of the sides of the _pelvis_, partake of the general
wasting, in consequence of which the _trochantes_ stand out from the
_glenon_ cavities in the same _gaunt_ manner that they do in the true
_skeleton_, being covered by integuments alone. The thighs are imperfect
in bulk, and the knees, like the elbows, appear enlarged. The calves of
the legs seem to have more firm good muscle, than any other part of the
body, particularly that of the right leg, which is much more fleshy than
the left. The feet are well formed; a trifling overlapping of the toes
is probably accidental.

The examination of the back part of Seurat’s body corresponds with the
front, as far as the general leanness goes. The _occiput_ is flat, the
neck broad; the _scapula_ projecting, the spine crooked; some of the
lower cervical _vertebræ_ are curved backwards, and there is a curve
towards the right side, formed by some of the lower _dorsal vertebræ_.
All the bony points of the back part of the body are so prominent that
every individual bone may be distinctly traced by the eye, even at a
considerable distance.

On first beholding Seurat, a person might almost imagine that he saw
before him, one returned from “that bourne whence no traveller returns:”
the first impressions over, he begins to wonder how so frail a being
exists, and is surprised, that all those functions, necessary for the
continuance of his own life, are regularly and effectively performed. He
eats, drinks, and sleeps--the progress of digestion, as carried on
throughout the alimentary canal, is regularly executed. The secretions
of the liver, kidnies, and skin are separated from the blood, in such
quantities as may be deemed necessary for the economy of his frame. His
heart performs its office regularly, and sends the blood to the various
parts of the body, in due proportions. He can bear the effects of heat
and cold, like other people accustomed to lead a sedentary life, and
does not need unusual clothes. His mind is better constituted, perhaps,
than that of many a man, better formed in body. He comprehends quickly,
and his memory is good. He has learnt to read and write his own
language, and is now anxious to become acquainted with ours.

Such is Claude Ambroise Seurat, who may justly be considered as a most
extraordinary _lusus naturæ_,--an object calculated to throw much and
useful light on many interesting questions of the highest importance,
towards the advancement of anatomical study.

       *       *       *       *       *

So far from having any disinclination to being exhibited in this
country, Claude Ambroise Seurat has repeatedly urged his wish to gratify
the strong desire of the public, to view him without loss of time; and
hearing that one of the journals had expressed some harshness concerning
his exhibition, he indited and signed the following letter

  _To the Editor._

  Sir,

Having learned that in an article in your journal, the motives and
conduct of the persons who brought me to England are severely alluded
to, it is my duty, both to them and to the public, to declare, that so
far from experiencing any thing disagreeable, either in having been
conducted hither or at being exposed, I feel great satisfaction not only
in the change of my situation, but also at the bounties with which I
have been loaded by the individuals who protect me. Far from having
“been brought from the tranquillity of my native village,” I was
wandering about France, and making but little by the exposure of my
person, when I so fortunately met my present protectors, whose
liberality will shortly render me sufficiently independent to enable me
to return and live at my ease in my native country. I only beg leave to
add, that my present situation is more happy than I ever yet enjoyed
during my whole life, and is entirely conformable to my desires.

I have the honour to be, Sir, your most humble servant,

  CLAUDE AMBROISE SEURAT.

  _Aug._ 4, 1825.

This, with what follows, will give a tolerably adequate idea of this
singular being, both as to his form and mind.

I have paid two visits to Seurat. His public exhibition takes place in a
room in Pall-mall called the “Chinese Saloon;” its sides are decorated
with Chinese paper; Chinese lanterns are hung from lines crossing from
wall to wall. In front of a large recess, on one side, is a circular
gauze canopy over a platform covered with crimson cloth, raised about
eighteen inches from the floor, and enclosed by a light brass railing;
the recess is enclosed by a light curtain depending from the cornice to
the floor of the platform, and opening in the middle. A slight motion
within intimates that the object of attraction is about to appear; the
curtain opens a little on each side, and Seurat comes forth, as he is
represented in the first engraving, with no other covering than a small
piece of fringed purple silk, supported round the middle by a red band,
with a slit like pocket holes, to allow the hip-bones to pass through on
each side. On the finger of the left hand, next to the middle one, he
wears a plain gold ring. An artist who accompanied me at each visit, for
the purpose of making the drawings here engraved, has well represented
him. The portraits, both front and profile, are better resemblances than
any that exist, and the anatomy of his figure more correct.

It is justly remarked, that “the title of ‘Living Skeleton’ does not
seem exactly to be well applied to this strange production of nature,
and may, perhaps, create some disappointment; because the curiosity, as
it really exists, lies far less in the degree of attenuation which
Seurat’s frame exhibits, than in the fact that, with a frame so reduced,
a human being should be still in possession of most of his functions,
and enjoying a reasonable quantity of health. As regards the exhibition
of bone, for instance, there is not so much as may frequently be found
(in the dead subject) in cases where persons have died of lingering
consumption. The parchment-like aspect attributed to the skin too seems
to have been a little overstated; and, in fact, most medical men who
served in the late war, will recollect instances enough, where men of
five feet eight inches high, dying from dysentery, or intermittent
fever, have weighed considerably less than 78lbs., which is the weight
of Seurat. The real novelty, therefore, should be looked for, not in the
degree to which this man’s body is wasted and exhausted, but in the fact
that such a degree of decay should be compatible with life, and the
possession of some degree of strength and spirits. This decay does not
seem to have operated equally upon all parts of the figure: it shows
most strikingly in the appearance of the neck and trunk; the upper arms,
from the shoulder to the elbow, and the thigh. The upper part of the arm
is not quite destitute of flesh; but so small, that it may be spanned
with ease by a very moderate fore-finger and thumb. The thighs are
wasted very much--little remains upon them beyond the skin. The cap of
the knee, which is large, and protrudes considerably, is of a reddish
colour, unlike the aspect of the flesh or skin in general. The trunk,
from the shoulder to the hip, has the appearance, more than any thing
else, of a large bellows, a mere bag of hoops covered with leather,
through which the pulsation of the heart is distinctly visible. On the
thicker part of the fore-arm there is flesh, white in appearance, though
of a soft and unhealthy character; and the division of the two bones,
the _ulna_ and the _radius_, may be detected by feeling. Upon the calves
of the legs, again, there is some show of substance, and one is larger
than the other. But the most curious circumstance, perhaps, in the man’s
condition is, that while his whole body exhibits these extraordinary
appearances of decay, his face (which is decidedly French, and not
unpleasant,) displays no signs of attenuation whatever, and scarcely any
symptom of disease or weakness.”[226]

It was on the first day of Seurat’s exhibition that I first visited him;
this was on Tuesday, the 9th of August, 1825; a day the present sheet of
the _Every-Day Book_ has not yet reached; I have been anxious to be
before the day and the public, as regards Seurat, and it is therefore,
as to him, anticipated. I was at the “Chinese Saloon” before the doors
were opened, and was the first of the public admitted, followed by my
friend, the artist. Seurat was not quite ready to appear; in the mean
time, another visitor or two arrived, and after examining the canopy,
and other arrangements, my attention was directed to the Chinese
papering of the room, while Seurat had silently opened the curtains that
concealed him, and stood motionless towards the front of the platform,
as he is represented in the engraving. On turning round, I was instantly
rivetted by his amazing emaciation; he seemed another “Lazarus, come
forth” without his grave-clothes, and for a moment I was too
consternated to observe more than his general appearance. My eye, then,
first caught the arm as the most remarkable limb; from the shoulder to
the elbow it is like an ivory German flute somewhat deepened in colour
by age; it is not larger, and the skin is of that hue, and, not having a
trace of muscle, it is as perfect a cylinder as a writing rule. Amazed
by the wasted limbs, I was still more amazed by the extraordinary
depression of the chest. Its indentation is similar to that which an
over-careful mother makes in the pillowed surface of an infant’s bed for
its repose. Nature has here inverted her own order, and turned the
convex inwards, while the nobler organs, obedient to her will, maintain
life by the gentle exercise of their wonted functions in a lower region.
Below the ribs, which are well described in the accounts already given,
the trunk so immediately curves in, that the red band of the
silk-covering, though it is only loosely placed, seems a tourniquet to
constrict the bowels within their prison house, and the hip-bones, being
of their natural size, the waist is like a wasp’s. By this part of the
frame we are reminded of some descriptions of the abstemious arid
Bedouin Arab of the desert, in whom it is said the abdomen seems to
cling to the vertebra. If the integument of the bowels can be called
flesh, it is the only flesh on the body: for it seems to have wholly
shrunk from the limbs; and where the muscles that have not wholly
disappeared remain, they are also shrunk. He wears shoes to keep cold
from his feet, which are not otherwise shaped than those of people who
have been accustomed to wear tight shoes; his instep is good, and by no
means so flat as in the generality of tavern waiters. His legs are not
more ill-shaped than in extremely thin or much wasted persons; the right
leg, which is somewhat larger than the left, is not less than were the
legs of the late Mr. Suett, the comedian. On this point, without a
private knowledge of Mr. Liston, I would publicly appeal to that
gentleman, whom, on my second visit in the afternoon, I saw there,
accompanied by Mr. Jones. Mr. Liston doubtless remembers Suett, and I
think he will never forget Seurat, at whom he looked, “unutterable
things,” as if he had been about to say--“Prodigious!”

Seurat’s head and body convey a sentiment of antithesis. When the sight
is fixed on his face alone, there is nothing there to denote that he
varies from other men. I examined him closely and frequently, felt him
on different parts of the body, and, not speaking his language, put
questions to him through others, which he readily answered. His head has
been shaved, yet a little hair left on the upper part of the neck, shows
it to be black, and he wears a wig of that colour. His strong black
beard is perceptible, although clean shaved. His complexion is
_swarthy_, and his features are good, without the emaciation of which
his body partakes; the cheek-bones are high, and the eyes are dark
brown, approaching to black. They are represented as heavy and dull, and
to denote little mental capacity; but, perhaps, a watchful observer, who
made pertinent inquiries of him in a proper manner, would remark
otherwise. He usually inclines the head forward towards his breast, and
therefore, and because he is elevated above the spectators, his eyes
frequently assume a position wherein he might see, and “descant on his
own deformity.” His features are flexible, and therefore capable of
great animation, and his forehead indicates capacity. Depression of the
eyelid is by no means to be taken as a mark of dulness or inefficient
intellect. One of our poets, I think Churchill, no incompetent judge of
human nature, has a line concerning Genius “lowering on the penthouse of
the eye.” Seurat, on any other than a common-place question, elevates
his head to an ordinary position, answers immediately and with
precision, and discourses rationally and sensibly; more sensibly than
some in the room, who put childish questions about him to the
attendants, and express silly opinions as to his physical and mental
structure and abilities, and call him “a shocking creature.” There is
nothing shocking either in his mind or his face. His countenance has an
air of melancholy, but he expresses no feeling of the kind; it is not,
however, so mournful as the engraving at the head of this article shows.
The artist was timid, and in form and habit the reverse of Seurat; and
as “like will to like,” so through dislike to the life of the subject
before him, he imagined more dolour in Seurat’s face than it has; this
could not be remedied by the engraver without hazarding the likeness,
which is really good. Seurat’s voice is pleasing, deep-toned, and
gentle. Except for the privations to which his conformation constrains
him, he is not an object of pity, and perhaps very little on that
account. We meet many perfectly-formed beings in daily society whose
abject indulgences or abject circumstances in life render them far more
pitiable, and in a moral point of view, some of them are far more
shocking. There is nothing in Seurat to disgust, as far as I could judge
from what I saw or heard of him.

        Thou who despisest so debased a fate
        As in the pride of wisdom thou may’st call
        The much submissive _Seurat_’s low estate,
        Look round the world, and see where over all
        injurious passions hold mankind in thrall!--
        Behold the fraudful arts, the covert strife,
        The jarring interests that engross mankind;
        The low pursuits, the selfish aims of life;
        Studies that weary and contract the mind,
        That bring no joy, and leave no peace behind;--
    And Death approaching to dissolve the spell!

  _Southey’s Tale of Paraguay._

Death is not contemplated by Seurat as near to him, and it is even
probable that his “last event” is far off. The vital organs have
wonderfully conformed themselves to his malformation, and where they are
seated, perform their office uninterruptedly. The quantity of solid
nutriment for the support of his feeble frame never exceeds four ounces
a day. The pulsations of his heart are regular, and it has never
palpitated; at the wrist, they are slow and equally regular. He has
never been ill, nor taken medicine, except once, and then only a small
quantity of manna. His skin is not more dry than the skin of many other
living persons who abstain, as he does, from strong vinous or fermented
liquors, and drink sparingly; it is not branny, but perfectly smooth;
nor is it of a colour unnatural to a being who cannot sustain much
exercise, who exists in health with very little, and therefore does not
require more. The complexion of his body is that of a light Creole, or
perhaps more similar to that of fine old ivory; it must be remembered,
that his natural complexion is swarthy. What has been asserted elsewhere
is perfectly true, that when dressed in padded clothes, he would not in
any position be more remarkable than any other person, except that,
among Englishmen, he would be taken for a foreigner. On the day before
his public exhibition, he walked from the Gothic-hall in the Haymarket,
to the Chinese Saloon in Pall-mall, arm-in-arm with the gentleman who
brought him from France, and was wholly unrecognized and unnoticed.

Until ten years of age, Seurat was as healthy as other children, except
that his chest was depressed, and he was much weaker; until that year,
he used to run about and play, and tumble down from feebleness. From
that age his feebleness increased, and he grew rapidly until he was
fourteen, when he attained his present stature, with further increase of
weakness: he is not weaker now than he was then. His recreation is
reading, and he is passionately fond of listening to music. He cannot
stoop, but he can lift a weight of twelve pounds from a chair: of
course, he displays no feats of any kind, and unless great care is
taken, he may be injured by cold, and the fatigue of the exhibition. Of
this, however, himself and his father, who is with him, and who is a
shrewd, sensible man, seem aware. He remains about ten minutes standing
and walking before the company, and then withdraws between the curtains
to seat himself, from observation in a blanketed arm-chair, till another
company arrives. His limbs are well-proportioned; he is not at all
knock-kneed, nor are his legs any way deformed.

Seurat is “shocking” to those who have never reflected on mortality, and
think him nearer to the grave than themselves. Perhaps he is only so in
appearance. The orderly operation of the vita principle within him for
the last thirteen or fourteen years, may continue to the ordinary
duration of human life. Every one of his spectators is “encompassed in a
_ghostly_ frame,” and exemplifies, as much as Seurat, the scriptural
remark, that “in the midst of life we are in death:” it is not further
from us for not thinking on it, nor is it nearer to us because it is
under our eyes.

[Illustration: ~Seurat’s Positions when exhibiting himself.~]

Seurat’s existence is peculiar to himself; he is unlike any being ever
heard of, and no other like him may ever live. But if he is alone in the
world, and to himself useless, he may not be without his use to others.
His condition, and the privations whereby he holds his tenure of
existence, are eloquent to a mind reflecting on the few real wants of
mankind, and the advantages derivable from abstinent and temperate
habits. Had he been born a little higher in society, his mental
improvement might have advanced with his corporeal incapacity, and
instead of being shown as a phenomenon, he might have flourished as a
sage. No man has been great who has not subdued his passions; real
greatness has insisted on this as essential to happiness, and artificial
greatness shrunk from it. When Paul “reasoned of righteousness,
temperance, and judgment to come, Felix trembled.” Seurat’s appearance
seems an admonition from the grave to “think on these things.”

  [218] Morning Herald.

  [219] The Times.

  [220] Zoological Anecdotes.

  [221] Ibid.

  [222] Ibid.

  [223] Maitland’s London, edit. 1772, i. 17.

  [224] Gent. Mag.

  [225] Patrick’s Devot. of Rom. Church.

  [226] Times.


~July 27.~

  _St. Pantaleon_, A. D. 303. _Sts. Maximian_, _Malchus_, _Martinian_,
  _Dionysius_, _John_, _Serapion_, and _Constantine_, the Seven
  Sleepers, A. D. 250. _St. Congail_, _St. Luica._


THE SEVEN SLEEPERS.

These saints, according to Alban Butler, were Ephesians, who for their
faith, under Decius, in 250, were walled up together in a cave, wherein
they had hid themselves, till they were found in 479; and hence, he
says, “some _moderns_ have imagined that they only lay asleep till they
were found.” He designates them in his title, however, as having been
“_commonly_ called the seven sleepers;” and we shall see presently who
his “moderns” are. He adds, that “the cave wherein their bodies were
found, became famous for devout pilgrimages, and is still shown to
travellers, as James Spon testifies.”

The miraculous story of the seven sleepers relates, that they remained
in the cave till the heresy that “denyed the resurreccyon of deed
bodyes” under Theodotian, when a “burges” of Ephesus causing a stable to
be made in the mountain, the masons opened the cave, “and then these
holy sayntes that were within awoke and were reysed,” and they saluted
each other, and they “supposed veryley that they had slepte but one
nyght onely,” instead of two hundred and twenty-nine years. Being
hungry, Malchus, one of themselves, was deputed to go to Ephesus and buy
bread for the rest; “and then Malchus toke V shillynges, and yssued out
of the cave.” He marvelled when he saw the mason’s work outside, and
when he came to one of the gates of Ephesus he was “all doubtous,” for
he saw the sign of the cross on the gate; then he went to another gate,
and found another cross; and he found crosses on all the gates; and he
supposed himself in a dream; but he comforted himself, and at last he
entered the city, and found the city also was “garnysshed” with the
cross. Then he went to the “sellers of breed,” and when he showed his
money, they were surprised, and said one to another, that “this _yonge_
man” had found some old treasure; and when Malchus saw them talk
together, he was afraid lest they should take him before the emperor,
and prayed them to let him go, and keep both the money and the bread;
but they asked who he was, for they were sure he had found a treasure of
the “olde emperours,” and they told him if he would inform them they
would divide it, “and kepe it secret.” But Malchus was so terrified he
could not speak; then they tied a cord round his neck, and drove him
through the middle of the city; and it was told that he had found an
ancient treasure, and “all the cite assembled aboute hym;” and he denied
the charge, and when he beheld the people he knew no man there; and he
supposed they were carrying him before the emperor Decius, but they
carried him to the church before St. Martin and Antipater, the consul;
and the bishop looked at the money, and marvelled at it, and demanded
where he had found the hidden treasure; and he answered, that he had not
found it, that it was his own, and that he had it of his kinsmen. Then
the judge said his kinsmen must come and answer for him; and he named
them, but none knew them; and they deemed that he had told them untruly,
and the judge said, how can we believe that thou hadst this money of thy
friends, when we read “that it is more than CCC.lxxii. yere syth it was
made,” in the time of Decius, the emperor, how can it have come to thee,
who art so young, from kinsmen so long ago; thou wouldst deceive the
wise men of Ephesus: I demand, therefore, that thou confess whence thou
hadst this money. Then Malchus kneeled down, and demanded where was
Decius, the emperor; and they told him there was no such emperor then in
the world whereat Malchus said he was greatly confused that no man
believed he spoke the truth, yet true it was that he and his fellows saw
him yesterday in that city of Ephesus. Then the bishop told the judge
that this young man was in a heavenly vision, and commanded Malchus to
follow him, and to show him his companions. And they went forth, and a
great multitude of the city with them towards the cave; and Malchus
entered first into the cave, and the bishop next, “and there founde they
amonge the stones the lettres sealed with two seales of syluer,” and
then the bishop read them before all the people; and they all marvelled,
“and they sawe the sayntes syttynge in the caue, and theyr visages lyke
unto roses flouryng.” And the bishop sent for the emperor to come and
see the marvels. And the emperor came from Constantinople to Ephesus,
and ascended the mountain; and as soon as the saints saw the emperor
come, “their vysages shone like to the sonne,” and the emperor embraced
them. And they demanded of the emperor that he would believe the
resurrection of the body, for to that end had they been raised; and then
they gave up the ghost, and the emperor arose and fell on them weeping,
“and embraced them, and kyssed them debonayrly.” And he commanded
precious sepulchres of gold and silver to bury their bodies therein. But
the same night they appeared to the emperor, and demanded of him to let
their bodies lie on the earth, as they had lain before, till the general
resurrection; and the emperor obeyed, and caused the place to be adorned
with precious stones. And all the bishops that believed in the
resurrection were absolved.[227]

In the breviary of the church of Salisbury, there is a prayer for the
27th of July, beseeching the benefit of the resurrection through the
prayers of the seven sleepers, who proclaimed the eternal resurrection.
Bishop Patrick,[228] who gives us the prayer, says, “To show the reader
in what great care the heads of the Romish church had in those days of
men’s souls, how well they instructed them, and by what fine stories
their devotions were then conducted, I cannot but translate the history
of these seven sleepers, as I find it in the Salisbury breviary; which,
if it had been designed to entertain youth as the history of the _Seven
Champions_, might have deserved a less severe censure; but this was read
in the church to the people, as chapters are out of the bible, and
divided into so many lessons.” He then gives the story of the seven
sleepers as it stands in the breviary, and adds, that there was no
heresy about the resurrection in the days of Theodotian, and that if any
had a mind to see the ground of their prayer in the breviary, and the
“stuff” of the legend of the seven sleepers, they might consult
“Baronius’s notes upon the Roman Martyrology, July 27.”

It appears then, that the ecclesiastics of the church of Salisbury were
among the “moderns” of Alban Butler, “who imagined” of the seven
sleepers as related in the legend, and so imagining, taught the “stuff,”
as bishop Patrick calls it, to their flocks. Yet Alban Butler weeps over
the Reformation, which swept the “imaginations” of his “moderns” away,
and he would fain bring us back to the religion of the imaginers.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Purple Loosestrife. _Lythrum Salicaria._
  Dedicated to _St. Pantaleon_.

  [227] Golden Legend.

  [228] In his “Reflections on the Devotions of the Romish Church.”


~July 28.~

  _Sts. Nazarius_ and _Celsus_, A. D. 68. _St. Victor_, Pope, A. D.
  201. _St. Innocent_ I. Pope, A. D. 417. _St. Sampson_, A. D. 564.


_Musical Prodigies._

There is at present in Berlin, a boy, between four and five years old,
who has manifested an extraordinary precocity of musical talent. Carl
Anton Florian Eckert, the son of a sergeant in the second regiment of
Fencible Guards, was born on the 7th of December, 1820. While in the
cradle, the predilection of this remarkable child for music was
striking, and passages in a minor key affected him so much as to make
tears come in his eyes. When about a year and a quarter old, he listened
to his father playing the air “_Schone Minka_” with one hand, on an old
harpsichord: he immediately played it with both hands, employing the
knuckles in aid of his short and feeble fingers. He continued afterwards
to play every thing by the ear. He retains whatever he hears in the
memory, and can tell at once whether an instrument is too high or too
low for concert pitch. It was soon observed that his ear was
sufficiently delicate to enable him to name any note or chord which
might be struck without his seeing it. He also transposes with the
greatest facility into any key he pleases, and executes pieces of fancy
_extempore_. A subscription has been opened to buy him a pianoforte, as
he has got tired of the old harpsichord, and two able musicians have
undertaken to instruct him.[229]

       *       *       *       *       *

Eckert was pre-rivalled in England by the late Mr. Charles Wesley, the
son of the rev. Charles Wesley, and nephew to the late rev. John Wesley,
the founder of the religious body denominated methodists. The musical
genius of Charles Wesley was observed when he was not quite three years
old; he then surprised his father by playing a tune on the harpsichord
readily, and in just time. Soon afterwards he played several others.
Whatever his mother sang, or whatever he heard in the streets, he could,
without difficulty, make out upon this instrument. Almost from his birth
his mother used to quiet and amuse him with the harpsichord. On these
occasions, he would not suffer her to play only with one hand, but, even
before he could speak, would seize hold of the other, and put it upon
the keys. When he played by himself, she used to tie him by his
back-string to the chair, in order to prevent his falling. Even at this
age, he always put a true bass to every tune he played. From the
beginning he played without study or hesitation. Whenever, as was
frequently the case, he was asked to play before a stranger, he would
invariably inquire in a phrase of his own, “_Is he a musiker?_” and if
he was answered in the affirmative, he always did with the greatest
readiness. His style on all occasions was _con spirito_; and there was
something in his manner so much beyond what could be expected from a
child, that his hearers, learned or unlearned, were invariably
astonished and delighted.

When he was four years old, Mr. Wesley took him to London; and Beard,
who was the first musical man who heard him there, was so much pleased
with his abilities, that he kindly offered his interest with Dr. Boyce
to get him admitted among the king’s boys. This, however, his father
declined, as he then had no thoughts of bringing him up to the
profession of music. He was also introduced among others to Stanley and
Worgan. The latter in particular, was extremely kind to him, and would
frequently entertain him by playing on the harpsichord. The child was
greatly struck by his bold and full manner of playing, and seemed even
then to catch a spark of his fire. Mr. Wesley soon afterwards returned
with him to Bristol; and when he was about six years old, he was put
under the tuition of Rooke, a very good-natured man, but of no great
eminence, who allowed him to run on _ad libitum_, whilst he sat by
apparently more to observe than to control him. Rogers, at that time the
oldest organist in Bristol, was one of his first friends. He would often
sit him on his knee, and make the boy play to him, declaring, that he
was more delighted in hearing him then himself. For some years his study
and practice were almost entirely confined to the works of Corelli,
Scarlatti, and Handel; and so rapid was his progress, that, at the age
of twelve or thirteen, it was thought that no person was able to excel
him in performing the compositions of these masters. He was instructed
on the harpsichord by Kelway, and in the rules of composition by Dr.
Boyce. His first work, “A Set of Six Concertos for the Organ or
Harpsichord,” published under the immediate inspection of that master,
as a first attempt, was a wonderful production; it contained fugues
which would have done credit to a professor of the greatest experience
and the first eminence. His performance on the organ, and particularly
his extempore playing on that sublime instrument, was the admiration and
delight of all his auditors.

       *       *       *       *       *

The present Mr. Samuel Wesley, brother of the preceding, and born in
1766, also gave a very early indication of musical genius. When only
three years of age, he could play on the organ; and, when eight years
old, attempted to compose an oratorio. Some of the airs which he wrote
for the organ were shown to Dr. Boyce, and occasioned the doctor to say,
“This boy unites, by nature, as true a bass as I can do by rule and
study.” Mr. Wesley’s compositions are in the highest degree masterly and
grand; and his extempore performance of fugues on the organ astonishing.
He produces from that solemn instrument all the grand and serious graces
of which it is capable. His melodies, though struck out on the instant,
are sweet and varied, and never common-place; his harmony is
appropriate, and follows them with all the exactness and discrimination
of the most studious master; his execution, which is very great, is
always sacrificed to the superior charms of expression.[230]

To this be it added, that the intellectual endowments of Mr. Samuel
Wesley equal his musical talents, and that the amiable and benevolent
qualities of his nature add lustre to his acquirements. He is a man of
genius without pretension, and a good man without guile.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Mountain Groundsel. _Senecio montanus._
  Dedicated to _St. Innocent_.

  [229] The _Parthenon_, a new musical work typolithographied, notices
  this precocious musician on the authority of the German papers.

  [230] These anecdotes of the present Mr. Samuel Wesley and his
  deceased brother, Charles, are from the “_Biographical Dictionary of
  Musicians_,” a work before quoted, and praised as a most pleasant
  book.


~July 29.~

  _St. Martha_ V. _Sts. Simplicius_ and _Faustinus_, brothers, and
  _Beatrice_, their sister, A. D. 303. _St. William_, Bp. A. D. 1234.
  _St. Olaus_, or _Olave_, king of Norway, A. D. 1030. _St. Olaus_, king
  of Sweden.

[Illustration]


  WATER IN WARM WEATHER.
  _Fountains and Pumps._

By the process of boring, springs may be reached more expeditiously and
economically than by the old method of well digging. The expense of
boring from one to two hundred feet deep is little more than one-fourth
of digging, seventy feet is less than a fourth, thirty feet is less than
a fifth, and from ten to twenty feet it is not so much as a sixth. In
1821, the water for the fountain at Tottenham High Cross, represented in
the engraving, was obtained by boring to a depth of one hundred and five
feet, at the expense of the parish, for public accommodation. The water
rises six feet above the surface, and flowing over a vase at the top of
the column into a basin, as represented in the engraving, it pours from
beneath. The boring for this spring and the fountain were suggested by
Mr. Mathew, who first obtained water in Tottenham, by that method, and
introduced the practice there. The pillar was designed by Messrs. Mathew
and Chaplin, and executed by Mr. Turner of Dorset-street, Fleet-street,
the well known manufacturer of the cast iron pumps; and not to withhold
from him any of “his blushing honours,” be it noted that he was till
lately a common-councilman of the ward of Farringdon Without, where he
still maintains his reputation as a “cunning workman in iron,” and his
good name as a good pump-maker, and as a worthy and respectable man.
Public spirit should rise to the height of giving him, and others of the
worshipful company of pump-makers, more orders. Many places are sadly
deficient of pumps for raising spring-water where it is most wanted.
Every body cries out for it in hot weather, but in cool weather they all
forget their former want; and hot weather comes again and they call out
for it again in vain, and again forget to put up a public pump. At
Pentonville, a place abounding in springs, and formerly abounding in
conduits, all the conduits are destroyed, and the pumps there, in the
midst of that healthy and largely growing suburb, during the hot days of
July, 1825, were not equal to supply a tenth of the demand for water;
they were mostly dry and chained up during the half of each day without
notice, and persons who came perhaps a mile, went back with empty
vessels. So it was in other neighbourhoods. Well may we account for ill.
Mischievous liquors sold, in large quantities, at some places, for soda
water and ginger beer were drank to the great comfort of the
unprincipled manufacturers, the great discomfort of the consumers’
bowels, and the great gain of the apothecary.

Were the doings in the New River during summer, or one half of the
wholesale nuisances permitted in the Thames described, the inhabitants
of London would give up their tea-kettles. Health requires that these
practices should be abated, and, above all, a good supply of
spring-water. The water from pumps and fountains would not only adorn
our public streets and squares, but cool the heated atmosphere, by the
surplus water being diverted into the gutters and open channels.
Besides, if we are to have dogs, and a beast-market in the heart of the
metropolis, the poor overheated animals might by such means slake their
thirst from pure and refreshing streams. The condition wherein sheep and
cattle are driven for many miles before they reach the metropolis, is a
disgrace to the appellation assumed by men who see the cruelty, and have
power to remedy it; “a merciful man is merciful to his beast,” and he is
not a really merciful man who is not merciful to his neighbours’ beasts.

May these wants be quickly supplied. Give us spring water in summer; and
no more let

    “Maids with bottles cry aloud for _pumps_.”

London has but one fountain; it is in the Temple: you pass it on the way
from Essex-street, or “the Grecian” to Garden-court. It is in the space
at the bottom of the first flight of stone steps, within the railings
enclosing a small, and sometimes “smooth shaven green,” the middle
whereof it adorns, surrounded, not too thickly, by goodly trees and
pleasant shrubs. The jet proceeds from a copper pipe in the middle of a
stone-edged basin, and rises to its full height of at least nine feet,
if water from the cock by the hall with which it communicates is not
drawing; when that process is going on the jet droops, and seems dying
away till the drawing ceases, and then the “Temple Fountain” goes up
again “famously.”

There _was_ a fountain in the great square of Lincolns Inn, but it had
ceased to play “in my time.” I only remember the column itself standing
there

    “For ornament, _not_ use,”

with its four boys blowing through shells.

In the Kent-road, on the left hand from the Elephant and Castle towards
the Bricklayers Arms, there is a fountain in a piece of water opposite a
recently built terrace. A kneeling figure, the size of life, blows water
through a shell; it is well conceived, and would be a good ornament were
it kept clean and relieved by trees.

A “professional” gentleman who to the “delightful task” of improving
country residences by laying out grounds in beautiful forms, has added
the less “cheerful labour” of embodying others’ theories and practice in
an “Encyclopædia of Gardening,” views a fountain as an essential
decoration where the “ancient” style of landscape is introduced in any
degree of perfection.[231] As the first requisite, he directs attention
to the obtaining a sufficiently elevated source or reservoir of supply
for the jets, or projected spouts, or threads of water. Some are
contrived to throw the water in the form of sheaves, fans, and showers,
or to support balls; others to throw it horizontally or in curved lines,
but the most usual form is a simple opening to throw the jet or spout
upright. Mr. L. judiciously rejects a jet from a naked tube falling from
the middle of a basin or canal on a smooth surface as unnatural, without
being artificially grand. Grandeur was the aim of the “ancient”
gardener, and hence he made a garden “after nature,” look as a garden of
nature never did look. Mr. L. suggests that “the grandest jet of any is
a perpendicular column, issuing from a rocky base on which the water
falling produces a double effect both of sound and visual display.”

In the “Century of Inventions of the Marquis of Worcester,” explained
and illustrated by Mr. Partington, there is mention by the marquis of
“an artificial fountain, to be turned like an hour glass by a child, in
the twinkling of an eye, it yet holding great quantities of water, and
of force sufficient to make snow, ice, and thunder, with the chirping
and singing of birds, and showing of several shapes and effects usual to
fountains of pleasure.” Mr. Partington observes on this, that “how a
fountain of water can produce snow, ice, thunder, and the singing of
birds, is not easy to comprehend.”

Sir Henry Wotton discoursing on architecture remarks thus:--“Fountains
are figured, or only plain watered works; of either of which I will
describe a matchless pattern. The first, done by the famous hand of
Michael Angelo da Buonaroti, is the figure of a sturdy woman, washing
and winding linen clothes; in which act she wrings out the water that
made the fountain; which was a graceful and natural conceit in the
artificer, implying this rule, that all designs of this kind should be
proper.[232] The other doth merit some larger expression: there went a
long, straight, mossie walk of competent breadth, green and soft under
foot, listed on both sides with an aqueduct of white stone, breast-high,
which had a hollow channel on the top, where ran a pretty trickling
stream; on the edge whereof were couched very thick, all along, certain
small pipes of lead, in little holes; so neatly, that they could not be
well perceived, till by the turning of a cock, they did sprout over
interchangeably, from side to side, above man’s height, in forms of
arches, without any intersection or meeting aloft, because the pipes
were not exactly opposite; so as the beholder, besides that which was
fluent in the aqueduct on both hands in his view, did walk as it were
under a continual bower and hemisphere of water, without any drop
falling on him; an invention for refreshment, surely far excelling all
the Alexandrian delicacies, and pnuematicks of Hero.”[233] An invention
of greater solace could not have been desired in the canicular days, by
those who sought shelter from the heat; nor more coveted by any than by
him, who is constrained to supply the “every-day” demand of “warm”
friends for this little work--no “cool” task!

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Red Chironia. _Chironia Centaureum._
  Dedicated to _St. Martha_.

  [231] Mr. Loudon’s “Encyclopædia of Gardening,” a book of practical
  and curious facts, with hundreds of interesting engravings, is a most
  useful volume to any one who has a garden, or wishes to form one.

  [232] Any one possessing a figure of this fountain designed by Michael
  Angelo, and probably seen by Wotton during his travels in Italy, will
  much oblige the editor by lending it to him for the purpose of being
  copied and inserted in the _Every-Day Book_.

  [233] Reliq. Wotton.


~July 30.~

  _Sts. Abden_ and _Sennen_, A. D. 250. _St. Julitta_, A. D. 303.


_Witchcraft._

On Tuesday, the 30th of July, 1751, Thomas Colley, William Humbles, and
Charles Young, otherwise Lee, otherwise Red Beard, were tried at
Hertford for the murder of Ruth Osborne, by drowning her in a pond at
Marlston-green, in the parish of Tring. The trial is exceedingly
curious. It appeared that William Dell, the town crier of
Hamel-Hempstead, on the 18th of April preceding, was desired by one
Nichols, who gave him a piece of paper and fourpence, to cry the words
at the market-place that were wrote thereon, which he accordingly did.
The paper was as follows:--“This is to give notice, that on Monday next,
a man and woman are to be publicly ducked at Tring, in this county, for
their wicked crimes.”

Matthew Barton, the overseer of Tring, on hearing that this had been
cried at Winslow, Leighton-Buzzard, and Hamel-Hempstead, in order to
prevent the outrage, and believing them to be very honest people, sent
them into the workhouse. On the Monday, a large mob of 5,000 people and
more, assembled at Tring; but Jonathan Tomkins, master of the workhouse,
in the middle of the night, had removed them into the vestry-room
adjoining the church. The mob rushed in and ransacked the workhouse, and
all the closets, boxes, and trunks; they pulled down a wall, and also
pulled out the windows and window-frames. Some of the mob perceiving
straw near at hand said, let us get the straw, and set fire to the
house, and burn it down. Some cried out and swore, that they would not
only burn the workhouse down, but the whole town of Tring to ashes.
Tomkins being apprehensive that they would do so told them where the two
unhappy people were, they immediately went to the vestry-room, broke it
open, and took the two people away in great triumph.

John Holmes deposed, that the man and woman were separately tied up in a
cloth or sheet; that a rope was tied under the arm-pits of the deceased,
and two men dragged her into the pond; that the men were one on one side
of the pond, and the other on the other; and they dragged her sheer
through the pond several times; and that Colley, having a stick in his
hand, went into the pond, and turned the deceased up and down several
times.

John Humphries deposed, that Colley turned her over and over several
times with the stick; that after the mob had ducked her several times,
they brought her to the shore, and set her by the pond side, and then
dragged the old man in and ducked him; that after they had brought him
to shore, and set him by the pond side, they dragged the deceased in a
second time; and that Colley went again into the pond, and turned and
pushed the deceased about with his stick as before; that then she being
brought to shore again, the man was also a second time dragged in, and
underwent the same discipline as he had before; and being brought to
shore, the deceased was a third time dragged into the pond; that Colley
went into the pond again, and took hold of the cloth or sheet in which
she was wrapt, and pulled her up and down the pond till the same came
from off her, and then she appeared naked; that then Colley pushed her
on the breast with his stick, which she endeavoured with her left hand
to catch hold of, but he pulled it away, and that was the last time
life was in her. He also deposed, that after Colley came out of the
pond, he went round among the people who were the spectators of this
tragedy, and collected money of them as a reward for the great pains he
had taken in showing them sport in ducking the old witch, as he then
called the deceased.

The jury found the prisoner Colley--_guilty_.

       *       *       *       *       *

The reporter of the trial states, from the mouth of John Osborne, the
following particulars not deposed to in court, namely: that as soon as
the mob entered the vestry-room, they seized him and his wife, and Red
Beard carried her across his shoulders, like a calf, upwards of two
miles, to a place called Gubblecut; where not finding a pond they
thought convenient, they then carried them to Marlston-green, and put
them into separate rooms in a house there; that they there stripped him
naked, and crossed his legs and arms, and bent his body so, that his
right thumb came down to his right great toe, and his left thumb to his
left great toe, and then tied each thumb and great toe together; that
after they had so done, they got a cloth, or an old sheet, and wrapped
round him, and then carried him to the Mere on the green, where he
underwent the discipline as has been related in the course of the trial.
What they did with his wife he could not say, but he supposed they had
stripped her, and tied her in the same manner as himself, as she
appeared naked in the pond when the sheet was drawn from off her, and
her thumbs and toes tied as his were. After the mob found the woman was
dead, they carried him to a house, and put him into a bed, and laid his
dead wife by his side; all which he said he was insensible of, having
been so ill-used in the pond, as not to have any sense of the world for
some time; but that he was well assured it was so, a number of people
since informing him of it who were present. His wife, if she had lived
till Michaelmas, would have been seventy years of age; he himself was
but fifty-six.

The infatuation of the people in those parts of Hertfordshire was so
great, in thinking that these people were a witch and a vizard, that
when any cattle died, it was always said that Osborne and his deceased
wife had bewitched them. And even after the trial, a great number of
people in that part of the country thought the man a vizard, and that he
could cast up pins as fast as he pleased. Though a stout able man of his
age, and ready and willing to work, yet none of the farmers thereabouts
would employ him, ridiculously believing him to be a vizard, so that the
parish of Tring were obliged to support him in their workhouse after his
wife’s death.

So far is reported by the editor of the trial.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 24th of August, 1751, Colley was hung at Gubblecut-cross, and
afterwards in chains. Multitudes would not be spectators of his death;
yet “many thousands stood at a distance to see him die, muttering that
it was a hard case to hang a man for destroying an old wicked woman that
had done so much mischief by her withcraft.” Yet Colley himself had
signed a public declaration the day before, wherein he affirmed his
conviction as a dying man, that there was no such a thing as a witch,
and prayed that the “good people” might refrain from thinking that they
had any right to persecute a fellow-creature, as he had done, through a
vain imagination, and under the influence of liquor: he acknowledged his
cruelty, and the justice of his sentence.[234]

The pond wherein this poor creature lost her life was in mud and water
together not quite two feet and a half in depth, and yet her not sinking
was deemed “confirmation strong as proof of holy writ” that she was a
witch. Ignorance is mental blindness.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  White Mullen. _Verbuscum Lychnitis._
  Dedicated to _St. Julitta_.

  [234] Gent. Mag. xxi. 378.


~July 31.~

  _St. Ignatius_, of Loyola, A. D. 1556. _St. John Columbini_, A. D.
  1367. _St. Helen_, of Sweden, A. D. 1160.


[Illustration: ~St. Ignatius Loyola--Founder of the Jesuits.~]

Ignatius was born in 1495, in the castle of Loyola in Guipuscoa, a part
of Biscay adjoining the Pyrenees. In his childhood he was pregnant of
wit, discreet above his years, affable and obliging, with a choleric
disposition, and an ardent passion for glory. Bred in the court of
Ferdinand V., under the duke of Najara, his kinsman and patron, as page
to the king, he was introduced into the army, wherein he signalized
himself by dexterous talent, personal courage, addiction to licentious
vices and pleasures, and a taste for poetry; he at that time composed a
poem in praise of St. Peter. In 1521, he served in the garrison of
Pampeluna, against the French who besieged it: in resisting an attack,
he mounted the breach sword-in-hand; a piece of stone struck off by a
cannon ball from the ramparts bruised his left leg, while the ball in
its rebound broke his right.[235]

Dr. Southey in a note to his recently published “Tale of Paraguay,”
cites the Jesuit Ribadeneira’s account of this accident to Ignatius from
his life of him in the “Actæ Sanctorum,” where it is somewhat more at
length than in the English edition of Ribadeneira’s “Lives of the
Saints,” which states that St. Peter appeared to Ignatius on the eve of
his feast, with a sweet and gracious aspect, and said that he was come
to cure him. “With this visitation of the holy apostle,” says
Ribadeneira, “Ignatius grew much better, and not long after recovered
his perfect health: but, as he was a spruce young gallant, desirous to
appear in the most neat and comely fashion, he caused the end of a bone
which stuck out under his knee, and did somewhat disfigure his leg, to
be cut off, that so his boot might sit more handsomely, as he himself
told me, thinking it to be against his honour that such a deformity
should be in his leg: nor would he be bound while the bone was sawed
off.” Father Bouhours, also a Jesuit, and another biographer of
Ignatius, says, that one of his thighs having shrunk from the wound,
lest lameness should appear in his gait, he put himself for many days
together upon a kind of rack, and with an engine of iron violently
stretched and drew out his leg, yet he could never extend it, and ever
after his right leg remained shorter than his left.

                  -------- When long care
    Restored his shattered leg and set him free,
    He would not brook a slight deformity,
    As one who being gay and debonair,
    In courts conspicuous, as in camps must be:
    So he forsooth a shapely boot must wear;
    And the vain man, with peril of his life,
    Laid the recovered limb again beneath the knife.

    Long time upon the bed of pain he lay
    Whiling with books the weary hours away.
    And from that circumstance, and this vain man,
    A train of long events their course began,
    Whose term it is not given us yet to see.
    Who hath not heard Loyola’s sainted name,
    Before whom kings and nations bow’d the knee?

  _Tale of Paraguay._

Ribadeneira says, that one night while Ignatius kept his bed and was
praying, a great noise shook all the chamber and broke the windows, and
the Virgin Mary appeared to him “when he was awake, with her precious
Son in her arms;” in consequence of this vision he resolved to embrace a
life wherein he might afflict his body. For this purpose, he determined
to go a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and bought a cassock of coarse canvass
for a coat, a pair of country buskins, a bottle, and a pilgrim’s staff;
he gave his horse to the monastery of our blessed lady at Montserrat;
hung up his sword and dagger at our lady’s altar; and having spent the
night of Lady-day, 1522, at the said altar, departed to institute the
Society of Jesus, in his canvass coat, girded with his cord, walking
with his pilgrim’s staff bare-headed: he would have gone bare-footed but
he was forced to wear one shoe on the foot of the broken leg. Thus he
went,

    “One shoe off,
    And t’other shoe on”

till he came to the hospital of St. Lucy at Manresa, where he lived by
begging among the poor, and exhausting his body, not paring his nails,
letting the hair of his head and beard both grow, and never using a
comb; sleeping on a board or the bare ground; passing the greater part
of the night in watching, praying, and weeping; scourging himself three
times a day, and spending seven hours upon his knees. Ribadeneira says,
“he was so set upon curbing, and taming, and mortifying his flesh, that
he allowed it no manner of ease or content, but was continually
persecuting it, so that in a very short time from a strong lusty man, he
became weak and infirm.” In 1523, he was so feeble and weak that he
could hardly set one leg before the other; where the night overtook him,
whether in the fields or high-road, there he lay; till at last, as well
as he could, often falling and rising again, he made a shift to reach
Rome, on Palm Sunday, where he “made the holy stations,” and visited the
churches, and after remaining there fifteen days, begged his way from
door to door to Venice, afterwards went to Cyprus, and arrived at
Jerusalem on the 4th of September. He returned from thence in the depth
of winter, through frost and snow, with scarcely clothes to cover him,
and arriving at Cyprus, wanted to ship himself on board a Venetian man
of war, but the captain disliking his appearance said, if he was a
saint, as he said he was, he might securely walk upon the water and not
fear to be drowned. Ignatius, however, did not take the hint and set
sail upon his coat or a millstone, as other saints are said to have
done, but embarked in “a little paltry vessel, quite rotten and
worm-eaten,” which carried him to Venice in January, 1524. On his way
from thence to Genoa, he was taken by the Spaniards who thought him a
spy, and afterwards thought him a fool; when he got to Spain, at
thirty-three years of age, he began to learn grammar, fasted as he did
before, cut off the soles of his shoes that he might walk barefoot, and
cut down a man that had hanged himself, who, through his prayers
“returned to life.” At Paris, in 1528, he thought fit to perfect himself
in the Latin tongue, and “humanity;” then, also, he studied philosophy
and divinity, and made journies into Flanders and England to beg alms of
the Spanish merchants, wherewith he got together a fraternity under the
name of the Fathers of the Society of Jesus, whom he persuaded John III.
of Portugal to send to the East Indies as missionaries. He afterwards
increased the number, and retired with two of his order for forty days
into a ruined and desolate hermitage without doors or windows, open on
all sides to wind and rain, where they slept on the ground on a little
straw, and lived by begging hard mouldy crusts, which they were obliged
to steep in water before they could eat: they then went to Rome on foot,
begging all the way. Before entering that city, Ignatius going into an
old church alone, had, according to Ribadeneira’s account, a celestial
interview of a nature that cannot be here described without violence to
the feelings of the reader. After the removal of certain difficulties,
the pope confirmed the order of the Jesuits, and Ignatius was
unanimously elected its general. He entered upon his dignity by taking
upon himself the office of cook, and doing other menial services about
the house, “which he executed,” says Ribadeneira, “with that readiness
and desire of contempt, that he seemed a novice employed therein for his
profit and mortification: all this I myself can testify, who at that
time being a youth, was a scholar and brother in the society, and every
day repeated St. Ignatius’s catechism. Our blessed father St. Ignatius
was general of the society fifteen years, three months, and nine days,
from the 22d of April in the year 1541, until the last of July, 1556,
when he departed this world.”

Ribadeneira largely diffuses on the austerities of Ignatius, in going
almost naked, suffering hunger and cold, self-inflictions with a whip,
hair-cloth, “and all manner of mortifications that he could invent to
afflict and subdue his body.” He accounts among his virtues, that
Ignatius lived in hospitals like a poor man, amongst the meanest sort of
people, being despised and contemned, and desirous to be so: his desire
was to be mocked and laughed at by all, and if he would have permitted
himself to be carried on by the fervour of his mind, he would have gone
up and down the streets almost naked, and like a fool, that the boys of
the town might have made sport with him, and thrown dirt upon him. He
had a singular gift of tears which he shed most abundantly at his
prayers, to the great comfort of his spirit and no less damage to his
body, but at length, because the doctors told him so continual an
effusion did impair his health, he prayed for command over his tears,
and afterwards he could shed or repress his tears as he pleased.

It is especially insisted on by Ribadeneira, that “Ignatius had a
strange dominion and command over the devils, who abhorred and
persecuted him as their greatest enemy. Whilst he was in his rigorous
course of penance at Manresa, Satan often appeared to him in a shining
and glistening form, but he discovered the enemy’s fraud and deceit.
Several other times, the devil appeared to him in some ugly and foul
shape, which he was so little terrified with, that he would contemptibly
drive him away with his staff, like a cat, or some troublesome cur. He
laboured all he could one day to terrify him, whilst he lived at Alcala,
in the hospital, but he lost his labour. At Rome, he would have choked
him in his sleep, and he was so hoarse, and his throat so sore, with the
violence the devil offered him, that he could hardly speak for a
fortnight after. Another time whilst he was in his bed, two devils fell
upon him, and whipped him most cruelly, and brother John Paul Castelan,
who lay nigh him, and afterwards told it me, heard the blows, and rose
up twice that night to help him.” In the year 1545, the college of the
society (of Jesuits) which we have at our blessed Lady’s of Loretto, was
first begun, and the devils presently began to make war against our
fathers in that college, and to molest and disquiet them both by day and
by night, making a most terrible clatter and noise, and appearing in
sundry shapes and forms, sometimes of a blackamoor, then of a cat and
bear, and other beasts, and neither by saying holy mass, praying,
sprinkling holy water, using exorcisms, applying relics of saints and
the like, could they rid themselves of that molestation, wherefore St.
Ignatius, by letters, recommended a firm and strong confidence, and that
he on his part would not be wanting to recommend it in his prayers; and
from that very hour, (a very remarkable thing,) all those troubles
ceased, nor were there seen any more spirits. This happened whilst St.
Ignatius was living.” To this, Ribadeneira adds story upon story, of
women and maids being tormented by devils, who were discomfited by the
mere sight of Ignatius’s picture, “which kept off all the blows and
assaults of the ghostly enemy, yet so great was his malice and desire of
doing mischief, that he fell furiously upon the chamber walls, and
cupboards, chests, coffers, and whatsoever else was in the room, beating
upon them with horrible strokes, though he never touched any box wherein
was kept a picture of the saint.” He affirms, that the like happened in
the year 1599, to a schoolmaster of Ancona:--“These damned spirits,”
says Ribadeneira, “opened the doors of his house when they were locked,
and shut them when they were left open, swept the chambers, made the
beds, lighted the lamps, and then on a sudden put all into disorder and
confusion, and removed things from one room into another; but when the
good man had hung up a picture of our blessed father in his house, all
was quiet within doors, yet a most terrible tumult there was without,
for they flung to and fro the doors and windows, and beat as it were,
the drum round about his house till he put more pictures of the saint
upon the doors, and several parts of the house, when the molestation
wholly ceased.” Of the numerous devilries raised and abolished by the
saint’s holiness, these specimens may suffice.

To so distinguished and efficient a member of the Romish Church, as
Ignatius, the gift of prophecy is, of course, awarded, and the power of
working miracles, of necessity, follows; accordingly we find instances
of them, “too numerous to mention in this particular.” It is to be
expected that his relics were equally miraculous, and hence
Ribadeneira’s account is seasoned sufficiently high, for the most
discriminating palate of the most miracle-loving epicure. Water wherein
a bit of a bone of Ignatius’s body had been dipped, cured the sick at
the hospital at Burgos. The letters he wrote were preserved as relics
for miraculous purposes; and a later saint carried the autograph of
Ignatius about him as a relic. If one of Ignatius’s autographs be
coveted in England, it may probably be discovered in the reliquary of
Mr. Upcott at the London Institution.

Enough has certainly been said of St Ignatius Loyola; yet less space
could hardly have been devoted to the founder of the celebrated order of
the Jesuits, a body which perforates and vermiculates through every part
of the civilized world wherein the Romish religion predominates, or has
ever prevailed. Concerning the present state of an order, composed of
men of talent under a vow of poverty; devoted to the papacy, and
possessing more wealth than any other catholic fraternity; wearing or
not wearing a habit to distinguish them from ordinary citizens in
catholic and protestant countries, as may suit their private purposes;
prowling unknown, and secretly operating; there can be little gathered,
and therefore little to communicate. The coexistence of a free
government and a free press is a sure and safe defence from all their
machinations.

One circumstance, however, related by all the biographers of Ignatius,
must not be forgotten. It stands in Ribadeneira’s life of him thus: “As
he was sitting one day upon the steps of St. Dominick’s church, and
reading our blessed lady’s office with much devotion, our Lord on a
sudden illustrated his understanding, and represented to him a figure
of the most blessed trinity, which exteriourly expressed to him what
interiourly God gave him to understand. This caused in him so great
comfort and spiritual joy, that he could not restrain his sobs and
tears, nor speak of any thing but this holy mystery, delivering the high
conceit he had of it with so many similitudes and examples, that all who
heard him were amazed and astonished, and from that time forward, this
ineffable mystery was so imprinted in his soul, that he writ a book of
this profound matter which contained fourscore leaves, though at that
time he had never studied, and could but only read and write; and he
always retained so clear and distinct a knowledge of the trinity of
persons, of the divine essence, and of the distinction and propriety of
the persons, that he noted in a treatise which was found after his
death, written in his own hand, that he could not have learnt so much
with many years’ study.” This pretended revelation with figments equally
edifying has employed the pencil of the painter. Rubens has left a
well-known picture representing Ignatius in his rapture. From a fine
print of it, by Bolswert, the engraving at the head of this article has
been taken; the picture is in the collection at Warwick Castle.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Mullen. _Verbuscum Virgatum._
  Dedicated to _St. Ignatius_.

  [235] Butler’s Saints.




[Illustration: AUGUST.]


      The eighth was August, being rich array’d
        In garment all of gold downe to the ground:
      Yet rode he not, but led a lovely mayd
        Forth by the lily hand, the which was crown’d
      With eares of corne, and full her hand was found.
        That was the righteous Virgin, which of old
      Liv’d here on earth, and plenty made abound;
        But after wrong was lov’d, and justice solde,
    She left th’ unrighteous world, and was to heav’n extoll’d.

August is the eighth month of the year. It was called Sextilis by the
Romans, from its being the sixth month in their calendar, until the
senate complimented the emperor Augustus by naming it after him, and
through them it is by us denominated August.

Our Saxon ancestors called it “_Arnmonat_, (more rightly _barn-moneth_,)
intending thereby the then filling of their barnes with corne.”[236]
_Arn_ is the Saxon word for harvest. According to some they also called
it _Woedmonath_, as they likewise called June.[237]

The sign of the zodiac entered by the sun this month is Virgo, the
Virgin. Spenser’s personation of it above is pencilled and engraved by
Mr. Samuel Williams.

“Admire the deep beauty of this allegorical picture,” says Mr. Leigh
Hunt. “Spenser takes advantage of the sign of the zodiac, the Virgin, to
convert her into Astrea, the goddess of justice, who seems to return to
earth awhile, when the exuberance of the season presents enough for
all.”

Mr. Leigh Hunt notes in his _Months_, that,--“This is the month of
harvest. The crops usually begin with rye and oats, proceed with wheat,
and finish with peas and beans. Harvest-home is still the greatest rural
holiday in England, because it concludes at once the most laborious and
most lucrative of the farmer’s employments, and unites repose and
profit. Thank heaven there are, and must be, seasons of some repose in
agricultural employments, or the countryman would work with as unceasing
a madness, and contrive to be almost as diseased and unhealthy as the
citizen. But here again, and for the reasons already mentioned, our
holiday-making is not what it was. Our ancestors used to burst into an
enthusiasm of joy at the end of harvest, and appear even to have mingled
their previous labour with considerable merry-making, in which they
imitated the equality of the earlier ages. They crowned the
wheat-sheaves with flowers, they sung, they shouted, they danced, they
invited each other, or met to feast, as at Christmas, in the halls of
rich houses; and what was a very amiable custom, and wise beyond the
commoner wisdom that may seem to lie on the top of it, every one that
had been concerned, man, woman, and child, received a little
present--ribbons, laces, or sweatmeats.

“The number of flowers is now sensibly diminished. Those that flower
newly are nigella, zinnias, polyanthuses, love-apples, mignionette,
capsicums, Michaelmas daisies, auriculus, asters, or stars, and
China-asters. The additional trees and shrubs in flower are the
tamarisk, altheas, Venetian sumach, pomegranates, the beautiful
passion-flower, the trumpet-flower, and the virgin’s bower, or clematis,
which is such a quick and handsome climber. But the quantity of fruit is
considerably multiplied, especially that of pears, peaches, apricots,
and grapes. And if the little delicate wild flowers have at last
withdrawn from the hot sun, the wastes, marshes, and woods are dressed
in the luxuriant attire of ferns and heaths, with all their varieties of
green, purple, and gold. A piece of waste land, especially where the
ground is broken up into little inequalities, as Hampstead-heath, for
instance, is now a most bright as well as picturesque object; all the
ground, which is in light, giving the sun, as it were, gold for gold.
Mignonette, intended to flower in the winter, should now be planted in
pots, and have the benefit of a warm situation. Seedlings in pots should
have the morning sunshine, and annuals in pots be frequently watered.

“In the middle of this month, the young goldfinch broods appear,
lapwings congregate, thistle-down floats, and birds resume their spring
songs:--a little afterwards flies abound in windows, linnets congregate,
and bulls make their shrill autumnal bellowing; and towards the end the
beech tree turns yellow,--the first symptom of approaching autumn.”

    The garden blooms with vegetable gold,
    And all Pomona in the orchard glows,
        Her racy fruits now glory in the sun,
    The wall-enamour’d flower in saffron blows,
    Gay annuals their spicy sweets unfold,
        To cooling brooks the panting cattle run:
    Hope, the forerunner of the farmer’s gain,
    Visits his dreams and multiplies the grain.

    More hot it grows; ye fervours of the sky
    Attend the virgin--lo! she comes to hail
        Your sultry radiance.--Now the god of day
    Meets her chaste star--be present zephyr’s gale
    To fan her bosom--let the breezes fly
        On silver pinions to salute his ray;
    Bride of his soft desires, with comely grace
    He clasps the virgin to his warm embrace.

    The reapers now their shining sickles bear
    A band illustrious, and the sons of Health!
        They bend, they toil across the wide champaign,
    Before them Ceres yields her flowing wealth;
    The partridge-covey to the copse repair
        For shelter, sated with the golden grain,
    Bask on the bank, or thro’ the clover run
    Yet safe from fetters, and the slaughtering gun.

  [236] Verstegan.

  [237] Dr. F. Sayers.


~August 1.~

  _St. Peter ad Vincula_, or St. Peter’s chains. _The seven Machabees_,
  Brothers, with their Mother. _Sts. Faith, Hope, and Charity_. _St.
  Etholwold_, Bp. A. D. 984. _St. Pellegrini_, or _Peregrinus_, A. D.
  643.


_St. Peter ad Vincula, or the Feast of St. Peter’s chains._

The Romish church pretending to possess one of the chains wherewith
Peter was bound, and from which the angel delivered him, indulges its
votaries with a festival in its honour on this day. “Pagan Rome,” says
Alban Butler, “never derived so much honour from the spoils and trophies
of a conquered world, as christian Rome receives from the corporal
remains of these two glorious apostles, (Peter and Paul,) before which
the greatest emperors lay down their diadems, and prostrate themselves.”
Be it observed, that the papacy also pretends to possess the chains of
Paul: pope Gregory writing to the empress Constantia tells her he will
quickly send her some part of Paul’s chains, if it be possible for him
to file any off;--“for,” says Gregory, “since so many frequently come
begging a benediction from the chains, that they may receive a little of
the filings thereof, therefore a priest is ready with a file; and when
_some_ persons petition for it, presently in a moment something is filed
off for them from the chains; but when _others_ petition, though the
file be drawn a great while through the chains, yet cannot the least jot
be got off.” Upon this, bishop Patrick says,--“One may have leave to
ask, why should not this miraculous chain of St. Paul have a festival
appointed in memory of it, as well as that of St. Peter? you may take
Baronius’s answer to it till you can meet with a better.” Baronius, the
great Romish luminary and authority in the affairs of papal martyrs,
relics, and miracles, says,--“Truly the bonds of St. Peter seem not
without reason to be worshipped, though the bonds of the other apostles
are not: for it is but fit, that since he has the chief power in the
church of binding and loosing other men’s bonds, that his bonds also
should be had in honour of all the faithful.” This is a sufficing reason
to the believers in the “binding and loosing” according to the gloss put
upon that power by Romish writers.

The empress Eudocia is affirmed to have brought the two chains of St.
Peter from Jerusalem, in the year 439, one whereof she gave to a church
in Constantinople, and sent the other to Rome, where the old lady’s
chain has yielded, or not yielded, to the raspings of the file from time
immemorial. This chain was pleased to part with some of its particles to
the emperor Justinian, who sent ambassadors begging to the pope for a
small portion. “The popes,” says Butler, “were accustomed to send the
filings as precious relics to devout princes--they were often
instruments of miracles--and the pope himself rasped them off for king
Childebert, and enclosed them in a golden _key_ to be hung about the
neck.” Childebert, no doubt, experienced its aperient qualities. They
would be very serviceable to the papal interest at this period.


_Gule of August._

The first day of August is so called. According to Gebelin, as the month
of August was the first in the Egyptian year, it was called Gule, which
being latinized, makes Gula, a word in that language signifying throat.
“Our legendaries,” says Brand, “surprised at seeing this word at the
head of the month of August, converted it to their own purpose.” They
made out of it the feast of the daughter of the tribune Quirinus, who
they pretend was cured of a disorder in the throat, (Gula,) by kissing
the chain of St. Peter on the day of its festival. Forcing the _Gule_ of
the Egyptians into the _throat_ of the tribune’s daughter, they
instituted a festival to _Gule_ upon the festival-day of _St. Peter ad
Vincula_.


_Lammas-day._

So stands the first of August in our English almanacs, and so it stands
in the printed _Saxon Chronicle_. “Antiquaries,” says Brand, “are
divided in their opinions concerning the origin of _Lammas_-Day; some
derive it from Lamb-Mass, because on that day the tenants who held lands
under the cathedral church in York, which is dedicated to St. Peter ad
Vincula, were bound by their tenure to bring a live lamb into the church
at high mass: others derive it from a supposed offering or tything of
lambs at this time.” Various other derivations have been imagined.
Blount, the glossographer, says, that Lammas is called Hlaf-Mass, that
is Loaf-Mass, or Bread-Mass, which signifies a feast of thanksgiving for
the first fruits of the corn. It was observed with bread of new wheat,
and in some places tenants are bound to bring new wheat to their lord,
on, or before, the first of August. New wheat is called Lammas-Wheat.
Vallancey affirms that this day was dedicated, in Ireland, to the
sacrifice of the fruits of the soil; that _La-ith-mas_ the day of the
obligation of grain, is pronounced La-ee-mas, a word readily corrupted
to Lammas; that _ith_, signifies all kinds of grain, particularly wheat,
and that _mas_ signifies fruit of all kinds, especially the acorn,
whence the word mast.[238] From these explications may easily be derived
the reasonable meaning of the word Lammas.


JULIET, CAPULET, AND PETRARCH.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

As in your little calendar of worthy observancies you sometimes notice
the birthdays of those whom we most desire, and who most deserve to be
remembered, and as I am one, who like yourself, am unwilling any thing
should be forgotten, or trodden down under the feet of thoughtless and
passing generations, that has pleasant speculation in it, pray remember
that on the first day of August, Francisco Petrarca was born.--But
remember also, that on that same day, in 1578, was born _our_ Juliet
Capulet. “On Lammas eve at night shall she be _fourteen_. That shall
she, marry; I remember it well. ’Tis since the earthquake now _eleven
years_, an’ she was weaned.” Shakspeare’s characters, as we all know, be
they of what country or of what age they may, speak as an Englishman
would have done in his own times, and the earthquake here referred to
was felt in 1580. That Juliet, _our_ Juliet, should have been born on
the very same day as Petrarch was certainly accidental; yet it is a
coincidence worth observing; and if a calendar of birthdays be to recall
pleasant recollections, over “our chirping cups,” why may not Juliet be
remembered, and her sweetly poetical existence be associated with the
reality of Petrarca’s life. And where is the difference? Petrarca is,

        -------nor hand nor foot
    Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
    Belonging to a man.

And what are all the great men that have ever lived but such mocking
names? Montaigne, who translated a theological work by Raimondi di
Sibondi, on being told by some learned friend that he suspected it was
but an abstract of St. Thomas of Aquin, says “’tis a pity to _rob
Sibondi_ of _his_ honours on such slight authority:”--what honours? when
are they offered? to whom? it is not known that such a man ever had
existence! Not love, nor reverence, nor idolatrous admiration can stay
the progress of oblivion: the grave shuts us out for ever from our
fellows, and our generation is the limit of our personal and real
existence:--mind only is immortal. Francisco Petrarca was dead, and
buried, and forgotten, five hundred years ago: he is now no more in
reality than Juliet; nay, to myself, not so much so. The witches in
Macbeth, though pure creations, have more of flesh and blood reality,
are more familiar to the thoughts of all, than the Lancashire witches
that lived cotemporary with the poet, and suffered death from the
superstition of the age. There have been many Shakspeares, we _know_ but
one; that one indeed, from association and recollection, has a real
character in our minds, and a real presence in our hearts:--have we
neither association nor recollection with the name Juliet Capulet?

  D.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Stramony. _Datura Stramonium._
  Dedicated to _St. Peter ad Vincula_.

  [238] Brand.


~August 2.~

  _St. Stephen_, Pope, A. D. 257. _St. Etheldritha, or Alfrida._ A. D.
  834.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tiger Lily. _Lilium tigrinum._
  Dedicated to _St. Alfrida_.


~August 3.~

  _The Invention of St. Stephen_, or the discovery of his relics, A. D.
  415. _St. Nicodemus._ _St. Gamaliel_, A. D. 415. _St. Walthen_, or
  _Waltheof_, A. D. 1160.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Holyhock. _Althea rosea._
  Dedicated to _The Invention of St. Stephen’s Relics_.


~August 4.~

  _St. Dominic_, Confessor, founder of the friar preachers, A. D. 1221.
  _St. Luanus_, or _Lugid_, or _Molua_, of Ireland, A. D. 622.


CHRONOLOGY.

Holinshed records, that in the year 1577, “on Sundaie the fourth of
August, betweene the houres of nine and ten of the clocke in the
forenone, whilest the minister was reading of the second lesson in the
parish church of Bliborough, a towne in Suffolke, a strange and terrible
tempest of lightening and thunder strake thorough the wall of the same
church into the ground almost a yard deepe, draue downe all the people
on that side aboue twentie persons, then renting the wall up to the
veustre, cleft the doore, and returning to the steeple, rent the timber,
brake the chimes, and fled towards Bongie, a towne six miles off. The
people that were striken downe were found groueling more than halfe an
houre after, whereof one man more than fortie yeares, and a boie of
fifteene yeares, old were found starke dead: the other were scorched.
The same or the like flash of lightening and cracks of thunder rent the
parish church of Bongie, nine miles from Norwich, wroong in sunder the
wiers and wheels of the clocks, slue two men which sat in the belfreie,
when the other were at the procession or suffrages, and scorched an
other which hardlie escaped.”

This damage by lightning to the church of Bungay, in Suffolk, is most
curiously narrated in an old tract, entitled “A straunge and terrible
Wunder wrought very late in the parish Church of Bongay, a Town of no
great distance from the citie of Norwich, namely the fourth of this
August in y^{e} yeere of our Lord, 1577, in a great tempest of violent
raine, lightning, and thunder, the like whereof hath been seldome seene.
With the appeerance of an horrible shaped thing, sensibly perceiued of
the people then and there assembled. Drawen into a plain method,
according to the written copye, by _Abraham Fleming_.”

Mr. Rodd, bookseller, in Great Newport-street, Leicester-square, well
known to collectors by his catalogues and collections of rare and
curious works, has reprinted this tract, and says, on the authority of
Newcourt’s “Repertorium,” vol i., p. 519, wherein he is corroborated by
Antony Wood, in his “Athenæ Oxoniensis;” that of the narrator, Abraham
Fleming, nothing more is known than that he was rector of St. Pancras,
Soper-lane, from October, 1593, till 1607, in which year he died. “He
was probably,” says Mr. Rodd, “a schoolmaster, as his almost literal
translation of ‘Virgil’s Pastorals’ into English metre without rhime,
and his edition of ‘Withall’s Dictionary,’ were intended for the use of
beginners in Latin. From his numerous writings and translations, (a list
of which may be seen in Ames, Tanner, &c.,) he appears to have been an
industrious author, and most probably subsisted on the labours of his
pen.”

In a monitory preface, well befitting the context, Abraham Fleming says,
“The order of the thing as I receiued the sāe I have committed to paper,
for the present viewe and perusing of those that are disposed. It is
grounded uppon trueth, and therefore not only worthie the writing and
publishing, but also the hearing and considering.” He then proceeds to
“reporte” his “straunge and wonderful spectacle,” in these words:--

“Sunday, being the fourth of this August, in y^{e} yeer of our Lord,
1577, to the amazing and singular astonishment of the present beholders,
and absent hearers, at a certein towne called Bongay, not past tenne
miles distant from the citie of Norwiche, there fell from heaven an
exceeding great and terrible tempest, sodein and violent, between nine
of the clock in the morning and tenne of the day aforesaid.

“This tempest took beginning with a rain, which fel with a wonderful
force and with no lesse violence then abundance, which made the storme
so much the more extream and terrible.

“This tempest was not simply of rain, but also of lightning and thunder,
the flashing of the one whereof was so rare and vehement, and the
roaring noise of the other so forceable and violent, that it made not
only people perplexed in minde and at their wits end, but ministred such
straunge and unaccustomed cause of feare to be cōceived, that dumb
creatures with y^{e} horrour of that which fortuned, were exceedingly
disquieted, and senselesse things void of all life and feeling, shook
and trembled.

“There were assembled at the same season, to hear divine service and
common prayer, according to order, in the parish church of the said
towne of Bongay, the people thereabouts inhabiting, who were witnesses
of the straungenes, the rarenesse and sodenesse of the storm, consisting
of raine violently falling, fearful flashes of lightning, and terrible
cracks of thūder, which came with such unwonted force and power, that to
the perceiving of the people, at the time and in the place aboue named,
assembled, the church did as it were quake and stagger, which struck
into the harts of those that were present, such a sore and sodain feare,
that they were in a manner robbed of their right wits.

“Immediately hereupō, there appeared in a most horrible similitude and
likenesse to the congregation then and there present, a dog as they
might discerne it, of a black colour; at the sight whereof, togither
with the fearful flashes of fire which then were seene, moved such
admiration in the mindes of the assemblie, that they thought doomes day
was already come.

“This black dog, or the divel in such a likenesse (God hee knoweth al
who worketh all,) runing all along down the body of the church with
great swiftnesse, and incredible haste, among the people, in a visible
fourm and shape, passed between two persons, as they were kneeling uppon
their knees, and occupied in prayer as it seemed, wrung the necks of
them bothe at one instant clene backward, in somuch that even at a momēt
where they kneeled, they strāgely dyed.

“This is a wōderful example of God’s wrath, no doubt to terrifie us,
that we might feare him for his iustice, or pulling back out footsteps
from the pathes of sinne, to love him for his mercy.

“To our matter again. There was at y^{e} same time another wonder
wrought: for the same black dog, stil continuing and remaining in one
and the self same shape, passing by an other man of the congregation in
the church, gave him such a gripe on the back, that therwith all he was
presently drawen togither and shrunk up, as it were a peece of lether
scorched in a hot fire; or as the mouth of a purse or bag, drawen
togither with a string. The man, albeit hee was in so straunge a taking,
dyed not, but as it is thought is yet alive: whiche thing is mervelous
in the eyes of men, and offereth much matter of amasing the minde.

“Moreouer, and beside this, the clark of the said church beeing occupied
in cleansing of the gutter of the church, with a violent clap of thunder
was smitten downe, and beside his fall had no further harme: unto whom
beeing all amased this straunge shape, whereof we have before spoken,
appeared, howbeit he escaped without daunger: which might peradventure
seem to sound against trueth, and to be a thing incredible: but, let us
leave thus or thus to iudge, and cry out with the prophet, _O Domine_,
&c.--O Lord, how wonderful art thou in thy woorks.

“At the time that these things in this order happened, the rector, or
curate of the church, beeing partaker of the people’s perplexitie,
seeing what was seen, and done, comforted the people, and exhorted them
to prayer, whose counsell, in such extreme distresse they followed, and
prayed to God as they were assembled togither.

“Now for the verifying of this report, (which to sōe wil seem absurd,
although the sensiblenesse of the thing it self confirmeth it to be a
trueth,) as testimonies and witnesses of the force which rested in this
straunge shaped thing, there are remaining in the stones of the church,
and likewise in the church dore which are mervelously rēten and torne,
y^{e} marks as it were of his clawes or talans. Beside, that all the
wires, the wheeles, and other things belonging to the clock, were wrung
in sunder, and broken in peces.

“And (which I should haue tolde you in the beginning of this report, if
I had regarded the observing of order,) at the time that this tempest
lasted, and while these stormes endured, y^{e} whole church was so
darkened, yea with such a palpable darknesse, that one persone could not
perceive another, neither yet might discern any light at all though it
were lesser thē the least, but onely when y^{e} great flashing of fire
and lightning appeared.

“These things are not lightly with silence to be over passed, but
precisely and throughly to be considered.

“On the self same day, in like manner, into the parish church of another
towne called Blibery, not above sevē miles distant from Bongay above
said, the like thing entred, in the same shape and similitude, where
placing himself uppon a maine balke or beam, whereon some y^{e} Rood did
stand, sodainly he gave a swinge downe through y^{e} church, and there
also, as before, slew two men and a lad, and burned the hand of another
person that was there among the rest of the company, of whom divers were
blasted.

“This mischief thus wrought, he flew with wonderful force to no little
feare of the assembly, out of the church in a hideous and hellish
likenes.”

For “a necessary prayer,” and other particulars concerning this
“straunge and terrible wunder,” which was “Imprinted at London, by
Frauncis Godly, dwelling at the West End of Paules,” the curious reader
may consult Mr. Rodd’s verbatim reprint of the tract itself, which is a
“rare” distortion of a thunder storm with lightning, well worthy to be
possessed by collectors of the marvellous untruths with which Abraham
Fleming’s age abounded.

       *       *       *       *       *

1825. This day at the Northumberland assizes, James Coates, aged
twenty-two, and John Blakie, aged sixteen, were found guilty of robbing
Thomas Hindmarch of his watch, on Sunday, the 20th of March last. It
appeared that Hindmarch, who lived at Howden Panns near Shields, had
been at Newcastle on Carling Sunday, a day so called, because it is the
custom of the lower orders in the north of England to eat immense
quantities of small peas, called carlings, fried in butter, pepper, and
salt, on the second Sunday before Easter, and that on his way home about
half-past ten at night his watch was snatched from him. The circumstance
is noticed as an instance of the practice of keeping Care Sunday at the
present time.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Blue Bells. _Campanula rotundifolia._
  Dedicated to _St. Dominic_.


~August 5.~

  _The Dedication of St. Mary ad Nives._ _St. Oswald_, King. _St. Afra_,
  and Companions, A. D. 304. _St. Memmius_, or _Menge_, Bp. A. D. 290.


_An Every-Day Complaint._

In the “London Chronicle” of the 5th of August, 1758, there is an
advertisement from a sufferer under a disease of such a nature that,
though the cure is simple, a description of the various afflictions and
modes of relief peculiar to the progress of the disorder would fill many
volumes. To guard the young wholly against it is impossible; for like
the small pox, every one must expect to have it once, and when it is
taken in the natural way, and if the remedy is at hand, and the patient
follows good advice, recovery speedily follows. The advertisement
alluded to runs thus:--

  A young lady who was at Vauxhall on Thursday night last, in company
  with two gentlemen, could not but observe a young gentleman in blue
  and a gold-laced hat, who, being near her by the orchestra during the
  performance, especially the last song, gazed upon her with the utmost
  attention. He earnestly hopes (if unmarried) she will favour him with
  a line directed to A. D. at the bar of the Temple Exchange
  Coffee-house, Temple-bar, to inform him whether fortune, family, and
  character, may not entitle him upon a further knowledge, to hope an
  interest in her heart. He begs she will pardon the method he has taken
  to let her know the situation of his mind, as, being a stranger, he
  despaired of doing it any other way, or even of seeing her more. As
  his views are founded upon the most honourable principles, he presumes
  to hope the occasion will justify it, if she generously breaks through
  this trifling formality of the sex, rather than, by a cruel silence,
  render unhappy one, who must ever expect to continue so, if debarred
  from a nearer acquaintance with her, in whose power alone it is to
  complete his felicity.


       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Egyptian Water Lily. _Nelumbo Nilotica._
  Dedicated to _Our Lady ad Nives_.


~August 6.~

  _The Transfiguration of our Lord._ _St. Xystus_, or _Sixtus_ II., Pope
  and Martyr. _Sts. Justus_ and _Pastor_, A. D. 304.


_Transfiguration._

This, which stands in the English almanacs on the present day, is the
name of a popish festival, in celebration of the glorified appearance of
Christ on mount Tabor.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Meadow Saffron. _Colchicum autumnale._
  Dedicated to the _Transfiguration_.


~August 7.~

  _St. Cajetan_, A. D. 1547. _St. Donatus_, Bp. A. D. 361.


_Name of Jesus._

There is no satisfactory reason for this nomination of the present day
in our almanacs.


THE PRINCESS AMELIA.

On the 7th of August, 1783, the princess Amelia, daughter to his late
majesty, was born; and on the 2d of November, 1810, she died at
Windsor. Her constitution was delicate, and subject to frequent and
severe indisposition. On her death-bed she anxiously desired to present
his majesty with a token of her filial duty and affection; himself was
suffering under an infirmity, the most appalling and humiliating in our
nature, and in that state he approached her death-bed. She placed on his
finger a ring containing a small lock of her hair, set beneath a crystal
tablet, enclosed by a few sparks of diamonds, and uttered with her dying
breath “Remember me!” The words sunk deep into the paternal heart, and
are supposed to have increased a malady in the king, which suspended his
exercise of the royal functions, and ended in the extinction of man’s
noblest faculty.

The princess Amelia’s character has hitherto lain in the oblivion of
silent merit. The editor of these sheets is enabled to disclose
sentiments emanating from her, under circumstances peculiarly affecting.
Dignity of station and absence of stain upon her reputation, commanded
towards her the respect and sympathy which accident of birth, and
abstinence from evil, always command in the public mind: but there are
higher claims upon it.

    Homage, by rule and precedent prescribed,
    To royal daughters from the courtier-ring
    Amelia had; and, when she ceased to live,
    The herald wrote her death beneath her birth;
    And set out arms for scutcheons on her pall;
    And saw her buried in official state;
    And newspapers and magazines doled out
    The common praise of common courtesy;
    She was “most” good, “most” virtuous, and--so forth.
    Thus, ere the Chamberlain’s gazetted order
    To mourn, so many days, and then half-mourn,
    Had half expired, Amelia was forgotten!
    Unknown by one distinguish’d act, her fate,
    The certain fate of undistinguished rank,
    Seems only to have been, and died; no more.
    Yet shall this little book send down her name,
    By her own hand inscribed, as in an album,
    With reverence to our posterity.
    It will revive her in the minds of those
    Who scarce remember that she was; and will
    Enkindle kind affection to her memory,
    For worth we knew not in her when she lived;
    While some who living, shared her heart, perchance,
    May read her sentences with wetted eyes,
    And say, “She, being dead, yet speaketh.”

The princess Amelia relieved the indigent friends of three infant
females from care, as to their wants, by fostering them at her own
expense. She caused them to be educated, and placed them out to
businesses, by learning which they might acquire the means of gaining
their subsistence in comfort and respectability. They occasionally
visited her, and to one of them she was peculiarly attached; her royal
highness placed her with Mrs. Bingley, her dressmaker, in Piccadilly. In
this situation

              ----“long she flourish’d,
    Grew sweet to sense and lovely to the eye,
    Until at length the cruel spoiler came,
    Pluck’d this fair flow’r and rifled all its sweetness,
    Then flung it like a loathsome weed away.”

The seduction of this young female deeply afflicted the princess’s
feelings; and she addressed a letter to her, written throughout by her
own hand, which marks her reverence for virtue, and her pity for one who
diverged from its prescriptions. It is in the possession of the editor,
and because it has never been published, he places it to note the
anniversary of her royal highness’s birth in the _Every-Day Book_. It is
a public memorial of her worth; the only record of her high principles
and affectionate disposition.

  (COPY.)

  The accounts I have received of you, My poor Mary from Mrs. Bingley,
  have given me the greatest concern, and have surprised me as well as
  hurt me; as I had hoped you were worthy of the kindness you
  experienced from Mrs. Bingley, and were not undeserving of all that
  had been done for you.

  Much as you have erred, I am willing to hope, My poor Girl, that those
  religious principles you possessed are still firm, and that they will,
  with the goodness of God, show you your faults, and make you to
  repent, and return to what I hoped you were--a good and virtuous
  Girl. You may depend on my never forsaking you as long as I can be
  your friend. Nothing but your conduct not being what it ought to be,
  can make me give you up. Forget you, I never _could_. Believe me,
  nothing shall be wanting, on my part, to restore you to what you were;
  but you must be _honest_, open, and true. Make Mrs. K----, who is so
  sincerely your wellwisher, your friend. Conceal nothing from her, and
  believe me, much as it may cost _you_, at the moment, to speak out,
  you will find relief afterwards, and I trust it may enable us to make
  you end your days happily.

  To Mrs. Bingley, and all with her, you never can sufficiently feel
  grateful. Her conduct has been that of the kindest mother and friend,
  and, I trust, such friends you will ever try to preserve; for, if with
  propriety they can continue their kindness to you, it will be an
  everlasting blessing for you: but, after all that has happened, My
  dear Mary, I cannot consent to leaving you there. Though I trust, from
  all I hear, your conduct now is proper, and will continue so, yet, for
  the sake of the other young people, it must be _wrong_, and if you
  possess that feeling, and repent, as I hope you do, you cannot but
  think I am right. I trust you feel all your errors, and with the
  assistance of God you will live to make amends; yet your conduct must
  be made an example of. The misfortune of _turning out of the right
  path_, cannot be too strongly impressed on the minds of all young
  people.--Alas! you now know it from experience. All I say I feel
  doubly, from wishing you well.

  Be open and true, and whatever can be done, to make you happy, will.
  Truth is one of the most necessary Virtues, and whoever _deviates_
  from that, runs from one error into another--not to say Vice. I have
  heard you accused Mrs. Bingley of harshness; that I conceive to be
  _utterly impossible_; but I attribute your saying so to a mind in the
  greatest affliction, and not knowing what you were about. I pity you
  from my heart, but you have brought this on yourself, and you must now
  pray to God, for his assistance, to enable you to return to the right
  path.

  Why should you fear Me? I do not deserve it, and your feeling the
  _force_ of your own _faults_ can only occasion it; for I feel I am,
  and wish to be, a friend to three young people I have the charge of,
  and to make them fit to gain their own bread, and assist their
  families. For you I have felt particularly, being an orphan, and I
  _had_ never had cause to regret the charge I had. Your poor parents
  have been saved a heavy blow. Conceive what their affliction must have
  been, had they lived to know of your conduct. I trust my poor Mary may
  yet live to renew all our feelings of regard for her, and that I
  shall have the comfort to hear many good accounts of your conduct and
  health. Unless your mind is at ease you cannot enjoy health.

  Be assured I shall be happy to find I have reason, always, to
  subscribe my self,

  [Illustration: _Your friend_

  _Amelia_]

So wrote one of the daughters of England. We hail her a child of the
nation by her affiance to virtue, the creator of our moral grandeur, and
the preserver of our national dignity. Private virtue is the stability
of states.

In the princess Amelia’s letter there is a natural union of powerful
sense and exquisite sensibility; it has an easy, common-place air, but a
mind that examines the grounds, and searches into the reasons of things,
will discover the “root of the matter.” Comment upon it is abstained
from, that it may be read and studied.

The crime of seduction is fashionable, because hitherto fashion has been
criminal with impunity. The selfish destroyer of female innocence, can
prevail on some wives and mothers by varnish of manner, and forcefulness
of wealth, to the degradation of sanctioning his entertainments by their
presence. Like the fabled upas-tree of Java, he lives a deadly poison to
wither and destroy all within his shadow. Uneasiness from a lash of
small cords in a feeble hand, he retaliates by a horsewhip: monstrous
sensualists must be punished by scourges of flame from vigorous arms,
and be hunted by hue and cry, till they find sanctuary in some remote
hiding-place for blood-guiltiness.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Amaranth. _Amaranthus hypochondriacus._
  Dedicated to _St. Cajetan_.


~August 8.~

  _Sts. Cyriacus_, _Largus_, _Smaragdus_, and their Companions, Martyrs,
  A. D. 303. _St. Hormisdas._


FUNERALS IN CUMBERLAND.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

The variety of funeral-rites and ceremonies, prevalent in different ages
and countries, has been so great as to forbid any attempt to enumerate
them; but it is consistent with the character and design of the
_Every-Day Book_, to record the peculiar customs which have existed in
different districts of our native land: for although your motto from old
Herrick, does not refer to any thing of a serious kind, yet, in the
number of those which you promise the world to “tell of” I perceive that
such matters are sometimes related. I proceed, therefore, to detail the
circumstances which preceded and attended the interment of the dead in
the county of Cumberland, within the last twenty years: they are now
discontinued, except, perhaps, in some of the smaller villages, or
amongst the humblest class in society. Whether the customs I am about to
describe, have been observed in the southern parts of England, I know
not; I shall, therefore, confine myself to what has frequently passed
under my own observation in my native town.

No sooner had the passing-bell intimated to the inhabitants that an
acquaintance or neighbour had departed for that “bourne whence no
traveller returns,” than they began to contemplate a call at the
“Corse-house,” (for such was the denomination of the house of mourning,)
within which preparations were made by the domestics to receive all who
might come. To this end all the apartments were prepared for the
reception of visitors with the exception of the chamber of death: one
for the seclusion of the survivors of the family, and the domestic
offices.

The interval between the death and the interment is at present, I
believe, extended beyond what was usual at the time I refer to: it was
then two days and two nights, varying accordingly as the demise took
place in the early or latter part of the day.

The assemblage at the Corse-house, was most numerous during the evening;
at which time many persons, who were engaged during the day in their
several avocations, found leisure to be present: many of the females
made their call, however, during the afternoon. The concourse of
visitors rendered the house like a tavern; their noise and tumult being
little restrained, and their employment being the drinking of wine or
spirits with the smoking of tobacco; and if only some made use of the
“stinking herb,” all partook of the juice of the grape. Instances could
be adduced in which moderation gave way to excess.

The conversation turned, often upon the character of the deceased, at
least when generally respected; “de mortuis nil nisi bonum;” the
ordinary topics of the day were discussed: perhaps the Irish people were
ridiculed for their barbarism in _waking their dead_: and each
individual as inclination prompted him, retired to make room for
another, thus maintaining a pretty rapid succession of arrivals and
departures, with the exception of, perhaps, one or two who embraced so
favourable an opportunity for economical indulgence. “Where the carcase
is there will the eagles be gathered together.”

I must, however, observe in justice to the good taste of my townsmen,
that many of them rather assented to the custom than approved it; but an
omission to attend a Corse-house, with the occupants of which you were
even slightly acquainted, was considered a mark of disrespect to the
memory of the dead, and the feelings of the survivors.

It happened, however, that a gentleman (a stranger to this custom,)
settled in the town I refer to, and, after a short residence, a death
occurred in his family: he at once resolved to deviate from a practice
which he did not approve. The first visitors to his house observed that
no preparations were made for their reception, and were respectfully
told by a servant, that open house would not be kept on the occasion:
the news soon spread, and so did the example; a native of the town soon
followed it, and a custom fell into desuetude, which the warmest
admirers of ancient practices could scarcely desire to perpetuate.
Originating probably in the exercise of the social affections, and of
that hospitality which was convenient enough in periods when population
was thin and widely scattered, they degenerated from their original use,
and were “more honoured in the breach than the observance.” Antiquity
might, perhaps, plead in their defence. The ancient Jews made great use
of music in their funeral rites; before Christ exerted his power in the
restoration of the ruler’s daughter, who was supposed to be dead, he
caused to be put forth “the minstrels and the people making a noise.”
Matt. c. 9, v. 23, _et seq._

The ceremonies, which I am now going to describe, are still in
existence; and evince no symptoms of decay. On the evening preceding the
day appointed for the interment, the parish-clerk perambulates the town,
carrying a deep and solemn-toned bell, by means of which he announces
his approach to various places at which he is accustomed to stop, and
give utterance to his mournful message. Well do I remember the deep
interest with which I and my youthful associates listened to the
melancholy tones of his sepulchral voice, whilst toys were disregarded,
and trifling for a moment suspended! As the sounds of the “Death-bell”
died away, it was proclaimed thus: “All friends and neighbours are
desired to attend the funeral of ---- from -----street, to Mary’s
Chapel: the corpse to be taken up at ---- o’clock.” What crowds of
little urchins feeling a mixed sensation of fear and curiosity were
congregated! What casements were half-opened whilst mute attention lent
her willing ear to seize upon the name of the departed, and the hour of
burial!

I have known a party at “a round game” hushed into silence: and a whist
party thrown into a sort of reverie, and there remain till Mrs.
What-d’ye-call-’em asked Mrs. What’s-her-name, if clubs were trumps? or
chid her partner for being guilty of a revoke on account of so common a
thing as the “Death-bell.”

On the following day the clerk proceeds to the Corse-house, about an
hour before the procession is formed. A small table covered with a white
napkin, on which are placed wines and spirits, is put at the door of the
house within and around which the people assemble: the clerk takes his
place by the table, to assist to a glass of liquor, any person who may
approach it. The coffin being brought forth, the clerk takes his place
in front of the procession, and is usually attended by a number of those
who form the choir on Sunday, all being uncovered. A psalm is sung as
the cavalcade moves slowly through the streets. The rest of the “friends
and neighbours” follow the corpse to the church, where the ordinary
services conclude; and thus concludes the “strange eventful history,”
related by, sir,

  Yours faithfully,

  J. B----.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Love lies bleeding. _Amaranthus procumbens._
  Dedicated to _St. Hormisdas_.


~August 9.~

  _St. Romanus._ _St. Nathy_, or _David_, A. D. 530. _St. Fedlemid_, or
  _Felimy_, Bp. of Kilmore, 6th Cent.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Jacobæan Ragweed. _Senecio jacobea._
  Dedicated to _St. Romanus_.


_The Willow._

According to T. N., a Cambridge correspondent, this tree is, in that
county, called the Cambridge oak. Old Fuller calls it “a sad tree,
whereof such who have lost their love make their _mourning garlands_;
and we know that exiles hung up their harps upon such doleful
supporters. The twigs hereof are physick to drive out the folly of
children. This tree delighteth in moist places, and is triumphant in the
_Isle of Ely_, where the roots strengthen their banks, and top affords
fuell for their fire. It groweth incredibly fast, it being a by-word in
this county, that the profit by willows will buy the owner a horse
before that by other trees will pay for his saddle. Let me add, that if
_green ashe_ may burne before a queen, _withered willows_ may be allowed
to burne before a lady.” The old saying, “She is in her willows” is here
illustrated; it implies the mourning of a female for her lost mate.


_The Willow_ (Salix)

In _Sylvan Sketches_, to an account of the willow, elegant poetical
illustrations are attached, from whence are extracted the subjoined
agreeable notices.

According to some botanists, there are more than fifty British willows
only. The sweet, or bay-leaved willow, _salix pentandria_, is much used
in Yorkshire for making baskets; its leaves afford a yellow dye. Baskets
are also made from the osier, which belongs to this genus; but of the
willows, the bitter purple willow, _salix purpurea_, is the best adapted
for the finest basket-work. The common, or white willow, _salix alba_,
takes its specific name from the white silken surface of the leaves on
the under side. The bark is used to tan leather, and to dye yarn of a
cinnamon colour. It is one of the trees to which the necessitous
Kamtschatdales are often obliged to recur for their daily bread, which
they make of the inner bark, ground into flour. The bark of this willow
has in some cases been found a good substitute for the Peruvian bark.
The grey willow, or sallow, _salix cinerea_, grows from six to twelve
feet high. In many parts of England, children gather the flowering
branches of this tree on Palm Sunday, and call them palms. With the
bark, the inhabitants of the Highlands and the Hebrides tan leather. The
wood, which is soft, white, and flexible, is made into handles for
hatchets, spades, &c. It also furnishes shoemakers with their
cutting-boards, and whetting-boards to smooth the edges of their knives
upon.

The weeping willow, _salix Babylonica_, a native of the Levant, was not
cultivated in this country till 1730. This tree, with its long, slender,
pendulous branches, is one of the most elegant ornaments of English
scenery. The situation which it affects, also, on the margins of brooks
or rivers, increases its beauty; like Narcissus, it often seems to bend
over the water for the purpose of admiring the reflection:--

    ------“Shadowy trees, that lean
    So elegantly o’er the water’s brim.”

There is a fine weeping willow in a garden near the Paddington end of
the New Road, and a most magnificent one, also, in a garden on the banks
of the Thames, just before Richmond-bridge, on the Richmond side of the
river. Several of the arms of this tree are so large, that one of them
would in itself form a fine tree. They are propped by a number of stout
poles; and the tree appears in a flourishing condition. If that tree be,
as it is said, no more than ninety-five years old, the quickness of its
growth is indeed astonishing.

Martyn relates an interesting anecdote, which he gives on the authority
of the _St. James’s Chronicle_, for August, 1801:

“The famous and admired weeping willow planted by Pope, which has lately
been felled to the ground, came from Spain, enclosing a present for lady
Suffolk. Mr. Pope was in company when the covering was taken off; he
observed that the pieces of stick appeared as if they had some
vegetation; and added, ‘Perhaps they may produce something we have not
in England.’ Under this idea, he planted it in his garden, and it
produced the willow-tree that has given birth to so many others.” It is
said, that the destruction of this tree was caused by the eager
curiosity of the admirers of the poet, who, by their numbers, so
disturbed the quiet and fatigued the patience of the possessor, with
applications to be permitted to see this precious relic, that to put an
end to the trouble at once and for ever, she gave orders that it should
be felled to the ground.

The weeping willow, in addition to the pensive, drooping appearance of
its branches, weeps little drops of water, which stand like fallen tears
upon the leaves. It will grow in any but a dry soil, but most delights,
and best thrives, in the immediate neighbourhood of water. The willow,
in poetical language, commonly introduces a stream, or a forsaken
lover:--

    “We pass a gulph, in which the willows dip
     Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink.”

  _Cowper._

Chatterton describes

    “The willow, shadowing the bubbling brook.”

Churchill mentions, among other trees

    “The willow weeping o’er the fatal wave,
     Where many a lover finds a watery grave;
     The cypress, sacred held when lovers mourn
     Their true love snatched away.”

Besides Shakspeare’s beautiful mention of the willow on the death of
Ophelia, and notices of it by various other poets, there are several
songs in which despairing lovers call upon the willow-tree:--

    “Ah, willow! willow
       The willow shall be
       A garland for me,
     Ah, willow! willow!”

Chatterton has one, of which the burthen runs--

    “Mie love ys dedde,
     Gon to hys deathe-bedde,
     Al under the wyllowe tree.”

In the “Two Noble Kinsmen,” said to have been written by Shakspeare and
Fletcher, a young girl, who loses her wit with hopeless love for
Palamon--

            ------“Sung
    Nothing but ‘Willow! willow! willow!’ and between
    Ever was ‘Palamon, fair Palamon!’”

Herrick thus addresses the willow-tree:

    “Thou art to all lost love the best,
       The only true plant found;
     Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
       And left of love, are crowned.

    “When once the lover’s rose is dead,
       Or laid aside forlorn,
     Then willow garlands ’bout the head,
       Bedewed with tears, are worn.

    “When with neglect, the lover’s bane,
       Poor maids rewarded be
     For their love lost, their only gain
       Is but a wreath from thee.

    “And underneath thy cooling shade,
       When weary of the light,
     The love-spent youth and love-sick maid
       Come to weep out the night.”

This poet has some lines addressed to a willow garland also:--

    “A willow garland thou didst send
       Perfumed, last day, to me;
     Which did but only this portend,
       I was forsook by thee.

    “Since it is so, I’ll tell thee what;
       To-morrow thou shalt see
     Me wear the willow, after that
       To die upon the tree.

    “As beasts unto the altars go
       With garlands dressed, so I
     Will with my willow-wreath also
       Come forth, and sweetly die.”

The willow seems, from the oldest times, to have been dedicated to
grief; under them the children of Israel lamented their captivity:--“By
the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept when we
remembered Zion: we hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst
thereof.”[239]

The wicker-baskets made by our forefathers are the subject of an epigram
by Martial:--

    “From Britain’s painted sons I came,
     And basket is my barbarous name;
     Yet now I am so modish grown,
     That Rome would claim me for her own.”

It is worthy to be recollected, that some of the _smallest_ trees known
are willows; nay, the smallest tree known, without any exception. The
herbaceous willow, _salix herbacea_, is seldom higher than three inches,
sometimes not more than two; and yet it is in every respect a tree,
notwithstanding the name herbaceous, which, as it has been observed, is
inappropriate. Dr. Clarke says, in his “Travels in Norway,” “We soon
recognised some of our old Lapland acquaintances, such as _Betula nana_,
with its minute leaves, like silver pennies; mountain-birch; and the
dwarf alpine species of willow: of which half a dozen trees, with all
their branches, leaves, flowers, and roots, might be compressed within
two of the pages of a lady’s pocket-book, without coming into contact
with each other. After our return to England, specimens of the _salix
herbacea_ were given to our friends, which, when framed and glazed, had
the appearance of miniature drawings. The author, in collecting them for
his herbiary, has frequently compressed twenty of these trees between
two of the pages of a duodecimo volume.” Yet in the great northern
forests, Dr. Clarke found a species of willow “that would make a
splendid ornament in our English shrubberies, owing to its quick growth,
and beautiful appearance. It had much more the appearance of an orange
than of a willow-tree, its large luxuriant leaves being of the most
vivid green colour, splendidly shining. We believed it to be a variety
of _salix amygdalina_, but it may be a distinct species: it principally
flourishes in Westro Bothnia, and we never saw it elsewhere.”

So much, and more than is here quoted, respecting the willow, has been
gathered by the fair authoress of _Sylvan Sketches_.

In conclusion, be it observed, that the common willow is in common
language sometimes called the sallow, and under that name it is
mentioned by Chaucer:--

    “Whoso buildeth his hous all of salowes,
     And pricketh his blind hors over the falowes,
     And suffreth his wife for to seche hallowes,
     He is worthy to be honged on the gallowes.”

  _Chaucer._

  [239] The Psalms.


~August 10.~

  _St. Lawrence_, A. D. 258. _St Deusdedit._ _St. Blaan_, Bp. of
  Kinngaradha, A. D. 446.


~St. Lawrence.~

His name stands in the church of England calendar. He suffered martyrdom
at Rome, under Valerian. Mr. Audley relates of St. Lawrence, “that being
peculiarly obnoxious, the order for his punishment was, ‘Bring out the
grate of iron; and when it is _red hot_, _on_ with him, _roast him,
broil him, turn him: upon pain of our high displeasure, do every man his
office, O ye tormentors_.’ These orders were obeyed, and after
_Lawrence_ had been pressed down with fire-forks for a long time, he
said to the tyrant, ‘This side is now roasted enough; O tyrant, do you
think roasted meat or raw the best?’ Soon after he had said this he
expired. The church of _St. Lawrence Jewry_, in London, is dedicated to
him, and has a gridiron on the steeple for a vane, that being generally
supposed the instrument of his torture. The ingenious Mr. Robinson, in
his ‘Ecclesiastical Researches,’ speaking about this saint, says,
‘Philip II. of _Spain_, having won a battle on the 10th of August, the
festival of _St. Lawrence_, vowed to consecrate a PALACE, a CHURCH, and
a MONASTERY to his honour. He did erect the ESCURIAL, which is the
_largest Palace_ in EUROPE. This immense quarry consists of several
courts and quadrangles, all disposed in the shape of a GRIDIRON. The
_bars_ form _several_ courts; and the _Royal Family_ occupy the HANDLE.’
‘_Gridirons_,’ says one, who examined it, ‘are met with in every part of
the building. There are _sculptured_ gridirons, _iron_ gridirons,
_painted_ gridirons, _marble_ gridirons, &c. &c. There are gridirons
_over_ the doors, gridirons in the _yards_, gridirons in the _windows_,
gridirons in the _galleries_. Never was an instrument of martyrdom so
multiplied, so honoured, so celebrated: and thus much for
gridirons.’”[240]


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 10th of August, 1575, Peter Bales, one of our earliest and most
eminent writing-masters, finished a performance which contained the
Lord’s prayer, the creed, the decalogue, with two short prayers in
Latin, his own name, motto, the day of the month, year of our Lord, and
reign of the queen, (Elizabeth,) to whom he afterwards presented it at
Hampton-court, all within the circle of a single penny, enchased in a
ring with borders of gold, and covered with a crystal, so accurately
wrought, as to be plainly legible, to the great admiration of her
majesty, her ministers, and several ambassadors at court.

In 1590, Bales kept a school at the upper end of the Old Bailey, and the
same year published his “Writing School-Master.” In 1595, he had a trial
of skill in writing with a Mr. Daniel (David) Johnson, for a “golden
pen” of £20 value, and won it. Upon this victory, his contemporary and
rival in penmanship, John Davies, made a satirical, ill-natured epigram,
intimating that penury continually compelled Bales to remove himself and
his “golden pen,” to elude the pursuit of his creditors. The particulars
of the contest for the pen, supposed to be written by Bales himself, are
in the British Museum, dated January 1, 1596.

So much concerning Peter Bales is derived from the late Mr. Butler’s
“Chronological Exercises,” an excellent arrangement of biographical,
historical, and miscellaneous facts for the daily use of young ladies.

Peter Bales according to Mr. D’Israeli, “astonished the eyes of
beholders by showing them what they could not see.” He cites a
narrative, among the Harleian MSS., of “a rare piece of work brought to
pass by Peter Bales, an Englishman, and a clerk of the chancery.” Mr.
D’Israeli presumes this to have been the whole Bible, “in an English
walnut no bigger than a hen’s egg. The nut holdeth the book: there are
as many leaves in his little book as the great Bible, and he hath
written as much in one of his little leaves, as a great leaf of the
Bible.” This wonderfully unreadable copy of the Bible was “seen by many
thousands.”

Peter Huet, the celebrated bishop of Avranches, long doubted the story
of an eminent writing-master having comprised “the Iliad in a
nut-shell,” but, after trifling half an hour in examining the matter, he
thought it possible. One day, in company at the dauphin’s, with a piece
of paper and a common pen, he demonstrated, that a piece of vellum,
about ten inches in length, and eight in width, pliant and firm, can be
folded up and enclosed in the shell of a large walnut; that in breadth
it can contain one line of thirty verses, perfectly written with a
crow-quill, and in length two hundred and fifty lines; that one side
will then contain seven thousand five hundred verses, the other side as
much, and that therefore the piece of vellum will hold the whole fifteen
thousand verses of the Iliad.

The writing match between Peter Bales and David Johnson, mentioned by
Mr. Butler, “was only traditionally known, till, with my own eyes,” says
Mr. D’Israeli, “I pondered on this whole trial of skill in the precious
manuscript of the champion himself; who, like Cæsar, not only knew how
to win victories, but also to record them.” Johnson for a whole year
gave a public challenge, “To any one who should take exceptions to this
my writing and teaching.” Bales was magnanimously silent, till he
discovered that since this challenge was proclaimed, he “was doing much
less in writing and teaching.” Bales then sent forth a challenge, “To
all Englishmen and strangers,” to write for a gold pen of twenty pounds
value, in all kinds of hands, “best, straightest, and fastest,” and most
kind of ways; “a full, a mean, a small, with line and without line; in a
slow-set hand, a mean facile hand, and a fast running hand;” and
further, “to write truest and speediest, most secretary and clerk-like,
from a man’s mouth, reading or pronouncing, either English or Latin.”
Within an hour, Johnson, though a young friend of Bales, accepted the
challenge, and accused the veteran of arrogance. “Such an absolute
challenge,” says he, “was never witnessed by man, without exception of
any in the world!” Johnson, a few days after, met Bales, and showed him
a piece of “secretary’s hand,” which he had written on fine parchment,
and said, “Mr. Bales, give me one shilling out of your purse, and, if
within six months you better or equal this piece of writing, I will give
you forty pounds for it.” Bales accepted the shilling, and the parties
were thereby bound over to the trial of skill. The day before it took
place, a printed paper posted through the city taunted Bales’s “proud
poverty,” and his pecuniary motives as “ungentle, base, and mercenary,
not answerable to the dignity of the golden pen!” Johnson declared that
he would maintain his challenge for a thousand pounds more, but that
Bales was unable to make good a thousand groats. Bales retorted by
affirming the paper a sign of his rival’s weakness, “yet who so bold,”
says Bales, “as blind Bayard, that hath not a word of Latin to cast at
a dog, or say ‘Bo!’ to a goose!” The goose was mentioned perhaps, in
allusion to Michaelmas-day 1595, when the trial commenced before five
judges; an “ancient gentleman” was intrusted with “the golden pen.” The
first trial was for the manner of teaching scholars; this terminated in
favour of Bales. The second, for secretary and clerk-like writing,
dictated in English and in Latin, was also awarded to Bales; Johnson
confessing that he wanted the Latin tongue, and was no clerk. On the
third and last trial, for fair writing in sundry kinds of hands, Johnson
prevailed in beauty and most “authentic proportion,” and for superior
variety of the Roman hand; but in court-hand, and set-text, Bales
exceeded, and in bastard secretary was somewhat perfecter than Johnson.
For a finishing blow, Bales drew forth his “master-piece,” and, offering
to forego his previous advantages if Johnson could better this specimen,
his antagonist was struck dumb. In compassion to the youth of Johnson,
some of the judges urged the others not to give judgment in public.
Bales remonstrated against a private decision in vain, but he obtained
the verdict and secured the prize. Johnson, however, reported that _he_
had won the golden pen, and issued an “Appeal to all impartial Penmen,”
wherein he affirmed, that the judges, though his own friends, and honest
gentlemen, were unskilled in judging of most hands, and again offered
forty pounds to be allowed six months to equal Bales’s “master-piece.”
Finally, he alleged, that the judges did not deny that Bales possessed
himself of the golden pen by a trick: he relates, that Bales having
pretended that his wife was in extreme sickness, he desired that she
might have a sight of the golden pen, to comfort her, that the “ancient
gentleman,” relying upon the kind husband’s word, allowed the golden pen
to be carried to her, and that thereupon Bales immediately pawned it,
and afterwards, to make sure work, sold it at a great loss, so that the
judges, ashamed of their own conduct, were compelled to give such a
verdict as suited the occasion. Bales rejoined, by publishing to the
universe the day and hour when the judges brought the golden pen to his
house, and painted it with a hand over his door for a sign.[241] This is
shortly the history of a long contest, which, if it has not been
paralleled in our own time, we have been reminded of by the open
challenges of living calligraphers.


~John Flamsteed.~

On the 10th of August, 1675, the foundation stone of the Royal
Observatory, for watching and noting the motions of the celestial
bodies, was laid on the hill where it now stands, in Greenwich Park.
The edifice was erected by order of king Charles II., at the instance of
sir Jonas Moor, under the direction of sir Christopher Wren; and it is
worthy of record here, that the celebrated Flamsteed, constructed a
“Scheme of the Heavens,” at the very minute when the foundation stone
was laid. It has never appeared in any work, and as the public are
wholly unacquainted with its existence, it is subjoined exactly as
Flamsteed drew it with his own hand.

[Illustration: 1675, Aug. 10^{d}. 03^{h}. 14´.

P. M. lat. 51°. 28´. 10´´.

Observatorii fund. posita. ab

J. F.

Risum tene atigamite.]

    “Few men rightly temper with the stars.”--_Shakspeare._

Flamsteed was the first astronomer-royal, and from him the Observatory
at Greenwich derives its popular name, “Flamsteed-house.” His “Scheme of
the Heavens,” may be found there in a folio vellum-bound manuscript on
the second page. Opposite to it, also drawn by himself, with great
exactness, and signed by his own name within it, is a ground plan of
the Observatory. On the following, being the fourth page, is a list of
“Angles, betwixt eminent places observed with the sextant in the months
of February and March, 1679--80.” The remainder of the book consists of
about one hundred and seventy pages of “Observations,” also in
Flamsteed’s hand-writing. Whatever astrological judgement he may have
exercised upon the positions of the stars in his horoscope, he has not
left his opinion in writing; but the circumstance of his having been at
some pains to ascertain and set them down among his other
“Observations,” may be taken as presumptive that this great astronomer
practised astrology.

In another folio manuscript in calf binding, containing also one hundred
and thirty-two pages of his “Observations,” there is a document of more
general importance; namely, a series of notices or memoranda also in his
own hand-writing of circumstances in his life which he deemed most
worthy of committing to paper. The most curious portion of this labour
relates to a difference which is well known to have existed between
himself, and sir Isaac Newton. The whole of these memoirs, with the
astrological scheme, a scientific gentleman was permitted by Dr.
Maskelyne, the late astronomer-royal, to transcribe from the MSS. at the
Observatory. Until now, they have been unprinted, and having been
obligingly communicated to the Editor of the _Every-Day Book_, the
latter conceives that the public will be gratified by their perusal, and
therefore preserves them in the pages of this work without comment.
Without any view of detracting sir Isaac Newton, or Mr. Flamsteed, by
their publication, he offers the singular statements as Flamsteed wrote
them. His birth is stated at their commencement; he died at Greenwich,
on the 31st of December 1719.


~Memoirs of Mr. John Flamsteed, by himself.~

I was borne At Denby, 5 miles from Derby, August 19, 1646--my father
having removed his family thither because the Sickness was then in
Derby.

Educated in the free school at Derby till 16 years old.

At 14 years of Age 1660, Got a great cold--was followed by 5 years
sickness--a Consumption.

Recovered, by God’s blessing, on a journey into Ireland 1665, in the
months of August and Sept.

Began to study Mathematics in 1662. The first book I read was Sacrobusco
de Sphæra, which I turned into English.

In 1665 Calculated Eclipses and the planets, places from Street’s
Caroline tables, and wrote my Treatise of the æquation of Days.

In 1666 observed the Eclipse of y^{e} Sun.

In 1669 observed a Solar Eclipse and some appulses, and presented the
prædictions of more for the year 1670 to the R. S.[242] this brought on
a Correspondence with Mr. Oldenburg--Collins.

Mr. Oldenburg’s first letter to me is dated Jan. 14. 1669-70.

Mr. Collins 2^{o} Feb. 3. 1669-70.

My Predn. of Appulses 1670, printed in y^{e} Ph. Tr. No. 55 for Jan.
1669-70.

Mr. N’s.[243] The. of light and Colors, 80. Feb. 19. 1671-2.

I was in London after Whitsuntide 1670; came acquainted with Sir. Jo.
Moor; bought telescope glasses, and had Mr. Townly’s Micrometer
presented to me by Sir Jonas Moor.

Set a Pole up to raise my glasses, March 21, 1671, at Derby.

Began to measure distances in the heavens, Octo. 17, 1672.

Continued them there till Jan. 1673/4.

1672. Sept. Observed ♂--deduced his parellax from the Observations ═ to
his diameter.

1674. May the 2d. came to London.

29, went to Cambridge.

June the 5th. My degree.

July 13, returned to London.

Aug. 13, left London.

29, Got to Derby.

1674. First acquaintance with Sir I. N. at Cambridge, occasioned by my
fixing there the Microscope, which he could not; the object glass being
forgot by him.

1675. feb. 2. Came to London Again.

Mar. 4. Warrant for my Sallary.

Sieur de St. Piex proposes to find the Longitude by Observations of the
D^{s}. * * * Letters hereon.[244]

1675. June 22. Warrant dated for building the Royl. Observatory.

♀ August 10. foundation layd.

1676. July 10. entred into it to inhabit w^{th} T. Smith, and Cutler
Denton Servant.

Sept. 19. began to measure distances in the heavens w^{th} the sextant.

76. Sir Jonas Moor gave me the sextant, some books, and glasses, with
charge to dispose of them by my Will: all the other instruments and
tubes provided at my own charge.

1679. Aug. 17. Sir Jonas Moor died. His Sonn Sir J. M. thrown from his
horse, died.

1680. Made the _Voluble_ [?] Quadrant at my own Charge.

1680. Dec. 12. ☉ first saw and observed y^{e} great Comet; observed it
till Feb. 5, (80-81.)

1680. Mr. Newton’s first Letter to me about the Comet.

81. Imparted my observations of the Comet with y^{e} may [be] derived
from them.

85 or 86. gave him[245] the diameters of the planets in all Positions of
the earth, and them in their orbits: got it back with much difficulty
after 2 years detention.

He disputed against the comets of Nov. and Dec. being the same, in 2
long letters in Feb. and March 81^{o}; now, in 85, he owned they might
be so as I had asserted, and slightly mentioned me as _disputing_ for
their being the same as in y^{e} 4th book of his principles; whereas I
affirmed it, and himself disputed against it.

1687. his principles published: little notice taken of her Ma^{ties.}
Observatory.

1688 & 9. made the New large Arch and Staff * * * Sharp.

89. Began my observations of the * *s distances from our vertex with it.

Sept. 12. ☿ & 13 ♃^{s} got the Clock removed by Nov. 15 ♀:

89. Dec. 10. first observation of the ☽’s place compared with my lunar
Tables in y^{e} 4th book of calculations, pag. 5.

After this I observed the ☾ and planets frequently w^{th} the New Arch;
examined the lunar observations, commonly the morning after they were
got, and compared them with my Tables, till April, 1692, whereby I saw
the faults of the Tables sometimes were near one-third of a degree.

1694. Sept. 1 ♄ Mr. Newton come to visit me; I shewed him these
Collations drawn up in 3 large Synopses, and on his request gave him
copys of them, he promising me not to impart or communicate them to any
body; this promise I required of him because, as I then told him, I made
use of some places of the fixed Stars which I had derived from
observations made with the Sextant, which were not so exact as those
taken with the Murall Arch; that I had now gotten a good stock of
observations of the fixed * *s, should make a larger and much exacter
Catalogue, that the ☾’s observed places should be derived from the
places of the stars in my New Catalogue, and then I would impart them to
him, which he approved, and by a Letter of his dated        confest.

Nevertheless he imparted what he derived from them both to Dr. Gregory
and Mr. H:[246] _contra datam fidem_.

After he had got the 3 Synopses of ☽’s observations to him he desired
more of them, and this caused an Intercourse of letters betwixt us,
wherein I imparted to him about 100 more of y^{e} ☽ places, but finding
this took up much time, and being now entered in my Rectification of the
places of the fixed stars, and very busy in it, I was forced to leave
off my correspondence w^{th} him at that time, having found that his
corrections of my numbers still gave y^{e} Moon’s places 8 or 9 minutes
erroneous, tho’ Dr. G. and Dr. Halley had boasted they would agree
w^{th} in 2´ or 3´--I was ill of the stone very oft and had
[_illegible_] y^{e} head ach till Sept. _when_ freed of it by a violent
fit of y^{e} stone and my usuall medicine--_Deo Laus_.

1695 or 1696. Sir I. N.[247] being made an Officer in the Mint came to
London. I sometimes visited him there or at his own house in Jermin
Street: we continued civil, but he was not so friendly as formerly,
because I could

Mr. H. and Dr. G. assertions concerning his corrections of y^{e}
Horroccian lunar theorys.

1696. A Correspondence begun w^{th} Mr. Bosseley an Apothecary of
Bakewell in Derbyshire and Mr. Luke Leigh a poor Kinsman of Mr. Halleys
of the same clan, and myself. Mr. Bosseley wanted observation for
correcting the planets places I furnished him, and set him on ♄ and ♃.

Mr. Leigh I hired to calculate the places of the fixed Stars from their
Right Ascentions and distances from the Northern Pole determined by
myself.

1696. Dec. 11 I received from him the places of the Stars in the
Constellations of ♊ ♋ and ♌, which whilst he had been doing the same,
were done by my then servant Mr. Hodgson in y^{e} Observatory, so that
I easily found the errors of either and corrected them.

  ♍ ♎ ♏ ♐ I rec^{d}       Jan. 22. 1696

  ♑ ♒ ♓    --------       Mar. 27. 1697

  ♈ & ♉    --------       Jan. 16. 1697

  Cetus                 }
  Eridanus              }
  Lupus                 } Jan. 10 1698-9
  Canis Maj.            }
  Canis Min.            }
  Navis                 }

  Orion                 }
  Hydra                 } Aug. 19. 1699
  Cratera               }
  Corvus                }

  Serpens               }
  Serpentarius          }
  Aquila cum Antinoo    }
  Sagitta               } July 25. 1700
  Delphinos             }
  Equuleus              }
  Pegasus               }
  Triangulum            }

  Andromeda             }
  Perseus               }
  Auriga                }
  Coma Beren.           } Jan. 5. ♃ 1701
  Bootes                }
  Corona Borea          }
  Hercules              }
  Lyra & Cygnus         }

  Cassiopeia and Cepheus  Apr. 26. 1701

The Stars in Hevelius his Sextant and Monsceros. y^{e} Linx,
Camelopardalus, Canes, Vanatici, were calculated afterwards in 1705. 6.
7. 8 by my servants, J. Woolferman and J. Crosthwaite, and the
Constellations of Hercules and Cassiopeia enlarged with y^{e} addition
of many Stars observed in the years 1705. 6. 7. 8. by them and Mr. Ab.
Ryley.

In the mean time as often as I met with Sir I. N. he was very
inquisitive how the Catalogues went on, I answered as it stood; and when
he came here commonly shewed him how it stood in my books, not
suspecting any design, but hoping he might serve me as kindly as I had
assisted him freely with my pains when he desired me.

1698. At Michælmas was at Derby and Bakewell.

1697-8. Feb. 6, y^{e} CZAR first came to Greenwich.

1704. April 11. ♂ Mr. Newton came to the Observat^{y} dined with me,
saw the Volumes of Observations, so much of the Catalogue as was then
finished, with the Charts of the Constellations both J. W’s[248] and
those copied by Vansomer: desired to have the recommending of them to
y^{e} Prince: I knew his temper, that he would be my fr. no further than
to serve his own ends, and that he was spitefull and swayed by those
that were worse than himself; this made me refuse him: however, when he
went away he promised me he would recommend them, tho he never intended
me any good by it, but to get me under him, that I might be obliged to
boy him up as E H[249] has done hitherto.

1704. Nov. 8. Wrote the Estimate, which was read without my knowledge at
the R. S. The Members thought it ought to be recommended to the Prince;
the President joynd with them, a Committee was appointed to attend his
R. H. even without acquainting me with it, an estimate of the charges
drawn up without my knowledge: the Prince allows it--Mr. N. says
[_illegible_.]

He concludes me now in his power, does all he can to hinder the work, or
spoyls it by encouraging the printers to commit faults.

We must print the Observations, tho I had shewed in my printed Æstimate,
that for very good reasons the Charts of the Constellations ought first
to be set upon.

Mr. N. told me he hoped I would give a Note under my hand of security
for the Prince’s Money; this I knew was to oblige me to be his slave: I
answered that I had, God be thanked, some estate of my own which I hoped
to leave for my wife’s support, to her during her life, to my own
Relations after; that therefore I would not cumber my own estate with
imprests or securitys, but if they would please to take his R^{l.}
H^{s.} moneys into their hands I would sign the workmen’s bill to them,
whereby they would see if they were reasonable at the same time.

I was told I should have all the printed copys save what his R. H.
should have to present to the Universitys.

And Mr. N. granted that since I refused to handle any of his R. H. money
there was _no need of securitys_ or Articles--Nevertheless----

  *          *                   *

The preceding are all the memoranda by Mr. Flamsteed respecting himself:
he breaks off with the word “Nevertheless.”

       *       *       *       *       *

To conclude this article a fac-simile is added of Mr. Flamsteed’s
autograph from his copy of “Streete’s Caroline Tables,” mentioned in the
preceding memoir, and now in the possession of the Editor of the
_Every-Day Book_. It is to a memorandum made in that book by Mr.
Flamsteed, in these words:--

“The greatest declination of y^{e} sun is not more y^{n} 23°. 29′. 00
his horizontall parallax but 10 seconds; the semidiameters of y^{e} Sunn
in the Caroline tables less y^{n} they ought to be by 12 seconds.”

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Balsam. _Impatiens balsama._
  Dedicated to _St. Lawrence_.

  [240] Companion to the Almanac.

  [241] Mr. D’Israeli’s Curiosities of Literature.

  [242] [Royal Society.]

  [243] [Newton’s Theory.]

  [244] [Distances of the stars?]

  [245] [Sir Isaac Newton.]

  [246] [Halley]

  [247] [Sir Isaac Newton]

  [248] [J. Woolferman, _Aut._]

  [249] [Dr. Edmund Halley.]


~August 11.~

  _Sts. Tiburtius_ and _Chromatius_, A. D. 286. _St. Susanna_, 3rd
  Cent. _St. Gery_, or _Gaugericus_, Bp. A. D. 619. _St. Equitius_, A.
  D. 540.

The dog-days end on this day. This period in the year 1825, was
remarkable for longer absence of rain and greater heat than usual. It
was further remarkable for numerous conflagrations, especially in the
metropolis and its environs.


THE SEASON.

Dr. Forster in his _Perennial Calendar_, observes, that the gentle
refreshing breezes by day, and the delicious calms by night, at this
time of year, draw a vast concourse of persons of leisure to the shores
of Great Britain and France in the months of August and September. There
is perhaps no period of the year when the seaside is more agreeable.
Bathing, sailing, and other marine recreations, are at no time better
suited to beguile the hours of the warm summer day than at present; and
the peculiar stillness of a seaside evening scene, by moonlight, is now
to be enjoyed in perfection, as Cynthia begins to ascend higher in her
car after the termination of the nightless summer solstice, and when the
unremitted heat of the dog-days at length gives place to the more
refreshing dews of a longer period of nocturnal coolness. The peculiar
beauties of a sea-scene by night are thus described by a cotemporary
poet:--

    The sky was clear and the breeze was still,
      The air was soft and the night was fine,
    And all was hush save the tinkling rill,
      While the moonbeams played on the sparkling brine;
    Scylla had pulled off her glacous vest,
      No longer responsive to whirlwinds’ roar,
    But in white flowing silvery mantle drest,
      With silken shoons danced along the shore.

But the imagery of a calm sea is more poetically described by Milton,
perhaps, than by any other author when he tells us:--

    That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed,
    The air was calm, and on the level brine
    Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.

       *       *       *       *       *

The swift, _hirundo apus_, is missed, says Dr. Forster, in its usual
haunts about this time. The great body of these birds migrate at once,
so that we are struck with their absence about the old steeples of
churches and other edifices which they usually inhabit, and from whence
they sally forth on rapid wings each morning and evening in search of
food, wheeling round and round, and uttering a very loud piercing and
peculiar cry, wherefore they are called squeakers. For the last month
past, these birds may have been seen flying in lofty gyrations in the
air, and seemingly exercising their wings and preparing for their aërial
voyage. It is not precisely ascertained to what countries they go when
they leave Europe.

       *       *       *       *       *

Insects, says Dr. Forster, still continue to swarm and to sport in the
sun from flower to flower. It is very amusing to observe, in the bright
sun of an August morning, the animation and delight of some of the
lepidopterous insects. That beautiful little blue butterfly, _papilio
argus_, is then all life and activity, flitting from flower to flower in
the grass with remarkable vivacity: there seems to be a constant
rivalship and contention between this beauty, and the not less elegant
little beau, _papilio phlœas_. Frequenting the same station, attached to
the same head of clover, or of harebell, whenever they approach, mutual
animosity seems to possess them; and darting on each other with
courageous rapidity, they buffet and contend until one is driven from
the field, or to a considerable distance from his station, perhaps many
hundred yards, when the victor returns to his post in triumph; and this
contention is renewed, as long as the brilliancy of the sun animates
their courage. When the beautiful evening of this season arrives, we
again see the bat:--

    The bat begins with giddy wing
      His circuit round the shed and tree;
    And clouds of dancing gnats to sing
      A summer night’s serenity.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  China Aster. _Aster Chinensis._
  Dedicated to _St. Susanna_.


~August 12.~

  _St. Clare_, Abbess, A. D. 1253. _St. Euplius_, A. D. 304. _St.
  Muredach_, First Bp. of Killala, A. D. 440.


CHRONOLOGY.

King George IV. was born on the 12th of August, 1762; but the
anniversary is kept on St. George’s-day, the 23d of April.


~Twelfth of August.~

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._


THE HUMBLE PETITION OF AN UNFORTUNATE DAY.

  Sir,

I am a poor wronged _Day_. I appeal to you as the general patron of the
family of the _Days_. The candour with which you attended to the
expostulations of a poor relative of ours--a sort of cousin thrice
removed[250]--encourages me to hope that you will listen to the
complaint of a _Day_ of rather more consequence. I am the _Day_, Sir,
upon which it pleased the course of nature that your gracious Sovereign
should be born. As such, before his Accession, I was always observed and
honoured. But since that happy event, in which naturally none had a
greater interest than myself, a flaw has been discovered in my title. My
lustre has been eclipsed, and--to use the words of one of your own
poets,--

    “I fade into the light of common _day_.”

It seems, that about that time, an Impostor crept into Court, who has
the effrontery to usurp my honours, and to style herself the
_King’s-birth-Day_, upon some shallow pretence that, being _St.
George’s-Day_, she must needs be _King-George’s-Day_ also.
_All-Saints-Day_ we have heard of, and _All-Souls-Day_ we are willing to
admit; but does it follow that this foolish _Twenty-third of April_ must
be _All-George’s-Day_, and enjoy a monopoly of the whole name from
George of Cappadocia to George of Leyden, and from George-a-Green down
to George Dyer?

It looks a little oddly that I was discarded not long after the
dismission of a set of men and measures, with whom I have nothing in
common. I hope no whisperer has insinuated into the ears of Royalty, as
if I were any thing Whiggishly inclined, when, in my heart, I abhor all
these kind of Revolutions, by which I am sure to be the greatest
sufferer.

I wonder my shameless Rival can have the face to let the Tower and Park
Guns proclaim so many big thundering fibs as they do, upon her
Anniversary--making your Sovereign too to be older than he is, by an
hundred and odd _days_, which is no great compliment one would think.
Consider if this precedent for ante-dating of Births should become
general, what confusion it must make in Parish Registers; what crowds of
young heirs we should have coming of age before they are one-and-twenty,
with numberless similar grievances. If these chops and changes are
suffered, we shall have _Lord-Mayor’s-Day_ eating her custard
unauthentically in May, and _Guy Faux_ preposterously blazing twice
over in the Dog-_days_.

I humbly submit, that it is not within the prerogatives of Royalty
itself, to be born twice over. We have read of the supposititious births
of Princes, but where are the evidences of this first Birth? why are not
the nurses in attendance, the midwife, &c. produced?--the silly story
has not so much as a Warming Pan to support it.

My legal advisers, to comfort me, tell me that I have the right on my
side; that I am the true Birth-_Day_, and the other _Day_ is only kept.
But what consolation is this to me, as long as this naughty-_kept
creature_ keeps me out of my dues and privileges?

Pray take my unfortunate case into your consideration, and see that I am
restored to my lawful Rejoicings, Firings, Bon-Firings, Illuminations,
&c.

And your Petitioner shall ever pray,

  _Twelfth Day of August_

       *       *       *       *       *


THE EDITOR’S ANSWER.

  Madam,

You mistake my situation: I am not the “patron,” but a poor servant of
the _Days_--engaged to attend their goings out and comings in, and to
teach people to pay proper respect to them. Mine is no trifling post,
Madam; for without disrespect to you, many of your ancient family were
spoiled long ago, by silly persons having taken undue notice of them;
and in virtue of my office, I am a sort of judge in their court of
claims, without authority to enforce obedience to my opinions. However,
I shall continue to do my duty to the _Days_, and to their friends, many
of whom are mere hangers-on, and, in spite of their pretended regard,
grossly abuse them:--but this only verifies the old saying, “Too much
familiarity breeds contempt:” such liberties must not be allowed, nor
must the antiquity of the _Days_ be too much insisted on. It is said,
“there’s reason in every thing,” but there’s very little in some of the
OLD _Days_--excuse me, Madam, _you_ are a _young_ one; and I have
something to excuse in you, which I readily do, on account of your
inexperience, and of your bringing up.

That you are “the _King’s-birth-Day_” is undisputed: you are stated so
to be in the almanac; as witness this line in _August_, 1825:--

“12. F. ~K. Geo.~ IV. ~b.~”

Can any thing be plainer than the ~b.~ or more certain than that it
stands for ~born~? So much then for your rank in the _Day_ family, and
at Court, where you are acknowledged, and received as the birth-_Day_
once a year, and “kept” as well as His Majesty _can_ keep you. A king
represents the majesty of the public welfare, and maintains the dignity
of the throne whereon he is placed by promoting the interests of the
people. His present Majesty regards your, and their, and his own,
interest by remembering you, when you are not entitled to especial
recollection with another day in the almanac, and this remembrance
stands in April 1825, thus--

23. S. ~St. Geo. K. b. d. k.~

St. George’s-Day does not _supersede_ you; it is not called the
_King’s-birth-Day_; the almanac by ~K. b. d. k.~ denotes that you, the
_King’s-birth-Day_, are kept with all the honours due to your _August_
quality on _St. George’s-Day_. If it had not “pleased the course of
nature,” you would only have been distinguished as the first _Day_ after
the _Day_ whereon the almanac says “Dog-_Days end_”--a fine distinction!

“It looks a little oddly” you say that you should have been “discarded
not long after the dismission of a set of men and measures with whom
_you_ have nothing in common;” and you “hope,” that “no whisperer has
insinuated” that you are “whiggishly inclined.” Allow me to tell you,
Madam, that if the family of the _Days_ had not been “whiggishly
inclined” in the year 1688, you might still have been a “common _Day_.”
I know not how you incline now, and it is of very little consequence;
for all “parties” are busy in promoting the happiness of the
commonwealth, and I hope, in my lifetime at least, that no _Day_ will be
dishonoured by dissensions about trifles at home, or war upon any
pretence abroad. And now, Madam, after this indispensable notice of your
little flaunt, let me add, that the prorogation of parliament during
that season when “in the course of nature” you arrive, and the king’s
attention to the manufacturing and trading of the country, are obvious
reasons for keeping the _King’s-birth-Day_, in customary splendour on
the 23d _Day_ of April, instead of the 12th _Day_ of August. You are
honoured again in your own season at the palace; and your complaint
amounts to no more than this, that having received your honours in the
presence of a full court circle before you are entitled to them, they
are not all repeated to a semicircle:--how childish! Then, you talk
about the “ante-dating of births” and “Parish Registers” as if you were
the daughter of a parish clerk--remember _yourself_, Madam.

St. George’s-_Day_ has far more cause for vexation than you. The little
respect usually paid to _her_ celebration is eclipsed by the uproar of
yours. “The Tower and Park guns proclaim so many big thundering fibs
upon _her_ anniversary” for _you_; and _you_ call _her_, your elder
sister, a “naughty kept creature;” poor thing! How eloquent is her
silence compared with your loquacity! how dignified! yet _she_ has
_antiquity_ to boast of--the antiquity of many generations, while _you_
at the utmost, are only of sixty-three years standing; indeed, as the
KING’S-_birth_-_Day_, you are not halfway to your teens. A quarrel among
the _Days_ would be odious; this would be detestable. Happily the
_Day_-family is saved from this disgrace by the prudence of your more
experienced sister, who will no doubt decline provocation even under
your spiteful collocation of George of Leyden with George of
Cappadocia--she understands the taunt well enough; and can see through
the whimsical association of George-a-Green with George Dyer. The dead
George-a-Green no one can harm, and the living George Dyer is as
harmless. This is pitiful work, and if you were not the
_King’s-birth-Day_ you would be made to suffer for it. “However,” as my
friend Dyer would say, “let that pass:” he is a good creature, and
maintains his innocence spite of his union--with George-a-Green.

On the presentation of your petition I had some doubt whether I ought to
entertain such a petition for a moment; but on reconsideration I doubted
whether the justice of the case would not be better answered by dealing
with it in another way; and I give you the benefit of that doubt: the
petition is dismissed.

  THE EDITOR.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Sowthistle. _Sonchus palustris._
  Dedicated to _St. Clare_.

  [250] Twenty-ninth _Day_ of February.


~August 13.~

  _St. Hippolytas_, A. D. 252. _St. Cassian_. _St. Rudegundes_, queen of
  France, A. D. 587. _St. Wigbert_, Abbot, A. D. 747.


~Cats.~

Once upon a time--on or about the 13th of August, 1819; it might have
been a few or many days before or after that day, or a month or so
before or after that month--the day or month is of less consequence to
the reader, than to the editor, who desires to “bring in” an interesting
anecdote or two on the 13th day of August. Once upon a time, a cat--it
is a fact--for it is in _The Scotsman_ newspaper of the 23d of October,
1819--once upon a time, a cat, belonging to a shipmaster, was left on
shore, by accident, when his vessel sailed from the harbour of Aberdour,
Fifeshire, which lies about half a mile from the village. The vessel was
absent about a month, and, on her return, to the astonishment of the
shipmaster, puss came on board with a fine stout kitten in her mouth,
apparently about three weeks old, and went directly down to the cabin.
Two others of her young were afterwards caught, quite wild, in a
neighbouring wood, where she must have remained with them till the
return of the vessel. The shipmaster did not allow her again to go on
shore, otherwise it is probable she would have brought the whole litter
on board. What is more remarkable, vessels were daily entering and
leaving the harbour, none of which she ever thought of visiting till the
one she had left returned.[251] This extraordinary instance of feline
sagacity, on the day before mentioned or imagined, is paralleled by
another:--

A lady lately living at Potsdam, when a child of six years, ran a
splinter into her foot, sat down upon the floor, and cried most
violently. At first her cries were not regarded, as they were considered
to be more the effect of a pettish and obstinate temper, than of any
great pain which the accident could have occasioned her. At length the
elder sister of the child, who had been lying asleep in bed, was roused
by her cries, and as she was just about to get out of bed, in order to
quiet her sister, she observed a cat, who was a favourite playmate of
the children, and otherwise of a very gentle disposition, leave her seat
under the stove, go to the crying girl, and having given her with one
of her paws so smart a blow upon the cheek as to draw blood, walk back
again with the utmost gravity to her place under the stove. As this cat
was by no means of a malicious disposition, for she had grown up
together with the younger children of the family, and never designedly
scratched any of them, it seems that her intention upon this occasion
was to chastise the pettish girl, and put an end to her troublesome
cries, in order that she might herself be able to finish her morning nap
without further interruption.[252]

In the “Orleans Collection” of pictures there was a fine painting of a
“_Concert of Cats_,” by F. Breughel, from whence there is a print, among
the engravings of that gallery, sufficiently meritorious and whimsical
to deserve a place here; and therefore it is represented in the sketch
on the present page. In justice, to the justice done to it, Mr. Samuel
Williams must be mentioned as the artist who both drew and engraved it.
The fixed attention of the feline performers is exceedingly amusing, and
by no means unnatural; for it appears by the notes that mice is their
theme, and they seem engaged in a _catch_.

[Illustration: ~Breughel’s Concert of Cats.~]

    Ye rats, in triumph elevate your ears!
    Exult, ye mice! for fate’s abhorred shears
    Of Dick’s nine lives have slit the cat-guts nine;
    Henceforth he mews midst choirs of cats divine!

So sings Mr. Huddesford, in a “Monody on the Death of Dick, an
Academical Cat,” with this motto,--

    “MI-CAT inter omnes.”

  Hor. Carm. Lib. i. Ode 12.

He brings his cat Dick from the Flood, and consequently
through Rutterkin, a cat who was “cater-cousin to the
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother of
Grimalkin, and first cat in the caterie of an old woman, who was tried
for bewitching a daughter of the countess of Rutland in the beginning of
the sixteenth century.” The monodist connects him with cats of great
renown in the annals of witchcraft; a science whereto they have been
allied as closely as poor old women, one of whom, it appears, on the
authority of an old pamphlet entitled “Newes from Scotland,” &c. printed
in the year 1591, “confessed that she took a cat and christened it, &c.
and that in the night following, the said cat was conveyed into the
middest of the sea by all these witches sayling in their RIDDLES, or
CIVES, and so left the said cat right before the towne of Leith in
Scotland. This done, there did arise such a tempest at sea as a greater
hath not been seen, &c. Againe it is confessed, that the said christened
cat was the cause of the kinges majestie’s shippe, at his coming forthe
of Denmarke, had a contrarie winde to the rest of the shippes then
being in his companie, which thing was most straunge and true, as the
kinges majestie acknowledgeth, for when the rest of the shippes had a
fair and good winde, then was the winde contrarie, and altogether
against his majestie,” &c.

All sorts of cats, according to Huddesford, lamented the death of his
favourite, whom he calls “premier cat upon the catalogue,” and who,
preferring sprats to all other fish,--

    “Had swallow’d down a score without remorse,
    And three fat mice slew for a second course,
    But, while the third his grinders dyed with gore,
    Sudden those grinders clos’d--to grind no more!
    And, dire to tell! commissioned by Old Nick,
    A catalepsy made an end of DICK.

      “Calumnious cats who circulate faux pas,
    And reputations maul with murd’rous claws;
    Shrill cats whom fierce domestic brawls delight,
    Cross cats who nothing want but teeth to bite,
    Starch cats of puritanic aspect sad,
    And learned cats who talk their husbands mad;
    Confounded cats who cough, and croak, and cry,
    And maudlin cats who drink eternally;
    Fastidious cats who pine for costly cates,
    And jealous cats who catechise their mates;
    Cat-prudes who, when they’re ask’d the question, squall,
    And ne’er give answer categorical;
    Uncleanly cats, who never pare their nails,
    Cat-gossips full of Canterbury tales,
    Cat-grandams vex’d with asthmas and catarrhs,
    And superstitious cats who curse their stars;
    Cats of each class, craft, calling, and degree
    Mourn DICK’S calamitous catastrophe!

      “Yet, while I chant the cause of RICHARD’S end,
    Ye sympathizing cats, your tears suspend!
    Then shed enough to float a dozen whales,
    And use, for pocket-handkerchiefs, your tails!--

      “Ah! tho’ thy bust adorn no sculptur’d shrine,
    No vase thy relics rare to fame consign,
    No rev’rend characters thy rank express,
    Nor hail thee, DICK! D.D. nor F.R.S.
    Tho’ no funereal cypress shade thy tomb
    For thee the wreaths of Paradise shall bloom.
    There, while GRIMALKIN’S mew her RICHARD greets,
    A thousand cats shall purr on purple seats:
    E’en now I see, descending from his throne,
    Thy venerable cat, O Whittington!
    The kindred excellence of RICHARD hail,
    And wave with joy his gratulating tail!
    There shall the worthies of the whisker’d race
    Elysian mice o’er floors of sapphire chase,
    Midst beds of aromatic marum stray,
    Or raptur’d rove beside the Milky Way.
    Kittens, than eastern houris fairer seen,
    Whose bright eyes glisten with immortal green,
    Shall smooth for tabby swains their yielding fur,
    And to their amorous mews assenting purr.--
    There, like Alcmena’s, shall GRIMALKIN’S SON
    In bliss repose,--his mousing labours done,
    Fate, envy, curs, time, tide, and traps defy,
    And caterwaul to all eternity.”

  _Huddesford._

Cats neither like to be put out of their way, nor to be kept out of
their food:--

In cloisters, wherein people are immured in Roman catholic countries, to
keep or make them of that religion, it is customary to announce the
hours of meals by ringing a bell. In a cloister in France, a cat that
was kept there was used never to receive any victuals till the bell
rung, and she therefore never failed to be within hearing of it. One
day, however, she happened to be shut up in a solitary apartment, and
the bell rang in vain, as far as regarded her. Being some hours after
liberated from her confinement, she ran, half famished, to the place
where a plate of victuals used generally to be set for her, but found
none this time. In the afternoon the bell was heard ringing at an
unusual hour, and when the people of the cloister came to see what was
the cause of it, they found the cat hanging upon the bell-rope, and
setting it in motion as well as she was able, in order that she might
have her dinner served up to her.[253]

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a surprising instance of the sensibility of cats to approaching
danger:--

In the year 1783, two cats, belonging to a merchant at Messina, in
Sicily, announced to him the approach of an earthquake. Before the first
shock was felt, these two animals seemed anxiously to endeavour to work
their way through the floor of the room in which they were. Their master
observing their fruitless efforts, opened the door for them. At a second
and third door, which they likewise found shut, they repeated their
efforts, and on being set completely at liberty, they ran straight
through the street, and out of the gate of the town. The merchant, whose
curiosity was excited by this strange conduct of the cats, followed them
into the fields, where he again saw them scratching and burrowing in the
earth. Soon after there was a violent shock of an earthquake, and many
of the houses in the city fell down, of which the merchant’s was one,
so that he was indebted for his life to the singular forebodings of his
cats.[254]

       *       *       *       *       *

Few who possess the faculty of hearing, and have heard the music of
cats, would desire the continuance of their “sweet voices,” yet a
concert was exhibited at Paris, wherein cats were the performers. They
were placed in rows, and a monkey beat time to them. According as he
beat the time, so the cats mewed; and the historian of the fact relates,
that the diversity of the tones which they emitted produced a very
ludicrous effect. This exhibition was announced to the Parisian public
by the title of _Concert Miaulant_.[255]

       *       *       *       *       *

Cats were highly esteemed by the Egyptians, who under the form of a cat
symbolized the moon, or Isis, and placed it upon their systrum, an
instrument of religious worship and divination. Count Caylus engraved a
cat with two kittens, which, while he supposes one of the kittens to be
black and the other white, he presumes to have represented the phases of
the moon.

Cats are supposed to have been brought into England from the island of
Cyprus, by some foreign merchants who came hither for tin. In the old
Welsh laws, a kitten from its birth till it could see was valued at a
penny; when it began to mouse at twopence; and after it had killed mice
at fourpence, which was the price of a calf. Wild cats were kept by our
ancient kings for hunting. The officers who had the charge of these cats
seem to have had appointments of equal consequence with the masters of
the king’s hounds; they were called _catatores_.

Gray’s elegy on a cat drowned in a globe of water with gold fishes is
well-known. Dr. Jortin wrote a Latin epitaph on a favourite cat.

JORTIN’S EPITAPH ON HIS CAT

_Imitated in English_

    Worn out with age and dire disease, a cat,
    Friendly to all, save wicked mouse and rat:
    I’m sent at last to ford the Stygian lake,
    And to the infernal coast a voyage make.
    Me PROSERPINE receiv’d, and smiling said,
    “Be bless’d within these mansions of the dead;
    Enjoy among thy velvet-footed loves,
    Elysium’s sunny banks and shady groves.”
    “But if I’ve well deserv’d, (O gracious queen,)
    If patient under sufferings I have been,
    Grant me at least one night to visit home again
    Once more to see my home, and mistress dear,
    And purr these grateful accents in her ear.
    Thy faithful cat, thy poor departed slave,
    Still loves her mistress ev’n beyond the grave.”[256]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Marsh Grounsel. _Senecio paludotus._
  Dedicated to _St. Radigundes_.

  [251] Zoological Anecdotes.

  [252] Ibid.

  [253] Ibid.

  [254] Ibid.

  [255] Ibid.

  [256] Star, Nov. 3, 1736


~August 14.~

  _S. Eusebius_, 3rd Cent. _St. Eusebius_, Priest.

It is stated in _The Times_, on the authority of an “Evening Paper,”
that two beautiful old trees in Nottingham park during the hot weather
(of July and August, 1825,) shed all their leaves, and were as
completely stripped as they are usually in November. Their appearance
afterwards was more surprising. Wet weather came, they put forth new
leaves and were as fully clothed in August as they were before the long
season of the dry hot weather.

THE WITHERED LEAF.

    Sever’d from thy slender stalk,
      Wither’d wand’rer! knowest thou?
    Would’st thou tell, if leaves might talk,
      Whence thou art?--Where goest thou?

    Nothing know I!--tempests’ strife
      From the proud oak tore me;
    Broke my every tie to life,
      Whelm’d the tree that bore me.

    Zephyr’s fickle breath,--the blast
      From the northern ocean,
    Since that day my lot have cast
      By their varying motion.

    From the mountain’s breezy height
      To the silent valley,
    From the forest’s darksome night
      To the plain I sally.

    Wheresoever wafts the wind,
      Restless flight constraining,
    There I wander unconfin’d,
      Fearless, uncomplaining.

    On I go--where all beside
      Like myself are going;
    Where oblivion’s dreamless tide
      Silently is flowing.

    There like beauty, frail and brief,
      Fades the pride of roses;
    There the laurel’s honour’d leaf--
      Sear’d and scorn’d-reposes.

  _Bernard Barton._

About the middle of August, the viper brings forth her young. She
produces from twelve to twenty-five eggs, from which, when hatched, her
offspring come forth nearly of the size of earthworms.[257]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Elegant Zinnia. _Zinnia elegans._
  Dedicated to St. _Eusebius._


[Illustration: ~Fantoccini.~]

    “He gives me the motions.”

  _Shakspeare._

Mr. George Cruikshank’s pencil has been put in requisition for a
fantoccini, and his drawing, engraved by Mr. Henry White, appears
above.

This exhibition took place in a street at Pentonville, during the
present month, 1825. Its coming was announced by a man playing the
Pan-pipes, or “mouth-organ,” which he accompanied by beating the long
drum; after him followed the theatre, consisting of a square frame-work
about ten feet high, boarded in front, and painted as represented in the
print, carried by a man within the frame; the theatrical properties were
in a box strapped on the inside towards the bottom. The musician was
preceded by a foreign-looking personage--the manager. As soon as he had
fixed on a station he deemed eligible, the trio stopped, the theatre was
on its legs in a minute, and some green baize furled towards the top of
each side, and at the back, was let down by the manager himself, who got
within the frame and thus concealed himself. The band of two instruments
was set in motion by its performer, who took his station on one side,
and the carrier of the theatre assuming the important office of money
collector. “Come ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we can’t begin without
you encourage us--some money if you please--please to remember what you
are going to see!” Boys came running in from the fields, women with
children got “good places,” windows were thrown up and well filled, the
drummer beat and blew away lustily, the audience increased every minute,
a collection was made, and the green curtain at length drew up, and
discovered a stage also lined with green cloth at the top, bottom, and
sides. In about a minute the tune altered, and the show began.

_Scene 1._ A jolly-looking puppet performed the tricks of a tumbler and
posture master with a hoop.

_Scene 2._ The money taker called out, “This is the representation of a
skeleton.” The music played solemnly, and the puppet skeleton came
slowly through a trap door in the floor of the stage; its under jaw
chattered against the upper, it threw its arms up mournfully, till it
was fairly above ground, and then commenced a “grave” dance. On a sudden
its head dropped off, the limbs separated from the trunk in a moment,
and the head moved about the floor, chattering, till it resumed its
place together with the limbs, and in an instant danced as before; its
efforts appeared gradually to decline, and at last it sank into a
sitting posture, and remained still. Then it held down its skull,
elevated its arms, let them fall on the ground several times dolorously;
fell to pieces again; again the head moved about the stage and
chattered; again it resumed its place, the limbs reunited, and the
figure danced till the head fell off with a gasp; the limbs flew still
further apart; all was quiet; the head made one move only towards the
body, fell sideways, and the whole re-descended to a dirge-like tune.
Thus ended the second scene.

_Scene 3._ This scene was delayed for the collector again to come round
with his hat:--“You can’t expect us to show you all for what you’ve
given. Money if you please; money; we want your money!” As soon as he
had extracted the last extractable halfpenny, the curtain drew up,
and--enter a clown without a head, who danced till his head came from
between his shoulders to the wonder of the children, and, almost to
their alarm, was elevated on a neck the full length of his body, which
it thrust out ever and anon; after presenting greater contortions than
the human figure could possibly represent, the curtain fell the third
time.

_Scene 4._ Another delay of the curtain for another collection, “We have
four and twenty scenes,” said the collector, “and if you are not liberal
we can’t show ’em all--we must go.” This extorted something more, and
one person at a window, who had sent three-pence from a house where
other money had been given, now sent out a shilling, with a request that
“all” might be exhibited. The showman promised, the curtain drew up, and
another puppet-tumbler appeared with a pole which, being placed
laterally on the back of two baby-house chairs, he balanced himself on
it, stood heels upwards upon it, took the chairs up by it, balanced them
on each end of it, and down fell the curtain.

_Scene 5._ A puppet sailor danced a hornpipe.

_Scene 6._ A puppet Indian juggler threw balls.

_Scene 7._ Before the curtain drew up the collector said, “This is the
representation of Billy Waters, Esq.” and a puppet, Billy Waters,
appeared with a wooden leg, and danced to the sound of his fiddle for a
minute or two when the curtain dropped, and the manager and performers
went off with their theatre, leaving the remaining seventeen scenes, if
they had them, unrepresented. On the show was painted, “Candler’s
Fantoccini, patronised by the Royal Family.” Our old acquaintance,
“Punch,” will survive all this.

  [257] Aikin’s Nat. Hist. of the Year.


~August 15.~

  _The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary._ _St. Alipius_, Bp. A. D.
  429. _St. Arnoul_, or _Arnulphus_, Bp. A. D. 1087. _St. Mac-Cartin_,
  or _Aid_, or _Aed_, Bp. of Clogher, A. D. 506.


_Assumption, B. V. M._

So stands this high festival of the Romish church in the church of
England calendar. No reason can be imagined for its remaining there; for
the assumption of the virgin is the pretended miraculous ascent of her
body into heaven. Butler calls it “the greatest of all the festivals the
Romish church celebrates in her honour.” In his account of this day, he
especially enjoins her to be invoked as a mediator. The breviaries and
offices of her worship embrace it as an opportunity for edifying the
devotees with stories to her honour; one of these may suffice.

There was a monk very jolly and light of life, who on a night went forth
to do his accustomed folly; but when he passed before the altar of our
lady, he saluted the virgin, and then went out of the church; and as he
was about to pass a river he fell in the water, and the devils took his
soul. Then angels came to rescue it, but the devils maintained that it
was their proper prey. And anon came the blessed virgin, and rebuked the
devils, and said the soul belonged to her; and they answered, that they
had found the monk finishing his life in evil ways; and she replied,
that which ye say is false, for I know well, that when he went into any
place, he saluted me first, and that when he came out again he did the
same, and if ye say that I do you wrong, let us have the judgment of the
sovereign king thereon. Then they contended before our Lord on this
matter; and it pleased him that the soul should return again to the
body, and that the monk should repent him of his sins. In the while, the
monks had missed their brother, for he came not to matins, and they
sought the sexton and went to the river, and found him there drowned;
and when they had drawn the body out of the water, they knew not what to
think, and marvelled what he had done. Then suddenly he came to life,
and told them what had happened to him, and finished his life in good
works.[258]

Durandus, the great Romish ritualist, anxious for devotion to be
maintained to the virgin, observes, that though her office is not to be
read on the Sundays between Easter and Whitsuntide, as on every other
Sunday, yet there is not any _danger_ to be apprehended for introducing
it on the Sundays _not_ appointed. A priest _once_ did actually intrude
the virgin’s office on one of these non-appointed Sundays, for which the
bishop suspended him; “but he was soon forced to take off the
suspension, in consequence of the virgin appearing to him, and _scolding
him_ for his unjust severity.”

It is stated by Mr. Brady, that the festival of the assumption of the
Virgin Mary was first regularly instituted in 813; and, that the
assumption commemorated actually took place, is what none within the
power of the late Inquisition would dare to disbelieve; and, that since
its first introduction, further, there has been a zeal displayed on this
holiday, which must be considered truly commendable, in all those who
believe in the fact, and are amiably desirous of convincing others. The
pageantry used in celebrating this festival has often been the subject
of remark by travellers, but that at Messina seems for its grandeur and
ingenuity to claim the preference: Mr. Howel, in his descriptive travels
through Sicily, gives a very particular account of the magnificent
manner in which this festival is kept by the Sicilians under the title
of Bara; which, although expressive of the machine he describes, is
also, it appears, generally applied as a name of the feast itself. An
immense machine of about fifty feet high is constructed, designing to
represent heaven; and in the midst is placed a young female personating
the virgin, with an image of Jesus on her right hand; round the virgin
twelve little children turn vertically, representing so many seraphim,
and below them twelve more children turn horizontally, as cherubim;
lower down in the machine a sun turns vertically, with a child at the
extremity of each of the four principal radii of his circle, who ascend
and descend with his rotation, yet always in an erect posture; and still
lower, reaching within about seven feet of the ground, are placed twelve
boys, who turn horizontally without intermission around the principal
figure, designing thereby to exhibit the twelve apostles, who were
collected from all corners of the earth, to be present at the decease
of the virgin, and witness her miraculous assumption. This huge machine
is drawn about the principal streets by sturdy monks, and it is regarded
as a particular favour to any family to admit their children in this
divine exhibition, although the poor infants themselves do not seem long
to enjoy the honours they receive as seraphim, cherubim, and apostles;
the constant twirling they receive in the air making some of them fall
asleep, many of them sick, and others more grievously ill.[259]

       *       *       *       *       *

It is stated of a poor Frenchwoman a century ago, when invention was not
so quick as it is in the present generation, that finding herself really
incapable, from extreme poverty, of nourishing her infant, she proceeded
with it near the church of Notre-Dame at Paris, during the procession in
honour of the virgin, on the 15th of August; and holding up her meagre
infant, whilst the priest was giving his solemn benediction to the
populace, besought him so earnestly to “_bless the child_,” that the
crowd instinctively made a passage for her approach. The good priest
took the infant in his arms, and, whilst all eyes were fixed on his
motions, in the act of complying with the parent’s request, she escaped
back through the crowd, and was nowhere to be found; so that the infant
became appendixed to its rich mother--the church.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a very rare print of the Death of the Virgin, by Wenceslaus of
Olmutz, she is drawn surrounded by her family and others; St. John
places a holy candle in her right hand, St. Peter with a brush sprinkles
holy water upon her before the Romish church existed, and therefore
before that devise was contrived; and another apostle with an ink-horn
hanging from his side, looks through a pair of spectacles, to assist his
sight, before spectacles were invented, in reading a book which another
person holds. This subject has also been represented by Martin Schoen,
Israel van Mechelen, and other artists.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Virgin’s Bower. _Clematis Vitalba._
  Dedicated to _the Assumption, B. V. M._

  [258] Golden Legend.

  [259] Clavis Calendaria.


~August 16.~

  _St. Hyacinth_, A. D. 1257. _St. Roche_, A. D. 1327.


[Illustration: ~St. Roche.~]

“Sound as a roach.”

All that Butler can affirm of him is, that making a pilgrimage from
Montpellier to Rome, during a pestilence, he devoted himself to the
sick, became infected, made a shift to crawl into a neighbouring forest,
bore incredible pains with patience and joy, returned to France,
practised austere penance and piety, and died at Montpellier.

In the “Golden Legend” he is called St. Rock; and it relates that when
infected by the pestilence, and lacking bread in the forest, a hound
belonging to one Gotard daily took bread away from his master’s board,
and bare it to Rock, whom Gotard thereby discovered, and visited, and
administered to his necessities; wherefore the hound came no more; and
Rock was healed by revelation of an angel; and with touching and
blessing he cured the diseased in the hospital, and healed all the sick
in the city of Placentia. Being imprisoned, and about to die, he prayed
that he might live three days longer in contemplation of the Passion,
which was granted him; and on the third day an angel came to him,
saying, “O! Rock, God sendeth me for thy soul; what thou now desirest
thou shouldst ask.” Then St. Rock implored that whoever prayed to him
after death might be delivered from pestilence; and then he died. And
anon an angel brought from heaven a table whereon was divinely written,
in letters of gold, that it was granted--“That who that calleth to
Saynte Rocke mekely, he shall not be hurte with ony hurte of
pestylence;” and the angel laid the table under Rock’s head; and the
people of the city buried St. Rock solemnly, and he was canonized by the
pope gloriously. His life in the “Golden Legend” ends thus: “The feest
of Saynte Rocke is alwaye holden on the morowe after the daye of the
assumpcyon of our lady, whiche life is translated out of latyn into
englysshe by me, Wyllyam Caxton.”

There is an entry among the extracts from the churchwardens’ accounts of
St Michael Spurrier-gate, York, printed by Mr. Nichols, thus: “1518.
Paid for writing of Saint Royke Masse, 0_l._ 0_s._ 9_d._”[260] His
festival on this day was kept like a wake, or general harvest-home, with
dances in the churchyard in the evening.[261]

The phrase “sound as a roach” may have been derived from familiarity
with the legend and attributes of this saint. He is esteemed the patron
saint of all afflicted with the plague, a disease of common occurrence
in England when streets were narrow, and without sewers, houses were
without boarded floors, and our ancestors without linen. They believed
that the miraculous intermission of St. Roche could make them as “sound”
as himself.

       *       *       *       *       *

The engraving of St. Roche at the head of this article is from a print
published by Marriette. He gathers up his garment to show the pestilence
on his thigh, whereat the angel is looking; the dog by his side with a
loaf in his mouth is Gotard’s hound.

There is a rare print of this saint, with an angel squeezing the wound,
by D. Hopfer.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Belladonna Lily. _Amaryllis Belladonna._
  Dedicated to _St. Hyacinth_.

  [260] Brand.

  [261] Fosbroke’s Dict. of Antiq.


~August 17.~

  _St. Manus_, A. D. 275. _Sts. Liberatus_, Abbot, and six monks, A. D.
  483.


WIFE OF TWO HUSBANDS.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

I know nothing more respecting the subjoined narrative than that I am
almost certain I copied it some years ago from that mass of trifling,
the papers of old Cole, in the British Museum. It purports to be an
extract from the Cambridge journal, from whence he no doubt took it.

  I am, Sir, &c.

  D.

_Account of the Earl of Roseberry’s Son, and a Clergyman’s Wife, in
Essex._

  In the Cambridge Journal of October, 1752, is the following Article.

  _Extract of a Letter from Colchester, August 18._

“Perhaps you have heard that a chest was seized by the Custom-house
officers, which was landed near this place about a fortnight ago: they
took it for smuggled goods, though the person with it produced the king
of France’s signature to Mr. Williams, as a Hamburgh merchant: but
people not satisfied with the account Mr. Williams gave, opened the
chest, and one of them was going to run his hanger in, when the person
to whom it belonged clapt his hand upon his sword, and desired him to
desist (in French,) for it was the corpse of his dear wife. Not content
with this, the officers plucked off the embalming, and found it as he
had said. The man, who appeared to be a person of consequence, was in
the utmost agonies, while they made a spectacle of the lady. They sat
her in the high church, where any body might come and look on her, and
would not suffer him to bury her, till he gave a further account of
himself. There were other chests of fine clothes, jewels, &c. &c.
belonging to the deceased. He acknowledged at last that he was a person
of quality, that his name was not Williams, that he was born at
Florence, and the lady was a native of England, whom he married, and she
desired to be buried in Essex: that he had brought her from Verona, in
Italy, to France, by land, there hired a vessel for Dover, discharged
the vessel there, and took another for Harwich, but was drove hither by
contrary winds. This account was not enough to satisfy the people: he
must tell her name and condition, in order to clear himself of a
suspicion of murder. He was continually in tears, and had a key of the
vestry, where he sat every day with the corpse: my brother went to see
him there, and the scene so shocked him he could hardly bear it, he said
it was so like Romeo and Juliet.

“He was much pleased with my brother, as he talked both Latin and
French, and to his great surprise, told him who the lady was: which
proving to be a person he knew, he could not help uncovering the face.
In short, the gentleman confessed he was the earl of Roseberry’s son,
(the name is Primrose,) and his title lord Delamere, [Dalmeny,] that he
was born and educated in Italy, and never was in England till two or
three years ago, when he came to London, and was in company with this
lady, with whom he fell passionately in love, and prevailed on her to
quit the kingdom, and marry him: that having bad health, he had
travelled with her all over Europe; and when she was dying, she asked
for pen and paper, and wrote, ‘I am the wife of the rev. Mr. G--, rector
of Th--, in Essex: my maiden name was C. Cannom; and my last request is
to be buried at Th--.’

“The poor gentleman, who last married her, protests he never knew, (till
this confession on her death-bed,) that she was another’s wife: but in
compliance with her desire, he brought her over, and should have buried
her at Th-- (if the corpse had not been stopped) without making any stir
about it. After the nobleman had made this confession, they sent to Mr.
G--, who put himself in a passion, and threatened to run her last
husband through the body; however, he was prevailed on to be calm: it
was represented to him, that this gentleman had been at great expense
and trouble to fulfil her desire; and Mr. G-- consented to see him. They
say the meeting was very moving, and that they addressed each other
civilly. The stranger protested his affection to the lady was so strong,
that it was his earnest wish, not only to attend her to the grave, but
to be shut up for ever with her there.

“Nothing in romance ever came up to the passion of this man. He had a
very fine coffin made for her, with six large silver plates over it: and
at last, was very loth to part with her, to have her buried: he put
himself in the most solemn mourning, and on Sunday last in a coach,
attended the corpse to Th--, where Mr. G-- met it in solemn mourning
likewise.

“The Florentine is a genteel person of a man, seems about twenty-five
years of age, and they say, a sensible man: but there was never any
thing like his behaviour to his dear, dear wife, for so he would call
her to the last. Mr. G-- attended him to London yesterday, and they were
very civil to each other; but my lord is inconsolable: he says he must
fly England, which he can never see more. I have heard this account from
many hands, and can assure you it is fact. Kitty Cannom is, I believe,
the first woman in England that had two husbands attended her to the
grave together. You may remember her to be sure: her life would appear
more romantic than a novel.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Snapdragon Toadflax. _Anterrhenum Linaria._
  Dedicated to _St. Manus_.


~August 18.~

  _St. Helen_, Empress, A. D. 328. _St. Agapetus_, A. D. 275. _St.
  Clare_ of Monte Falco, A. D. 1308.

_For the Every-Day Book._

AUGUST 18 TO 23.

_“Rare doings at Camberwell.”--“All holiday at Peckham.”_

I do not know Mr. Capper’s authority for saying in his “Topographical
Dictionary,” that the fair, held at Camberwell from time immemorial, is
suppressed.

Although much has been done towards accomplishing this end, it does not
seem likely to prevail. It commenced formerly on the 9th of August, and
continued _three weeks_, ending on St. Giles-day. Booths were erected in
the churchyard, for the sale of “good drinke, pies, and pedlerie trash:”
but these doings were suppressed by a clause, in the statute of
Winchester, passed in the 13th of Edward I., which enacts “que _feire_,
ne marche desoremes ne soient tenuz en cimet pur honur de Seinte
Eglise.” In the evidence adduced before a petty session at Union-hall,
on the subject of putting down the fair on the 4th of July, 1823, it is
said that “Domesday Book” speaks of the custom of holding it. I cannot
find that this statement rests on good grounds, but something like it
seems to have obtained as early as 1279, for in that year Gilbert de
Clare was summoned before John of Ryegate and his fellow justices at
Guildford, to show by what right he claimed the privilege of holding the
assize of ale and bread in “his Vill. of _Cam’well_.”[262] Mention is
made in the following reign of “eme’das in Stoke et Pecham.” Camberwell
fair was held “opposite the Cock public-house” till the Green was broken
in upon.

Peckham is said to be only a continuation of Camberwell, and not a
district fair, though there is a tradition that king John hunting there
killed a stag, and was so well pleased with his day’s sport, that he
granted the inhabitants a charter for it. It may be inferred from the
“right merrie” humour of this monarch at the close of his sport, that it
was somewhat in different style to that of Henry the Fifth: for he, “in
his beginning thought it meere scofferie to pursue anie fallow deere
with hounds or greihounds, but supposed himselfe always to have done a
sufficient act when he had tired them by his own travell on foot.”[263]

  LECTOR.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  African Marigold. _Tagites erecta._
  Dedicated to _St. Helen_.

  [262] Placitu de Quo Warranto 7 Ed. 1. Abuses of the laws regulating
  these assizes were in no respect uncommon. Few were “anie what looked
  unto but ech one suffered to sell and set up what and how himself
  listeth.” And such “headie ale and beer” were vended, that the people
  stood peculiarly open to imposition. “They will drinke” says
  Hollingshed, (i. 202.) “till they be red as cocks, and little wiser
  than their combes.”

  [263] Hollingshed i. 226.


~August 19.~

  _Sts. Timothy_, _Agapius_, and _Thecla_, A. D. 304. _St. Lewis_, Bp.,
  A. D. 1297. _St. Mochteus_, A. D. 535. _St. Cumin_, Bp. 7th Cent.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 19th of August, 1823, Robert Bloomfield died at Shefford, in
Bedfordshire, aged 57. He was born at Honington, near Bury, in Suffolk,
where he received instruction in reading and writing at a common school,
and became a “Farmer’s boy;” which occupation he has related with
simplicity and beauty in a poem under that title. He wrote that
production when a journeyman shoemaker: under the auspices of the late
Mr. Capel Llofft it was ushered into the world; and Bloomfield,
unhappily for himself, subsequently experienced the insufficient and
withering patronage of ostentatious greatness. His first poem was
succeeded by “Rural Tales,” “Good Tidings, or News from the Farm,” “Wild
Flowers,” “Banks of the Wye,” and “May-Day with the Muses.” In his
retirement at Shefford, he was afflicted with the melancholy consequent
upon want of object, and died a victim to hypochondria, with his mind in
ruins, leaving his widow and orphans destitute. His few books, poor
fellow, instead of being sent to London, where they would have produced
their full value, were dissipated by an auctioneer unacquainted with
their worth, by order of his creditors, and the family must have
perished if a good Samaritan had not interposed to their temporary
relief. Mr. Joseph Weston published the “Remains of Robert Bloomfield,”
for their benefit, and set on foot a subscription, with the hope of
securing something to Mrs. Bloomfield for the exclusive and permanent
advantage of herself and her fatherless children. It has been
inadequately contributed to, and is not yet closed.

ON THE DEATH OF BLOOMFIELD.

    Thou shouldst not to the grave descend
      Unmourned, unhonoured, or unsung;--
    Could harp of mine record thy end,
      For thee that rude harp should be strung;
    And plaintive sounds as ever rung
      Should all its simple notes employ,
    Lamenting unto old and young
      The Bard who sang THE FARMER’S BOY.

    Could Eastern Anglia boast a lyre
      Like that which gave thee modest fame,
    How justly might its every wire
      Thy minstrel honours loud proclaim:
    And many a stream of humble name,
      And village-green, and common wild,
    Should witness tears that knew not shame,
      By Nature won for Nature’s child.

    It is not quaint and local terms
      Besprinkled o’er thy rustic lay,
    Though well such dialect confirms
      Its power unlettered minds to sway,
    It is not these that most display
      Thy sweetest charms, thy gentlest thrall,--
    Words, phrases, fashions pass away,
      But TRUTH and NATURE live through all.

    These, these have given thy rustic lyre
      Its truest and its tenderest spell;
    These amid Britain’s tuneful choir
      Shall give thy honoured name to dwell:
    And when Death’s shadowy curtain fell
      Upon thy toilsome earthly lot,
    With grateful joy thy heart might swell
      To feel that these reproached thee not.

    How wise, how noble was thy choice
      To be the Bard of simple swains,--
    In all their pleasures to rejoice,
      And sooth with sympathy their pains;
    To paint with feelings in thy strains
      The themes their thoughts and tongues discuss,
    And be, though free from classic chains,
      Our own more chaste Theocritus.

    For this should Suffolk proudly own
      Her grateful and her lasting debt;--
    How much more proudly--had she known
      That pining care, and keen regret,--
    Thoughts which the fevered spirits fret,
      And slow disease,--’twas thine to bear;--
    And, ere thy sun of life was set,
      Had won her Poet’s grateful prayer.--

  _Bernard Barton._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Branched Herb Timothy. _Phleum panniculatum._
  Dedicated to _St. Timothy_.


~August 20.~

  _St. Bernard_, Abbot, A. D. 1153. _St. Oswin_, King, 6th Cent.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Autumnal Dandelion. _Apargia Autumnalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Bernard_.


~August 21.~

  _Sts. Bonosus_ and _Maxmilian_, A. D. 363. _St. Jane Frances de
  Chantal_, A. D. 1641. _St. Richard_, Bp. 12th Cent. _St. Bernard
  Ptolemy_, Founder of the Olivetans, A. D. 1348.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  French Marigold. _Tagetes patula._
  Dedicated to _St. Jane Francis_.


~August 22.~

  _St. Hippolytus_, Bp. 3d Cent. _St. Symphorian_, A. D. 178. _St.
  Timothy_, A. D. 311. _St. Andrew_, Deacon, A. D. 880. _St. Philibert_,
  Abbot, A. D. 684.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 22d of August, 1818, Warren Hastings, late governor-general of
India, died; he was born in 1733. His government in India, the subject
of parliamentary impeachment, which cost the nation above a hundred
thousand pounds, and himself more than sixty thousand, is generally
admitted to have been conducted with advantage to the interests of the
native powers, and the East India company. His translation of Horace’s
celebrated ode, beginning, “Otium divos rogat,” &c., is admitted to be
superior to all others:--

  IMITATION OF HORACE, Book xvi., Ode 2

  _On the Passage from Bengal to England._

    For ease the harassed seaman prays,
    When equinoctial tempests raise
      The Cape’s surrounding wave;
    When hanging o’er the reef he hears
    The cracking mast, and sees or fears,
      Beneath, his watery grave.

    For ease the slow _Mahratta_ spoils
    And hardier _Sic_ erratic toils,
      While both their ease forego;
    For ease, which neither gold can buy,
    Nor robes, nor gems, which oft belie
      The covered heart, bestow;

    For neither gold nor gems combined
    Can heal the soul, or suffering mind:
      Lo! where their owner lies;
    Perched on his couch distemper breathes
    And care, like smoke, in turbid wreathes
      Round the gay ceiling flies.

    He who enjoys, nor covets more,
    The lands his father held before,
      Is of true bliss possessed;
    Let but his mind unfettered tread,
    Far as the paths of knowledge lead,
      And wise as well as blest.

    No fears his peace of mind annoy,
    Lest printed lies his fame destroy,
      Which laboured years have won;
    Nor packed committees break his rest,
    Nor av’rice sends him forth in quest
      Of climes beneath the sun.

    Short is our span; then why engage
    In schemes, for which man’s transient age
      Was ne’er by fate designed?
    Why slight the gifts of nature’s hand?
    What wanderer from his native land
      E’er left himself behind?

    The restless thought and wayward will,
    And discontent, attend him still,
      Nor quit him while he lives;
    At sea, care follows in the wind;
    At land, it mounts the pad behind,
      Or with the postboy drives.

    He who would happy live to-day,
    Must laugh the present ills away,
      Nor think of woes to come;
    For come they will, or soon or late,
    Since mixed at best is man’s estate,
      By heaven’s eternal doom.

  In allusion to his own situation, he wrote the following lines in
  Mickle’s translation of Camoën’s “Lusiad,” at the end of the speech of
  Pacheo:--

    Yet shrink not, gallant Lusiad, nor repine
    That man’s eternal destiny is thine;
    Whene’er success the advent’rous chief befriends,
    Fell malice on his parting steps attends;
    On Britain’s candidates for fame await,
    As now on thee, the hard decrees of fate;
    Thus are ambition’s fondest hopes o’erreach’d,
    One dies imprison’d, and one lives impeach’d.

Mr. Seward, who published these lines with a portrait of Mr. Hastings,
from a bust by the late Mr. Banks, observes, that his head resembles the
head of Aratus, the founder of the Achæan league, in the Ludovísi
gardens at Rome.


ANOTHER LIVING SKELETON.

The “Dramatist” of the present day, “stop him who can,” ever on the
alert for novelty, has seized on the “Living Skeleton.” Poor Seurat is
“as well as can be expected;” but it appears, from a “Notice” handed
about the streets, that he has a rival in a _British_ “Living Skeleton.”
This “Notice,” printed by W. Glindon, Newport-street, Haymarket, and
signed “Thomas Feelwell, 104, High Holborn,” states, that a “humane
individual, in justice to his own feelings and those of a sensitive
public,” considers it necessary to “expose the _resources_” by which the
proprietors of the “Coburg Theatre” have produced “a rival to the
Pall-Mall object.” One part of his undertaking, the “resources,” honest
“Thomas Feelwell” leaves untouched, but he tells the following curious
story:--

“A young man of extraordinary leanness, was, for some days, observed
shuffling about the Waterloo-road, reclining against the posts and
walls, apparently from excessive weakness, and earnestly gazing through
the windows of the eating houses in the neighbourhood, for hours
together. One of the managers of the Coburg theatre, accidentally
meeting him, and being struck with his attenuated appearance, instantly
seized him by the bone of his arm, and, leading him into the saloon of
the theatre, made proposals that he should be produced on the stage as a
source of attraction and delight for a British audience; at the same
time stipulating that he should contrive to exist upon but half a meal
a day--that he should be constantly attended by a constable, to prevent
his purchasing any other sustenance, and be allowed no pocket-money,
till the expiration of his engagement--that he should be nightly buried
between a dozen heavy blankets, to prevent his growing lusty, and to
reduce him to the lightness of a gossamer, in order that the gasping
breath of the astonished audience might so _agitate_ his frame, that he
might be _tremblingly_ alive to their admiration.”

If this narrative be true, the situation of the “young man of
extraordinary leanness” is to be pitied. The _new_ living skeleton may
have acceded to the manager’s terms of “half a meal” a day on the truth
of the old saying, that “half a loaf is better than no bread,” and it is
clearly the manager’s interest to keep him alive as long as he will
“run;” yet, if the “poor creature” is nightly buried between a dozen
heavy blankets “to reduce him to the lightness of a gossamer,” he may
outdo the manager’s hopes, and “run” out of the world. Seriously, if
this be so, it ought not so to be. The “dozen heavy blankets to prevent
his growing lusty” might have been spared; for a man with “half a meal a
day” can hardly be expected to arrive at that obesity which destroyed a
performer formerly, who played the starved apothecary in Romeo and
Juliet till he got fat, and was only reduced to the wonted
“extraordinary leanness” which qualified him for the character, by being
struck off the pay-list. The condition of the poor man should be an
object of public inquiry as well as public curiosity.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Herb Timothy. _Phleum pratense._
  Dedicated to _St. Timothy_.


~August 23.~

  _St. Philip Beniti_, A. D. 1285. _Sts. Claudius_, _Asterius_, _Neon_,
  _Domnina_, and _Theonilla_, A. D. 285. _St. Apollinaris Sidonius_, Bp.
  of Clermont, A. D. 482. _St. Theonas_, Abp. of Alexandria, A. D. 300.
  _St. Eugenius_, Bp. in Ireland, A. D. 618. _St. Justinian_, Hermit, A.
  D. 529.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tanzey. _Tanacetum vulgare._
  Dedicated to _St. Philip Beniti_.


~August 24.~

  _St. Bartholomew_, Apostle. _The Martyrs of Utica_, A. D. 258. _St.
  Ouen_, or _Audoen_, Abp. A. D. 683. _St. Irchard_, or _Erthad_, Bp.


_St. Bartholomew the Apostle._

Mr. Audley says, “There is no scriptural account of his birth, labour,
or death. It is commonly said, he preached in the Indies, and was flayed
alive by order of Astyages, brother to Palemon, king of Armenia. I have
heard this day called black Bartholomew. The reason, I suppose, for this
appellation is, on account of the two thousand ministers who were
ejected on this day, by the Act of Uniformity, in 1662. As it respects
France, there is a shocking propriety in the epithet, for the horrid
Massacre of the Protestants commenced on this day, in the reign of
Charles IX. In Paris only, ten thousand were butchered in a fortnight,
and ninety thousand in the provinces, making, together, one hundred
thousand. This, at least, is the calculation of Perefixe, tutor to Louis
XIV. and archbishop of Paris: others reduce the number much lower.”[264]

The “Perennial Calendar” quotes, that--“In that savage scene, the
massacre of St. Bartholomew, planned with all the coolness of
deliberation, five hundred gentlemen, protestants, and ten thousand
persons of inferior rank were massacred in one night at Paris alone, and
great numbers in the provinces. The Roman pontiff, on hearing of it,
expressed great joy, announcing that the cardinals should return thanks
to the Almighty for so signal an advantage obtained for the holy see,
and that a jubilee should be observed all over Christendom.” Dr. Forster
adds, that “nothing like this scene occurred till the bloody and
terrible times of the French Revolution. It is shocking to reflect that
persons professing a religion which says, ‘Love your enemies, do good to
them that despitefully use you,’ should persecute and slay those whose
only offence is difference of opinion. ‘The Quakers and Moravians seem
to be almost the only Christian sects of any note and character whose
annals are unstained by the blood of their fellow-creatures, and who
have not resorted to persecution in defence and promulgation of their
particular doctrines. Must we, therefore, not judge a good tree from
this distinguished good fruit?’”

       *       *       *       *       *

It was an ancient custom at Croyland Abbey, until the time of Edward IV.
to give little knives to all comers on St. Bartholomew’s day, in
allusion to the knife wherewith Bartholomew was flead. Many of these
knives of various sizes have been found in the ruins of the abbey, and
the river. A coat borne by the religious fraternity of the abbey,
quarters three of them, with three whips of St. Guthlac, a scourge
celebrated for the virtue of its flagellations. These are engraved by
Mr. Gough in his history of Croyland Abbey, from drawings in the minute
books of the Spalding Society, in whose drawers, he says, one was
preserved, and these form a device in a town piece called the “Poore’s
Halfepeny of Croyland, 1670.”


_St. Ouen._

He was in great credit with king Clotaire II. and his successor Dagobert
I. of France, who made him keeper of his seal and chancellor, and he
became archbishop of Rouen, in Normandy. Butler refers to a long history
of miracles performed by the intercession and relics of St. Ouen. The
shrine of this saint, at Rouen, had a privilege which was very enviable;
it could once in a year procure the pardon of one criminal condemned to
death in the prisons of that city: the criminal touched it, and pardon
was immediate.

In all civilized countries justice has been tempered with mercy; and,
where the life could not be spared, the pain of the punishment has been
mitigated. Wine mingled with myrrh was known amongst the Jews for this
purpose, and was offered to the Saviour of mankind by the very persons
who hurried him on to his painful and ignominious death. In many cities
of Italy a condemned criminal is visited by the first nobility the night
before his execution, and supplied with every dainty in meat and in
drink that he can desire; and some years ago, in the parish of St.
Giles in the Fields, wine mixed with spices was presented to the poor
condemned wretches in that part of their progress from Newgate to
Tyburn.[265]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sunflower. _Helianthus Annuus._
  Dedicated to _St. Bartholomew_.

  [264] Companion to the Almanac.

  [265] European Magazine, 1798.


~August 25.~

  _St. Lewis_, king of France, A. D. 1270, _St. Gregory_, Administrator
  of the diocese of Utrecht, A. D. 776. _St. Ebba_, in English, _St.
  Tabbs_, A. D. 683.


PRINTERS.

An exact old writer[266] says of printers at this season of the year,
that “It is customary for all journeymen to make every year, new paper
windows about _Bartholomew-tide_, at which time the master printer makes
them a feast called a _way-goose_, to which is invited the corrector,
founder, smith, ink-maker, &c. who all open their purses and give to the
workmen to spend in the tavern or ale-house after the feast. From which
time they begin to work by candle light.”

_Paper windows_ are no more: a well regulated printing-office is as well
glazed and as light as a dwelling-house. It is curious however to note,
that it appears the windows of an office were formerly papered; probably
in the same way that we see them in some carpenters’ workshops with
oiled paper. The _way-goose_, however, is still maintained, and these
feasts of London printing-houses are usually held at some tavern in the
environs.

In “The Doome warning all men to the Judgment, by Stephen Batman, 1581,”
a ~black letter~ quarto volume, it is set down among “the straunge
prodigies hapned in the worlde, with divers figures of revelations
tending to mannes stayed conversion towardes God,” whereof the work is
composed, that in 1450, “The noble science of printing was aboute thys
time founde in Germany at Magunce, (a famous citie in Germanie called
Ments,) by Cuthembergers, a knight, or rather John Faustus, as sayeth
doctor Cooper, in his Chronicle; one Conradus, an Almaine broughte it
into Rome, William Caxton of London, mercer, broughte it into England,
about 1471; in Henrie the sixth, the seaven and thirtieth of his raign,
in Westminster was the first printing.” John Guttemberg, sen. is
affirmed to have produced the first printed book, in 1442, although John
Guttemberg, jun. is the commonly reputed inventor of the art. John
Faust, or Fust, was its promoter, and Peter Schoeffer its improver. It
started to perfection almost with its invention; yet, although the
labours of the old printer have never been outrivalled, their presses
have; for the information and amusement of some readers, a sketch is
subjoined of one from a wood-cut in Batman’s book.

[Illustration: ~Ancient Printing-office.~]

In this old print we see the compositor _seated_ at his work, the reader
engaged with his copy or proof, and the pressmen at their labours. It
exhibits the form of the early press better, perhaps, than any other
engraving that has been produced for that purpose; and it is to be
noted, as a “custom of the _chapel_,” that papers are stuck on it, as we
still see practised by modern pressmen. Note, too, the ample flagon, a
vessel doubtless in use _ad libitum_, by that beer-drinking people with
whom printing originated, and therefore not forgotten in their
printing-houses; it is wisely restricted here, by the interest of
employers, and the growing sense of propriety in press-men, who are
becoming as respectable and intelligent a class of “operatives” as they
were, within recollection, degraded and sottish.


_The Chapel._

“Every printing-house,” says Randle Holme, “is termed a chappel.” Mr.
John M‘Creery in one of the notes to “The Press,” an elegant poem, of
which he is the author, and which he beautifully printed, with elaborate
engravings on wood, as a specimen of his typography, says, that “The
title of _chapel_ to the internal regulations of a printing-house
originated in Caxton’s exercising the profession in one of the chapels
in Westminster Abbey; and may be considered as an additional proof, from
the antiquity of the custom, of his being the first English printer. In
extensive houses, where many workmen are employed, the _calling a
chapel_ is a business of great importance, and generally takes place
when a member of the office has a complaint to allege against any of his
fellow workmen; the first intimation of which he makes to the _father of
the chapel_, usually the oldest printer in the house: who, should he
conceive that the charge can be substantiated, and the injury, supposed
to have been received, is of such magnitude as to call for the
interference of the law, summonses the members of _the chapel_ before
him at the _imposing stone_, and there receives the allegation and the
defence, in solemn assembly, and dispenses justice with typographical
rigour and impartiality. These trials, though they are sources of
neglect of business and other irregularities, often afford scenes of
genuine humour. The punishment generally consists in the criminal
providing a libation by, which the offending workmen may wash away the
stain that his misconduct has laid upon the body at large. Should the
plaintiff not be able to substantiate his charge, the fine then falls
upon himself for having maliciously arraigned his companion; a mode of
practice which is marked with the features of sound policy, as it never
loses sight of _the good of the chapel_.”

Returning to Randle Holme once more, we find the “_good of the chappel_”
consists of “forfeitures and other chappel dues, collected for the good
of the chappel, viz. to be spent as the chappel approves.” This
indefatigable and accurate collector and describer of every thing he
could lay his hands on and press into heraldry, has happily preserved
the ancient rules of government instituted by the worshipful fraternity
of printers. This book is very rare, and this perhaps may have been the
reason that the following document essentially connected with the
history of printing, has never appeared in one of the many works so
entitled.


_Customs of the Chappel._

Every printing-house is called a _chappel_, in which there are these
laws and customs, for the well and good government of the chappel, and
for the orderly deportment of all its members while in the chappel.

Every workman belonging to it are _members of the chappel_, and the
eldest freeman is _father of the chappel_; and the penalty for the
breach of any law or custom is in printers’ language called a _solace_.

1. Swearing in the chappel, a solace.

2. Fighting in the chappel, a solace.

3. Abusive language, or giving the lie in the chappel, a solace.

4. To be drunk in the chappel, a solace.

5. For any of the workmen to leave his candle burning at night, a
solace.

6. If a compositor fall his composing stick and another take it up, a
solace.

7. For three letters and a space to lie under the compositor’s case, a
solace.

8. If a pressman let fall his ball or balls, and another take them up, a
solace.

9. If a pressman leave his blankets in the timpan at noon or night, a
solace.

10. For any workman to mention joyning their penny or more a piece to
send for drink, a solace.

11. To mention spending chappel money till Saturday night, or any other
before agreed time, a solace.

12. To play at quadrats, or excite others in the chappel to play for
money or drink, a solace.

13. A stranger to come to the king’s printing-house, and ask for a
ballad, a solace.

14. For a stranger to come to a compositor and inquire if he had news of
such a galley at sea, a solace.

15. For any to bring a wisp of hay directed to a pressman, is a solace.

16. To call mettle lead in a founding-house, is a forfeiture.

17. A workman to let fall his mould, a forfeiture.

18. A workman to leave his ladle in the mettle at noon, or at night, a
forfeiture.

And the judges of these solaces, or forfeitures, and other controversies
in the chappel, or any of its members, was by plurality of votes in the
chappel; it being asserted as a maxime, that the chappel cannot err. Now
these solaces, or fines, were to be bought off for the good of the
chappel, which never exceeded 1_s._, 6_d._, 4_d._, 2_d._, 1_d._, ob.,
according to the nature and quality thereof.

But if the delinquent proved obstinate and will not pay, the workmen
takes him by force, and lays him on his belly, over the correcting
stone, and holds him there whilest another with a paper board gives him
10_l._ in a purse, viz., eleven blows on his buttocks, which he lays on
according to his own mercy.


_Customs for Payments of Money._

Every new workman to pay for his entrance half a crown, which is called
his _benvenue_, till then he is no member, nor enjoys any benefit of
chappel money.

Every journeyman that formerly worked at the chappel, and goes away, and
afterwards comes again to work, pays but half a _benvenue_.

If journeymen smout[267] one another, they pay half a _benvenue_.

All journeymen are paid by their master-printer for all church holidays
that fall not on a _Sunday_, whether they work or no, what they can earn
every working-day, be it 2, 3, or 4_s._

If a journeyman marries, he pays half a crown to the chappel.

When his wife comes to the chappel, she pays 6_d._, and then all the
journeymen joyn their 2_d._ a piece to make her drink, and to welcome
her.

If a journeyman have a son born, he pays 1_s._, if a daughter 6_d._

If a master-printer have a son born, he pays 2_s._ 6_d._, if a daughter
1_s._ 6_d._

An apprentice, when he is bound, pays half a crown to the chappel, and
when he is made free, another half crown: and if he continues to work
journeywork in the same house he pays another, and then is a member of
the chappel.

       *       *       *       *       *

Probably there will many a conference be held at imposing-stones upon
the present promulgation of these ancient rules and customs; yet, until
a general assembly, there will be difficulty in determining how far they
are conformed to, or departed from, by different chapels. Synods have
been called on less frivolous occasions, and have issued decrees more
“frivolous and vexatious,” than the one contemplated.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a work on the origin and present state of printing, entitled
“Typographia, or the Printer’s Instructor, by J. Johnson, Printer, 1824,
2 vols.,” there is a list of “technical terms made use of by the
profession,” which Mr. Johnson prefaces by saying, “we have here
introduced _the whole_ of the technical terms, that posterity may know
the phrases used by the early nursers and improvers of our art.”
However, they are not “_the whole_,” nor will it detract from the
general merit of Mr. Johnson’s curious and useful work, nor will he
conceive offence, if the Editor of the _Every-Day Book_ adds a few from
Holme’s “Academy of Armory,” a rare store-house of “Created Beings, with
the terms and instruments used in all trades and arts,” and printers are
especially distinguished.


_Additions to Mr. Johnson’s List of Printers’ Terms._

_Bad Copy._ Manuscript sent to be printed, badly or imperfectly written.

_Bad Work._ Faults by the compositor or pressman.

_Broken Letter._ The breaking of the orderly succession the letters
stood in, either in a line, page, or form; also the mingling of the
letters, technically called _pie_.

_Case is Low._ Compositors say this when the boxes, or holes of the
case, have few letters in them.

_Case is full._ When no sorts are wanting.

_Case stands still._ When the compositor is not at his case.

_Cassie Paper._ Quires made up of torn, wrinkled, stained, or otherwise
faulty sheets.

_Cassie Quires._ The two outside quires of the ream, also called cording
quires.

_Charge._ To fill the sheet with large or heavy pages.

_Companions._ The two press-men working at one press: the one first
named has his choice to pull or beat; the second takes the refuse
office.

_Comes off._ When the letter in the form delivers a good impression, it
is said to come off well; if an ill impression, it is said to come off
bad.

_Dance._ When the form is locked up, if, upon its rising from the
composing-stone, letters do not rise with it, or any drop out, the form
is said to dance.

_Distribute._ Is to put the letters into their several places in the
case after the form is printed off.

_Devil._ Mr. Johnson merely calls him the errand-boy of a
printing-house; but though he has that office, Holme properly says, that
he is the boy that takes the sheets from the tympan, as they are printed
off. “These boys,” adds Holme, “do in a printing-house commonly black
and dawb themselves, whence the workmen do jocosely call them devils,
and sometimes spirits, and sometimes flies.”

_Drive out._ “When a compositor sets wide,” says Mr. Johnson. Whereto
Holme adds, if letter be cast thick in the shank it is said to drive
out, &c.

_Easy Work._ Printed, or fairly written, copy, or full of breaks, or a
great letter and small form “pleaseth a compositor,” and is so called by
him.

_Empty Press._ A press not in work: most commonly every printing-office
has one for a proof-press: viz., to make proofs on.

_Even Page._ The second, fourth, sixth, &c. pages.

_Odd Page._ The first, third, fifth, &c. pages.

_Folio._ Is, in printer’s language, the two pages of a leaf of any size.

_Form rises._ When the form is so well locked up in the chase, that in
the raising of it up neither a letter nor a space drops out, it is said
that the form rises.

_Froze out._ In winter, when the paper is frozen, and the letter frozen,
so as the workmen cannot work, they say they are froze out. [Such
accidents never occur in good printing-houses.]

_Going up the form._ A pressman’s phrase when he beats over the first
and third rows or columns of the form with his ink-balls.

_Great bodies._ Letter termed “English,” and all above that size: small
bodies are long primer, and all smaller letter.

_Great numbers._ Above two thousand printed of one sheet.

_Hard work_, with compositors, is copy badly written and difficult;
[such as they too frequently receive from the Editor of the _Every-Day
Book_, who alters, and interlines, and never makes a fair copy,] _hard
work_, with pressmen, is small letter and a large form.

_Hole._ A place where private printing is used, viz. the printing of
unlicensed books, or other men’s copies.

[Observe, that this was in Holme’s time; now, licensing is not insisted
on, nor could it be enforced; but the printing “other men’s copies” is
no longer confined to a _hole_. Invasion of copyright is perpetrated
openly, because legal remedies are circuitous, expensive, and easily
evaded. So long as the law remains unaltered, and people will buy stolen
property, criminals will rob. The pirate’s “fence” is the public. The
receiver is as bad as the thief: if there were no receivers, there would
be no thieves. Let the public look to this.]

_Imperfections of books._ Odd sheets over the number of books made
perfect. They are also, and more generally at this time, called the
_waste_ of the book.

_M thick._ An _m_ quadrat thick.

_N thick._ An _n_ quadrat thick.

_Open matter_, or _open work_. Pages with several breaks, or with white
spaces between the paragraphs or sections.

_Over-run._ Is the getting in of words by putting out so much of the
forepart of the line into the line above, or so much of the latter part
of the line into the line below, as will make room for the word or words
to be inserted: also the derangement and re-arrangement of the whole
sheet, in order to get in over-matter. [Young and after-thought writers
are apt to occasion much over-running, a process distressing to the
compositor, and in the end to the author himself, who has to pay for the
extra-labour he occasions.]

_Pigeon holes._ Whites between words as large, or greater than between
line and line. The term is used to scandalize such composition; it is
never suffered to remain in good work.

_Printing-house._ The house wherein printing is carried on; but it is
more peculiarly used for the printing implements. Such an one, it is
said, hath removed his printing-house; meaning the implements used in
his former house.

_Revise._ A proof sheet taken off after the first or second proof has
been corrected. The corrector examines the faults, marked in the last
proof sheet, fault by fault, and carefully marks omissions on the
revise.

_Short page._ Having but little printed in it; [or relatively, when
shorter than another page of the work.]

_Stick-full._ The composing-stick filled with so many lines that it can
contain no more.

_Token._ An hour’s work for half a press, viz. a single pressman; this
consists of five quires. An hour’s work for a whole press is a token of
ten quires.

_Turn for it._ Used jocosely in the chapel: when any of the workmen
complain of want of money, or any thing else, he shall by another be
answered “turn for it,” viz. make shift for it.

[This is derived from the term _turn for a letter_, which is thus:--when
a compositor has not letters at hand of the sort he wants while
composing, and finds it inconvenient to distribute letter for it, he
turns a letter of the same thickness, face downwards, which turned
letter he takes out when he can accommodate himself with the right
letter, which he places in its stead.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus much has grown out of the notice, that printers formerly papered
their windows about “Bartlemy-tide,” and more remains behind. But before
farther is stated, if _chapels_, or individuals belonging to them, will
have the goodness to communicate any thing to the _Editor of the
Every-Day Book_ respecting any old or present laws, or usages, or other
matters of interest connected with printing, he will make good use of
it. Notices or anecdotes of this kind will be acceptable when
authenticated by the name and address of the contributor. If there are
any who doubt the importance of printing, they may be reminded that old
Holme, a man seldom moved to praise any thing but for its use in
heraldry, says, that “it is now disputed whether typography and
architecture may not be accounted Liberal Sciences, being so famous
Arts!” Seriously, however, communications respecting printing are
earnestly desired.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Perennial Sunflower. _Helianthus multiflorus._
  Dedicated to _St. Lewis_.

  [266] Randle Holme, 1688.

  [267] _Smout._ Workmen when they are out of constant work, sometimes
  accept of a day or two’s work, or a week’s work at another printing
  house; this by-work they call _smouting_.--Holme.


~August 26.~

  _St. Zephyrinus_, Pope, A. D. 219. _St. Genesius_, a Comedian, A. D.
  303. _St. Gelasinus_, a Comedian at Heliopolis, A. D. 297. _St.
  Genesius_, of Arles, about the 4th Cent.


MUSIC.

“_Il cantar, che nel’ animosi sente._”

    Nay, tell me not of lordly halls!
      My minstrels are the trees,
    The moss and the rock are my tapestried walls,
      Earth’s sounds my symphonies.

    There’s music sweeter to my soul
      In the weed by the wild wind fanned--
    In the heave of the surge, than ever stole
      From mortal minstrel’s hand.

    There’s mighty music in the roar
      Of the oaks on the mountain’s side,
    When the whirlwind bursts on their foreheads hoar,
      And the lightnings flash blue and wide.

    There’s mighty music in the swell
      Of winter’s midnight wave--
    When all above is the thunder peal,
      And all below is the grave.

    There’s music in the city’s hum,
      Heard in the noontide glare,
    When its thousand mingling voices come
      On the breast of the sultry air.

    There’s music in the mournful swing
      Of the lonely village bell--
    And think of the spirit upon the wing,
      Releas’d by its solemn knell.

    There’s music in the forest-stream,
      As it plays thro’ the deep ravine,
    Where never summer’s breath or beam
      Has pierced its woodland screen.

    There’s music in the thundering sweep
      Of the mountain waterfall,
    As its torrents struggle, and foam and leap
      From the brow of its marble wall.

    There’s music in the dawning morn,
      Ere the lark his pinion dries--
    ’Tis the rush of the breeze thro’ the dewy corn--
      Thro’ the garden’s perfumed dyes.

    There’s music on the twilight cloud
      As the clanging wild swans spring,
    As homewards the screaming ravens crowd,
      Like squadrons upon the wing.

    There’s music in the depth of night,
      When the world is still and dim,
    And the stars flame out in their pomp of light,
      Like thrones of the cherubim!

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Banded Amaryllis. _Amaryllis vittata._
  Dedicated to _St. Zephyrinus_.


~August 27.~

  _St. Cæsarius_, Abp. of Arles, A. D. 542. _St. Pæmen_, or _Pastor_,
  Abbot about A. D. 385. _St. Hugh_ of Lincoln, A. D. 1255. _St. Joseph
  Calasanctius_, A. D. 1648. _St. Malrubius_, about A. D. 1040. _St.
  Syagrius_, Bp. of Autun, A. D. 600.


_The Glowworm._

Dr. Forster in his “Perennial Calendar” quotes the mention of this and
other luminous insects from “a late entomological work,” in the
following passage:--“This little planet of the rural scene may be
observed in abundance in the month of August, when the earth is almost
as thickly spangled with them as the cope of heaven is with stars. It is
not only the glowworm that will not bear inspection when its lustre is
lost by the light of day; but all those luminous insects that bear the
same phosphoric fire about them, such as the lanthorn fly of the West
Indies and of China, of which there are several sorts; some of which
carry their light in a sort of snout, so that when they are seen in a
collection, they are remarkably ugly. There is also an insect of this
luminous sort common in Italy, called the lucciola. An intelligent
traveller relates, that some Moorish ladies having been made prisoners
by the Genoese, lived in a house near Genoa till they could be
exchanged, and, on seeing some of the lucciola, or flying glowworms,
darting about in the evening in the garden near them, they caused the
windows to be shut in a great alarm, from a strange idea which seized
them, that these shining flies were the souls of their deceased
relations.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Hedge Hawkweed. _Hieracium umbellatum._
  Dedicated to _St. Cæsarius_.


~August 28.~

  _St. Augustine_, Bp. and Doctor of the Church, A. D. 430. _St.
  Hermes_, about A. D. 132. _St. Julian_, Martyr.


_St. Augustine._

His name is in the church of England calendar. He was born at Tagasta,
in Numidia, in 354. Lardner awards to him the character of an
illustrious man, and says, that “a sublime genius, an uninterrupted and
zealous pursuit of truth, an indefatigable application, and invincible
patience, a sincere piety, and a subtle and lively wit, conspired to
establish his fame upon the most lasting foundation:” yet he adds, that
“the accuracy and solidity of his judgment were not proportionable to
his eminent talents; and that upon many occasions he was more guided by
the violent impulse of a warm imagination than by the cool dictates of
reason and prudence.” He pronounced that all infants dying before
baptism were deprived of the sight of God; wherein he is followed, says
Daille, by Gregorius Arminiensis, a famous theological doctor, who from
thence was called _Tormentum Infantium_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Goldenrod. _Solidago Virgaurea._
  Dedicated to _St. Augustine_.


~August 29.~

  _The Decollation of St. John Baptist._ _St. Sabina._ _St. Sebbi_, or
  _Sebba_, King, about A. D. 697. _St. Merri_, in Latin, _Medericus_,
  Abbot, about A. D. 700.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Hollyhock. _Althea flava._
  Dedicated to _St. Sabina_.


~August 30.~

  _St. Rose_ of Lima, Virgin, A. D. 1617. _Sts. Felix_ and _Adauctus_,
  about A. D. 303. _St. Fiaker_, Anchoret, called by the French,
  _Fiacre_, and anciently, _Fefre_, about A. D. 670. _St. Pammachius_,
  A. D. 410. _St. Agilus_, commonly called _St. Aile_, about A. D. 650.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Guernsey Lily. _Amaryllis Sarniensis._
  Dedicated to _St. Rose_.


~August 31.~

  _St. Raymund Nonnatus_, A. D. 1240. _St. Isabel_, A. D. 1270. _St.
  Cuthburge_, 8th Cent. _St. Aidan_, or _Ædan_, A. D. 651.


_St. Aidan._

He was born in Ireland, and was bishop of Lindisfarne, which from the
number of reputed saints there buried, is called the Holy Island. Bede
relates many miracles and prophecies of him. His cart and two oxen
laden with wood as he drove them, falling down a high rock into the sea,
he only made the sign of the cross as they fell, and received all safe
and sound out of the waters, &c.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Autumnal Pheasant’s Eye. _Adonis autumnalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Raymund_.




[Illustration: ~September.~]


      Next him September marched eke on foot;
        Yet was he heavy laden with the spoyle
      Of harvest’s riches, which he made his boot,
        And him enriched with bounty of the soyle;
        In his one hand, as fit for harvest’s toyle,
      He held a knife-hook; and in th’ other hand
        A paire of weights, with which he did assoyle
      Both more and lesse, where it in doubt did stand,
    And equal gave to each as justice duly scanned.

This is the ninth month of the year: anciently it was the seventh, as
its name imports, which is compounded of _septem_, seven, and _imber_, a
shower of rain, from the rainy season usually commencing at this period
of the year.

Our Saxon ancestors called this month “_Gerst-monat_, for that barley
which that moneth commonly yeelded was antiently called _gerst_, the
name of barley being given unto it by reason of the drinke therewith
made, called beere, and from _beerlegh_ it come to be _berlegh_, and
from _berleg_ to barley. So in like manner _beereheym_, to wit, the
overdecking or covering of _beere_, came to be called _berham_, and
afterwards _barme_, having since gotten I wot not how many names
besids.--This excellent and healthsome liquor, beere, antiently also
called _ael_, as of the Danes it yet is (beere and ale being in effect
all one,) was first of the Germans invented, and brought in use.”[268]

Mr. Leigh Hunt notices, that Spenser takes advantage of the exuberance
of harvest, and the sign of the zodiac, _libra_, in this month, to read
another lesson on justice. “This is the month,” Mr. Hunt continues, “of
the migration of birds, of the finished harvest, of nut-gathering, of
cyder and perry-making, and, towards the conclusion, of the change of
colour in trees. The swallows and many other soft-billed birds that feed
on insects, disappear for the warmer climates, leaving only a few
stragglers behind, probably from weakness or sickness, who hide
themselves in caverns and other sheltered places, and occasionally
appear upon warm days. The remainder of harvest is got in; and no sooner
is this done, than the husbandman ploughs up his land again, and
prepares it for the winter grain. The oaks and beeches shed their nuts,
which in the forest that still remain, particularly the New Forest in
Hampshire, furnish a luxurious repast for the swine, who feast of an
evening in as pompous a manner as any alderman, to the sound of the
herdsman’s horn. But the acorn must not be undervalued because it is
food for swine, nor thought only robustly of, because it furnishes our
ships with timber. It is also one of the most beautiful objects of its
species, protruding its glossy green nut from its rough and
sober- cup, and dropping it in a most elegant manner beside the
sunny and jagged leaf. We have seen a few of them, with their stems in
water, make a handsome ornament to a mantle-piece, in this season of
departing flowers.--The few additional flowers this month are
cornflowers, Guernsey-lilies, starwort, and saffron, a species of
crocus, which is cultivated in separate grounds. The stamens of this
flower are pulled, and dried into flat square cakes for medicinal
purposes. It was formerly much esteemed in cookery. The clown in the
_Winter’s Tale_, reckoning up what he is to buy for the sheepshearing
feast, mentions ‘saffron to colour the warden-pies.’ The fresh trees and
shrubs in flower are bramble, chaste-tree, laurustinus, ivy, wild
honeysuckle, spirea, and arbutus, or strawberry-tree, a favourite of
Virgil, which, like the garden of Alcinous, in Homer, produces flower
and fruit at once. Hardy annuals, intended to flower in the spring,
should now be sown; annuals of curious sorts, from which seed is to be
raised, should be sheltered till ripened; and auriculas in pots, which
were shifted last month, moderately watered. The stone-curlew clamours
at the beginning of this month, wood-owls hoot, the ring-ouzel
reappears, the saffron butterfly is seen, hares congregate; and, at the
end of it, the woodlark, thrush, and blackbird, are heard.”

Mr. Hunt further observes that, September, though its mornings and
evenings are apt to be chill and foggy, and therefore not wholesome to
those who either do not, or cannot, guard against them, is generally a
serene and pleasant month, partaking of the warmth of summer and the
vigour of autumn. But its noblest feature is a certain festive abundance
for the supply of all the creation. There is grain for men, birds, and
horses, hay for the cattle, loads of fruit on the trees, and swarms of
fish in the ocean. If the soft-billed birds which feed on insects miss
their usual supply, they find it in the southern countries, and leave
one’s sympathy to be pleased with an idea, that repasts apparently more
harmless are alone offered to the creation upon our temperate soil. The
feast, as the philosophic poet says on a higher occasion--

        The feast is such as earth, the general mother,
          Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smiles
        In the embrace of Autumn. To each other
          As some fond parent fondly reconciles
        Her warring children, she their wrath beguiles
          With their own sustenance; they, relenting, weep.
        Such is this festival, which from their isles,
          And continents, and winds, and oceans deep,
    All shapes may throng to share, that fly, or walk, or creep.

  _Shelley._

  [268] Verstegan.


~September 1.~

  _St. Giles_, Abbot, 7th Cent. _Twelve Brothers_, Martyrs, A. D. 258.
  _St. Lupus_, or _Leu_, Abp. A. D. 623. _St. Firminus II._, Bp. of
  Amiens, A. D. 347.


_St. Giles._

This saint is in the church of England calendar. He was born at Athens,
and came into France in 715, having first disposed of his patrimony to
charitable uses. After living two years with Cæsarius, bishop of Arles,
he commenced hermit, and so continued till he was made abbot of an abbey
at Nismes, which the king built for his sake. He died in 750.[269]

St. Giles is the _patron of beggars_. Going to church in his youth, he
gave his coat to a sick beggar who asked alms of him, the mendicant was
clothed, and the garment miraculously cured his disorder. He was also
the _patron of cripples_. After he had retired to a cave in a solitary
desert, the French king was hunting near his thicket, and Giles was
wounded by an arrow from a huntsman’s bow while at prayers; whereupon
being found unmoved from his position, the king fell at his feet, craved
his pardon, and gave orders for the cure of his wound, but this the
saint would not permit, because he desired to suffer pain and increase
his merits thereby, and so he remained a <DW36>, and received reverence
from the king whom he counselled to build a monastery; and the king did
so, and Giles became abbot thereof, “and led the life of an angel
incarnate,” and converted the king.[270] It is related of him that he
raised the dead son of a prince to life, and made a lame man walk: our
church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, is dedicated to him. It is further
told, that at Rome he cast two doors of cypress into the Tiber, and
recommended them to heavenly guidance, and on his return to France found
them at the gates of his monastery, and set them up as the doors of his
own church. These are some only of the marvels gravely told of him,
“many wytnisse that they herde the company of aungelles berynge the
soule of hym into heven.”[271]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Sedum. _Sedum Telephium._
  Dedicated to _St. Giles_.

  [269] Audley’s Companion to the Almanac.

  [270] Ribadeneira.

  [271] Golden Legend.


~September 2.~

  _St. Stephen_, king of Hungary, A. D. 1038. _St. Justus_, Abp. of
  Lyons, A. D. 390. _St. William_, Bp. of Roschild, A. D. 1067. _B.
  Margaret_, 13th Cent.


~London Burnt, 1666.~

The “Great Fire” of London is denoted as above in our almanacs on this
day. It broke out at Pudding-lane and ended at Pie-corner. The monument
on Fish-street-hill to commemorate the calamity, bears the following
inscription on the north side:--

“In the year of Christ, 1666, the 2d day of September, eastward from
hence, at the distance of 202 feet, the height of this column, a
terrible fire broke out about midnight; which, driven on by a strong
wind, not only wasted the adjacent parts, but also very remote places,
with incredible noise and fury. It consumed eighty-nine churches, the
city gates, Guildhall, many public structures, hospitals, schools,
libraries, a vast number of stately edifices, 13,200 dwelling-houses,
and 430 streets, of the twenty-six wards it utterly destroyed fifteen,
and left eight others shattered and half burnt. The ruins of the city
were 436 acres, from the Tower by the Thames side to the Temple church,
and from the north-east along the City-wall to Holborn-bridge. To the
estates and fortunes of the citizens it was merciless, but to their
lives very favourable, that it might in all things resemble the
conflagration of the world. The destruction was sudden; for in a small
space of time the city was seen most flourishing, and reduced to
nothing. Three days after, when this fatal fire had baffled all human
counsels and endeavours, in the opinion of all, it stopped, as it were,
by a command from heaven, and was on every side extinguished. But
papistical malice, which perpetrated such mischiefs, is not yet
restrained.”

A line, beginning on the west side, contains the following words; on
James II. coming to the crown, they were erased, but restored under
William III.:--

“This pillar was set up in perpetual remembrance of the most dreadful
burning of this protestant city, begun and carried on by the treachery
and malice of the popish faction, in the beginning of September, in the
year of our Lord, 1666, in order to the carrying on their horrid plot
for extirpating the protestant religion, and old English liberty, and
introducing popery and slavery.”

The south side is thus inscribed:--“Charles the Second, son of Charles
the Martyr, king of Great Britain, France and Ireland, defender of the
faith, a most gracious prince, commiserating the deplorable state of
things, whilst the ruins were yet smoaking, provided for the comfort of
his citizens, and the ornament of his city; remitted their taxes, and
referred the petitions of the magistrates and inhabitants to the
parliament; who immediately passed an act, that public works should be
restored to greater beauty, with public money, to be raised by an
imposition on coals; that churches, and the cathedral of St. Paul’s,
should be rebuilt from their foundations, with all magnificence; that
the bridges, gates, and prisons should be new made, the sewers cleansed,
the streets made straight and regular, such as were steep levelled, and
those too narrow made wider, markets and shambles removed to separate
places. They also enacted, that every house should be built with party
walls, and all in front raised of an equal height, and those walls all
of square stone or brick; and that no man should delay building beyond
the space of seven years.”

An estimate of the value of property consumed by the fire amounted to
ten millions six hundred and eighty-nine thousand pounds, wherein was
included the value of St. Paul’s cathedral, which was set down at nearly
one-fifth of the total. The occasion of the conflagration was the
subject of parliamentary investigation. It is imputed to the Roman
Catholics, but a dispassionate consideration of all the circumstances by
impartial men tends to acquit them of the crime, and most persons at
this time believe that--

    --------“_London’s_ column pointing to the skies,
    Like a tall bully, rears its head and _lies_.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Thomas Vincent, a non-conformist minister, who was ejected from the
living of St. Mary Magdalen, in Milk-street, and during the great plague
remained in the city, and preached regularly to the great comfort of the
inhabitants under the affliction of the raging pestilence, was an
eye-witness of the subsequent conflagration. He wrote “God’s terrible
Judgments in the City by Plague and Fire,” and has left a circumstantial
relation in that work of the progress made by the flames, and their
effects on the people.


_Vincent’s Narrative._

It was the 2d of September, 1666, that the anger of the Lord was kindled
against London, and the fire began: it began in a baker’s house, in
Pudding-lane, by Fish-street-hill; and now the Lord is making London
like a fiery oven in the time of his anger, and in his wrath doth devour
and swallow up our habitations. It was in the depth and dead of the
night, when most doors and fences were locked up in the city, that the
fire doth break forth and appear abroad; and, like a mighty giant
refreshed with wine, doth awake and arm itself, quickly gathers
strength, when it had made havoc of some houses; rusheth down the hill
towards the bridge; crosseth Thames-street, invadeth Magnus church, at
the bridge foot; and, though that church were so great, yet it was not a
sufficient barricado against this conqueror; but, having scaled and
taken this fort, it shooteth flames with so much the greater advantage
into all places round about; and a great building of houses upon the
bridge is quickly thrown to the ground: then the conqueror, being stayed
in his course at the bridge, marcheth back to the city again, and runs
along with great noise and violence through Thames-street, westward;
where, having such combustible matter in its teeth, and such a fierce
wind upon its back, it prevails with little resistance, unto the
astonishment of the beholders.

Fire! fire! fire! doth resound the streets; many citizens start out of
their sleep, look out of their windows; some dress themselves and run to
the place. The lord mayor of the city comes with his officers; a
confusion there is; counsel is taken away; and London, so famous for
wisdom and dexterity, can now find neither brains nor hands to prevent
its ruin. The hand of God was in it; the decree was come forth; London
must now fall, and who could prevent it? No wonder, when so many pillars
are removed, if the building tumbles; the prayers, tears, and faith,
which sometimes London hath had, might have quenched the violence of the
fire; might have opened heaven for rain, and driven back the wind: but
now the fire gets mastery, and burns dreadfully.

That night most of the Londoners had taken their last sleep in their
houses; they little thought it would be so when they went into their
beds; they did not in the least suspect, when the doors of their ears
were unlocked, and the casement of their eyes were opened in the
morning, to hear of such an enemy invading the city, and that they
should see him, with such fury, enter the doors of their houses, break
into every room, and look out of their casements with such a threatening
countenance.

That which made the ruin the more dismal, was, that it was begun on the
Lord’s-day morning: never was there the like sabbath in London; some
churches were in flames that day; and God seems to come down, and to
preach himself in them, as he did in Mount Sinai, when the mount burned
with fire; such warm preaching those churches never had; such lightning
dreadful sermons never were before delivered in London. In other
churches ministers were preaching their farewell sermons, and people
were hearing with quaking and astonishment: instead of a holy rest which
christians have taken on this day, there is a tumultuous hurrying about
the streets towards the place that burned, and more tumultuous hurrying
upon the spirits of those that sat still, and had only the notice of the
ear of the quick and strange spreading of the fire.

Now the train-bands are up in arms watching at every quarter for
outlandish-men, because of the general fear and jealousies, and rumours,
that fire-balls were thrown into houses by several of them to help on
and provoke the too furious flames. Now goods are hastily removed from
the lower parts of the city; and the body of the people begin to retire,
and draw upwards, as the people did from the tabernacles of Korah,
Dathan, and Abiram, when the earth did cleave asunder and swallow them
up: or rather as Lot drew out from his house in Sodom before it was
consumed by fire from heaven. Yet some hopes were retained on the
Lord’s-day that the fire would be extinguished, especially by them who
lived in the remote parts; they could scarcely imagine that the fire a
mile off should be able to reach their houses.

But the evening draws on, and now the fire is more visible and dreadful:
instead of the black curtains of the night, which used to be spread over
the city, now the curtains are yellow; the smoke that arose from the
burning parts seemed like so much flame in the night, which being blown
upon the other parts by the wind, the whole city, at some distance,
seemed to be on fire. Now hopes begin to sink, and a general
consternation seizeth upon the spirits of people; little sleep is taken
in London this night; the amazement which the eye and ear doth effect
upon the spirit, doth either dry up or drive away the vapour which used
to bind up the senses. Some are at work to quench the fire with water;
others endeavour to stop its course, by pulling down of houses; but all
to no purpose: if it be a little allayed, or beaten down, or put to a
stand in some places, it is but a very little while; it quickly
recruits, and recovers its force; it leaps and mounts, and makes the
more furious onset, drives back its opposers, snatcheth their weapons
out of their hands, seizeth upon the water-houses and engines, burns
them, spoils them, and makes them unfit for service.

On the Lord’s-day night the fire had run as far as Garlick-hithe, in
Thames-street, and had crept up into Cannon-street, and levelled it with
the ground; and still is making forward by the water-side, and upward to
the brow of the hill, on which the city was built.

On Monday, (the 3d) Gracechurch-street is all in flames, with
Lombard-street, on the left hand, and part of Fenchurch-street, on the
right, the fire working (though not so fast) against the wind that way:
before it were pleasant and stately houses, behind it ruinous and
desolate heaps. The burning then was in fashion of a bow, a dreadful
bow it was, such as mine eyes never before had seen; a bow which had
God’s arrow in it, with a flaming point: it was a shining bow; not like
that in the cloud, which brings water with it; and withal signified
God’s covenant not to destroy the world any more with water: but it was
a bow which had fire in it, which signified God’s anger, and his
intention to destroy London with fire.

Now the flames break in upon Cornhill, that large and spacious street,
and quickly cross the way by the train of wood that lay in the streets
untaken away, which had been pulled down from houses to prevent its
spreading: and so they lick the whole street as they go: they mount up
to the top of the highest houses; they descend down to the bottom of the
lowest vaults and cellars; and march along on both sides of the way,
with such a roaring noise, as never was heard in the city of London; no
stately building so great as to resist their fury: the Royal Exchange
itself, the glory of the merchants, is now invaded with much violence;
and when once the fire was entered, how quickly did it run round the
galleries, filling them with flames; then came down stairs, compasseth
the walks, giving forth flaming volleys, and filleth the court with
sheets of fire: by-and-by down fall all the kings upon their faces, and
the greatest part of the stone-building after them, (the founder’s
statue only remaining,) with such a noise as was dreadful and
astonishing.

Then, then the city did shake indeed; and the inhabitants did tremble,
and flew away in great amazement from their houses, lest the flames
should devour them; rattle, rattle, rattle, was the noise which the fire
struck upon the ear round about, as if there had been a thousand iron
chariots beating upon the stones: and if you opened your eye to the
opening of the streets, where the fire was come, you might see, in some
places, whole streets at once in flames, that issued forth as if they
had been so many great forges, from the opposite windows, which folding
together, were united into one great flame throughout the whole street;
and then you might see the houses tumble, tumble, tumble, from one end
of the street to the other, with a great crash, leaving the foundations
open to the view of the heavens.

Now fearfulness and terror doth surprise the citizens of London;
confusion and astonishment doth fall upon them at this unheard-of,
unthought-of, judgment. It would have grieved the heart of an
unconcerned person to see the rueful looks, the pale cheeks, the tears
trickling down from the eyes, (where the greatness of sorrow and
amazement could give leave for such a vent,) the smiting of the breast,
the wringing of the hands; to hear the sighs and groans, the doleful and
weeping speeches of the distressed citizens, when they were bringing
forth their wives, (some from their child-bed,) and their little ones
(some from their sickbed,) out of their houses, and sending them into
the country, or somewhere into the fields with their goods. Now the
hopes of London are gone, their heart is sunk; now there is a general
remove in the city, and that in a greater hurry than before the plague,
their goods being in greater danger by the fire than their persons were
by the sickness. Scarcely are some returned, but they must remove again,
and, not as before, now without any more hopes of ever returning and
living in those houses any more.

Now carts, and drays, and coaches, and horses, as many as could have
entrance into the city, were loaden, and any money is given for help;
5_l._ 10_l._ 20_l._ 30_l._ for a cart, to bear forth into the fields
some choice things, which were ready to be consumed; and some of the
carmen had the conscience to accept of the highest price, which the
citizens did then offer in their extremity; I am mistaken if such money
do not burn worse than the fire out of which it was raked. Now casks of
wine, and oil, and other commodities, are tumbled along, and the owners
shove as much of their goods as they can towards the gate: every one now
becomes a porter to himself, and scarcely a back either of man or woman,
that hath strength, but had a burden on it in the streets: it was very
sad to see such throngs of poor citizens coming in and going forth from
the unburnt parts, heavy laden with some pieces of their goods, but more
heavy laden with weighty grief and sorry of heart, so that it is
wonderful they did not quite sink under these burdens.

Monday night was a dreadful night: when the wings of the night had
shadowed the light of the heavenly bodies, there was no darkness of
night in London, for the fire shines now round about with a fearful
blaze, which yieldeth such light in the streets, as it had been the sun
at noon-day. Now the fire having wrought backward strangely against the
wind, to Billingsgate, &c., along Thames-street, eastward, runs up the
hill to Tower-street, and having marched on from Gracechurch-street,
making further progress in Fenchurch-street, and having spread its wing
beyond Queenhithe, in Thames-street, westward, mounts up from the
water-side, through Dowgate, and Old Fish-street, into Watling-street:
but the great fury of the fire was in the broader streets; in the midst
of the night it was come down Cornhill, and laid it in the dust, and
runs along by the Stocks, and there meets with another fire, which came
down Threadneedle-street; a little further with another, which came up
from Wallbrook; a little further with another, which comes up from
Bucklersbury; and, all these four, joining together, break into one
great flame at the corner of Cheapside, with such a dazzling light, and
burning heat, and roaring noise, by the fall of so many houses together,
that was very amazing; and though it were something stopt in its swift
course at Mercers’-chapel, yet with great force in a while it conquers
the place, and burns through it; and then, with great rage, proceedeth
forward in Cheapside.

On Tuesday (the 4th) was the fire burning up the very bowels of London;
Cheapside is all in a light, (fire in a few hours time,) many fires
meeting there, as in the centre; from Soper-lane, Bow-lane,
Bread-street, Friday-street, and Old Change, the fire comes up almost
together, and breaks furiously into the Broad-street, and most of that
side of the way was together in flames, a dreadful spectacle; and then,
partly by the fire which came down by Mercers’-chapel, partly by the
fall of the houses cross the way, the other side is quickly kindled, and
doth not stand long after it. Now the fire gets into Blackfriars, and so
continues its course by the water, and makes up towards Paul’s church,
on that side, and Cheapside fire besets the great building on this side,
and the church, though all of stone outward, though naked of houses
about it, and though so high above all buildings in the city, yet,
within a while, doth yield to the violent assaults of the conquering
flames, and strangely takes fire at the top: now the lead melts and runs
down, as if it had been snow before the sun; and the great beams and
massy stones with a great noise fall on the pavement, and break through
into Faith church underneath; now great flakes of stone scale and peel
off strangely from the side of the walls; the conqueror having got this
high fort, darts its flames round about. Now Paternoster-row,
Newgate-market, the Old Bailey, and Ludgate-hill, have submitted
themselves to the devouring fire, which with wonderful speed rusheth
down the hill into Fleet-street. Now Cheapside fire marcheth along
Ironmonger-lane, Old Jewry, Lawrence-lane, Milk-street, Wood-street,
Gutter-lane, Foster-lane. Now it runs along Lothbury, Cateaton-street,
&c. From Newgate-market, it assaults Christchurch, and conquers that
great building, and burns through Martin’s-lane towards Aldersgate, and
all about so furiously, as if it would not leave a house standing upon
the ground.

Now horrible flakes of fire mount up the sky, and the yellow smoke of
London ascendeth up towards heaven, like the smoke of a great furnace; a
smoke so great, as darkened the sun at noonday: (if at any time the sun
peeped forth, it looked red like blood:) the cloud of smoke was so
great, that travellers did ride at noonday, some miles together, in the
shadow thereof, though there were no other cloud beside to be seen in
the sky.

And if Monday night was dreadful, Tuesday night was more dreadful, when
far the greatest part of the city was consumed: many thousands who on
Saturday had houses convenient in the city, both for themselves, and to
entertain others, now have not where to lay their head; and the fields
are the only receptacle which they can find for themselves and their
goods; most of the late inhabitants of London lie all night in the open
air, with no other canopy over them but that of the heavens: the fire is
still making towards them, and threateneth the suburbs; it was amazing
to see how it had spread itself several times in compass; and, amongst
other things that night, the sight of Guildhall was a fearful spectacle,
which stood the whole body of it together in view, for several hours
together, after the fire had taken it, without flames, (I suppose
because the timber was such solid oak,) in a bright shining coal, as if
it had been a palace of gold, or a great building of burnished brass.

On Wednesday morning, (the 5th) when people expected that the suburbs
would be burnt, as well as the city, and with speed were preparing their
flight, as well as they could, with their luggage into the countries,
and neighbouring villages, then the Lord hath pity on poor London; his
bowels began to relent; his heart is turned within him, and he stays his
rough wind in the day of the east wind; his fury begins to be allayed;
he hath a remnant of people in London, and there shall a remnant of
houses escape: the wind now is husht; the commission of the fire is
withdrawing, and it burns so gently, even where it meets with no
opposition, that it was not hard to be quenched, in many places, with a
few hands: now the citizens begin to gather a little heart, and
encouragement in their endeavours to quench the fire. A check it had at
Leadenhall by that great building; a stop it had in Bishopsgate-street,
Fenchurch-street, Lime-street, Mark-lane, and towards the Tower; one
means, under God, was the blowing up of houses with gunpowder. Now it is
stayed in Lothbury, Broad-street, Coleman-street; towards the gates it
burnt, but not with any great violence; at the Temple also it is stayed,
and in Holborn, where it had got no great footing; and when once the
fire was got under, it was kept under, and on Thursday the flames were
extinguished.

But on Wednesday night, when the people, late of London, now of the
fields, hoped to get a little rest on the ground, where they had spread
their beds, a more dreadful fear falls upon them than they had before,
through a rumour that the French were coming armed against them to cut
their throats, and spoil them of what they had saved out of the fire:
they were now naked and weak, and in ill condition to defend themselves,
and the hearts, especially of the females, do quake and tremble, and are
ready to die within them; yet many citizens, having lost their houses,
and almost all that they had, are fired with rage and fury: and they
begin to stir up themselves like lions, or like bears bereaved of their
whelps, and now “Arm! Arm!” doth resound the fields and suburbs with a
dreadful voice. We may guess at the distress and perplexity of the
people this night, which was something alleviated when the falseness of
the alarm was perceived.

The ruins of the city were 396 acres; [viz. 333 acres within the walls,
and 63 in the liberties of the city,] of the six and twenty wards, it
utterly destroyed fifteen, and left eight others shattered, and half
burnt; and it consumed 400 streets, 13,200 dwelling-houses, eighty-nine
churches, [besides chapels,] four of the city gates, Guildhall, many
public structures, hospitals, schools, libraries, and a vast number of
stately edifices.

       *       *       *       *       *

The preceding relation by Thomas Vincent, with the philosophic Evelyn’s,
will acquaint the reader with as much as can here be told of the most
direful visitations the metropolis ever suffered. Evelyn’s account is in
his “Diary,” or “Memoirs” of himself, a manuscript which is known to
have been preserved from probable destruction by Mr. Upcott.


_John Evelyn’s Narrative._

_Sept._ 2, 1666. This fatal night, about ten, began that deplorable fire
near Fish-streete in London.

_Sept._ 3. The fire continuing, after dinner I took coach with my wife
and sonn, and went to the Bankside in Southwark, where we beheld that
dismal spectacle, the whole citty in dreadful flames neare the water
side; all the houses from the bridge, all Thames-street, and upwards
towards Cheapeside downe to the Three Cranes, were now consum’d.

The fire having continu’d all this night (if I may call that night which
was as light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful manner,)
when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very drie season: I went
on foote to the same place, and saw the whole south part of the citty
burning from Cheapeside to the Thames, and all along Cornehill, (for it
kindl’d back against the wind as well as forward,) Tower-streete,
Fenchurch-streete, Gracious-streete, and so along to Bainard’s-castle,
and was now taking hold of St. Paule’s church, to which the scaffolds
contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the
people so astonish’d, that from the beginning, I know not by what
despondency or fate, they hardly stirr’d to quench it, so that there was
nothing heard or seene but crying out and lamentation, running about
like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their
goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned
both in breadth and length, the churches, publiq halls, exchange,
hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner
from house to house and streete to streete, at greate distances one from
the other, for the heate with a long set of faire and warme weather,
had even ignited the air, and prepar’d the materials to conceive the
fire which devour’d after an incredible manner, houses, furniture, and
every thing. Here we saw the Thames cover’d with goods floating, all the
barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as,
on the other, the carts, &c. carrying out to the fields, which for many
miles were strew’d with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to
shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh, the
miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not
seene the like since the foundation of it, nor to be outdone till the
universal conflagration. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the
top of a burning oven, the light seene above forty miles round about for
many nights. God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing
above 10,000 houses all in one flame; the noise and cracking and thunder
of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry
of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like an hideous
storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam’d that at last one was
not able to approach it, so that they were forc’d to stand still and let
the flames burn on, which they did for neere two miles in length and one
in breadth. The clouds of smoke were dismall, and reach’d upon
computation neer fifty miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone
burning, a resemblance of Sodom, or the last day. London was, but is no
more!

_Sept._ 4. The burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the
Inner Temple, all Fleete-streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate-hill,
Warwick-lane, Newgate, Paul’s Chain, Watling-streete, now flaming, and
most of it reduc’d to ashes; the stones of Paules flew like granados,
the melting lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and the very
pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse nor man was able
to tread on them, and the demolition had stopp’d all the passages, so
that no help could be applied. The eastern wind still more impetuously
drove the flames forward. Nothing but the Almighty power of God was able
to stop them, for vaine was the help of man.

_Sept._ 5. It crossed towards Whitehall; Oh, the confusion there was
then at that court! it pleased his majesty to command me among the rest
to looke after the quenching of Fetter-lane end, to preserve if
possible that part of Holborn, while the rest of the gentlemen tooke
their several posts (for now they began to bestir themselves, and not
till now, who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, with their hands
acrosse), and began to consider that nothing was likely to put a stop
but the blowing up of so many houses as might make a wider gap than any
had yet ben made by the ordinary method of pulling them down with
engines; this some stout seamen propos’d early enough to have sav’d
neare the whole citty, but this some tenacious and avaritious men,
aldermen, &c. would not permit, because their houses must have been of
the first. It was therefore now commanded to be practic’d, and my
concern being particularly for the hospital of St. Bartholomew neere
Smithfield, where I had many wounded and sick men, made me the more
diligent to promote it, nor was my care for the Savoy lesse. It now
pleas’d God by abating the wind, and by the industry of the people,
infusing a new spirit into them, that the fury of it began sensibly to
abate about noone, so as it came no farther than the Temple westward,
nor than the entrance of Smithfield north; but continu’d all this day
and night so impetuous towards Cripplegate and the Tower, as made us all
despaire: it also broke out againe in the Temple, but the courage of the
multitude persisting, and many houses being blown up, such gaps and
desolations were soone made, as with the former three days’ consumption,
the back fire did not so vehemently urge upon the rest as formerly.
There was yet no standing neere the burning and glowing ruines by neere
a furlong’s space.

The poore inhabitants were dispers’d about St. George’s Fields, and
Moorefields, as far as Highgate, and severall miles in circle, some
under tents, some under miserable huts and hovells, many without a rag
or any necessary utensills, bed or board, who from delicatenesse,
riches, and easy accommodations in stately and well furnish’d houses,
were now reduc’d to extreamest misery and poverty.

In this calamitous condition I return’d with a sad heart to my house,
blessing and adoring the mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst
of all this ruine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, Safe and sound.

_Sept._ 7. I went this morning on foote from Whitehall as far as London
Bridge, thro’ the late Fleete-streete, Ludgate-hill, by St. Paules,
Cheapeside, Exchange, Bishopsgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorefields,
thence thro’ Cornehille, &c. with extraordinary difficulty, clambering
over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was.
The ground under my feete was so hot, that it even burnt the soles of my
shoes. In the mean time his majesty got to the Tower by water to
demolish the houses about the graff, which being built intirely about
it, had they taken fire and attack’d the White Tower where the magazine
of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten downe and
destroy’d all the bridge, but sunke and torne the vessells in the river,
and render’d the demolition beyond all expression for several miles
about the countrey.

At my return I was infinitely concern’d to find that goodly church St.
Paules now a sad ruine, and that beautifull portico (for structure
comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repair’d by the king,)
now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing
remaining intire but the inscription in the architrave, shewing by whom
it was built, which had not one letter of it defac’d. It was astonishing
to see what immense stones the heat had in a manner calcin’d, so that
all the ornaments, columns, freezes, and projectures of massie Portland
stone flew off, even to the very roofe, where a sheet of lead covering a
great space was totally mealted; the ruines of the vaulted roofe falling
broke into St. Faith’s, which being fill’d with the magazines of bookes
belonging to the stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were
all consum’d, burning for a weeke following. It is also observable that
the lead over the altar at the east end was untouch’d, and among the
divers monuments, the body of one bishop remain’d intire. Thus lay in
ashes that most venerable church, one of the most antient pieces of
early piety in the christian world, besides neere one hundred more. The
lead, yron worke, bells, plate, &c. mealted; the exquisitely wrought
Mercers’-chapell, the sumptuous Exchange, the august fabriq of Christ
church, all the rest of the companies halls, sumptuous buildings,
arches, all in dust; the fountaines dried up and ruin’d whilst the very
waters remain’d boiling; the vorrago’s of subterranean cellars, wells,
and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark
clouds of smoke, so that in five or six miles traversing about I did not
see one load of timber unconsum’d, nor many stones but what were
calcin’d white as snow. The people who now walk’d about the ruines
appear’d like men in a dismal desart, or rather in some great citty laid
waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added the stench that came from
some poore creatures bodies, beds, &c. Sir Tho. Gresham’s statue, tho’
fallen from its nich in the Royal Exchange, remain’d intire, when all
those of the kings since the conquest were broken to pieces, also the
standard in Cornehill, and Q. Elizabeth’s effigies, with some armes on
Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, whilst the vast yron
chaines of the cittie streetes, hinges, bars and gates of prisons, were
many of them mealted and reduced to cinders by the vehement heate. I was
not able to passe through any of the narrow streetes, but kept the
widest, the ground and aire, smoake and fiery vapour, continu’d so
intense that my haire was almost sing’d, and my feete unsufferably
surheated. The bie lanes and narrower streetes were quite fill’d up with
rubbish, nor could one have knowne where he was, but by the ruines of
some church or hall, that had some remarkable tower or pinnacle
remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might
have seene 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispers’d and lying
along by their heapes of what they could save from the fire, deploring
their losse, and tho’ ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet
not asking one penny for relief, which to me appear’d a stranger sight
than any I had yet beheld. His majesty and council indeede tooke all
imaginable care for their reliefe by proclamation for the country to
come in and refresh them with provisions. In the midst of all this
calamity and confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarme begun, that
the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not onely
landed, but even entering the citty. There was in truth some days before
greate suspicion of those two nations joyning; and now, that they had
been the occasion of firing the towne. This report did so terrifie, that
on a suddaine there was such an uproare and tumult that they ran from
their goods, and, taking what weapons they could come at, they could not
be stopp’d from falling on some of those nations whom they casually
met, without sense or reason. The clamour and peril grew so excessive,
that it made the whole court amaz’d, and they did with infinite paines
and greate difficulty reduce and appease the people, sending troopes of
soldiers and guards to cause them to retire into the fields againe,
where they were watch’d all this night. I left them pretty quiet, and
came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits thus a little
calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repaire into the
suburbs about the citty, where such as had friends or opportunity got
shelter.

       *       *       *       *       *

The essential particulars of Evelyn’s narrative being ended, it may be
observed that a discontinued periodical miscellany notices at the end of
“Littleton’s Dictionary,” an inscription for the monument (on
Fish-street-hill), wherein this very learned scholar proposes a name for
it, in a word which extends through seven degrees of longitude. It is
designed to commemorate the names of the seven lord mayors of London,
under whose respective mayoralties the monument was begun, continued,
and completed:--

  Quam non unâ aliqua ac simplici voce, uti istam quondam _Duilianam_;

  Sed, ut vero eam Nomine indigites, Vocabulo constructiliter
  _Heptastego_.

  FORDO--WATERMANNO--HANSONO--HOOKERO

  VINERO--SHELDONO--DAVISIANAM

  Appellites oportebit.

Well might Adam Littleton call this an _heptastic vocable_, rather than
a word.[272]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Golden Rod. _Solidago virgaurea._
  Dedicated to _St. Margaret_.

  [272] Athæneum.


~September 3.~

  _St. Simeon Stylites_, the younger, A. D. 592. _St. Remaclus_, Bp. of
  Maestricht, A. D. 664. _St. Mansuet_, first Bp. of Toul, in Lorrain,
  A. D. 375. _St. Macrisius_, first Bp. of Connor, in Ireland, A. D.
  513.


  _Proclamation of_
  BARTHOLOMEW FAIR.

This is the only Fair now held within the city of London, and, as
introductory to an account of this annual scene, it is necessary to
notice that it has been the custom from time immemorial for one of the
four attorneys of the lord mayor’s court, who may happen to be what is
termed the attorney in waiting, (and which duty in respect of
proclaiming the Fair for the last seven years has devolved upon Mr.
Carter,) to accompany the lord mayor in his state carriage from the
Mansion-house to Smithfield, on the day whereon the Fair is proclaimed,
which is on the 3d of September, unless Sunday should fall on that day.
The proclamation is read at the gate leading into Cloth-fair by the lord
mayor’s attorney, and repeated after him by a sheriff’s officer, in the
presence of the lord mayor and sheriffs, and also of the aldermen, (if
they attend, but who, though summoned for that purpose, seldom appear.)
The procession afterwards proceeds round Smithfield, and returns to the
Mansion-house, where, in the afternoon, the gentlemen of his lordship’s
household dine together at the sword-bearer’s table, and thus the
ceremony is concluded. It was also the custom of the procession to stop
at Newgate to drink to the governor’s health, but this practice was
discontinued in the second mayoralty of Mr. Alderman Wood.

The following is a copy of the proclamation from the parchment-roll now
used:--

  “~Form~ _of the Proclamation of_ ~Bartholomew Fair~ _made at the Great
  Gate going into the Cloth Fair, Smithfield_.

“OYEZ, 3 times.

“~The Right Honourable~ [_John Garratt_] ~Lord Mayor~ of the CITY OF
LONDON, and his right Worshipful Brethren the Aldermen of the said City,
streightly charge and command, on the behalf of our Sovereign Lord the
King, That all manner of Persons of whatsoever Estate, Degree, or
Condition they be, having recourse to this Fair, keep the Peace of our
said Sovereign Lord the King.

“THAT no manner of Persons shall make any Congregation, Conventicles, or
Affrays, by the which the same peace may be broken or disturbed, upon
pain of Imprisonment, and Fine, to be made after the discretion of the
Lord Mayor and Aldermen.

“ALSO, that all manner of Sellers of Wine, Ale, or Beer, sell by
measures ensealed, as by Gallon, Pottle, Quart and Pint, upon pain that
will fall thereof.

“AND, that no person sell any Bread, but it be good and wholesome for
Man’s Body, upon pain that will fall thereof.

“AND, that no manner of Cook, Pye-baker, nor Huckster, sell, nor put to
sale, any manner of Victual, except it be good and wholesome for Man’s
Body, upon pain that will fall thereof.

“AND, that no manner of Person buy nor sell, but with true weights and
measures, sealed according to the Statute, in that behalf made, upon
pain that will fall thereof.

“AND, that no manner of person or persons take upon him, or them, within
this Fair, to make any manner of arrest, attachment, summons, or
execution; except it be done by the Officers of this City, thereunto
assigned, upon pain that will fall thereof.

“AND, that no person or persons whatsoever, within the limits and bounds
of this Fair, presume to break the Lord’s day in selling, shewing, or
offering to Sale, or in buying, or in offering to buy, any Commodities
whatsoever; or in sitting tippling, or drinking in any Tavern, Inn,
Alehouse, Tipling House or Cook house; or in doing any other thing that
may tend to the breach thereof, upon the pain and penalties contained in
several Acts of Parliament, which will be severely inflicted upon the
Breakers thereof.

“AND, finally, that what person soever find themselves aggrieved,
injured, or wronged, by any manner of Person in this Fair, that they
come with their Plaints before the Stewards in this Fair assigned to
hear and determine Pleas, and they will minister to all parties,
Justice, according to the Laws of this Land, and the Customs of this
City.

  ~God save the King.~

“IT IS ORDERED that this Fair do finally close on [_Wednesday_] next.

“N. B. This Fair continues 3 days, exclusive of the day of
Proclamation.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Fleabane. _Inula dysenterica._
  Dedicated to _St. Simeon Stylites Jun_.


~September 4.~

  _Sts. Marcellus_ and _Valerian_, A. D. 179. _Translation of St.
  Cuthbert._ _St. Ida_, Widow, 9th Cent. _St. Rosalia_, A. D. 1160.
  _St. Rosa_ of Viterbo, A. D. 1252. _St. Ultan_, Irish Bp. A. D. 655.


_Bartholomew Fair._

This day in the year, 1825, being Sunday, Bartholomew Fair was wholly
suspended. Yet many thousands of persons walking for recreation,
repaired to Smithfield and viewed its appearance. The city officers most
strictly enforced observance of the day: one keeper of a
gingerbread-stall who plied for custom, and refractorily persisted, was
taken into custody, and held in prison, till he could be carried before
a magistrate on the following day, when he was fined for his offence.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sapwort. _Saponaria officinalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Rosalia_.


~September 5.~

  _St. Laurence Justinian_, first Patriarch of Venice, A. D. 1455. _St.
  Bertin_, Abbot, A. D. 709. _St. Alto_, Abbot, 8th Cent.


_Bartholomew Fair._

1825. On this day, Monday the 5th, the Fair was resumed, when the editor
of the _Every-Day Book_ accurately surveyed it throughout. From his
notes made on the spot he reports the following particulars of what he
there observed.


  VISIT TO
  ~Bartholomew Fair.~

At ten o’clock this morning I entered Smithfield from Giltspur-street.
[_Mem._ This way towards Smithfield was anciently called _Gilt Spurre_,
or _Knight-Riders Street_, because of the knights, who in quality of
their honour wore gilt spurs, and who, with others, rode that way to the
tournaments, justings, and other feats of arms used in Smithfield.[273]]

On this day there were small _uncovered stalls_, from the Skinner-street
corner of Giltspur-street, beginning with the beginning of the
churchyard, along the whole length of the churchyard. On the opposite
side of Giltspur-street there were like stalls, uncovered, from
Newgate-street corner, in front of the Compter-prison, in
Giltspur-street. At these stalls were sold oysters, fruit, inferior
kinds of cheap toys, common gingerbread, small wicker-baskets, and other
articles of trifling value. They seemed to be mere casual standings,
taken up by petty dealers, and chapmen in small ware, who lacked means
to purchase room, and furnish out a tempting display. Their stalls were
set out from the channel into the roadway. One man occupied upwards of
twenty feet of the road lengthwise, with discontinued wood-cut
pamphlets, formerly published weekly at twopence, which he spread out on
the ground, and sold at a halfpenny each in great quantities; he also
had large folio bible prints, at a halfpenny each, and prints from
magazines at four a penny. The fronts of these standings were towards
the passengers in the carriage-way. They terminated, as before observed,
with the northern ends of St. Sepulchre’s churchyard on one side, and
the Compter on the other. Then, with occasional distances of three or
four feet for footways, from the road to the pavement, began lines of
_covered_ stalls, with their open fronts opposite the fronts of the
house, and close to the curb stone, and their enclosed backs in the
road. On the St. Sepulchre’s side, they extended to Cock-lane, from
Cock-lane to the house of Mr. Blacket, clothier and mercer, at the
Smithfield corner of Giltspur-street; then, turning the corner of his
house into Smithfield, they continued to Hosier-lane, and from thence
all along the west side of Smithfield to the Cow-lane corner, where, on
that side, they terminated at that corner, in a line with the opposite
corner leading to St. John-street, where the line was resumed, and ran
thitherward to Smithfield-bars, and there on the west side ended.
Crossing over to the east side, and returning south, these covered
stalls commenced opposite to their termination on the west, and ran
towards Smithfield, turning into which they ran westerly towards the
pig-market, and from thence to Long-lane; from Long-lane, they ran along
the east side of Smithfield to the great gate of Cloth-fair, and so from
Duke-street, went on the south side, to the great front gate of
Bartholomew-hospital, and from thence to the carriage entrance of the
hospital, from whence they were continued along Giltspur-street to the
Compter, where they joined the _uncovered_ stalls before described.
These _covered_ stalls, thus surrounding Smithfield, belonged to
dealers in gingerbread, toys, hardware, garters, pocket-books,
trinkets, and articles of all prices, from a halfpenny to a half
sovereign. The gingerbread stalls varied in size, and were conspicuously
fine, from the dutch gold on their different shaped ware. The largest
stalls were the toy-sellers’; some of these had a frontage of five and
twenty feet, and many of eighteen. The usual frontage of the stalls was
eight, ten, and twelve feet; they were six feet six inches, or seven
feet, high in front, and from four feet six inches, to five feet, in
height at the back, and all formed of canvass, tightly stretched across
light poles and railing; the canvass roofings declined pent-house-ways
to the backs, which were enclosed by canvass to the ground. The fronts,
as before mentioned, were entirely open to the thronging passengers, for
whom a clear way was preserved on the pavements between the fronts of
the stalls and the fronts of the houses, all of which necessarily had
their shutters up and their doors closed.

The _shows_ of all kinds had their fronts towards the area of
Smithfield, and their backs close against the backs of the stalls,
without any passage between them in any part. There not being any shows
or booths, save as thus described, the area of Smithfield was entirely
open. Thus, any one standing in the carriage-way might see all the shows
at one view. They surrounded and bounded Smithfield entirely, except on
the north side, which small part alone was without shows, for they were
limited to the other three sides; namely, Cloth-fair side,
Bartholomew-hospital side, and Hosier-lane side. Against the pens in the
centre, there were not any shows, but the space between the pens and the
shows quite free for spectators, and persons making their way to the
exhibitions. Yet, although no coach, cart, or vehicle of any kind, was
permitted to pass, this immense unobstructed carriage-way was so
thronged, as to be wholly impassable. Officers were stationed at the
entrance of Giltspur-street, Hosier-lane, and Duke-street, to prevent
carriages and horsemen from entering. The only ways by which they were
allowed ingress to Smithfield at all, were through Cow-lane, Chick-lane,
Smithfield-bars, and Long-lane; and then they were to go on, and pass
without stopping, through one or other of these entrances, and without
turning into the body of the Fair, wherein were the shows. Thus the
extent of carriage-way was bounded from Cow-lane to Long-lane, in a
right line, nor were carriages or horses suffered to stand or linger,
but the riders or drivers were compelled to go about their business, if
business they had, or to alight for their pleasure, and enter the Fair,
if they came thither in search of pleasure. So was order so far
preserved; and the city officers, to whom was committed the power of
enforcing it, exercised their duty rigorously, and properly; because, to
their credit, they swerved not from their instructions, and did not give
just cause of offence to any whom the regulations displeased.

The _sheep-pens_ occupying the area of Smithfield, heretofore the great
public cookery at Fair times, was this day resorted to by boys and
others in expectation of steaming abundance; nor were they disappointed.
The pens immediately contiguous to the passage through them from
Bartholomew-hospital-gate towards Smithfield-bars, were not, as of old,
decked out and denominated, as they were within recollection, with
boughs and inscriptions tempting hungry errand boys, sweeps, scavengers,
dustmen, drovers, and bullock-hankers to the “princely pleasures” within
the “Brighton Pavilion,” the “Royal Eating Room,” “Fair Rosamond’s
Bower,” the “New London Tavern,” and the “Imperial Hotel:” these names
were not:--nor were there any denominations; but there was sound, and
smell, and sight, from sausages almost as large as thumbs, fried in
miniature dripping-pans by old women, over fires in saucepans; and there
were oysters, which were called “fine and fat,” because their shells
were as large as tea saucers. Cloths were spread on tables or planks,
with plates, knives and forks, pepper and salt, and, above all, those
alluring condiments to persons of the rank described, mustard and
vinegar. Here they came in crowds; each selecting his _table-d’-hote_,
dined handsomely for threepence, and sumptuously for fourpence. The
purveyors seemed aware of the growing demand for cleanliness of
appearance, and whatever might be the quality of the viands, they were
served up in a more decent way than many of the consumers were evidently
accustomed to. Some of them seemed appalled by being in “good company,”
and handled their knives and forks in a manner which bespoke the
embarrassment of “dining in public” with such implements.

My object in going to Bartholomew Fair was to observe its present state,
and record it as I witnessed it in the _Every-Day Book_. I therefore
first took a perambulatory view of the exterior, from Giltspur-street,
and keeping to the left, went completely round Smithfield, on the
pavement, till I returned to the same spot; from thence I ventured “to
take the road” in the same direction, examined the promising show-cloths
and inscriptions on each show, and shall now describe or mention every
show in the Fair. It may be more interesting to read some years hence
than now. Feeling that our ancestors have slenderly acquainted us with
what was done here in their time, and presuming that our posterity may
cultivate the “wisdom of looking backward” in some degree, as we do with
the higher wisdom of “looking forward,” I write as regards Bartholomew
Fair, rather to amuse the future, than to inform the present,
generation.


SHOW I.

This was the first show, and stood at the corner of Hosier-lane. The
inscription outside, painted in black letters, a little more than an
inch in height, on a piece of white linen, was as follows:--

“_Murder of Mr. Weare, and Probert’s cottage.--The Execution of William
Probert._

“_A View to be seen here of the Visit of Queen Sheba to King Soloman on
the Throne.--Daniel in the Den of Lions.--St. Paul’s Conversion.--The
Tower of Babel.--The Greenland Whale-Fishery.--The Battle of
Waterloo.--A View of the City of Dublin.--Coronation of George IV._”

This was what is commonly, but erroneously called a puppet-show; it
consisted of scenes rudely painted, successively let down by strings
pulled by the showman; and was viewed through eye-glasses of magnifying
power, the spectators standing on the ground. A green curtain from a
projecting rod was drawn round them while viewing. “Only a penny--only a
penny,” cried the showman; I paid my penny, and saw the first and the
meanest show in the Fair.


SHOW II.

“Only a penny--only a penny, walk up--pray walk up.” So called out a man
with a loud voice, on an elevated stage, while a long drum and
hurdy-gurdy played away; I complied with the invitation, and went in to
see what the show-cloths described, “MISS HIPSON, _the Middlesex Wonder;
the Largest Child in the Kingdom, when young the Handsomest Child in the
World.--The Persian Giant.--The Fair Circassian with Silver Hair.--The
Female Dwarf, Two Feet, Eleven Inches high.--Two Wild Indians from the
Malay Islands in the East_,” and other wonders. One of these “Wild
Indians” had figured outside the show, in the posture represented in the
engraving; in that position he was sketched by an artist who accompanied
me into the show, and who there drew the “little lady” and the “gigantic
child,” Miss Hipson.

[Illustration: ~Miss Hipson; the female Dwarf; and the Malay.~]

When a company had collected, they were shown from the floor of a
caravan on wheels, one side whereof was taken out, and replaced by a
curtain, which was either drawn to, or thrown back as occasion required.
After the audience had dispersed, I was permitted by the proprietor of
the show, Nicholas Maughan, of Ipswich, Suffolk, to go “behind the
curtain,” where the artist completed his sketches, while I entered into
conversation with the persons exhibited. Miss Hipson, only twelve years
of age, is remarkably gigantic, or rather corpulent, for her age,
pretty, well-behaved, and well-informed; she weighed sixteen stone a few
months before, and has since increased in size; she has ten brothers and
sisters, nowise remarkable in appearance: her father, who is dead, was a
bargeman at Brentford. The name of the “little lady” is Lydia Walpole,
she was born at Addiscombe, near Yarmouth, and is sociable, agreeable,
and intelligent. The fair Circassian is of pleasing countenance and
manners. The Persian giant is a good-natured, tall, stately <DW64>. The
two Malays could not speak English, except, however, three words, “drop
o’ rum,” which they repeated with great glee. One of them, with long
hair reaching below the waist, exhibited the posture of drawing a bow;
Mr. Maughan described them as being passionate, and showed me a severe
wound on his finger which the little one, in the engraving, had given
him by biting, while he endeavoured to part him and his countryman,
during a quarrel a few days ago. A “female giant” was one of the
attractions to this exhibition, but she could not be shown for illness:
Miss Hipson described her to be a very good young woman.

There was an appearance of ease and good condition, with content of
mind, in the persons composing this show, which induced me to put
several questions to them, and I gathered that I was not mistaken in my
conjecture. They described themselves as being very comfortable, and
that they were taken great care of, and well treated by the proprietor,
Mr. Maughan, and his partner in the show. The “little lady” had a
thorough good character from Miss Hipson as an affectionate creature;
and it seems the females obtained exercise by rising early, and being
carried into the country in a post-chaise, where they walked and thus
maintained their health. This was to me the most pleasing show in the
Fair.


SHOW III.

The inscription outside was,

  _Ball’s Theatre._

Here I saw a man who balanced chairs on his chin, and holding a knife in
his mouth, balanced a sword on the edge of the knife; he then put a
pewter plate on the hilt of the sword horizontally, and so balanced the
sword with the plate on the edge of the knife as before, the plate
having previously received a rotary motion, which it communicated to the
sword and was preserved during the balancing. He then balanced the sword
and plate in like manner, with a crown-piece placed edgewise between the
point of the sword and the knife, and afterwards with two crown-pieces,
and then with a key. These feats were accompanied by the grimaces of a
clown, and succeeded by children tumbling, and a female who danced a
hornpipe. A learned horse found out a lady in the company who wished to
be married; a gentleman who preferred a quart of beer to going to church
to hear a good sermon; a lady who liked to lie abed in the morning; and
made other discoveries which he was requested to undertake by his master
in language not only “offensive to ears polite,” but to common decency.
The admission to this show was a penny.


SHOW IV.

_Atkin’s Menagerie._

This inscription was in lamps on one of the largest shows in the fair.
The display of show-cloths representing some of the animals exhibited
within, reached about forty feet in heighth, and extended probably the
same width. The admission was sixpence. As a curiosity, and because it
is a singularly descriptive list, the printed bill of the show is
subjoined.

  “MORE WONDERS IN

  ATKINS’S ROYAL MENAGERIE.

  “Under the Patronage of HIS MAJESTY.

  G. [Illustration] R.

“Wonderful Phenomenon in Nature! The singular and hitherto deemed
impossible occurrence of a LION and TIGRESS cohabiting and producing
young, has actually taken place in this menagerie, at Windsor. The
tigress, on Wednesday, the 27th of October last, produced _three fine
cubs_; one of them strongly resembles the tigress; the other two are of
a lighter colour, but striped. Mr. Atkins had the honour (through the
kind intervention of the marquis of Conyngham,) of exhibiting the
_lion-tigers_ to his majesty, on the first of November, 1824, at the
Royal Lodge, Windsor Great Park, when his majesty was pleased to
observe, they were the greatest curiosity of the beast creation he ever
witnessed.

“The royal striped _Bengal Tigress_ has again whelped three fine cubs,
(April 22,) two males and one female: the males are white, but striped;
the female resembles the tigress, and singular to observe, she fondles
them with all the care of an attentive mother. The sire of the young
cubs is the noble male lion. This remarkable instance of subdued temper
and association of animals to permit the keeper to enter their den, and
introduce their young to the spectators, is the greatest phenomenon in
natural philosophy.

“That truly singular and wonderful animal, the AUROCHOS. Words can only
convey but a very confused idea of this animal’s shape, for there are
few so remarkably formed. Its head is furnished with two large horns,
growing from the forehead, in a form peculiar to no other animal; from
the nostrils to the forehead, is a stiff tuft of hair, and underneath
the jaw to the neck is a similar brush of hair, and between the fore
legs is hair growing about a foot and a half long. The mane is like that
of a horse, white, tinged with black, with a beautiful long flowing
white tail; the eye remarkably keen, and as large as the eye of the
elephant: colour of the animal, dark chesnut; the appearance of the
head, in some degree similar to the buffalo, and in some part formed
like the goat, the hoof being divided; such is the general outline of
this quadruped, which seems to partake of several species. This
beautiful animal was brought over by captain White, from the south of
Africa, and landed in England, September 20, 1823, and is the same
animal so frequently mistaken by travellers for the unicorn: further to
describe its peculiarities would occupy too much space in a handbill.
The only one in England.

“That colossal animal, the wonderful performing

  ~Elephant,~

Upwards of ten feet high!!--Five tons weight!! His consumption of hay,
corn, straw, carrots, water, &c., exceeds 800lbs. daily. The elephant,
the human race excepted, is the most respectable of animals. In size, he
surpasses all other terrestrial creatures, and by far exceeds any other
travelling animal in England. He has ivory tusks, four feet long, one
standing out on each side of his trunk. His trunk serves him instead of
hands and arms, with which he can lift up and seize the smallest as well
as the largest objects. He alone drags machines which six horses cannot
move. To his prodigious strength, he adds courage, prudence, and an
exact obedience. He remembers favours as long as injuries: in short, the
sagacity and knowledge of this extraordinary animal are beyond any thing
human imagination can possibly suggest. He will lie down and get up at
the word of command, notwithstanding the many fabulous tales of their
having no joints in their legs. He will take a sixpence from the floor,
and place it in a box he has in the caravan; bolt and unbolt a door;
take his keeper’s hat off, and replace it; and by the command of his
keeper will perform so many wonderful tricks, that he will not only
astonish and entertain the audience, but justly prove himself the
half-reasoning beast. He is the only elephant now travelling.

“A full grown LION and LIONESS, with four cubs, produced December 12,
1824, at Cheltenham.

“_Male Bengal Tiger._ Next to the lion, the tiger is the most tremendous
of the carnivorous class; and whilst he possesses all the bad qualities
of the former, seems to be a stranger to the good ones: to pride, to
strength, to courage, the lion adds greatness, and sometimes, perhaps,
clemency; while the tiger, without provocation, is fierce--without
necessity, is cruel. Instead of instinct, he hath nothing but a uniform
rage, a blind fury, so blind, indeed, so undistinguishing, that he
frequently devours his own progeny; and if the tigress offers to defend
them, he tears in pieces the dam herself.

“The _Onagra_, a native of the Levant, the eastern parts of Asia, and
the northern parts of Africa. This race differs from the zebra by the
size of the body, (which is larger,) slenderness of the legs, and lustre
of the hair. The only one now alive in England.

“_Two Zebras_, one full grown, the other in its infant state, in which
it seems as if the works of art had been combined with those of nature
in this wonderful production. In symmetry of shape, and beauty of
colour, it is the most elegant of all quadrupeds ever presented; uniting
the graceful figure of a horse, with the fleetness of a stag:
beautifully striped with regular lines, black and white.

“A Nepaul _Bison_, only twenty-four inches high.

“_Panther_, or spotted tiger of Buenos Ayres, the only one travelling.

“A pair of _rattle-tail Porcupines_.

“Striped untameable _Hyæna_, or tiger wolf.

“An elegant _Leopard_, the handsomest marked animal ever seen.

“Spotted _Laughing Hyæna_, the same kind of animal described never to be
tamed; but singular to observe, it is perfectly tame, and its attachment
to a dog in the same den is very remarkable.

“The spotted _Cavy_.

“Pair of _Jackalls_.

“Pair of interesting _Sledge Dogs_, brought over by captain Parry from
one of the northern expeditions: they are used by the Esquimaux to draw
the sledges on the ice, which they accomplish with great velocity.

“A pair of _Rackoons_, from North America.

“The _Oggouta_, from Java.

“A pair of _Jennetts_, or wild cats.

“The _Coatimondi_, or ant-eater.

“A pair of those extraordinary and rare birds, PELICANS of the
wilderness. The only two alive in the three kingdoms.--These birds have
been represented on all crests and coats of arms, to cut their breasts
open with the points of their bills, and feed their young with their own
blood, and are justly allowed by all authors to be the greatest
curiosity of the feathered tribe.

“_Ardea Dubia_, or adjutant of Bengal, gigantic emew, or Linnæus’s
southern ostrich. The peculiar characteristics that distinguish this
bird from the rest of the feathered tribe;--it comes from Brazil, in the
new continent; it stands from eight to nine feet high when full grown;
it is too large to fly, but is capable of out-running the fleetest
horses of Arabia; what is still more singular, every quill produces two
feathers. The only one travelling.

“A pair of rapacious _Condor-Minors_, from the interior of South
America, the largest birds of flight in the world when full grown; it is
the same kind of bird the Indians have asserted to carry off a deer or
young calf in their talons, and two of them are sufficient to destroy a
buffalo, and the wings are as much as eighteen feet across.

“The great _Horned Owl_ of Bohemia. Several species of gold and silver
pheasants, of the most splendid plumage, from China and Peru.
Yellow-crested cockatoo. Scarlet and buff macaws.--Admittance to see the
whole menagerie, 1_s._--Children, 6_d._--Open from ten in the forenoon
till feeding-time, half-past-nine, 2_s._”

Here ends Atkins’s bill; which was plentifully stuck against the
outside, and the people “tumbled up” in crowds, to the sound of
clarionets, trombones, and a long drum, played by eight performers in
scarlet beef-eater coats, with wild-skin caps, who sat fronting the
crowd, while a stentorian showman called out “don’t be deceived; the
great performing elephant--the only lion and tigress in one den that are
to be seen in the Fair, or the proprietor will forfeit a thousand
guineas! Walk in! walk in!” I paid my sixpence, and certainly the idea
of the exhibition raised by the invitation and the programme, was in no
respect overcharged. The “menagerie” was thoroughly clean, and the
condition of the assembled animals, told that they were well taken care
of. The elephant, with his head through the bars of his cage, whisked
his proboscis diligently in search of eatables from the spectators, who
supplied him with fruit or biscuits, or handed him halfpence, which he
uniformly conveyed by his trunk to a retailer of gingerbread, and got
the money’s-worth in return. Then he unbolted the door to let in his
keeper, and bolted it after him; took up a sixpence with his trunk,
lifted the lid of a little box fixed against the wall and deposited it
within it, and some time afterwards relifted the lid, and taking out the
sixpence with a single motion, returned it to the keeper; he knelt down
when told, fired off a blunderbuss, took off the keeper’s hat, and
afterwards replaced it on his head with as fitting propriety as the
man’s own hand could have done; in short, he was perfectly docile, and
performed various feats that justified the reputation of his species for
high understanding. The keeper showed every animal in an intelligent
manner, and answered the questions of the company readily and with
civility. His conduct was rewarded by a good parcel of halfpence, when
his hat went round with a hope, that “the ladies and gentlemen would not
forget the keeper before he showed the lion and the tigress.” The latter
was a beautiful young animal, with two playful cubs about the size of
bull-dogs, but without the least fierceness. When the man entered the
den, they frolicked and climbed about him like kittens; he took them up
in his arms, bolted them in a back apartment, and after playing with the
tigress a little, threw back a partition which separated her den from
the lion’s, and then took the lion by the beard. This was a noble
animal; he was couching, and being inclined to take his rest, only
answered the keeper’s command to rise, by extending his whole length,
and playfully putting up one of his magnificent paws, as a cat does when
in a good humour. The man then took a short whip, and after a smart lash
or two upon his back, the lion rose with a yawn, and fixed his eye on
his keeper with a look that seemed to say--“Well, I suppose I must
humour you.” The man then sat down at the back of the den, with his back
against the partition, and after some ordering and coaxing, the tigress
sat on his right hand, and the lion on his left, and, all three being
thus seated, he threw his arms round their necks, played with their
noses, and laid their heads in his lap. He arose and the animals with
him; the lion stood in a fine majestic position, but the tigress reared,
and putting one foot over his shoulder, and patting him with the other,
as if she had been frolicking with one of her cubs, he was obliged to
check her playfulness. Then by coaxing, and pushing him about, he caused
the lion to sit down, and while in that position opened the animal’s
ponderous jaws with his hands, and thrust his face down into the lion’s
throat, wherein he shouted, and there held his head nearly a minute.
After this he held up a common hoop for the tigress to leap through, and
she did it frequently. The lion seemed more difficult to move to this
sport. He did not appear to be excited by command or entreaty; at last,
however, he went through the hoop, and having been once roused, repeated
the action several times; the hoop was scarcely two feet in diameter.
The exhibition of these two animals concluded by the lion lying down on
his side, when the keeper stretched himself to his whole length upon
him, and then calling to the tigress she jumped upon the man, extended
herself with her paws upon his shoulders, placed her face sideways upon
his, and the whole three lay quiescent till the keeper suddenly slipped
himself off the lion’s side, with the tigress on him, and the trio
gambolled and rolled about on the floor of the den, like playful
children on the floor of a nursery.

Of the beasts there is not room to say more, than that their number was
surprising, considering that they formed a better selected collection,
and showed in higher condition from cleanliness and good feeding, than
any assemblage I ever saw. Their variety and beauty, with the usual
accessory of monkeys, made a splendid picture. The birds were equally
admirable, especially the pelicans, and the emew. This sixpenny “show”
would have furnished a dozen sixpenny “shows,” at least, to a “Bartlemy
Fair” twenty years ago.


SHOW V.

This was a mare with seven _feet_, in a small temporary stable in the
passage-way from the road to the foot-pavement, opposite the George Inn,
and adjoining to the next show: the admission to this “sight” was
threepence. The following is a copy of the printed bill:--

“To Sportsmen and Naturalists.--Now exhibiting, one of the greatest
living natural curiosities in the world; namely, a thorough-bred chesnut
MARE, with seven legs! four years of age, perfectly sound, free from
blemish, and shod on six of her feet. She is very fleet in her paces,
being descended from that famous horse Julius Cæsar, out of a
thorough-bred race mare descended from Eclipse, and is remarkably
docile and temperate. She is the property of Mr. T. Checketts, of
Belgrave-hall, Leicestershire, and will be exhibited for a few days as
above.”

This mare was well worth seeing. Each of her hind legs, besides its
natural and well-formed foot, had another growing out from the fetlock
joint: one of these additions was nearly the size of the natural foot;
the third and least grew from the same joint of the fore-leg. Mr.
Andrews, the proprietor, said, that they grew slowly, and that the new
hoofs were, at first, very soft, and exuded during the process of
growth. This individual, besides his notoriety from the possession of
this extraordinary mare, attained further distinction by having
prosecuted to conviction, at the Warwick assizes, in August, 1825, a
person named Andrews, for swindling. He complained bitterly of the
serious expense he had incurred in bringing the depredator to justice;
his own costs, he said, amounted to the sum of one hundred and seventy
pounds.


SHOW VI.

_Richardson’s Theatre._

The outside of this show was in height upwards of thirty feet, and
occupied one hundred feet in width. The platform on the outside was very
elevated; the back of it was lined with green baize, and festooned with
deeply-fringed crimson curtains, except at two places where the
money-takers sat, which were wide and roomy projections, fitted up like
gothic shrine-work, with columns and pinnacles. There were fifteen
hundred variegated illumination-lamps disposed over various parts of
this platform, some of them depending from the top in the shape of
chandeliers and lustres, and others in wreaths and festoons. A band of
ten performers in scarlet dresses, similar to those worn by beef-eaters,
continually played on clarionets, violins, trombones, and the long drum;
while the performers paraded in their gayest “properties” before the
gazing multitude. Audiences rapidly ascended on each performance being
over, and paying their money to the receivers in their gothic seats, had
tickets in return; which, being taken at the doors, admitted them to
descend into the “theatre.” The following “bill of the play” was
obtained at the doors upon being requested:--

  ⁂ Change of Performance each Day.

  RICHARDSON’S
  THEATRE.

  _This Day will be performed, an entire New
  Melo-Drama, called the_
  WANDERING
  OUTLAW,
  _Or, the Hour of Retribution._

  Gustavus, Elector of Saxony, _Mr. Wright_.
  Orsina, Baron of Holstein, _Mr. Cooper_.
  Ulric and Albert, Vassals to Orsina,
  _Messrs. Grove and Moore_.
  St. Clair, the Wandering Outlaw, _Mr. Smith_.
  Rinalda, the Accusing Spirit, _Mr. Darling_.
  Monks, Vassals, Hunters, &c.
  Rosabella, Wife to the Outlaw, _Mrs. Smith_.
  Nuns and Ladies.

  The Piece concludes with the DEATH of
  ORSINA, and the Appearance of the
  _ACCUSING SPIRIT._

  _The Entertainments to conclude with a New
  Comic Harlequinade, with New Scenery,
  Tricks, Dresses, and Decorations, called_,

  HARLEQUIN
  _FAUSTUS!_
  OR, THE
  DEVIL WILL HAVE HIS OWN.

  Luciferno, Mr. THOMAS.

  Dæmon Amozor, afterwards Pantaloon,
  Mr. WILKINSON.--Dæmon Ziokos, afterwards
  Clown, Mr. HAYWARD.--Violencello
  Player, Mr. HARTEM.--Baker,
  Mr. THOMPSON.--Landlord, Mr. WILKINS.--Fisherman,
  Mr. RAE.--Doctor
  Faustus, afterwards Harlequin, Mr.
  SALTER.

  Adelada, afterwards Columbine,
  Miss WILMOT.

  Attendant Dæmons, Sprites, Fairies, Ballad
  Singers, Flower Girls, &c. &c.

  _The Pantomime will finish with_
  A SPLENDID PANORAMA,
  _Painted by the First Artists._

  BOXES, 2_s._ PIT, 1_s._ GALLERY, 6_d._

       *       *       *       *       *

The theatre was about one hundred feet long, and thirty feet wide, hung
all round with green baize, and crimson festoons. “Ginger beer, apples,
nuts, and a bill of the play,” were cried; the charge for a bill to a
person not provided with one was “a penny.” The seats were rows of
planks, rising gradually from the ground at the end, and facing the
stage, without any distinction of “boxes, pit, or gallery.” The stage
was elevated, and there was a painted proscenium like that in a regular
theatre, with a green curtain, and the king’s arms above, and an
orchestra lined with crimson cloth, and five violin-players in military
dresses. Between the orchestra and the bottom row of seats, was a large
space, which, after the seats were filled, and greatly to the
discomfiture of the lower seat-holders, was nearly occupied by
spectators. There were at least a thousand persons present.

The curtain drew up and presented the “Wandering Outlaw,” with a forest
scene and a cottage; the next scene was a castle; the third was another
scene in the forest. The second act commenced with a scene of an old
church and a market-place. The second scene was a prison, and a ghost
appeared to the tune of the “evening hymn.” The third scene was the
castle that formed the second scene in the first act, and the
performance was here enlivened by a murder. The fourth scene was rocks,
with a cascade, and there was a procession to an unexecuted execution;
for a ghost appeared, and saved the “Wandering Outlaw” from a
fierce-looking headsman, and the piece ended. Then a plump little woman
sung, “He loves and he rides away,” and the curtain drew up to
“Harlequin Faustus,” wherein, after columbine and a clown, the most
flaming character was the devil, with a red face and hands, in a red
Spanish mantle and vest, red “continuations,” stockings and shoes ditto
to follow, a red Spanish hat and plume above, and a red “brass bugle
horn.” As soon as the fate of “Faustus” was concluded, the sound of a
gong announced the happy event, and these performances were, in a
quarter of an hour, repeated to another equally intelligent and
brilliant audience.


SHOW VII.

  ONLY A PENNY.

  _There never was such times, indeed!_

  NERO

  _The largest Lion in the Fair for a Hundred
  Guineas!_

These inscriptions, with figured show-cloths, were in front of a really
good exhibition of a fine lion, with leopards, and various other
“beasts of the forest.” They were mostly docile and in good condition.
One of the leopards was carried by his keeper a pick-a-back. Such a show
for “only a penny” was astonishing.


SHOW VIII.

“SAMWELL’S COMPANY.”

Another penny show: “The Wonderful Children on the Tight Rope, and
Dancing Horse. Only a Penny!” I paid my penny to the money-taker, a
slender “fine lady,” with three feathers in a “jewelled turban,” and a
dress of blue and white muslin and silver; and withinside I saw the
“fat, contented, easy” proprietor, who was arrayed in corresponding
magnificence. If he loved leanness, it was in his “better half,” for
himself had none of it. Obesity had disqualified him for activity, and
therefore in his immensely tight and large satin jacket, he was, as much
as possible, the active commander of his active performers. He
superintended the dancing of a young female on the tight rope. Then he
announced, “A little boy will dance a hornpipe on the rope,” and he
ordered his “band” inside to play; this was obeyed without difficulty,
for it merely consisted of one man, who blew a hornpipe tune on a
Pan’s-pipe; while it went on, the “little boy” danced on the tight rope;
so far it was a hornpipe dance and no farther. “The little boy will
stand on his head on the rope,” said the manager, and the little boy
stood on his head accordingly. Then another female danced on the
slack-wire; and after her came a horse, not a “dancing horse,” but a
“learned” horse, quite as learned as the horse at Ball’s theatre, in
Show III. There was enough for “a penny.”


SHOW IX.

“CLARKE FROM ASTLEY’S.”

This was a large show, with the back against the side of “Samwell’s
Company,” and its front in a line with Hosier-lane, and therefore
looking towards Smithfield-bars. Large placards were pasted at the side,
with these words, “CLARKE’S FROM ASTLEY’S, _Lighted with Real Gas, In
and Outside_.” The admission to this show was sixpence. The platform
outside was at least ten feet high, and spacious above, and here there
was plenty of light. The interior was very large, and lighted by only a
single hoop, about two feet six inches in diameter, with little jets of
gas about an inch and a half apart. A large circle or ride was formed
on the ground. The entertainment commenced by a man dancing on the
tight-rope. The rope was removed, and a light bay horse was mounted by a
female in trowsers, with a pink gown fully frilled, flounced, and
ribboned, with the shoulders in large puffs. While the horse circled the
ring at full speed, she danced upon him, and skipped with a hoop like a
skipping-rope; she performed other dexterous feats, and concluded by
dancing on the saddle with a flag in each hand, while the horse flew
round the ring with great velocity. These and the subsequent
performances were enlivened by tunes from a clarionet and horn, and
jokes from a clown, who, when she had concluded, said to an attendant,
“Now, John, take the horse off, and whatever you do, rub him well down
with a cabbage.” Then a man rode and danced on another horse, a very
fine animal, and leaped from him three times over garters, placed at a
considerable height and width apart, alighting on the horse’s back while
he was going round. This rider was remarkably dexterous. In conclusion,
the clown got up and rode with many antic tricks, till, on the sudden,
an apparently drunken fellow rushed from the audience into the ring, and
began to pull the clown from the horse. The manager interfered, and the
people cried--“Turn him out;” but the man persisted, and the clown
getting off, offered to help him up, and threw him over the horse’s back
to the ground. At length the intruder was seated, with his face to the
tail, though he gradually assumed a proper position; and riding as a man
thoroughly intoxicated would ride, fell off; he then threw off his hat
and great coat, and threw off his waistcoat, and then an
under-waistcoat, and a third, and a fourth, and more than a dozen
waistcoats. Upon taking off the last, his trowsers fell down and he
appeared in his shirt; whereupon he crouched, and drawing his shirt off
in a twinkling, appeared in a handsome fancy dress, leaped into the
saddle of the horse, rode standing with great grace, received great
applause, made his bow, and so the performance concluded.

This show was the last in the line on the west side of Smithfield.


SHOW X.

The line of shows on the east of Smithfield, commencing at Long-lane,
began with “_The Indian Woman--Chinese Lady and Dwarf_,” &c. A clown
outside cried, “Be assured they’re alive--only one penny each.” The
crowd was great, and the shows to be seen were many, I therefore did not
go in.


SHOW XI.

On the outside was inscribed, “_To be seen alive_! The Prodigies of
Nature!--_The Wild Indian Woman and Child, with her Nurse from her own
country._--_The Silver-haired Lady and Dwarf._ _Only a Penny._”--The
showmaster made a speech: “Ladies and gentlemen, before I show you the
wonderful prodigies of nature, let me introduce you to the wonderful
works of art;” and then he drew a curtain, where some wax-work figures
stood. “This,” said he, “ladies and gentlemen, is the famous old Mother
Shipton; and here is the unfortunate Jane Shore, the beautiful mistress
of king Edward the Second; next to her is his majesty king George the
Fourth of most glorious memory; and this is queen Elizabeth in all her
glory; then here you have the princess Amelia, the daughter of his late
majesty, who is dead; this is Mary, queen of Scots, who had her head cut
off; and this is O’Bryen, the famous Irish giant; this man, here, is
Thornton, who was tried for the murder of Mary Ashford; and this is the
exact resemblance of Othello, the moor of Venice, who was a jealous
husband, and depend upon it every man who is jealous of his wife, will
be as black as that <DW64>. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the two next are a
wonderful couple, John and Margaret Scott, natives of Dunkeld, in
Scotland; they lived about ninety years ago; John Scott was a hundred
and five years old when he died, and Margaret lived to be a hundred and
twelve; and what is more remarkable, there is not a soul living can say
he ever heard them quarrel.” Here he closed the curtain, and while
undrawing another, continued thus: “Having shown you the dead, I have
now to exhibit to you two of the most extraordinary wonders of the
living; this,” said he, “is the widow of a New Zealand Chief, and this
is the little old woman of Bagdad; she is thirty inches high, twenty-two
years of age, and a native of Boston, in Lincolnshire.” Each of these
living subjects was quite as wonderful as the waxen ones: the
exhibition, which lasted about five minutes, was ended by courteous
thanks for the “approbation of the ladies and gentlemen present,” and
an evident desire to hurry them off, lest they might be more curious
than his own curiosities.


SHOW XII.

“_Only a penny_” was the price of admission to “_The Black Wild Indian
Woman.--The White Indian Youth--and the Welsh Dwarf.--All Alive!_” There
was this further announcement on the outside, “_The Young American will
Perform after the Manner of the French Jugglers at Vauxhall Gardens,
with Balls, Rings, Daggers_,” &c. When the “Welsh dwarf” came on he was
represented to be Mr. William Phillips, of Denbigh, fifteen years of
age. The “white Indian youth” was an Esquimaux, and the exhibitor
assured the visitors upon his veracity, that “the black wild Indian
woman” was “a court lady of the island of Madagascar.” The exhibitor
himself was “the young American,” an intelligent and clever youth in a
loose striped jacket or frock tied round the middle. He commenced his
performances by throwing up three balls, which he kept constantly in the
air, as he afterwards did four, and then five, with great dexterity,
using his hands, shoulders, and elbows, apparently with equal ease. He
afterwards threw up three rings, each about four inches in diameter, and
then four, which he kept in motion with similar success. To end his
performance he produced three knives, which, by throwing up and down, he
contrived to preserve in the air altogether. These feats forcibly
reminded me of the Anglo-Saxon Glee-man, who “threw three balls and
three knives alternately in the air, and caught them, one by one, as
they fell; returning them again in regular rotation.”[274] The young
American’s dress and knives were very similar to the Glee-man’s, as
Strutt has figured them from a MS. in the Cotton collection. This
youth’s was one of the best exhibitions in the Fair, perhaps the very
best. The admission it will be remembered was “only a penny.”


SHOW XIII.

The inscriptions and paintings on the outside of this show were, “_The
White <DW64>, who was rescued from her Black Parents by the bravery of a
British Officer--the only White <DW64> Girl Alive.--The Great Giantess
and Dwarf.--Six Curiosities Alive!--only a Penny to see them All
Alive!_” While waiting a few minutes till the place filled, I had
leisure to observe that one side of the place was covered by a criminal
attempt to represent a tread-mill, in oil colours, and the operators at
work upon it, superintended by gaolers, &c. On the other side were live
monkies in cages; an old bear in a jacket, and sundry other animals.
Underneath the wheels of the machine, other living creatures were moving
about, and these turned out to be the poor neglected children of the
showman and his wife. The miserable condition of these infants, who were
puddling in the mud, while their parents outside were turning a bit of
music, and squalling and bawling with all their might, “walk in--only a
penny,” to get spectators of the objects that were as yet concealed on
their “proud eminence,” the caravan, by a thin curtain, raised a gloom
in the mind. I was in a reverie concerning these beings when the curtain
was withdrawn, and there stood confessed to sight, she whom the showman
called “the tall lady,” and “the white <DW64>, the greatest curiosity
ever seen--the first that has been exhibited since the reign of George
the Second--look at her head and hair, ladies and gentlemen, and feel
it; there’s no deception, it’s like ropes of wool.” There certainly was
not any deception. The girl herself, who had the flat nose, thick lips,
and peculiarly shaped scull of the <DW64>, stooped to have her head
examined, and being close to her I felt it. Her hair, if it could be
called hair, was of a dirtyish flaxen hue; it hung in ropes, of a clothy
texture, the thickness of a quill, and from four to six inches in
length. Her skin was the colour of an European’s. Afterwards stepped
forth a little personage about three feet high, in a military dress,
with top boots, who strutted his tiny legs, and held his head aloft with
not less importance than the proudest general officer could assume upon
his promotion to the rank of field-martial. Mr. Samuel Williams, whose
versatile and able pencil has frequently enriched this work, visited the
Fair after me, and was equally struck by his appearance. He favours me
with the subjoined engraving of this

[Illustration: ~Little Man.~]

I took my leave of this show pondering on “the different ends our fates
assign,” but the jostling of a crowd in Smithfield, and the clash of
instruments, were not favourable to musing, and I walked into the next.


SHOW XIV.

BROWN’S GRAND TROOP, FROM PARIS.

This was “only a penny” exhibition, notwithstanding that it elevated the
king’s arms, and bore a fine-sounding name. The performance began by a
clown going round and whipping a ring; that is, making a circular space
amongst the spectators with a whip in his hand to force the refractory.
This being effected, a conjurer walked up to a table and executed
several tricks with cups and balls; giving a boy beer to drink out of a
funnel, making him blow through it to show that it was empty, and
afterwards applying it to each of the boy’s ears, from whence, through
the funnel, the beer appeared to reflow, and poured on the ground.
Afterwards girls danced on the single and double slack wire, and a
melancholy looking clown, among other things, said they were “as clever
as the barber and blacksmith who shaved magpies at twopence a dozen.”
The show concluded with a learned horse.


SHOW XV.

Another, and a very good menagerie--the admission “only a penny!” It was
“GEORGE BALLARD’s _Caravan_,” with “_The Lioness that attacked the
Exeter mail._--_The great Lion._--_Royal Tiger._--_Large White
Bear._--_Tiger Owls_,” with monkies, and other animals, the usual
accessories to the interior of a menagerie.

The chief attraction was “_the Lioness_.” _Her attack on the Exeter
Mail_ was on a Sunday evening, in the year 1816. The coach had arrived
at Winterslow-hut, seven miles on the London side of Salisbury. In a
most extraordinary manner, at the moment when the coachman pulled up to
deliver his bags, one of the leaders was suddenly seized by some
ferocious animal. This produced a great confusion and alarm; two
passengers who were inside the mail got out, ran into the house, and
locked themselves up in a room above stairs; the horses kicked and
plunged violently, and it was with difficulty the coachman could prevent
the carriage from being overturned. It was soon perceived by the
coachman and guard, by the light of the lamps, that the animal which had
seized the horse was a huge lioness. A large mastiff dog came up and
attacked her fiercely, on which she quitted the horse and turned upon
him. The dog fled, but was pursued and killed by the lioness, within
forty yards of the place. It appears that the beast had escaped from its
caravan which was standing on the road side with others belonging to the
proprietors of the menagerie, on their way to Salisbury Fair. An alarm
being given, the keepers pursued and hunted the lioness into a hovel
under a granary, which served for keeping agricultural implements. About
half-past eight they had secured her so effectually, by barricading the
place, as to prevent her escape. The horse, when first attacked, fought
with great spirit, and if at liberty, would probably have beaten down
his antagonist with his fore feet, but in plunging he embarrassed
himself in the harness. The lioness attacked him in the front, and
springing at his throat, fastened the talons of her fore feet on each
side of his neck, close to the head, while the talons of her hind feet
were forced into his chest. In this situation she hung, while the blood
was seen flowing as if a vein had been opened by a fleam. He was a
capital horse, the off-leader, the best in the set. The expressions of
agony in his tears and moans were most pitious and affecting. A fresh
horse having been procured, the mail drove on, after having been
detained three quarters of an hour. As the mail drew up it stood exactly
abreast of the caravan from which the lioness made the assault. The
coachman at first proposed to alight and stab the lioness with a knife,
but was prevented by the remonstrance of the guard; who observed, that
he would expose himself to certain destruction, as the animal if
attacked would naturally turn upon him and tear him to pieces. The
prudence of the advice was clearly proved by the fate of the dog. It was
the engagement between him and the lioness that afforded time for the
keepers to rally. After she had disengaged herself from the horse, she
did not seem to be in any immediate hurry to move; for, whether she had
carried off with her, as prey, the dog she had killed, or from some
other cause, she continued growling and howling in so loud a tone, as to
be heard for nearly half a mile. All had called out loudly to the guard
to despatch her with his blunderbuss, which he appeared disposed to do,
but the owner cried out to him, “For God’s sake do not kill her--she
cost me 500_l._, and she will be as quiet as a lamb if not irritated.”
This arrested his hand, and he did not fire. She was afterwards easily
enticed by the keepers, and placed in her usual confinement.

The collection of animals in Ballard’s menagerie is altogether highly
interesting, but it seems impossible that the proprietor could exhibit
them for “only a penny” in any other place than “Bartholomew Fair,”
where the people assemble in great multitudes, and the shows are
thronged the whole day.


SHOW XVI.

“_Exhibition of Real Wonders._”

This announcement, designed to astonish, was inscribed over the show
with the usual notice, “_Only a Penny!_”--the “Wonders of the Deep!” the
“Prodigies of the Age!” and “the Learned Pig!” in large letters. The
printed bill is a curiosity:--

  To be Seen in a Commodious Pavilion in
  this Place.

  REAL WONDERS!

  SEE AND BELIEVE.

  [Illustration]

  Have you seen
  THE BEAUTIFUL DOLPHIN,

  _The Performing Pig & the Mermaid?_

  If not, pray do! as the exhibition contains
  more variety than any other in England.
  Those ladies and gentlemen who
  may be pleased to honour it with a visit
  will be truly gratified.

  TOBY,
  _The Swinish Philosopher, and Ladies’ Fortune
  Teller._

  That beautiful animal appears to be endowed
  with the natural sense of the human
  being. He is in colour the most
  beautiful of his race; in symmetry the
  most perfect; in temper the most docile;
  and far exceeds any thing yet seen for his
  intelligent performances. He is beyond
  all conception: he has a perfect knowledge
  of the alphabet, understands arithmetic,
  and will spell and cast accounts,
  tell the points of the globe, the dice-box,
  the hour by any person’s watch,
  &c.

  The Real Head of
  MAHOWRA,
  =_THE CANNIBAL CHIEF_.=

  At the same time, the public will have
  an opportunity of seeing what was exhibited
  so long in London, under the title
  of

  THE MERMAID:
  The wonder of the deep! not a fac-simile
  or copy, but the same curiosity.

  =Admission Moderate.=

  ⁂ _Open from Eleven in the Morning till
  Nine in the Evening._

The great “prodigies” of this show were the “performing pig,” and the
performing show-woman. She drew forth the learning of the “_swinish
philosopher_” admirably. He told his letters, and “got into spelling”
with his nose; and could do a sum of two figures “in addition.” Then, at
her desire, he routed out those of the company who were in love, or
addicted to indulgence; and peremptorily grunted, that a “round, fat,
oily”-faced personage at my elbow, “loved good eating, and a pipe, and a
jug of good ale, better than the sight of the Living Skeleton!” The
_beautiful dolphin_ was a fish-skin stuffed. The _mermaid_ was the last
manufactured imposture of that name, exhibited for half-a-crown in
Piccadilly, about a year before. The _real head of Mahowra, the cannibal
chief_, was a skull that might have been some English clod-pole’s, with
a dried skin over it, and bewigged; but it looked sufficiently terrific,
when the lady show-woman put the candle in at the neck, and the flame
illuminated the yellow integument over the holes where eyes, nose, and a
tongue had been. There was enough for “a penny!”


SHOW XVII.

Another “Only a penny!” with pictures “large as life” on the show-cloths
outside of the “living wonders within,” and the following inscription:--

  ALL ALIVE!

  _No False Paintings!_

  THE WILD INDIAN,
  THE
  GIANT BOY,
  And the
  DWARF FAMILY,
  _Never here before_,
  TO BE SEEN ALIVE!

Mr. Thomas Day was the reputed father of the dwarf family, and exhibited
himself as small enough for a great wonder; as he was. He was also
proprietor of the show; and said he was thirty-five years of age, and
only thirty-five inches high. He fittingly descanted on the living
personages in whom he had a vested interest. There was a boy six years
old, only twenty-seven inches high. The _Wild Indian_ was a
civil-looking man of colour. The _Giant Boy_, William Wilkinson
Whitehead, was fourteen years of age on the 26th of March last, stood
five feet two inches high, measured five feet round the body,
twenty-seven inches across the shoulders, twenty inches round the arm,
twenty-four inches round the calf, thirty-one inches round the thigh,
and weighed twenty-two stone. His father and mother were “travelling
merchants” of Manchester; he was born at Glasgow during one of their
journies, and was as fine a youth as I ever saw, handsomely formed, of
fair complexion, an intelligent countenance, active in motion, and of
sensible speech. He was lightly dressed in plaid to show his limbs, with
a bonnet of the same. The artist with me sketched his appearance exactly
as we saw him, and as the present engraving now represents him; it is a
good likeness of his features, as well as of his form.

[Illustration: ~The Giant Boy.~]


SHOW XVIII.

“_Holden’s Glass Working and Blowing._”

This was the last show on the east-side of Smithfield. It was limited to
a single caravan; having seen exhibitions of the same kind, and the
evening getting late, I declined entering, though “Only a penny!”


SHOW XIX.

This was the first show on the south-side of Smithfield. It stood,
therefore, with its side towards Cloth-fair, and the back towards the
corner of Duke-street. The admission was “Only a penny!” and the
paintings flared on the show-cloths with this inscription, “_They’re all
Alive Inside! Be assured They’re All Alive!--The Yorkshire
Giantess.--Waterloo Giant.--Indian Chief.--Only a Penny!_”

An overgrown girl was the _Yorkshire Giantess_. A large man with a tail,
and his hair frizzed and powdered, aided by a sort of uniform coat and a
plaid rocquelaire, made the _Waterloo Giant_. The abdication of such an
_Indian Chief_ as this, in favour of Bartholomew Fair, was probably
forced upon him by his tribe.


SHOW XX.

The “_Greatest of all Wonders!--Giantess and Two Dwarfs.--Only a
Penny!_” They were painted on the show-cloths quite as little, and quite
as large, as life. The dwarfs inside were dwarfish, and the “Somerset
girl, taller than any man in England,” (for so said the show-cloth,)
arose from a chair, wherein she was seated, to the height of six feet
nine inches and three quarters, with, “ladies and gentlemen, your most
obedient.” She was good looking and affable, and obliged the “ladies and
gentlemen” by taking off her tight fitting slipper and handing it round.
It was of such dimension, that the largest man present could have put
his booted foot into it. She said that her name was Elizabeth Stock, and
that she was only sixteen years old.


SHOW XXI.

CHAPPELL--PIKE.

This was a very large show, without any show-cloths or other
announcement outside to intimate the performances, except a clown and
several male and female performers, who strutted the platform in their
exhibiting dresses, and in dignified silence; but the clown grimaced,
and, assisted by others, bawled “Only a penny,” till the place filled,
and then the show commenced. There was slack-rope dancing, tumbling, and
other representations as at Ball’s theatre, but better executed.


SHOW XXII.

WOMBWELL.

The back of this man’s menagerie abutted on the side of the last show,
and ran the remaining length of the north-side of Smithfield, with the
front looking towards Giltspur-street; at that entrance into the Fair
it was the first show. This front was entirely covered by painted
show-cloths representing the animals, with the proprietor’s name in
immense letters above, and the words “_The Conquering Lion_” very
conspicuous. There were other show-cloths along the whole length of the
side, surmounted by this inscription, stretching out in one line of
large capital letters, “NERO AND WALLACE; THE SAME LIONS THAT FOUGHT AT
WARWICK.” One of the front show-cloths represented one of the fights; a
lion stood up with a dog in his mouth, cranched between his grinders;
the blood ran from his jaws; his left leg stood upon another dog
squelched by his weight. A third dog was in the act of flying at him
ferociously, and one, wounded and bleeding, was fearfully retreating.
There were seven other show-cloths on this front, with the words “NERO
AND WALLACE” between them. One of these show-cloths, whereon the monarch
of the forest was painted, was inscribed, “Nero, the Great Lion, from
Caffraria!”

The printed bill described the whole collection to be in “fine order.”
Sixpence was the entrance money demanded, which having paid, I entered
the show early in the afternoon, although it is now mentioned last, in
conformity to its position in the Fair. I had experienced some
inconvenience, and witnessed some irregularities incident to a mixed
multitude filling so large a space as Smithfield; yet no disorder
without, was equal to the disorder within Wombwell’s. There was no
passage at the end, through which persons might make their way out:
perhaps this was part of the proprietor’s policy, for he might imagine
that the universal disgust that prevailed in London, while he was
manifesting his brutal cupidity at Warwick, had not subsided; and that
it was necessary his show-place here should appear to fill well on the
first day of the Fair, lest a report of general indifference to it,
should induce many persons to forego the gratification of their
curiosity, in accommodation to the natural and right feeling that
induced a determination not to enter the exhibition of a man who had
freely submitted his animals to be tortured. Be that as it may, his
show, when I saw it, was a shameful scene. There was no person in
attendance to exhibit or point out the animals. They were arranged on
one side only, and I made my way with difficulty towards the end, where
a loutish fellow with a broomstick, stood against one of the dens, from
whom I could only obtain this information, that it was not his business
to show the beasts, and that the showman would begin at a proper time. I
patiently waited, expecting some announcement of this person’s arrival;
but no intimation of it was given; at length I discovered over the heads
of the unconscious crowd around, that the showman, who was evidently
under the influence of drink, had already made his way one third along
the show. With great difficulty I forced myself through the sweltering
press somewhat nearer to him, and managed to get opposite Nero’s den,
which he had by that time reached and clambered into, and into which he
invited any of the spectators who chose to pay him sixpence each, as
many of them did, for the sake of saying that they had been in the den
with the noble animal, that Wombwell, his master, had exposed to be
baited by bull-dogs. The man was as greedy of gain as his master, and
therefore without the least regard to those who wished for general
information concerning the different animals, he maintained his post as
long as there was a prospect of getting the sixpences. Pressure and heat
were now so excessive, that I was compelled to struggle my way, as many
others did, towards the door at the front end, for the sake of getting
into the air. Unquestionably I should not have entered Wombwell’s, but
for the purpose of describing his exhibition in common with others. As I
had failed in obtaining the information I sought, and could not get a
printed bill when I entered, I re-ascended to endeavour for one again;
here I saw Wombwell, to whom I civilly stated the great inconvenience
within, which a little alteration would have obviated; he affected to
know nothing about it, refused to be convinced, and exhibited himself,
to my judgment of him, with an understanding and feelings perverted by
avarice. He is undersized in mind as well as form, “a weazen,
sharp-faced man,” with a skin reddened by more than natural spirits, and
he speaks in a voice and language that accord with his feelings and
propensities. His bill mentions, “A remarkably fine tigress in the same
den with a noble British lion!!” I looked for this companionship in his
menagerie, without being able to discover it.

Here ends my account of the various shows in the Fair. In passing the
stalls, the following bill was slipped into my hand, by a man stationed
to give them away.

  SERIOUS NOTICE,
  IN PERFECT CONFIDENCE.

  The following extraordinary comic performances
  at
  ~Sadler’s Wells,~
  Can only be given during the present
  week; the proprietors, therefore, most
  respectfully inform that fascinating sex,
  so properly distinguished by the appropriate
  appellation of
  THE FAIR!

  And all those well inclined gentlemen who are happy enough to protect
  them, that the amusements will consist of a romantic tale, of
  mysterious horror and broad grin, never acted, called the

  ENCHANTED
  GIRDLES;
  OR,
  WINKI THE WITCH,
  =_And the Ladies of Samarcand._=

  A most whimsical burletta, which sends people home perfectly exhausted
  from uninterrupted risibility, called

  THE LAWYER, THE JEW,
  AND
  =THE YORKSHIREMAN.=

  With, by request of 75 distinguished families, and a party of 5, that
  never-to-be-sufficiently-praised pantomime, called

  ~Magic in Two Colours;~
  OR,
  _=FAIRY BLUE & FAIRY RED:=_
  _Or, Harlequin and the Marble Rock._

  It would be perfectly superfluous for any man in his senses to attempt
  any thing more than the mere announcement in recommendation of the
  above unparalleled representations, so attractive in themselves as to
  threaten a complete monopoly of the qualities of the magnet; and
  though the proprietors were to talk nonsense for an hour, they could
  not assert a more _important truth_ than that they possess

  _The only Wells from which you may draw_
  WINE,
  THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE
  _A full Quart._

  Those whose important avocations prevent their coming at the
  commencement, will be admitted for

  HALF-PRICE, AT HALF-PAST EIGHT

  Ladies and gentlemen who are not judges of the superior entertainments
  announced, are respectfully requested to bring as many as possible
  with them who are.

  _N.B. A full Moon during the Week._

This bill is here inserted as a curious specimen of the method adopted
to draw an audience to the superior entertainments of a pleasant little
summer theatre, which, to its credit, discourages the nuisances that
annoy every parent who takes his family to the boxes at the other
theatres.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before mentioning other particulars concerning the Fair here described,
I present a lively representation of it in former times.


~Bartholomew Fair in 1614.~

“O, rare Ben Jonson!” To him we are indebted for the only picture of
Smithfield at “Barthol’me’-tide” in his time.

In his play of “Bartholomew Fair,” we have John Littlewit, a proctor “o’
the Archdeacon’s-court,” and “one of the pretty wits o’ Paul’s”
persuading his wife, Win-the-fight, to go to the Fair. He says “I have
an affair i’ the Fair, Win, a puppet-play of mine own making.--I writ
for the _motion_-man.” She tells him that her mother, dame Purecraft,
will never consent; whereupon he says, “Tut, we’ll have a device, a
dainty one: long to eat of a pig, sweet Win, i’ the Fair; do you see? i’
the heart o’ the Fair; not at Pye-corner. Your mother will do any thing
to satisfie your longing.” Upon this hint, Win prevails with her mother,
to consult Zeal-of-the-land Busy, a Banbury man “of a most lunatick
conscience and spleen;” who is of opinion that pig “is a meat, and a
meat that is nourishing, and may be eaten; very exceeding well eaten;
but in the Fair, and as a _Bartholmew_ pig, it cannot be eaten; for the
very calling it a _Bartholmew_ pig, and to eat it so, is a spice of
idolatry.” After much deliberation, however, he allows that so that the
offence “be _shadowed_, as it were, it may be eaten, and in the Fair, I
take it--in a _booth_.” He says “there may be a good use made of it too,
now I think on’t, by the public eating of swine’s flesh, to profess our
hate and loathing of Judaism;” and therefore he goes with them.

In the Fair a quarrel falls out between Lanthorn Leatherhead, “a
hobby-horse seller,” and Joan Trash, “a gingerbread woman.”

“_Leatherhead._ Do you hear, sister Trash, lady o’ the basket? sit
farther with your gingerbread progeny there, and hinder not the prospect
of my shop, or I’ll ha’ it proclaimed i’ the Fair, what stuff they are
made on.

“_Trash._ Why, what stuff are they made on, brother Leatherhead? nothing
but what’s wholesome, I assure you.

“_Leatherhead._ Yes; stale bread, rotten eggs, musty ginger, and dead
honey, you know.

“_Trash._ Thou too proud pedlar, do thy worst: I defy thee, I, and thy
stable of hobby-horses. I pay for my ground, as well as thou dost, and
thou wrongs’t me, for all thou art parcel-poet, and an ingineer. I’ll
find a friend shall right me, and make a ballad of thee, and thy cattle
all over. Are you puft up with the pride of your wares? your arsedine?

“_Leatherhead._ Go too, old Joan, I’ll talk with you anon; and take you
down too--I’ll ha’ you i’ the _Pie-pouldres_.”

They drop their abuse and pursue their vocation. Leatherhead calls,
“What do you lack? what is’t you buy? what do you lack? rattles, drums,
halberts, horses, babies o’ the best? fiddles o’ the finest?” Trash
cries, “Buy my gingerbread, gilt gingerbread!” A “costard-monger” bawls
out, “Buy any pears, pears! fine, very fine pears!” Nightingale, another
character, sings,

    “Hey, now the Fair’s a filling
    O, for a tune to startle
    The birds o’ the booths, here billing
    Yearly with old Saint _Barthle_!

    The drunkards they are wading,
    The punks and chapmen trading,
    Who’ld see the Fair without his lading?
         Buy my ballads! new ballads!”

Ursula, “a pig-woman,” laments her vocation:--“Who would wear out their
youth and prime thus, in roasting of pigs, that had any cooler
occupation? I am all fire and fat; I shall e’en melt away--a poor vex’d
thing I am; I feel myself dropping already as fast as I can: two stone
of sewet a-day is my proportion: I can but hold life and soul together.”
Then she soliloquizes concerning Mooncalf, her tapster, and her other
vocations: “How can I hope that ever he’ll discharge his place of trust,
tapster, a man of reckoning under me, that remembers nothing I say to
him? but look to’t, sirrah, you were best; threepence a pipe-full I will
ha’ made of all my whole half pound of tobacco, and a quarter of a pound
of colts-foot, mixt with it too, to eech it out. Then six-and-twenty
shillings a barrel I will advance o’ my beer, and fifty shillings a
hundred o’ my bottle ale; I ha’ told you the ways how to raise it. (_a
knock._) Look who’s there, sirrah! five shillings a pig is my price at
least; if it be a sow-pig sixpence more.” Jordan Knockhum, “a
horse-courser and a ranger of Turnbull,” calls for “a fresh bottle of
ale, and a pipe of tobacco.” Passengers enter, and Leatherhead says,
“What do you lack, gentlemen? Maid, see a fine hobby-horse for your
young master.” A corn-cutter cries, “Ha’ you any corns i’ your feet and
toes?” Then “a tinder-box man” calls, “Buy a mouse-trap, a mouse-trap,
or a tormentor for a flea!” Trash cries, “Buy some gingerbread!”
Nightingale bawls, “Ballads, ballads, fine new ballads!” Leatherhead
repeats, “What do you lack, gentlemen, what is’t you lack? a fine horse?
a lion? a bull? a bear? a dog? or a cat? an excellent fine Bartholmew
bird? or an instrument? what is’t you lack?” The pig-woman quarrels with
her guests and falls foul on her tapster: “In, you rogue, and wipe the
pigs, and mend the fire, that they fall not; or I’ll both baste and wast
you till your eyes drop out, like ’em.” Knockhum says to the female
passengers, “Gentlewomen, the weather’s hot! whither walk you? Have a
care o’ your fine velvet caps, the Fair is dusty. Take a sweet delicate
booth, with boughs, here, i’ the way, and cool yourselves i’ the shade;
you and your friends. The best pig and bottle ale i’ the Fair, sir, old
Urs’la is cook; there, you may read; the pig’s head speaks it.” Knockhum
adds, that she roasted her pigs “with fire o’ juniper, and rosemary
branches.” Littlewit, the proctor, and his wife, Win-the-fight, with her
mother, dame Purecroft, and Zeal-of-the-land enter. Busy Knockhum
suggests to Ursula that they are customers of the right sort, “In, and
set a couple o’ pigs o’ the board, and half a dozen of the bygist
bottles afore ’em--two to a pig, away!” In another scene Leatherhead
cries, “Fine purses, pouches, pincases, pipes; what is’t you lack? a
pair o’ smiths to wake you i’ the morning? or a fine whistling bird?”
Bartholomew Cokes, a silly “esquire of Harrow,” stops at Leatherhead’s
to purchase: “Those six horses, friend, I’ll have; and the three Jews
trumps; and a half a dozen o’ birds; and that drum; and your smiths (I
like that device o’ your smiths,)--and four halberts; and, let me see,
that fine painted great lady, and her three women for state, I’ll have.
A set of those violins I would buy too, for a delicate young noise I
have i’ the country, that are every one a size less than another, just
like your fiddles.” Trash invites him to buy her gingerbread, and he
turns to her basket, whereupon Leatherhead says, “Is this well, Goody
Joan, to interrupt my market in the midst, and call away my customers?
Can you answer this at the _Pie-pouldres_?” whereto Trash replies, “Why,
if his master-ship have a mind to buy, I hope my ware lies as open as
anothers; I may shew my ware as well as you yours.” Nightingale begins
to sing,

    “My masters and friends, and good people draw near.”

Cokes hears this, and says, “Ballads! hark, hark! pray thee, fellow,
stay a little! What ballads hast thou? let me see, let me see
myself--How dost thou call it? ‘_A Caveat against Cut-purses!_’--a good
jest, i’ faith; I would fain see that demon, your cut-purse, you talk
of.” He then shows his purse boastingly, and inquires, “Ballad-man, do
any cut-purses haunt hereabout? pray thee raise me one or two: begin and
shew me one.” Nightingale answers, “Sir, this is a spell against ’em,
spick and span new: and ’tis made as ’twere in mine own person, and I
sing it in mine own defence. But ’twill cost a penny alone if you buy
it.” Cokes replies, “No matter for the price; thou dost not know me I
see, I am an odd _Bartholmew_.” The ballad has “pictures,” and
Nightingale tells him, “It was intended, sir, as if a purse should
chance to be cut in my presence, now; I may be blameless though; as by
the sequel will more plainly appear.” He adds, it is “to the tune of
‘_Paggington’s Pound_,’ sir,” and he finally sings--

~A Caveat against Cut-purses.~

    My masters, and friends, and good people draw near,
    And look to your purses, for that I do say;
    And though little money, in them you do bear,
    It cost more to get, than to lose in a day,
            You oft’ have been told,
            Both the young and the old,
    And bidden beware of the cut-purse so bold.
    Then if you take heed not, free me from the curse,
    Who both give you warning, for, and the cut-purse.
    Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
    Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.

    It hath been upbraided to men of my trade,
    That oftentimes we are the cause of this crime:
    Alack, and for pity, why should it be said?
    As if they regarded or places, or time.
            Examples have been
            Of some that were seen
    In Westminster-hall, yea, the pleaders between;
    Then why should the judges be free from this curse
    More than my poor self, for cutting the purse?
    Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
    Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.

    At Worc’ter ’tis known well, and even i’ the jail,
    A knight of good worship did there shew his face
    Against the foul sinners in zeal for to rail,
    And lost, _ipso facto_, his purse in the place.
            Nay, once from the seat
            Of judgment so great,
    A judge there did lose a fair pouch of velvet;
    O, Lord for thy mercy, how wicked, or worse,
    Are those that so venture their necks for a purse.
    Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
    Than live to be hanged for stealing a purse.

    At plays, and at sermons, and at the sessions,
    ’Tis daily their practice such booty to make;
    Yea, under the gallows, at executions,
    They stick not the stare-abouts’ purses to take.
            Nay, one without grace,
            At a better place,
    At court, and in Christmas, before the king’s face.
    Alack! then, for pity, must I bear the curse,
    That only belongs to the cunning cut-purse.
    Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
    Than live to be hanged for stealing a purse.

    But O, you vile nation of cut-purses all,
    Relent, and repent, and amend, and be sound,
    And know that you ought not by honest men’s fall,
    Advance your own fortunes to die above ground.
            And though you go gay
            In silks as you may,
    It is not the highway to heaven (as they say.)
    Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse;
    And kiss not the gallows for cutting a purse.
    Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,
    Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.

While Nightingale sings this ballad, a fellow tickles Cokes’s ear with a
straw, to make him withdraw his hand from his pocket, and privately robs
him of his purse, which, at the end of the song, he secretly conveys to
the ballad-singer; who, notwithstanding his “Caveat against Cut-purses,”
is their principal confederate, and, in that quality, becomes the
unsuspected depository of the plunder.

Littlewit tells his wife, Win, of the great hog, and of a bull with five
legs, in the Fair. Zeal-of-the-land loudly declaims against the Fair,
and against Trash’s commodities:--“Hence with thy basket of popery, thy
nest of images, and whole legend of ginger-work.” He rails against “the
prophane pipes, the tinkling timbrels;” and Adam Overdoo, a reforming
justice of peace, one of “the court of _Pie-powders_,” who wears a
disguise for the better observation of disorder, gets into the stocks
himself. Then “a western man, that’s come to wrestle before my lord
mayor anon,” gets drunk, and is cried by “the clerk o’ the market all
the Fair over here, for my lord’s service.” Zeal-of-the-land Busy, too,
is put with others into the stocks, and being asked, “what are you,
sir?” he answers, “One that rejoiceth in his affliction, and sitteth
here to prophesy the destruction of fairs and may-games, wakes and
whitsun-ales, and doth sigh and groan for the reformation of these
abuses.” During a scuffle, the keepers of the stocks leave them open,
and those who are confined withdraw their legs and walk away.

From a speech by Leatherhead, preparatory to exhibiting his “motion,” or
puppet-show, we become acquainted with the subjects, and the manner of
the performance. He says, “Out with the sign of our invention, in the
name of wit; all the fowl i’ the Fair, I mean all the dirt in
Smithfield, will be thrown at our banner to-day, if the matter does not
please the people. O! the _motions_ that I, Lanthorn Leatherhead, have
given light to, i’ my time, since my master, Pod, died! _Jerusalem_ was
a stately thing; and so was _Nineveh_ and _The City of Norwich_, and
_Sodom and Gomorrah_; with the _Rising o’ the Prentices_, and pulling
down the houses there upon Shrove-Tuesday; but _the Gunpowder Plot_,
there was a get-penny! I have presented that to an eighteen or twenty
pence audience nine times in an afternoon. Look to your gathering there,
good master Filcher--and when there come any gentlefolks take twopence
a-piece.” He has a bill of his _motion_ which reads thus: “The Ancient
Modern History of _Hero and Leander_, otherwise called, the _Touchstone
of True Love_, with as true a Trial of Friendship between _Damon and
Pythias_, two faithful Friends o’ the Bank-side.” This was the motion
written by Littlewit. Cokes arrives, and inquires, “What do we pay for
coming in, fellow?” Filcher answers, “Twopence, sir.”

“_Cokes._ What manner of matter is this, Mr. Littlewit? What kind of
actors ha’ you? are they good actors?

“_Littlewit._ Pretty youths, sir, all children both old and young,
here’s the master of ’em, Master Lantern, that gives light to the
business.

“_Cokes._ In good time, sir, I would fain see ’em; I would be glad to
drink with the young company; which is the tiring-house?

“_Leatherhead._ Troth, sir, our tiring-house is somewhat little; we are
but beginners yet, pray pardon us; you cannot go upright in’t.

“_Cokes._ No? not now my hat is off? what would you have done with me,
if you had had me feather and all, as I was once to-day? Ha’ you none of
your pretty impudent boys now, to bring stools, fill tobacco, fetch ale,
and beg money, as they have at other houses? let me see some o’ your
actors.

“_Littlewit._ Shew him ’em, shew him ’em. Master Lantern; this is a
gentleman that is a favourer of the quality.

  [_Leatherhead brings the puppets out in a basket._]

“_Cokes._ What! do they live in baskets?

“_Leatherhead._ They do lie in a basket, sir: they are o’ the small
players.

“_Cokes._ These be players minor indeed. Do you call these players?

“_Leatherhead._ They are actors, sir, and as good as any, none
dispraised, for dumb shows: Indeed I am the mouth of ’em all.--This is
he that acts young Leander, sir; and this is lovely Hero; this, with the
beard, Damon; and this, pretty Pythias: this is the ghost of king
Dionysius, in the habit of a scrivener: as you shall see anon, at large.

“_Cokes._ But do you play it according to the printed book? I have read
that.

“_Leatherhead._ By no means, sir.

“_Cokes._ No? How then?

“_Leatherhead._ A better way, sir; _that_ is too learned and poetical
for our audience: what do they know what _Hellespont_ is? _guilty of
true love’s blood_? or what _Abydos_ is? or the other _Sestos_
height?--No; I have entreated master Littlewit to take a little pains to
reduce it to a more familiar strain for our people.

“_Littlewit._ I have only made it a little easy and modern for the
times, sir, that’s all: as for the Hellespont, I imagine our Thames
here; and then Leander, I make a dyer’s son about Puddle-wharf; and
Hero, a wench o’ the Bank-side, who going over one morning to Old
Fish-street, Leander spies her land at Trig’s-stairs, and falls in love
with her: now do I introduce Cupid, having metamorphosed himself into a
drawer, and he strikes Hero in love with a pint of sherry.”

While “Cokes is handling the puppets” the doorkeepers call out “Twopence
a-piece, gentlemen; an excellent _motion_.” Other visitors enter and
take their seats, and Cokes, while waiting with some of his
acquaintance, employs the time at the “game of _vapours_, which is
nonsense; every man to oppose the last man that spoke, whether it
concerned him or no.” The audience become impatient, and one calls out,
“Do you hear puppet-master, these are tedious _vapours_; when begin
you?” Filcher, Leatherhead’s man, with the other doorkeepers, continue
to bawl, “Twopence a-piece, sir; the best _motion_ in the Fair.”
Meanwhile the company talk, and one relates that he has already seen in
the Fair, the eagle; the black wolf; the bull with five legs, which “was
a calf at Uxbridge Fair two years agone;” the dogs that dance the
morrice; and “the hare o’ the taber.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Ben Jonson’s mention of the hare that beat the tabor at Bartholomew Fair
in his time, is noticed by the indefatigable and accurate Strutt; who
gives the following representation of the feat itself, which he affirms,
when he copied it from a drawing in the Harleian collection, (6563,) to
have been upwards of four hundred years old.

[Illustration: _Hare and Tabor._]

       *       *       *       *       *

For an idea of Leatherhead’s _motion_ take as follows: it commences
thus:--

_Leatherhead._

              Gentiles, that no longer your expectations may wander,
              Behold our chief actor, amorous Leander;
              With a great deal of cloth, lapp’d about him like a scarf,
              For he yet serves his father, a dyer at Puddle-wharf.
              Which place we’ll make bold with to call it our _Abidus_,
              As the Bank-side is our _Sestos_; and let it not be denied
                   us
              Now as he is beating, to make the dye take the fuller,
              Who chances to come by, but fair Hero in a sculler;
              And seeing Leander’s naked leg, and goodly calf,
              Cast at him from the boat a sheep’s eye and an half,
              Now she is landed, and the sculler come back,
              By and by you shall see what Leander doth lack.

      _Puppet Leander._ Cole, Cole, old Cole.
      _Leatherhead._ That is the sculler’s name without controul.
      _Pup. Leander._ Cole, Cole, I say, Cole.
      _Leatherhead._ We do hear you.
      _Pup. Leander._ Old Cole.
      _Leatherhead._ Old Cole? is the dyer turn’d collier?--
      _Pup. Leander._ Why Cole, I say, Cole.
      _Leatherhead._ It’s the sculler you need.
      _Pup. Leander._ Aye, and be hang’d.
      _Leatherhead._ Be hang’d! look you yonder,
    Old Cole, you must go hang with master Leander.
      _Puppet Cole._ Where is he?
      _Puppet Leander._ Here Cole. What fairest of fairs
    Was that fare that thou landest but now at Trig’s-stairs?
      _Puppet Cole._ It is lovely Hero.
      _Puppet Leander._ Nero?
      _Puppet Cole._ No, Hero.
      _Leatherhead._ It is Hero
    Of the Bank-side, he saith, to tell you truth, without erring,
    Is come over into Fish-street to eat some fresh herring.
    Leander says no more but as fast as he can,
    Gets on all his best clothes, and will after to the swan.

In this way Leatherhead proceeds with his _motion_; he relates part of
the story himself, in a ribald manner, and making the puppets quarrel,
“the puppet Cole strikes him over the pate.” He performs _Damon_ and
_Pythias_ in the same way, and renders the “gallimaufry” more
ridiculous, by a battle between the puppets in _Hero_ and _Leander_, and
those of _Damon_ and _Pythias_. Zeal-of-the-land Busy interferes with
the puppet Dionysius, who had been raised up by Leatherhead--

    “Not like a monarch but the master of a school,
    In a scrivener’s furr’d gown which shows he is no fool;
    For, therein he hath wit enough to keep himself warm:
    O Damon! he cries, and Pythias what harm
    Hath poor Dionysius done you in his grave,
    That after his death, you should fall out thus and rave,” &c.

Zeal-of-the-land contends that Dionysius hath not a “lawful calling.”
That puppet retorts by saying he hath; and inquires--“What say you to
the feather makers i’ the Fryers, with their peruques and their puffs,
their fans and their huffs? what say you? Is a bugle-maker a lawful
calling? or the confect-makers? such as you have there? or your French
fashioner? Is a puppet worse than these?”--Whereto Zeal-of-the-land
answers--“Yes, and my main argument against you is, that you are an
abomination; for the male among you putteth on the apparel of the
female, and the female of the male.” The puppet Dionysius triumphantly
replies, “You lie, you lie, you lie abominably. It’s your old stale
argument against the _players_; but it will not hold against the
_puppets_: for we have neither male nor female amongst us.” Upon this
point, which persons versed in dramatic history are familiar with,
Zeal-of-the-land says, “I am confuted, the _cause_ hath failed me--I am
changed, and will become a beholder.”

       *       *       *       *       *

These selections which are here carefully brought together may, so far
as they extend, be regarded as a picture of Bartholomew Fair in 1614,
when Jonson wrote his comedy for representation before king James I. We
learn too from this play that there was a tooth-drawer, and “a jugler
with a well educated ape, to come over the chain for the king of
England, and back again for the prince, and to sit still on his hind
quarters for the pope and the king of Spain;” that there was a
whipping-post in the Fair, and that Smithfield was dirty and stinking.
Beside particulars, which a mere historiographer of the scene would have
recorded, there are some that are essentially illustrative of popular
manners, which no other than an imaginative mind would have seized, and
only a poet penned.

       *       *       *       *       *

A little digression may be requisite in explanation of the term
_arsedine_, used by Trash to Leatherhead in Jonson’s play; the
denomination _costermonger_; the tune _Paggington’s-pound_; and the
_Pie-pouldres_, or _Pie Powder Court_.


_Arsedine._

This is also called _arsadine_, and sometimes _orsden_, and is said to
be a colour. Mr. Archdeacon Nares says, that according to Mr. Lysons, in
his “Environs of London,” and Mr. Gifford in his note on this passage,
it means _orpiment_ or _yellow_ arsenic. The archdeacon in giving these
two authorities, calls the word a “vulgar corruption” of “arsenic:” but
arsenic yields _red_, as well as _yellow_ orpiment, and both these
colours are used in the getting up of shows. Possibly it is an
Anglo-Saxon word for certain pigments, obtained from minerals and
metals: the _ore_ oꞃe or oꞃa is pure Saxon, and pluralizes _ores_; to
_die_ in the sense of _dying_, or colouring, is derived from the Saxon
ðeaᵹ or ðeah. The conjecture may be worth a thought perhaps, for
dramatic exhibitions were in use when the Anglo-Saxon was used.


_Costermonger._

This is a corruption of costard-monger; Ben Jonson uses it both ways,
and it is noticed of his costermonger by Mr. Archdeacon Nares, that “he
cries only _pears_.” That gentleman rightly defines a _costard_-monger,
or _coster_-monger, to be “a seller of _apples_;” he adds, “one
generally who kept a stall.” He says of _costard_, that, “as a species
of apple, it is enumerated with others, but it must have been a very
common sort, as it gave a name to the dealers in apples.” In this
supposition Mr. Nares is correct; for it was not only a very common
sort, but perhaps, after the crab, it was our oldest sort: there were
three kinds of it, the white, red, and grey costard. That the
costard-monger, according to Mr. Nares, “_generally_ kept a stall;” “and
that they were general fruit-sellers,” he unluckily has not corroborated
by an authority; although from his constant desire to be accurate, and
his general accuracy, the assertions are to be regarded with respect.
Randle Holme gives this figure of


[Illustration: _A Huxter._]

Holme, in his heraldic language, says of this representation, “He
beareth _gules_ a man _passant_, his shirt or shift turned up to his
shoulder, breeches and hose _azure_, cap and shoes _sable_, bearing on
his back a bread basket full of fruits and herbs, and a staff in his
left hand, _or_. This may be termed either a _huxter_ or a _gardiner_,
having his fruits and herbs on his back from the market. This was a fit
crest for the company of _Fruiterers_ or _Huxters_.” This man is a
_costard-monger_ in Mr. Archdeacon Nares’s view of the term; for
doubtless the huckster pitched his load in the market and sold it there;
yet Holme does not give him that denomination, as he would have done if
he had so regarded him; he merely calls him “the _hutler_ or _huxter_.”


_Packington’s Pound._

Concerning the air of this old song, “Hawkins’s History of Music” may be
consulted. The tune may also be found in the “Beggar’s Opera,” adapted
to the words--“The gamesters united in friendship are found.”[275]


_Court of Pie Powder._

This is the lowest, and at the same time the most expeditious, court of
justice known to the law of England. It is a court of record incident to
every fair and market; its jurisdiction extends to administer justice
for all commercial injuries done in that very fair or market, and not in
any preceding one; and to every fair and market, the steward of him who
owns the toll is the judge. The injury, therefore, must be done,
complained of, and redressed, within the compass of one and the same
day, unless the fair continues longer. It has cognizance of all matters
of contract that can possibly arise within the precinct of that fair or
market; and the plaintiff must make oath that the cause of an action
arose there. This court seems to have arisen from the necessity of doing
justice expeditiously, among persons resorting from distant places to a
fair or market, without leaving them to the remedy of an inferior court,
which might not be able to serve its process, or execute its judgments
on both, or perhaps either of the parties; and therefore without such a
court as this, the complaint must necessarily have resorted to, in the
first instance, some superior judicature. It is said to be called the
court of _pie-poudre_, _curia pedis pulverizati_, from the dusty feet
of the suitors; or, as sir Edward Coke says, because justice is there
done as speedily as dust can fall from the feet: but Blackstone, who
says thus much of this court, inclines to the opinion of Daines
Barrington, who derives it from _pied puldreaux_, (a pedlar, in old
French,) and says, it signifies, therefore, the court of such petty
chapmen as resort to fairs or markets.

Courts similar to pie-powder courts were usual both with Greeks and
Romans, who introduced fairs into Germany and the north.[276]


[Illustration: ~_The Pedlar._~]

This is his figure from Randle Holme, who describes him thus:--“He
beareth _argent_, a crate carrier, with a crate upon his back, _or_;
cloathed in _russed_, with a staffe in his left hand; hat and shoes
_sable_.” He observes, that “this is also termed a pedlar and his pack,”
and he carefully notes that the difference between a _porter_ and a
pedlar consists in this, that “the _porter’s_ pack reacheth over his
head and so answerable below; but the _pedlar’s_ is a small truss,
bundle, or _fardel_, not exceeding the middle of his head as in this
figure.” Every reader of Shakspeare knows the word “fardel:”--

          -------“Who would _fardels_ bear
    To groan and sweat under a weary life,” &c.

_Fardel_ means a burden, or bundle, or pack, and so Holme has called the
pedlar’s pack. The word is well known in that sense to those acquainted
with our earlier language. An Act of common council of the first of
August, 1554, against “Abuses offered to Pauls,” recites, that the
inhabitants of London, and others, were accustomed to make their common
carriage of “_fardels_ of stuffe, and other grosse wares and things
thorow the cathedrall church of Saint Pauls,” and prohibits the abuse.
There is an old book entitled, “a _Fardel_ of Fancies;” that is, a
variety of fancies fardelled or packed together in a bundle or burthen.

“_Fancies_” was a name for pleasant ballads, or poetical effusions;--and
hence, because Orlando “hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on
brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind,” she calls him a
“_fancy_ monger.”


_The Porter._

It is to be noted too, that a porter is clearly described by Holme. “He
beareth _vert_, a porter carrying of a pack, _argent_, corked, sable;
cloathed in tawney, cap and shoes _sable_. This is the badge and
cognizance of all porters and carriers of burthens;” but that there may
be no mistake, he adds, “they have ever a leather girdle about them,
with a strong rope of two or three fouldings hanging thereat, which they
have in readiness to bind the burdens to their backs whensoever called
thereunto.”


[Illustration: ~_The Porter’s Knot, now used,_~]

did not exist in Randle Holme’s time. This subsequent invention consists
of a strong fillet to encircle the head, attached to a curiously stuffed
cushion of the width of the shoulders, whereon it rests, and is of
height sufficient to bear thereon a box, or heavy load of any kind,
which, by means of this knot, is carried on the head and shoulders; the
weight thereof being borne equally by the various powers of the body
capable of sustaining pressure, no muscles are distressed, but the whole
are brought to the porter’s service in his labour of carrying.

       *       *       *       *       *

“Bartholomew Faire,” a rare quarto tract printed in 1641, under that
title states, that “Bartholomew Faire begins on the twenty-fourth day of
August, and is then of so vast an extent, that it is contained in no
lesse than four several parishes, namely, Christ Church, Great and
Little St. Bartholomewes, and St. Sepulchres. Hither resort people of
all sorts and conditions. Christ Church cloisters are now hung full of
pictures. It is remarkable and worth your observation to beholde and
heare the strange sights and confused noise in the Faire. Here, a knave
in a foole’s coate, with a trumpet sounding, or on a drumme beating,
invites you to see his puppets: there, a rogue like a wild woodman, or
in an antick shape like an Incubus, desires your company to view his
motion: on the other side, Hocus Pocus, with three yards of tape, or
ribbin, in’s hand, shewing his art of legerdemaine, to the admiration
and astonishment of a company of cockoloaches. Amongst these, you shall
see a gray Goose-cap, (as wise as the rest,) with a what do ye lacke in
his mouth, stand in his boothe, shaking a rattle, or scraping on a
fiddle, with which children are so taken, that they presentlie cry out
for these fopperies: and all these together make such a distracted
noise, that you would thinck Babell were not comparable to it. Here
there are also your gamesters in action: some turning of a whimsey,
others throwing for pewter, who can quickly dissolve a round shilling
into a three halfepeny saucer. Long-lane at this time looks very faire,
and puts out her best cloaths, with the wrong side outward, so turn’d
for their better turning off: and Cloth Faire is now in great request:
well fare the ale-houses therein, yet better may a man fare, (but at a
dearer rate,) in the pig-market, alias Pasty-Nooke, or Pye-Corner, where
pigges are al houres of the day on the stalls piping hot, and would cry,
(if they could speak,) ‘come eate me.’”


_Pye Corner._

This is the place wherein Ben Jonson’s Littlewit, the proctor, willed
that his wife Win-the-fight should not eat Bartholomew pig:--“Long to
eat of a pig, sweet Win, i’ the Fair; do you see? i’ the heart o’ the
Fair; not at, Pye-corner.”

“Pye-corner was so called” says Dr. (James) Howel, “of such a sign,
sometimes a fair Inne, for receipt of travellers, but now devided into
tenements.” It was at Pye-corner as observed before, that the Fire of
London ended: the houses that escaped were taken down in October, 1809,
and upon their site other dwelling-houses have been erected, together
with an engine-house, belonging to the Hope Fire Assurance company,[277]
where it stands at present (in 1825). It was estimated in the year 1732,
that “the number of sucking pigs then annually consumed in this city,
(of London) amounted to fifty-two thousand[278].”


~Roast Pig.~

“_A flower_--cropped in its prime.”

ELIA, author of the incomparable volume of “Essays,” published “under
that name,” by Messrs. Taylor and Hessey, indulges in a “Dissertation
upon Roast Pig.” He cites a Chinese MS. to establish its origin, when
flesh was eaten uncooked, and affirms that “the period is not obscurely
hinted at by the great Confucius, in the second chapter of his ‘Mundane
Mutations,’ where he designates a kind of golden age by the term
Cho-fang, literally the cooks’ holiday.” He premises “broiling to be the
elder brother of roasting,” and relates on the authority of the
aforesaid MS. that “roast pig” “was accidentally discovered in the
manner following”--viz.

“The swine-herd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as
his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the
care of his eldest son Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, who, being fond of
playing with fire, as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks
escape into a bundle of straw, which, kindling quickly, spread the
conflagration over every part of their poor mansion, till it was reduced
to ashes. Together with the cottage (a sorry antediluvian makeshift of a
building, you may think it), what was of much more importance, a fine
litter of new-farrowed pigs, no less than nine in number, perished.
China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all over the east from the
remotest periods that we read of. Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation,
as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which his
father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and
the labour of an hour or two, at any time, as for the loss of the pigs.
While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and wringing his
hands over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely sufferers, an
odour assailed his nostrils, unlike any scent which he had before
experienced. What could it proceed from?--not from the burnt cottage--he
had smelt that smell before--indeed this was by no means the first
accident of the kind which had occurred through the negligence of this
unlucky young fire-brand. Much less did it resemble that of any known
herb, weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at the same time
overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think. He next stooped
down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. He burnt
his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his booby fashion to
his mouth. Some of the crums of the scorched skin had come away with his
fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world’s life indeed,
for before him no man had known it), he tasted--_crackling_! Again he
felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now, still he
licked his fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length broke into
his slow understanding, that it was the pig that smelt so, and the pig
that tasted so delicious; and, surrendering himself up to the newborn
pleasure, he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with
the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly
fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with a
retributory cudgel, and finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows
upon the young rogue’s shoulders as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo
heeded not any more than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure,
which he experienced in his lower regions, had rendered him quite
callous to any inconveniences he might feel in those remote quarters.
His father might lay on, but he could not beat him from his pig.”

Bo-bo in the afternoon, regardless of his father’s wrath, and with his
“scent wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig,
and fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into
the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out, ‘Eat, eat, eat, the burnt pig,
father; only taste--O Lord!’--with such like barbarous ejaculations,
cramming all the while as if he would choke.” The narrative relates,
that “Ho-ti trembled every joint while he grasped the abominable thing,
wavering whether he should not put his son to death for an unnatural
young monster, when the crackling scorching his fingers, as it had done
his son’s, and applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn tasted
some of its flavour, which, make what sour mouths he would for a
pretence, proved not altogether displeasing to him. In conclusion, (for
the manuscript here is a little tedious,) both father and son fairly set
down to the mess, and never left off till they had despatched all that
remained of the little.

“Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape, for the
neighbours would certainly have stoned them for a couple of abominable
wretches, who could think of improving upon the good meat which God had
sent them. Nevertheless, strange stories got about. It was observed that
Ho-ti’s cottage was burnt down now more frequently than ever. Nothing
but fires from this time forward. Some would break out in broad day,
others in the night-time. As often as the sow farrowed, so sure was the
house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze; and Ho-ti himself, which was the more
remarkable, instead of chastising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent
to him than ever. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery
discovered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at Pekin,
then an inconsiderable assize town. Evidence was given, the obnoxious
food itself produced in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when
the foreman of the jury begged that some of the burnt pig, of which the
culprits stood accused, might be handed into the box. He handled it, and
they all handled it, and burning their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father
had done before them, and nature prompting to each of them the same
remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the clearest charge which
judge had ever given,--to the surprise of the whole court, townsfolk,
strangers, reporters, and all present--without leaving the box, or any
manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous verdict
of Not Guilty.

“The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the manifest iniquity of
the decision; and, when the court was dismissed, went privily, and
bought up all the pigs that could be had for love or money. In a few
days his lordship’s town house was observed to be on fire. The thing
took wing, and now there was nothing to be seen but fires in every
direction. Fuel and pigs grew enormously dear all over the district. The
insurance offices one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and
slighter every day, until it was feared that the very science of
architecture would in no long time be lost to the world. Thus this
custom of firing houses continued, till in process of time, says my
manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, who made a discovery, that the
flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked (_burnt_,
as they called it,) without the necessity of consuming a whole house to
dress it. They first began the rude form of a gridiron. Roasting by the
string, or spit, came in a century or two later, I forget in whose
dynasty. By such slow degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most
useful, and seemingly the most obvious arts, make their way among
mankind.”

ELIA maintains, that of all the delicacies in the whole eatable world,
“roast pig” is the most delicate.--“I speak,” he says, “not of your
grown porkers--things between pig and pork--those hobbydehoys--but a
young and tender suckling--under a moon old--guiltless as yet of the
sty,” with “his voice as yet not broken, but something between a
childish treble and a grumble--the mild forerunner, or _præludium_, of a
grunt.

“_He must be roasted._ I am not ignorant that our ancestors ate them
seethed, or boiled--but what a sacrifice of the exterior tegument!

“There is no flavour comparable, I will contend, to that of the crisp,
tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted _crackling_, as it is well
called--the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at
this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance--with the
adhesive oleaginous--O call it not fat--but an indefinable sweetness
growing up to it--the tender blossoming of fat--fat cropped in the
bud--taken in the shoot--in the first innocence--the cream and
quintessence of the child-pig’s yet pure food--the lean, no lean, but a
kind of animal manna--or, rather fat and lean (if it must be so) so
blended and running into each other, that both together make but one
ambrosial result, or common substance.

“Behold him while he is doing--it seemeth rather a refreshing warmth,
than a scorching heat, that he is so passive to. How equally he twirleth
round the string!--Now he is just done. To see the extreme sensibility
of that tender age, he hath wept out his pretty eyes--radiant
jellies--shooting stars.

“See him in the dish, his second cradle, how meek he lieth!--wouldst
thou have had this innocent grow up to the grossness and indocility
which too often accompany maturer swinehood? Ten to one he would have
proved a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal--wallowing
in all manner of filthy conversation--from these sins he is happily
snatched away--

    Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
    Death came with timely care--

his memory is odoriferous--no clown curseth, while his stomach half
rejecteth, the rank bacon--no coalheaver bolteth him in reeking
sausages--he hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the
judicious epicure--and for such a tomb might be content to die.”

ELIA further allegeth of “pig,” that “the strong man may batten on him,
and the weakling refuseth not his mild juices. He is--good throughout.
No part of him is better or worse than another. He helpeth, as far as
his little means extend, all around. He is the least envious of
banquets. He is all neighbours’ fare.”

“I am one of those,” continueth ELIA, “who freely and ungrudgingly
impart a share of the good things of this life which fall to their lot
(few as mine are in this kind) to a friend. I protest, I take as great
an interest in my friend’s pleasures, his relishes, and proper
satisfactions, as in mine own. ‘Presents,’ I often say, ‘endear
absents.’ Hares, pheasants, partridges, snipes, barn-door chickens
(those ‘tame villatic fowl’), capons, plovers, brawn, barrels of
oysters, I dispense as freely as I receive them. I love to taste them,
as it were, upon the tongue of my friend. But a stop must be put
somewhere. One would not, like Lear, ‘give every thing.’ I make my stand
upon pig. * * *

“I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young students, when I was
at St. Omer’s, and maintained with much learning and pleasantry on both
sides, ‘Whether, supposing that the flavour of a pig who obtained his
death by whipping (_per flagellationem extremam_) superadded a pleasure
upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering we can
conceive in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting
the animal to death?’ I forget the decision.

“His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few bread crums, done up
with his liver and brains, and a dash of mild sage. But banish, dear
Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbacue your whole
hogs to your palate, steep them in shallots, stuff them out with
plantations of the rank and guilty garlic; you cannot poison them, or
make them stronger than they are--but consider, he is a weakling--a
flower.”

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ~Part of Bartholomew Fair, 1721.~]

The two engravings whereon the reader now looks, are from a very curious
scenic print of this Fair, as represented on an old fan, recently
published by Mr. Setchel, of King-street, Covent-garden. The
letter-press account subjoined to Mr. Setchel’s print says, that “about
the year 1721, when the present interesting view of this popular Fair
was taken, the drama was considered of some importance, and a series of
minor, although regular, pieces, were acted in its various booths. At
Lee and Harper’s, the ‘Siege of Berthulia’ is performing, in which is
introduced the tragedy of ‘Holophernes.’”

Mr. Setchel’s account further represents, that “Persons of rank were
also its occasional visitors, and the figure on the right (with the
star) is also supposed to be that of sir Robert Walpole, then prime
minister. Fawkes, the famous conjuror, forms a conspicuous feature, and
is the only portrait of him known to exist.”

[Illustration: ~Another Part in the same Fair.~]

There is however, another portrait of Fawkes, the conjuror: it is a
sheet, engraved by Sutton Nichols, representing him in the midst of his
performances. Hogarth’s frontispiece to a scarce tract on “Taste,”
wherein he bespatters Burlington-gate, further tends to perpetuate
Fawkes’s fame, by an inscription announcing his celebrated feats. It is
recorded, too, in the first volume of the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” that
on the 15th of February, 1731, the Algerine ambassadors went to see Mr.
Fawkes, who, at their request, showed them a prospect of Algiers, “and
raised up an apple-tree, which bore ripe apples in less than a minute’s
time, which several of the company tasted of.” This was one of his last
performances, for, in the same volume, his name is in the list of
“Deaths,” on the 25th of May, that year, thus: “Mr. Fawkes, noted for
his dexterity of hand, said to die worth 10,000_l._” The newspapers of
the period relate, that “he had honestly acquired” it, by his
“dexterity,” and add, that it was “no more than he really deserved for
his great ingenuity, by which he had surpassed all that ever pretended
to that art. It will be observed from the show-cloth of the tumblers,
that Fawkes was also a “famous posture-master:--

    The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round,
    With sommersets he shakes the ground;
    The cord beneath the dancer springs;
    Aloft in air the vaulter swings,
    Distorted now, now prone depends,
    Now through his twisted arms descends;
    The crowd in wonder and delight,
    With clapping hands applaud the sight.

  _Gay._

On the platform of Lee and Harper’s show, with “Judith and Holophernes,”
in Mr. Setchel’s print, which is handsomely  in the manner of
the fan, the clown, behind the trumpeter, is dressed in black. The lady
who represents Judith, as she is painted on the show-cloth, is herself
on the platform, with feathers on her head; the middle feather is blue,
the others red. She wears a laced stomacher, white hanging sleeves with
rosettes, and a crimson petticoat with white rosettes in triangles, and
suitably flounced. Holophernes, in a rich robe lined with crimson and
edged with gold lace, wears light brown buskins, the colour of untanned
leather; Harlequin, instead of the little flat three-corner flexible
cap, wherein he appears at our present theatres, has a round beaver of
the same light colour. Two females entering at the door below are,
apparently, a lady and her maid; the first is in green, and wears a cap
with lappets falling behind, and white laced ruffles; the other, with a
fan in her hand, is in a tawny gown, striped with red, and cuffs of the
same; the lady and gentleman in mourning are evidently about to follow
them. From hence we see the costume of the quality, and that at that
time Bartholomew Fair was honoured with such visitors.

The boy picking the gentleman’s pocket is removed from another part of
Mr. Setchel’s print, which could not be included in the present
engraving, to show that the artist had not forgotten to represent that
the picking of pockets succeeded to the cutting of purses. The person in
black, whose gaze the baker, or man with the apron, is directing with
his finger, looks wonderfully like old Tom Hearne. Indeed, this
fan-print is exceedingly curious, and indispensable to every
“illustrator of Pennant,” and collector of manners. In that print to the
right of Lee and Harper’s is another show, with “Rope-dancing is here,”
on a show-cloth, representing a female with a pole on the tight-rope; a
stout middle-aged man, in a green coat, and leather breeches, walks the
platform and blows a trumpet; the door below is kept by a woman, and the
figures on the printed posting-bills against the boards exhibit a man on
the tight-rope, and two slack-ropes; a figure is seated and swinging on
one rope, and on the other a man swings by the hams, with his head
downward: the bills state this to be “At the great booth over against
the hospital-gate in Smithfield.” Near to where the hospital-gate may be
supposed to stand is a cook, or landlord, at the door of a house, with
“Right Redstreak Cyder, at     per quart,” on the jamb; on the other
jamb, a skittle is painted standing on a ball, and an inscription
“Sketle ground;” above his head, on a red portcullis-work, is the sign
of a punch-bowl and ladle, inscribed “Fine punch;” at the window-way of
the house hang two _Bartholomew_ “pigs with curly tails,” and a side of
large pork.

There is an “up and down,” or swing, of massive wood-work, with two
children in three of the boxes, and one empty box waiting for another
pair. Then there is a spacious sausage-stall; a toy-stall, kept by a
female, with bows, halberts, rattles, long whistles, dolls, and other
knick-knackeries: a little boy in a cocked hat is in possession of a
large halbert, and his older sister is looking wistfully at a Chinese
doll on the counter; a showman exhibits the “Siege of Gibraltar” to two
girls looking through the glasses. These are part of the amusements
which are alluded to, in the inscription on the print now describing, as
“not unlike those of our day, except in the articles of Hollands and
gin, with which the lower orders were then accustomed to indulge,
unfettered by licence or excise.” A man with tubs of “Right Hollands
Geneva, and Anniseed,” having a cock in each, is serving a bearded
beggar with a wooden-leg to a glass, much nearer to the capacity of half
a pint, than one of “three outs” of the present day; while a woman, with
a pipe in one hand, holds up a full spirit-measure, of at least half a
pint, to her own share; there is toping from a barrel of “Geneva” at
another stall; and the postures of a couple of oyster-women denote that
the uncivil provocative has raised the retort uncourteous. The visit of
sir Robert Walpole to this scene might have suggested to him, that his
licence and excise scheme, afterwards so unpopular, though ultimately
carried, would aid a reformation of manners.


_Lady Holland’s Mob._

On the night before the day whereon the lord mayor proclaims the Fair, a
riotous assemblage of persons heretofore disturbed Smithfield and its
environs, under the denomination of “Lady Holland’s mob.” This
multitude, composed of the most degraded characters of the metropolis,
was accustomed to knock at the doors and ring the bells, with loud
shouting and vociferation; and they often committed gross outrages on
persons and property. The year 1822, was the last year wherein they
appeared in any alarming force, and then the inmates of the houses they
assailed, or before which they paraded, were aroused and kept in terror
by their violence. In Skinner-street, especially, they rioted
undisturbed until between three and four in the morning: at one period
that morning their number was not less than five thousand, but it varied
as parties went off, or came in, to and from the assault of other
places. Their force was so overwhelming, that the patrol and watchmen
feared to interfere, and the riot continued till they had exhausted
their fury.

It has been supposed that this mob first arose, and has been continued,
in celebration of a verdict obtained by a Mr. Holland, which freed the
Fair from toll; but this is erroneous. “Lady Holland’s mob” may be
traced so far back as the times of the commonwealth, when the ruling
powers made considerable efforts to suppress the Fair altogether; and
when, without going into particulars to corroborate the conjecture, it
may be presumed that the populace determined to support what they called
their “charter,” under the colour of the “Holland” interest, in
opposition to the civic authorities. The scene of uproar always
commenced in Cloth-fair, and the present existence of an annual custom
there, throws some light on the matter. At “the Hand and Shears,” a
public-house in that place, it is the usage, at this time, for tailors
to assemble the night before the Fair is proclaimed by the lord mayor.
They appoint a chairman, and exactly as the clock strikes twelve, he and
his companions, each with a pair of shears in his hand, leave the house,
and, in the open street of Cloth-fair, the chairman makes a speech and
proclaims “Bartholomew Fair.” As soon as he concludes, every tailor
holds up and snaps his shears with a shout, and they retire, shears in
hand, snapping and shouting, to the “Hand and Shears,” from whence they
came forth; but the mob, who await without, to witness the ceremony,
immediately upon its being ended, run out into Smithfield, and being
joined by others there shout again. This second assemblage and shouting
is called “the mob proclaiming the Fair;” and so begins the annual mob,
called “Lady Holland’s mob.” Since 1822, the great body have confined
their noise to Smithfield itself, and their number and disorder annually
decrease.


  ORIGIN
  OF
  ~Bartholomew Fair.~

About the year 1102, in the reign of Henry I., the priory, hospital, and
church of St. Bartholomew, in Smithfield, were founded by one Rahere, a
minstrel of the king, and “a pleasant witted gentleman.” It seems that
Rahere was determined to this pious work in a fit of sickness, during a
pilgrimage he made to Rome agreeably to the fashion of the times, when
St. Bartholomew appeared to him, and required him to undertake the work
and perform it in Smithfield.[279] Before that time Smithfield, or the
greater part of it, was called “the Elms,” because it was covered with
elm trees; “since the which time,” saith Stow, “building there hath so
increased that now remaineth not one tree growing.” Smithfield derives
its name from its being “a plain or smooth field.”[280] Regarding
Rahere’s occupation as a minstrel, it may be observed, that minstrels
were reciters of poems, story tellers, performers upon musical
instruments, and sometimes jugglers and buffoons. Rahere “ofte hawnted
the kyng’s palice, and amo’ge the noyse-full presse of that tumultuous
courte, enforsed hymselfe with jolite and carnal suavite: ther yn
spectaclis, yn metys, yn playes, and other courtely mokkys, and
trifyllis intrudyng, he lede forth the besynesse of alle the day.”[281]
It is related of a person in this capacity, that he was employed by a
king as a story teller, on purpose to lull him to sleep every night; and
that the king’s requiring him to tell longer stories, the romancer began
one of so great length, that he himself fell asleep in the midst of
it.[282] Racine, the French poet, was scarcely higher employed when he
was engaged in reading Louis XIV. to sleep with “Plutarch’s Lives:” to
such a king the narratives of the philosophical biographer were fables.

Rahere was the first prior of his monastery. There was a remarkable
visitation of it by Boniface, archbishop of Canterbury, who being
received with a procession in a solemn manner, said he did not require
that honour, but came to visit them; whereto the canons answered, that
to submit to the visitation of any other than their own prelate, the
bishop of London, would be in contempt of his authority; whereupon the
archbishop conceiving great offence, struck the sub-prior in the face,
and “raging, with oathes not to bee recited, hee rent in peeces the rich
cope of the sub-prior, and trode it under his feete, and thrust him
against a pillar of the chancell, with such violence that hee had almost
killed him.” Then the canons dragged off the archbishop with so great
force that they threw him backwards, and thus perceived that he was
armed, and prepared to fight; and the archbishop’s followers falling
upon the canons, beat and tore them, and trod them under foot; who
thereupon ran bleeding with complaints of the violence to the bishop of
London, who sent four of them to the king at Westminster, but he would
neither hear nor see them. In the mean time, the city was in an uproar,
and the people would “have hewed the archbishop into small peeces,” if
he had not secretly withdrawn to Lambeth, from whence he went over to
the king, “with a great complaint against the canons, whereas himself
was guilty.”[283] How the affair ended does not appear.

Stow says, that “to this priory king Henry the second granted the
priviledge of a Faire to bee kept yeerly at Bartholomew-tide, for three
daies, to wit, the eve, the day, and the next morrow, to the which the
clothiers of England, and drapers of London repaired, and had their
boothes and standings within the church-yard of this priory, closed in
with wals and gates locked every night, and watched for safety of mens
goods and wares; a court of piepowders was daily during the Faire
holden, for debts and contracts. But,” continues Stow, “notwithstanding
all proclamations of the prince, and also the act of parliament, in
place of booths within this church-yard (only letten out in the Faire
time, and closed up all the yeere after) bee many large houses builded,
and the north wall towards Long-lane taken downe, a number of tenements
are there erected, for such as will give great rents. The forrainers,”
he adds, “were licensed for three days, the freemen so long as they
would, which was sixe or seven daies.” This was the origin of
Bartholomew Fair, over which the charter of Henry II. gave the mayor and
aldermen criminal jurisdiction during its continuance.

Bolton was the last prior of this house, to which he added many
buildings, and built “the manor of Canonbury, at Islington, which
belonged to the canons.” In 1554, on the dissolution of the religious
houses, Henry VIII., in consideration of 1064_l._ 11_s._ 3_d._ granted
to Richard Rich, knt. attorney-general, and chancellor of the court of
augmentations of the revenues of the crown, the dissolved monastery or
priory of St. Bartholomew, and the Close with the messuages and
buildings therein appertaining to the monastery. He also granted to the
said Richard Rich, knt. and to the inhabitants of the parish of St.
Bartholomew, and the church of St. Bartholomew, all the void ground
eighty seven feet in length, and sixty in breadth, adjoining the church
westward, for a church-yard. In the first year of Edward VI. that king
confirmed the grant to sir Richard Rich, who was created lord Rich, and
appointed lord chancellor of England; but under Mary the ejected monks
were restored to the priory, where they remained till the accession of
queen Elizabeth, who renewed the grant to lord Rich and his heirs; and
lord Rich took up his residence in Cloth-fair. The lord Rich ultimately
became earl of Warwick and Holland, and the property regularly descended
to the present lord Kensington, through William Edwards, who was son of
the lady Elizabeth Rich, and created, in 1776, baron of Kensington of
the kingdom of Ireland.

Henry VIII. having in this way disposed of the priory and church of St.
Bartholomew, he gave the hospital, with certain messuages and
appurtenances, to the city of London. When connected with the priory, it
had been governed by a master, brethren, and eight sisters.

On the 13th of January, 1546, the bishop of Rochester (Holbetch,)
preaching at Paul’s-cross, declared the gift of St. Bartholomew’s
hospital to the citizens “for relieving of the poore;” and thereupon the
inhabitants of the city were called together in their parish churches,
where sir Richard Dobbs the lord mayor, the several aldermen, and other
principal citizens, showing the great good of taking the poor from their
miserable habitations, and providing for them in hospitals abroad, men
were moved liberally to contribute what they would towards such
hospitals, and so weekly, towards their maintenance for a time, until
they were fully endowed; and in July 1552 the reparation of the St.
Bartholomew’s hospital commenced, and it was endowed and furnished at
the charges of the citizens.[284] The number of the poor and sick to be
maintained therein, was limited under the foundation of Henry VIII. to
one hundred; but, at this time, several thousands of persons who need
surgical aid are annually received and relieved, under the management of
the most eminent surgeons of our age.

       *       *       *       *       *

Smithfield, whereon the Fair was held, was likewise a market-place for
cattle, hay, straw, and other necessary provisions; and also, saith
Stow, “it hath been a place for honourable justs and triumphs, by reason
it was unpaid.” After it had ceased to be a place of recreative exercise
with the gentry, loose serving men and quarrelsome persons resorted
thither, and made uproars; and thus becoming the rendezvous of bullies
and bravoes, it obtained the name of “Ruffians’-hall.” The “sword and
buckler” were at that time in use, and a serving-man carried a buckler,
or shield, at his back, which hung by the hilt or pommel of his sword
hanging before him.[285] Fellows of this sort who hectored and blustered
were called “Swash-bucklers,” from the noise they made with the “sword
and buckler” to frighten an antagonist: “a bully,” or fellow all noise
and no courage, was called a “swasher.”[286]

With the disuse of pageants, the necessity for Smithfield remaining a
“soft ground” ceased; and, accordingly, as “it was continually subject
to the iniquity of weather, and being a place of such goodly extendure,
deserved to be much better respected, it pleased the king’s majesty,
(James I.) with the advice of his honourable lords of the counsell, to
write graciously to the lord maior and the aldermen his brethren, that
Smithfield might be sufficiently paved, which would bee the onely
meanes, whereby to have it kept in far cleaner condition: And” says
Stow, “as no motion (to any good end and intent) can be made to the
city, but they as gladly embrace and willingly pursue it; even so this
honourable motion found as acceptable entertainment, and it was very
speedily proceeded withall. Some voluntary contribution in the severall
parishes (what each man willingly would give) was bestowed on the worke;
but, (indeed,) hardly deserving any report. Notwithstanding, on the
fourth day of February, in An. 1614, the city began the intended labour,
and before Bartholomew-tide then next ensuing, to the credit and honour
of the city for ever, it was fully finished, and Bartholomew Faire there
kept, without breaking any of the paved ground, but the boothes
discreetly ordered, to stand fast upon the pavement. The citizens charge
thereof (as I have been credibly told by Master Arthur Strangwaies,)
amounting well neere to sixteene hundred pounds.” This improvement, it
will be remembered, was effected in the year wherein Ben Jonson’s
“Bartholomew Fair” was written.

       *       *       *       *       *

In “The Order observed by the lord maior, the aldermen, and sheriffes
for their meetings, and wearing of their apparell throughout the whole
yeere,” it is ordained, That

“_On Bartholomew Eve for the Fayre in Smithfield_:--

“The aldermen meete the lord maior and the sheriffes at the Guildhall
chappel, at two of the clocke after dinner, having on their _violet_
gownes lined, and their horses, but without their cloakes, and there
they heare evening prayer. Which being done, they mount on their horses,
and riding to Newgate, passe forth of the gate. Then entring into the
Cloth-fayre, there they make a proclamation, which proclamation being
ended, they ride thorow the Cloth-fayre, and so returne backe againe
thorow the church-yard of great Saint Bartholomewes to Aldersgate: and
then ride home againe to the lord maior’s house.”

In the same collection of ordinances:--

“_On Bartholomew Day for the Wrastling._

“So many aldermen as doe dine with the lord maior, and the sheriffes,
are apparelled in their _scarlet_ gownes lined; and after dinner, their
horses are brought to them where they dined. And those aldermen which
dine with the sheriffes, ride with them to the lord maior’s house for
accompanying him to the wrastlings. When as the wrastling is done, they
mount their horses, and ride backe againe thorow the Fayre, and so in at
Aldersgate, and then home againe to the lord maior’s house.”

“_The Shooting Day._

“The next day, (if it be not Sunday,) is appointed for the shooting, and
the service performed as upon Bartholomew-day; but if it bee Sunday, the
Sabbath-day, it is referred to the Munday then following.”

Ben Jonson’s mention, in his “Bartholomew Fair,” of “the western man who
is come to wrestle before the lord mayor anon,” is clearly of one who
came up to the annual wrestling on Bartholomew’s-day. Concerning this
“annual wrastling,” it is further noticed by Stow in another place, that
about the feast of St. Bartholomew, wrestling was exhibited before the
lord mayor and aldermen, at Skinnerswell near Clerkenwell, where they
had a large tent for their accommodation. He speaks of it as having been
a practice “of old time;” and affirms that “divers days were spent in
the pastime, and that the officers of the citie, namely the sheriffes,
serjeants, and yeomen, the porters of the king’s beame, or weigh-house,
(now no such men,” says Stow,) “and other of the citie were challengers
of all men in the suburbs, to wrestle for games appointed: and on other
days, before the said mayor, aldermen, and sheriffes, in Fensbury-field,
to shoot the standard, broad arrow, and flight, for games. But now of
late yeeres,” Stow adds, “the wrestling is only practiced on
Bartholomew-day in the afternoone, and the shooting some three or foure
days after, in one afternoone and no more.” Finally, the old chronicler
laments, that “by the means of closing in of common grounds, our
archers, for want of roome to shoot abroad creepe into bowling-alleys,
and ordinarie dicing houses, neerer home, where they have roome enough
to hazzard their money at unlawful games, and there I leave them to take
their pleasures.” Another narrator tells of the wrestlers before the
lord mayor, aldermen, &c. on Bartholomew’s-day that they wrestled “two
at a time;” he says “the conquerors are rewarded by them by money thrown
from the tent; after this a parcel of wild rabbits are turned loose in
the crowd, and hunted by boys with great noise, at which the mayor and
aldermen do much besport themselves.”[287]

       *       *       *       *       *

It was on St. Bartholomew’s-eve that the London scholars held logical
disputations about the principles of grammar. “I myself,” says Stow,
“have yeerely seen the scholars of divers grammar-schools, repaire unto
the churchyard of St. Bartholomew, the priory in Smithfield, where, upon
a banke boorded about under a tree, some one scholler hath stepped up,
and there hath opposed and answered, till he were by some better
scholler overcome and put downe; and then the overcommer taking the
place, did like as the first; and in the end, the best opposers and
answerers had rewards.” These disputations ceased at the suppression of
the priory, but were revived, though, “only for a yeare or waine,” under
Edward VI., where the best scholars received bows, and arrows of
silver, for their prizes.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Bartholomew Fair of 1655, is the subject of

_An Ancient Song of Bartholomew Fair._

    In fifty-five, may I never thrive,
      If I tell you any more than is true,
    To London che came, hearing of the fame
      Of a Fair they call Bartholomew.

    In houses of boards, men walk upon cords,
      As easie as squirrels crack filberds;
    But the cut-purses they do lite, and rub away,
      But those we suppose to be ill birds.

    For a penny you may zee a fine puppet play,
      And for two-pence a rare piece of art;
    And a penny a cann, I dare swear a man,
      May put zix of ’em into a quart.

    Their zights are so rich, is able to bewitch
      The heart of a very fine man-a;
    Here’s patient Grizel here, and Fair Rosamond there,
      And the history of Susanna.

    At Pye-corner end, mark well, my good friend,
      ’Tis a very fine dirty place;
    Where there’s more arrows and bows, the Lord above knows,
      Than was handl’d at Chivy Chase.

    Then at Smithfield Bars, betwixt the ground and the stars,
      There’s a place they call Shoemaker Row,
    Where that you may buy shoes every day,
      Or go barefoot all the year I tro’.[288]

In 1699, Ned Ward relates his visit to the Fair:--

“We ordered the coachman to set us down at the Hospital-gate, near which
we went into a convenient house to smoke a pipe, and overlook the
follies of the innumerable throng, whose impatient desires of seeing
Merry Andrew’s grimaces, had led them ancle deep into filth and
nastiness.--The first objects, when we were seated at the window that
lay within our observation, were the quality of the Fair, strutting
round their balconies in their tinsey robes, and golden leather
buckskins, expressing such pride in their buffoonery stateliness, that I
could but reasonably believe they were as much elevated with the thought
of their fortnight’s pageantry, as ever Alexander was with the thought
of a new conquest looking with great contempt from their slit deal
thrones, upon the admiring mobility gazing in the dirt at our
ostentatious heroes, and their most supercilious doxies, who looked as
aukward and ungainly in their gorgeous accoutrements, as an alderman’s
lady in her stiffen-bodied gown upon a lord mayor’s festival.”[289]

       *       *       *       *       *

At the Fair of 1701, there was exhibited a tiger which had been taught
to pluck a fowl’s feathers from its body.

In the reign of queen Anne the following curious bill relates part of
the entertainment at one of the shows:--

“By her majesty’s permission, at Heatly’s booth, over against the Cross
Daggers, next to Mr. Miller’s booth, during the time of Bartholomew
Fair, will be presented a little opera, called The Old Creation of the
World new Revived, with the addition of the glorious battle obtained
over the French and Spaniards by his grace the duke of Marlborough. The
contents are these, 1. The creation of Adam and Eve. 2. The intrigues of
Lucifer in the garden of Eden. 3. Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise.
4. Cain going to plow; Abel driving sheep. 5. Cain killeth his brother
Abel. 6. Abraham offereth up his son Isaac. 7. Three wise men of the
east, guided by a star, come and worship Christ. 8. Joseph and Mary flee
away by night upon an ass. 9. King Herod’s cruelty; his men’s spears
laden with children. 10. Rich Dives invites his friends, and orders his
porter to keep the beggars from his gate. 11. Poor Lazarus comes a
begging at rich Dives’ gate, the dogs lick his sores. 12. The good angel
and Death contend for Lazarus’s life. 13. Rich Dives is taken sick, and
dieth; he is buried in great solemnity. 14. Rich Dives in hell, and
Lazarus in Abraham’s bosom, seen in a most glorious object, all in
machines descending in a throne, guarded with multitudes of angels; with
the breaking of the clouds, discovering the palace of the sun, in double
and treble prospects, to the admiration of all the spectators. Likewise
several rich and large figures, which dance jiggs, sarabands, anticks,
and country dances, between every act; compleated with the merry humours
of Sir Jno. Spendall and Punchinello, with several other things never
exposed. Performed by Matt. Heatly. _Vivat Regina._”

A writer in the “Secret Mercury,” of September 9, 1702, says,
“Wednesday, September 3, having padlocked my pockets, and trimmed myself
with Hudibras from head to foot, I set out about six for Bartholomew
Fair; and having thrown away substantial silver for visionary theatrical
entertainment, I made myself ready for the farce; but I had scarce
composed myself, when bolts me into the pit a bully beau, &c. The
curtain drew, and discovered a nation of beauish machines; their motions
were so starched, that I began to question whether I had mistaken
myself, and Dogget’s booth for a puppet-show. As I was debating the
matter, they advanced towards the front of the stage, and making a halt,
began a singing so miserably, that I was forced to tune my own whistle
in romance ere my brains were set straight again. All the secret I
could for my life discover in the whole grotesque, was the consistency
of drift of the piece, which I could never demonstrate to this hour. At
last, all the childish parade shrunk off the stage by matter and motion,
and enter a hobletehoy of a dance, and Dogget, in old woman’s petticoats
and red waistcoat, as like Progue Cock as ever man saw; it would have
made a stoic split his lungs, if he had seen the temporary harlot sing
and weep both at once; a true emblem of a woman’s tears. When these
Christmas carols were over, enter a wooden horse; now I concluded we
should have the ballad of Troy-town, but I was disappointed in the
scene, for a dancing-master comes in, begins complimenting the horse,
and fetching me three or four run-bars with his arm, (as if he would
have mortified the ox at one blow,) takes a frolic upon the back of it,
and translates himself into cavalry at one bound; all I could clap was
the patience of the beast. However, having played upon him about half a
quarter, the conqueror was pursued with such a clangor from the crusted
clutches of the mob in the sixpenny place, that for five minutes
together I was tossed on this dilemma, that either a man had not five
senses, or I was no man. The stage was now overrun with nothing but
merry-andrews and pickle-herrings. This mountebank scene was removed at
last, and I was full of expectations that the successor would be pills,
pots of balsam, and orvietan; but, alas, they were half empirics, and
therefore exeunt omnes.”

We learn something of the excesses at the Fair from “The Observator,” of
August 21, 1703:--“Does this market of lewdness tend to any thing else
but the ruin of the bodies, souls, and estates of the young men and
women of the city of London, who here meet with all the temptations to
destruction? The lotteries, to ruin their estates; the drolls, comedies,
interludes, and farces, to poison their minds, &c. and in the cloisters
what strange medley of lewdness has that place not long since afforded!
Lords and ladies, aldermen and their wives, ’squires and fiddlers,
citizens and rope-dancers, jack-puddings and lawyers, mistresses and
maids, masters and ’prentices! This is not an ark, like Noah’s which
received the clean and unclean; only the unclean beasts enter this ark,
and such as have the devil’s livery on their backs.”

An advertisement in “The Postman,” of August 19, 1703, by “Barnes and
Finley,” invites the reader to “see my lady Mary perform such curious
steps on the dancing-rope,” &c. &c. Lady Mary is noticed in “Heraclitus
Ridens,” No. 7. “Look upon the old gentleman; his eyes are fixed upon my
lady Mary: Cupid has shot him as dead as a robin. Poor Heraclitus! he
has cried away all his moisture, and is such a dotard to entertain
himself with a prospect of what is meat for his betters; wake him out of
his lethargy, and tell him the young noblemen and senators will take it
amiss if a man of his years makes pretensions to what is more than a
match for their youth. Those roguish eyes have brought her more admirers
than ever Jenny Bolton had.”

Lady Mary was the daughter of noble parents, inhabitants of Florence,
who immured her in a nunnery; but she accidentally saw a merry-andrew,
with whom she formed a clandestine intercourse; an elopement followed,
and finally, he taught her his infamous tricks, which she exhibited for
his profit, till vice had made her his own, as Heraclitus proves. The
catastrophe of “the lady Mary” was dreadful: her husband, impatient of
delays or impediments to profit, either permitted or commanded her to
exhibit on the rope, when her situation required compassionate
consideration; she fell never to rise again, nor to open her eyes on her
untimely infant, which perished in a few minutes after her.

In 1715, Dawks’s “News Letter,” says, “on Wednesday, Bartholomew Fair
began, to which we hear, the greatest number of black cattle was
brought, that was ever known.--There is one great playhouse erected in
the middle of Smithfield for the king’s players.--The booth is the
largest that was ever built.” Actors of celebrity performed in the Fair
at that time, and in many succeeding years.

A recent writer, evidently well acquainted with the manners of the
period, introduces us to a character mentioned in a former sheet. “In
the midst of all, the public attention was attracted to a tall,
well-made, and handsome-looking man, who was dressed in a very
fashionable suit of white, trimmed with gold lace, a laced ruffled
shirt, rolled white silk stockings, a white apron, and a large cocked
hat, formed of gingerbread, fringed and garnished with Dutch gold. He
carried on his arm a basket filled with gingerbread cakes, one of which
he held up in the air; while the other hand was stuck with an easy and
fashionable manner into his bosom. For this singular vendor of
confectionary every one made way, and numbers followed in his train,
shouting after him, ‘there goes Tiddy Doll!’ the name by which that
remarkable character was known. He himself did not pass silently through
the crowd, but as he went along, he poured forth a multiplicity of
praises of his ware, occasionally enlivened by that song which first
procured him his name.” This was at the Fair of the year 1740 concerning
which the same illustrator thus continues: “The multitude behind was
impelled violently forwards, a broad blaze of red light, issuing from a
score of flambeaux, streamed into the air; several voices were loudly
shouting, ‘room there for prince George! make way for the prince!’ and
there was that long sweep heard to pass over the ground, which indicates
the approach of a grand and ceremonious train. Presently the pressure
became much greater, the voices louder, the light stronger, and as the
train came onward, it might be seen that it consisted, firstly, of a
party of yeomen of the guards clearing the way; then several more of
them bearing flambeaux, and flanking the procession; while in the midst
of all appeared a tall, fair, and handsome young man, having something
of a plump foreign visage, seemingly about four and thirty years of age,
dressed in a ruby- frock coat, very richly guarded with gold
lace, and having his long flowing hair curiously curled over his
forehead and at the sides, and finished with a very large bag and
courtly queue behind. The air of dignity with which he walked, the blue
ribbon, and star and garter with which he was decorated, the small
three-cornered silk court hat which he wore, whilst all around him were
uncovered; the numerous suite, as well of gentlemen as of guards, which
marshalled him along, the obsequious attention of a short stout person,
who by his flourishing manner seemed to be a player,--all these
particulars indicated that the amiable Frederick, prince of Wales was
visiting Bartholomew Fair by torchlight, and that manager Rich was
introducing his royal guest to all the entertainments of the place.
However strange this circumstance may appear to the present generation,
yet it is nevertheless strictly true; for about 1740, when the drolls in
Smithfield were extended to three weeks and a month, it was not
considered as derogatory to persons of the first rank and fashion, to
partake in the broad humour and theatrical amusements of the place. It
should also be remembered, that many an eminent performer of the last
century, unfolded his abilities in a booth; and that it was once
considered, as an important and excellent preparative to their treading
the boards of a theatre-royal.” One of the players is thus represented
as informing a spectator concerning the occupation of an itinerant
actor:--“I will, as we say, take you behind the scenes. First then, a
valuable actor must sleep in the pit, and wake early to sweep the
theatre, and throw fresh sawdust into the boxes; he must shake out the
dresses, and wind up and dust the motion-jacks; he must teach the dull
ones how to act, rout up the idlers from the straw, and redeem those
that happen to get into the watch-house. Then, sir, when the Fair
begins, he should sometimes walk about the stage grandly, and show his
dress: sometimes he should dance with his fellows; sometimes he should
sing; sometimes he should blow the trumpet; sometimes he should laugh
and joke with the crowd, and give them a kind of a touch-and-go speech,
which keep them merry, and makes them come in. Then, sir, he should
sometimes cover his state robe with a great coat, and go into the crowd,
and shout opposite his own booth, like a stranger who is struck with its
magnificence: by the way, sir, that’s a good trick, I never knew it fail
to make an audience; and then he has only to steal away, mount his
stage, and strut, and dance, and sing, and trumpet, and roar over
again.”[290]

       *       *       *       *       *

An advertisement in the “London Gazette” of April the 13th, 1682, shows
under what authority showmen and similar persons “labour in their
vocation:”--

“Whereas Mr. John Clarke, of London, bookseller, did rent of Charles
Killigrew, Esq. the licensing of all ballad-singers for five years;
which time is expired at Lady-day next. These are, therefore, to give
notice to all ballad-singers, that they take out licences at the office
of the revels, at Whitehall, for singing and selling of ballads, and
small books, according to an ancient custom. And all persons concerned
are hereby desired to take notice of, and to suppress all mountebanks,
rope-dancers, prize-players, ballad-singers, and such as make show of
motions and strange sights, that have not a licence in red and black
letters, under the hand and seal of the said Charles Killigrew, Esq.
master of the revels to his majesty;” and in particular it requires them
to suppress two, one of them being “Thomas Teats mountebank,” who have
no licence “that they may be proceeded against according to law.”

The late John Charles Crowle, Esq. who bequeathed his illustrated copy
of “Pennant’s London” to the British Museum, which he valued at 5000_l._
was master of the revels. In that quality he claimed a seat in any part
of the theatres, and being opposed by the manager of the little theatre
in the Haymarket, maintained his right. He was also trumpet-major of
England, to whom every one who blows a trumpet publicly (excepting those
of the theatres-royal) must pay a certain sum, and therefore the office
has jurisdiction of all the merry-andrews and jack-puddings of every
Fair throughout England. The office of master of the revels was created
under Henry VIII. in 1546. The identical seal of the office used under
five sovereigns, was engraved on wood, and is in the possession of
Francis Douce, Esq. F.S.A., who permitted impressions of it to be
inserted first by Mr. Chalmers in his “Apology for the believers in the
Shakspeare MSS.,” and next by Mr. J. T. Smith, of the British Museum, in
his “Ancient Topography of London:” the legend on it is “Sigill: Offic:
Jocor: Mascar: et Revell: Dnis. Reg.” Mr. Chalmers’s work also contains
the “arms of the revels.”[291]

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. J. T. Smith was informed by Mr. Thomas Batrich, an ancient barber of
Drury-lane, that Mr. Garrick shortly after his marriage conducted Mrs.
Garrick to Yates and Shuter’s booth; Garrick being rudely pushed called
upon his bill-sticker, old Palmer, who had been engaged to receive the
money at the entrance of the booth, for protection. Palmer, though a
very strong man, professed himself sorry he could not serve him in
Smithfield; alleging that few people there knew Garrick off the stage.
One of the merry-andrews who attended on the quack doctors was so much
superior to the rest of his profession for wit and gesture, that he was
noticed by all ranks of people. Between the seasons he sold gingerbread
nuts about Covent-garden, and was the most polite and quiet vendor of
the article in London; for to keep up his value at fairs, where he had a
guinea a day for his performance besides presents from the multitude, he
would never laugh or notice a joke when a dealer in nuts.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Edward Oram, who died at Hampstead in his seventy-third year, and
was buried at Hendon, was intimate with Hogarth in his youth, and
introduced him, soon after he left his master, to the proprietors of
Drury-lane theatre, where he and Oram painted scenes conjointly, for
several years, and were employed by a famous woman, who kept a droll in
Bartholomew Fair to paint a splendid set of scenes. The agreement
particularly specified that the scenes were to be gilt; but instead of
leaf gold being used, they were covered in the usual way with Dutch
metal: the mistress of the drolls declared the contract to be broken,
and refused to pay for the scenes.[292]

       *       *       *       *       *

Without going into a history of Bartholomew Fair, it may be remarked
that in 1778 it was attended by a foreigner, who exhibited serpents that
danced on silk ropes to the sound of music. In 1782, the late Mrs.
Baker, proprietor of the Rochester theatre, brought here her company of
comedians as “show-folk.” In four successive years, from 1779 to 1780,
Mr. Hall of the City-road, eminent for his skill in the preservation of
deceased animals, exhibited at the Fair his fine collection of stuffed
birds and beasts, which he exhibited for many years before and
afterwards at his own house. To obtain notice to it in Smithfield, he
engaged sir Jeffery Dunstan to give his imitations in crying “old wigs;”
but the mob were no admirers of “still life:” at Hall’s last visit they
drew his fine zebra round the Fair; from thenceforth sir Jeffery’s
imitations ceased to draw, and Hall came no more.

The exhibitions of living animals at this Fair have been always
attractive. Hither came the “illustrious” Pidcock, with his wild
beasts, and to him succeeded the “not less illustrious” Polito.

Hither also came the formerly famous, and still well-remembered Astley,
with his “equestrian troop,” and his learned horse. These feats were the
admiration of never-ceasing audiences, and to him succeeded Saunders
with like success.


_Puppet Shows._

Flockton was the last eminent “motion-master” at Bartholomew Fair. He
was himself a good performer, and about 1790 his wooden puppets were in
high vogue. He brought them every year till his death, which happened at
Peckham, where he resided in a respectable way, upon a handsome
competence realized by their exhibition at this and the principal fairs
in the country. Flockton’s “Punch” was a very superior one to the
present street show. He had trained a Newfoundland dog to fight his
puppet, representing the devil, whom he always conquered in due time,
and then ran away with him.

A puppet-show, or play performed by puppets, was anciently called a
“_motion_;” and sometimes, in common talk, a single puppet was called “a
motion.” These were very favourite spectacles. In the times of the
papacy, the priests at Witney, in Oxfordshire, annually exhibited a show
of _The Resurrection_, &c. by garnishing out certain small puppets
representing the persons of Christ, Mary, and others. Amongst them, one
in the character of a waking watchman, espying Christ to arise, made a
continual noise, like the sound caused by the meeting of two sticks, and
was therefore commonly called _Jack Snacker of Wytney_. Lambarde, when a
child, saw a like puppet in St. Paul’s cathedral, London, at the feast
of Whitsuntide; where the descent of the Holy Ghost was performed by a
white pigeon being let fly out of a hole in the midst of the roof of the
great aisle, with a long censer, which descending from the same place
almost to the ground, was swung up and down at such a length, that it
reached with one sweep almost to the west-gate of the church, and with
the other to the choir stairs, breathing out over the whole church and
the assembled multitude a most pleasant perfume, from the sweet things
that burnt within it. Lambarde says, that they everywhere used the like
_dumb-shows_, to furnish sundry parts of the church service with
spectacles of the nativity, passion, and ascension.

There may be added to the particulars of a former exhibition, a
puppet-showman’s bill at the British Museum, which announces scriptural
subjects in the reign of Anne, as follows: “At Crawley’s booth, over
against the Crown Tavern, in Smithfield, during the time of _Bartholomew
Fair_, will be presented a little opera, called _the Old Creation of the
World_, yet newly revived; with the addition of _Noah’s Flood_; also
several fountains playing water during the time of the play. The last
scene does present Noah and his family coming out of the ark, with all
the beasts two by two, and all the fowls of the air seen in a prospect
sitting upon trees; likewise over the ark is seen the sun rising in a
glorious manner: moreover a multitude of angels will be seen in a double
rank which presents a double prospect, one for the sun, the other for a
palace, where will be seen _six angels ringing of bells_. Likewise
machines descend from above, double and treble, with _Dives rising out
of hell, and Lazarus seen in Abraham’s bosom_, besides several figures
dancing jigs, sarabands, and country dances, to the admiration of the
spectators; with the merry conceits of _Squire Punch, and Sir John
Spendall_.”

These “motions” or puppet-shows were fashionable at this period in other
places, and among fashionable people.

In the “Tatler” of May 14, 1709, there is an account of a puppet-show in
a letter from Bath, describing the rivalry of Prudentia and Florimel,
two ladies at that watering-place. Florimel bespoke the play of
“Alexander the Great,” to be acted by the company of strollers on
Thursday evening, and the letter-writer accepted the lady’s invitation
to be of her party; but he says, “Prudentia had counterplotted us, and
had bespoke on the same evening, the puppet-show of the _Creation of the
World_. She had engaged every body to be there; and to turn our leader
into ridicule, had secretly let them know that the puppet _Eve_ was made
the most like Florimel that ever was seen. On Thursday morning the
puppet-drummer, with Adam and Eve, and several others that lived before
the flood, passed through the streets on horseback to invite us all to
the pastime; and Mr. Mayor was so wise as to prefer these innocent
people, the puppets, who he said were to represent christians, before
the wicked players who were to show Alexander an heathen philosopher.
When we came to _Noah’s_ flood in the show, _Punch_ and his wife were
introduced dancing in the ark. Old Mrs. Petulant desired both her
daughters to mind the moral; then whispered to Mrs. Mayoress, ’this is
very proper for young people to see,’ Punch at the end of the play made
Madame Prudentia a bow, and was very civil to the whole company, making
bows till his buttons touched the ground.” Sir Richard Steele in the
“Spectator” of March 16, 1711, intimates that Powell, the
puppet-showman, exhibited religious subjects with his puppets, under the
little piazza in Covent-garden; and talks of “his next opera of
_Susannah_, or _Innocence Betrayed_, which will be exhibited next week
with a pair of new _elders_.”

It is observed in a small pamphlet,[293] that “music forms one of the
grand attractions of the Fair, and a number of itinerant musicians meet
with constant employment at this time.” A band at the west-end of the
town, well known for playing on winter evenings before the Spring-garden
coffee-house, and opposite Wigley’s great exhibition-room, consisted of
a double drum, a Dutch organ, the tambourine, violin pipes, and the
Turkish jingle, used in the army. This band was generally hired at one
of the first booths in the Fair; but the universal noise arising from so
many other discordant instruments, with the cry of “show them in! just
going to begin!” prevented their being attended to.

The pamphlet referred to mentions the performances by a family of
tumblers, who went about with a large caravan, and attended all the
Fairs near town; and that at the beginning of the last century, Clarke
and Higgins made themselves famous for their wonderful exertions in this
way. They would extend the body into all deformed shapes, stand upon one
leg, and extend the other in a perpendicular line, half a yard above the
head. The tumblers of the present day do not attempt such wonderful
exploits, but they put their bodies into a variety of singular postures,
and leap with remarkable facility.

Lane was a celebrated performer at this Fair, and had several pupils who
succeeded him in practising the grand and sublime art of legerdemain,
and various tricks with cards and balls. The secrets of fortune were
disclosed; unmarried damsels were told when and to whom they were to be
married; and the widow when she should strip herself of her weeds, and
enter anew into matrimony; knives were run through the hand without
producing blood; knives and forks swallowed as of easy digestion; and
fire and sparks proceeded out of a man’s mouth as from a blacksmith’s
forge.

During Bartholomew Fair there were swings without number, besides
round-abouts and up-and-downs. In the latter, the “young gentleman,”
with his fair partner, were elated by the undulating motion, or rather
vertical rotation of the machine; and while thus in motion, could survey
the busy scene around, and hear its roar. The effect cannot be
described which a stranger experienced upon entering Smithfield, and
beholding the immense number of these vehicles, which appeared as if
soaring into the clouds.

Then too, about the year 1815, a well-known eccentric character might be
seen with plum-pudding on a board, which he sold in slices. He possessed
as much drollery as any mountebank in the Fair, and had as various
characteristic traits of oddity. He always walked without his hat, and
his hair powdered and tied _a la queue_, in a neat dress, with a clean
apron: his voice, strong and forcible, made many a humorous appeal in
behalf of his pudding, large quantities of which he dealt out for “ready
money,” and provoked a deal of mirth by his pleasantry.

George Alexander Stevens be-rhymes the Fair in his day thus:--

      Here were, first of all, crowds against other crowds driving
    Like wind and tide meeting, each contrary striving;
    Shrill fiddling, sharp fighting, and shouting and shrieking,
    Fifes, trumpets, drums, bagpipes, and barrow girls squeaking--
    “Come my rare round and sound, here’s choice of fine ware!”
    Though all was not sound sold at Bartelmew Fair.
    Here were drolls, hornpipe-dancing, and showing of postures,
    With frying black puddings, and opening of oysters;
    With salt-boxes, solos, and galley folks squalling,
    The tap-house guests roaring, and mouth-pieces bawling.
    Here’s “Punch’s whole play of the gunpowder plot,”
    “Wild beasts all alive,” and “peas pudding all hot.”
    “Fine sausages” fried, and “the Black on the wire,”
    “The whole court of France,” and “nice pig at the fire.”
    Here’s the up-and-downs, “who’ll take a seat in the chair?”
    Tho’ there’s more up-and-downs than at Bartelmew Fair.
    Here’s “Whittington’s cat,” and “the tall dromedary,”
    “The chaise without horses,” and “queen of Hungary.”
    Here’s the merry-go-rounds, “Come who rides, come who rides, sir,”
    Wine, beer, ale, and cakes, fire eating besides, sir,
    The fam’d “learned dog,” that can tell all his letters,
    And some _men_, as _scholars_, are not much his betters.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before the commencement of the last century, Bartholomew Fair had become
an intolerable nuisance, and the lord mayor and aldermen, to abate its
depravity, issued a prohibition on the 25th of June, 1700, against its
lotteries and interludes. Subsequent feints of resistance were made to
its shows, music, and other exhibitions, without further advantage than
occasional cessation of gross violations against the public peace.

In sir Samuel Fludyer’s mayoralty, interludes were prohibited by a
resolution of the court of aldermen. This resolution has been annually
put forth, and annually broken by the court itself. When alderman Bull
filled the civic chair, he determined to carry the resolution into
effect, and so far accomplished his purpose as not to allow any booths
to be erected; but want of firmness in his predecessors had inspirited
the mob, and they broke the windows of the houses in Smithfield.
Alderman Sawbridge in his mayoralty was equally determined against
shows, and the mob was equally determined for them; he persisted, and
they committed similar excesses. Yet we find that in the year 1743, the
resolution had been complied with. The city would not permit booths to
be erected, and “the Fair terminated in a more peaceable manner than it
had done in the memory of man.”[294] This quiet, however, was only
temporary, for on the 23rd of August, 1749, a gallery in Phillips’s
booth broke down, and four persons were killed; a silversmith, a
plasterer, a woman, and a child, and many others were dangerously
bruised; one of the maimed had his leg cut off the next morning.[295]
This accident seems to have aroused the citizens: on the 10th of July,
1750, a petition was presented to the lord mayor and court of aldermen,
signed by above one hundred graziers, salesmen, and inhabitants in and
near Smithfield, against erecting booths for exhibiting shows and
entertainments there, during Bartholomew Fair, as not only annoying to
them in their callings, but as giving the profligate and abandoned
opportunity to debauch the innocent, defraud the unwary, and endanger
the public peace.[296]

On the 17th of July, 1798, the court of common council referred it to
the committee of city lands, to consider the necessity and expediency of
abolishing Bartholomew Fair: in the course of the previous debate it was
proposed to shorten the period to one day, but this was objected to on
the ground that the immense crowd from all parts of the metropolis would
endanger life.[297]

In September, 1825, Mr. Alderman Joshua Jonathan Smith, previous to
entering on an examination of forty-five prisoners charged with
felonies, misdemeanours, assaults, &c. committed in Smithfield during
the Fair of that year, stated, that its ancient limits had been extended
into several adjoining streets beyond Smithfield; he said he had
particularly noticed this infringement in St. John-street, Clerkenwell
on the north side, and nearly half-way down the Old Bailey, on the
south; and he was determined, with the aid of his coadjutors, to take
such further steps as would in future “lessen the criminal extension
which had arisen, if not abolish the degrading scene altogether.”[298]

At other periods besides these, there were loud complaints against
Bartholomew Fair; and as in 1825, the corporation of London appears
seriously to have been engaged in considering the nuisance, its end may
be contemplated as near at hand. It is to the credit of the civic
authorities, that though shows and interludes were permitted, the Fair
of that year was more orderly than any other within memory. Yet even
these regulations are inefficient to the maintenance of the reputation
the city ought to hold in the estimation of other corporations. The Fair
was instituted for the sale of cloth, cattle, and other necessary
commodities: as these have, for many years past, wholly disappeared from
it, the _use_ of the Fair has wholly ceased; its _abuse_ alone remains,
and that abuse can only be destroyed by the utter extinction of the
Fair. To do this is not to “interfere with the amusements of the
people,” for the people of the metropolis do not require such
amusements; they are beyond the power of deriving recreation from them.
The well-being of their apprentices and servants, and the young and the
illiterate, require protection from the vicious contamination of an
annual scene of debauchery, which contributes nothing to the city funds,
and nothing to the city’s character but a shameful stain.

       *       *       *       *       *

Bartholomew Fair must and will be put down. It is for this reason that
so much has been said of its former and present state. No person of
respectability now visits it, but as a curious spectator of an annual
congregation of ignorance and depravity.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Mushroom. _Agaricus Campestris._
  Dedicated to _St. Laurence Justinian_.

  [273] Stowe.

  [274] Strutt.

  [275] Mr. Nares’s Glossary.

  [276] Fosbroke Dict. Antiq.

  [277] Smith’s Anc. Top. of London.

  [278] Maitland.

  [279] Stow.

  [280] Fitz Stephen.

  [281] Cotton MS.

  [282] Harl. MS. Strutt.

  [283] Stow.

  [284] Ibid.

  [285] Maitland.

  [286] Nares.

  [287] Hentzner.

  [288] Old Ballads.

  [289] Ward’s London Spy.

  [290] New European Magazine, 1822-3.

  [291] Smith’s Anc. Topog. Lond.

  [292] Ibid.

  [293] 12mo., “published by John Arliss, No. 87, Bartholomew Close,”
  about 1810.

  [294] Gentleman’s Magazine.

  [295] Ibid.

  [296] Ibid.

  [297] Ibid.

  [298] Ibid.


~September 6.~

  _St. Pambo_ of Nitria, A. D. 385. _St. Eleutherius_, Abbot. _St.
  Bega_, or _Bees_, 7th Cent.


_St. Eleutherius._

Alban Butler boldly says, that this saint raised a dead man to life. He
died at Rome, in St. Andrew’s monastery, about the year 585.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Autumnal Dandelion. _Apargia Autumnalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Pambo_.


~September 7.~

  _Cloud_, A. D. 560. _St. Regina_, or _St. Reine_, A. D. 251. _St.
  Evurtius_, A. D. 340. _St. Grimonia_, or _Germana_. _St. Madelberte_,
  A. D. 705. _Sts. Alchmund_ and _Tilberht_, Bps. of Hexham, A. D. 780
  and 789. _St. Eunan_, first Bp. of Raphoe.


_St. Enurchus_, or _Evurtius_.

This saint is in the church of England calendar, and therefore in the
English almanacs, but on what ground it is difficult to conjecture; for
Butler himself merely mentions him as a bishop of Orleans, who lived in
the reign of Constantine, and died about 340:--he adds, that “his name
is famous, but his history of no authority.”


“_Fine Feathers make fine Birds._”

The subjoined letter, dated the 7th of September, 1825, appears in _The
Times_ newspaper of the following day:--

  _To the Editor of the Times._

Sir,--I consider it necessary to inform the public, through your paper,
that there is a fellow going about the town, (dressed like a painter,)
imposing upon the unwary, by selling them painted birds, for foreign
ones. He entered my house on Monday last, and after some simple
conversation with the customers in the room, he introduced the topic of
his birds, which he had in a paper bag, stating that he had been at work
in a gentleman’s family at the west end of the town, and the gentleman
being on the point of leaving England for a foreign country, he made him
a present of them; “but,” says he, “I’m as bad as himself, for I’m going
down to Canterbury to-morrow morning myself, to work, and they being of
no use to me, I shall take them down to Whitechapel and sell them for
what I can get.” Taking one out of the bag, he described it as a
Virginia nightingale, which sung four distinct notes or voices: the
colour certainly was most beautiful; its head and neck was a bright
vermilion, the back betwixt the wings a blue, the lower part to the tail
a bright yellow, the wings red and yellow; the tail itself was a
compound mixture of the above colours, the belly a clear green--he said
it was well worth a sovereign to any gentleman. However, after a good
deal of lying, bidding, and argument, one of the party offered five
shillings, which he at last took; and disposing of the others much in
the same way, he quickly decamped. In the course of an hour after, a
barber, a knowing hand in the bird way, who lives in the neighbourhood,
came in, and taking a little water, with his white apron he transferred
the variegated colours of the nightingale to the white flag of his
profession. The deception was visible--the swindler had fled--and the
poor hedge-sparrow had his unfortunate head severed from his body, for
being forced to personate a nightingale.

  A LICENSED VICTUALLER.

  _Upper Thames-street._

By the preceding letter in _The Times_, a great number of persons were
first acquainted with a fraud frequently practised. As a useful and
amusing communication it has a place here. It may, however, be as well
to correct an error which the intelligent “Licensed Victualler” falls
into by venturing beyond a plain account, to indulge in figurative
expression. It is not doubted that his “barber, a knowing hand in the
bird way,” wore “a white apron;” but when the “Licensed Victualler”
calls the barber’s white apron “the _white_ flag of his profession,” he
errs; a _white_ apron may be the “flag” of the “Licensed Victualler’s
profession,” but it is not the barber’s “flag.”


[Illustration: ~The Barber.~]

Randle Holme, an indisputable authority, in his great work on
“Heraldry,” figures a barber as above. “He beareth _argent_,” says
Holme; “a barber bare-headed with a pair of cisers in his right hand,
and a comb in his left, clothed in _russet_, his apron _checque_ of the
first, and _azure_; a barber is always known by his checque
party- apron, therefore it needs not mentioning.” Holme
emphatically adds, “neither can he be termed a barber, (or poler, or
shaver,) as anciently they were called, till his apron be about him;”
that is to say, “his checque party- apron.” This, and this only,
is the “flag of his profession.”

Holme derives the denomination barber from _barba_, a beard, and
describes him as a cutter of hair; he was also anciently termed a
_poller_, because in former times to _poll_ was to cut the hair: to
_trim_ was to cut the beard, after shaving, into form and order.

       *       *       *       *       *

The instrument-case of a barber, and the instruments in their several
divisions, are particularly described by Holme. It contained his
looking-glass, a set of horn combs with teeth on one side and wide, “for
the combing and readying of long, thick, and stony heads of hair, and
such like perriwigs;” a set of box combs, a set of ivory combs with fine
teeth on both sides, an ivory beard-comb, a beard-iron called the
forceps, being a curling iron for the beard, a set of razors, tweezers
with an earpick, a rasp to file the point of a tooth, a hone for his
razors, a bottle of sweet oil for his hone, a powder box with sweet
powder, a puff to powder the hair, a four square bottle with a screwed
head for sweet water, wash balls and sweet balls, caps for the head to
keep the hair up, trimming cloths to put before a man, and napkins to
put about his neck, and dry his hands and face with. After he was shaved
and barbed, the barber was to hold him the glass, that he might see “his
new-made face,” and instruct the barber where it was amiss: the barber
was then to “take off the linens, brush his clothes, present him with
his hat, and, according to his hire, make a bow, with ‘_your humble
servant, sir_.’”

The same author thus figures


[Illustration: _The Barber’s Candlestick._]

He describes it to be “a wooden turned stick, having a socket in the
streight peece, and another in the cross or overthwart peece; this he
sticketh in his apron strings on his left side or breast when he useth
to trim by candlelight.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Without going into every particular concerning the utensils and art of
“Barbing and Shaving,” some may be deemed curious, and therefore worthy
of notice. It is to be observed, however that they are from Randle
Holme, who wrote in 1688, and relate to barbers of former days.


[Illustration: _Barber’s Basin._]

The barber’s washing or trimming-basin had a circle in the brim to
compass a man’s throat, and a place like a little dish to put the ball
in after lathering. Holme says, that “such a like bason as this, valiant
Don Quixote took from a bloody enchanting barber, which he took to be a
golden head-piece.”

The barber’s basin is very ancient; it is mentioned by Ezekiel the
prophet. In the middle age it was of bright copper.[299]


[Illustration: _Razor._]

This is a figure of the old razor of a superior kind, tipped with
silver; “that is,” says Holme, “silver plates engraven are fixed upon
each end of the haft, to make the same look more gent and rich.” The old
man, being fidgetted by this ornament, declares, “it is very oft done by
yong proud artists who adorne their instruments with silver shrines,
more then seting themselves forth by the glory that attends their art,
or praise obtained by skill.” Before English manufactures excelled in
cutlery, razors were imported from Palermo.[300] Razors are mentioned by
Homer.


[Illustration: _Barber’s Chafer._]

“This is a small chafer which they use to carry about with them, when
they make any progress to trim or barb gentiles at a distance, to carry
their sweet water (or countreyman’s broth) in; the round handle at the
mouth of the chafer is to fall down as soon as their hand leaves it;” so
says Holme. Mr. J. T. Smith remarks, that “the _flying barber_ is a
character now no more to be seen in London, though he still remains in
some of our country villages; he was provided with a napkin, soap, and
pewter bason, the form of which may be seen in many of the illustrative
prints of Don Quixote.” The same writer speaks of the barber’s chafer as
being--“A deep leaden vessel, something like a chocolate pot, with a
large ring, or handle, at the top; this pot held about a quart of water
boiling hot, and thus equipped, he flew about to his customers.” These
chafers are no longer made in London; the last mould which produced them
was sold in New-street, Shoe-lane, at the sale of Mr. Richard Joseph’s
moulds for pewter utensils, in January, 1815: it was of brass and broken
up for metal.[301]


[Illustration: _Barber’s Chafing Dish._]

This was a metal firepot, with a turning handle, and much used during
winter, especially in shops without fire-places. It was carried by the
handle from place to place, but generally set under a brass or copper
basin with a flat broad bottom, whereon if linen cloths were rubbed or
let remain, they in a little time became hot or warm for the barber’s
use.


[Illustration: _Barber’s Crisping Irons._]

This is their ancient shape. “In former times these were much used to
curl the side locks of a man’s head, but now (in 1688) wholly cast aside
as useless; it openeth and shutteth like the forceps, only the ends are
broad and square, being cut within the mouth with teeth curled and
crisped, one tooth striking within another.”


_Scissors._

_Hair_-scissors were long and broad in the blades, and rounded towards
the points which were sharp.

_Beard_-scissors had short blades and long handles.

The _barber’s_ scissors differed in these respects from others; for
instance, the _tailor’s_ scissors had blunt points, while the
_seamster’s_ scissors differed from both by reason of their smallness,
some of them having one ring for the thumb only to fit it, while the
contrary ring or bow was large enough to admit two or three fingers.


~Beards.~


[Illustration: _Pick-a-devant Beard._]

“A full face with a sharp-pointed beard is termed, in blazon, a man’s
face with a _pick-a-devant_ (or sharp pointed,) beard.” Mr. Archdeacon
Nares’s “Glossary” contains several passages in corroboration of Holme’s
description of this beard.


[Illustration: _Cathedral Beard._]

This Holme calls “the _broad_ or _cathedral_ beard, because bishops and
grave men of the church anciently did wear such beards.” Besides this,
and the _pick-a-devant_, he says there are several sorts and fashions of
beards, viz. “the _British_ beard hath long mochedoes, (mustachios) on
the higher lip, hanging down either side the chin, all the rest of the
face being bare:--the _forked_ beard is a broad beard ending in two
points:--the _mouse-eaten_ beard, when the beard groweth scatteringly,
not together, but here a tuft and there a tuft,” &c.

       *       *       *       *       *

Guillaume Duprat, bishop of Clermont, who assisted at the council of
Trent, and built the college of the Jesuits at Paris, had the finest
beard that ever was seen. It was too fine a beard for a bishop, and the
canons of his cathedral, in full chapter assembled, came to the
barbarous resolution of shaving him. Accordingly, when next he came to
the choir, the dean, the _prevot_, and the _chantre_ approached with
scissors and razors, soap, basin and warm water. He took to his heels at
the sight, and escaped to his castle of Beauregard, about two leagues
from Clermont, where he fell sick for vexation, and died.[302]

       *       *       *       *       *

Ancient monuments represent the Greek heroes to have worn short curled
beards. Among the Romans, after the year 454, B. C., philosophers alone
constantly wore a beard; the beard of their military men was short and
frizzed. The first emperors with a long and thick beard were Hadrian,
who wore it to hide his wounds, and Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius,
who wore it as philosophers: a thick beard was afterwards considered an
appendage that obtained for the emperors veneration from the
people.[303]


~Wigs.~


[Illustration: _A Peruke._]

It is figured as seen above by Holme, who also calls it in his peculiar
orthography a “perawicke,” and says it was likewise called “a _short
bob_, a _head of hair_--a wig that hath short locks and a hairy crown.”
He describes it with some feeling. “This is a counterfeit hair which men
wear instead of their own; a thing much used in our days by the
generality of men; contrary to our forefathers who got estates, loved
their wives, and wore their own hair; but,” says he, “in _these_ days
(1688) there is no such things!”

He further gives the following as


[Illustration: _A long Perriwig, with a Pole-lock._]

This he puts forth as being “by artists called a long-curled-wig, with a
_suffloplin_, or with a _dildo_, or pole-lock;” and he affirms, that
“this is the sign or cognizance of the perawick-maker.”

That the peruke was anciently a barber’s sign, is verified by a very
rare, and perhaps an unique engraving of St. Paul’s cathedral when
building, with the scaffolding poles and boards up. This print, in the
possession of the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, represents a barber’s
shop on the north-side of St. Paul’s churchyard, with the barber’s pole
out at the door, and a swinging sign projecting from each side of the
house, a peruke being painted on each.


[Illustration: _A Travelling Wig._]

This peruque, with a “curled foretop and bobs,” was “a kind of
_travelling wig_, having the side or bottom locks turned up into bobs or
knots tied up with ribbons.” Holme further calls it “a _campaign-wig_,”
and says, “it hath knots or bobs, or a dildo, on each side, with a
curled forehead.”


_A Grafted Wig_

is described by Holme as “a perawick with a turn on the top of the head,
in imitation of a man’s hairy crown.”


[Illustration: _A Border of Hair._]

This is so called by Holme; he also calls it “a _peruque_, with the
crown or top cut off; some term it the _border_ of a peruque:” he adds,
that “women usually wear such borders, which they call curls or locks
when they hang over their ears.” He further says, they were called
“_taures_ when set in curls on the forehead,” and “_merkins_” when the
curls were worn lower, or at the sides of the face.


[Illustration: _A Bull-head._]

“Some,” says Holme, “term this curled forehead a _bull-head_, from the
French word _taure_, because _taure_ is a bull; it was the fashion of
women to wear _bull-heads_, or bull-like foreheads, anno 1674, and about
that time: this is the coat (of arms) of _Taurell_, a French monsieur,
or seigneur.”


[Illustration: _Curls on Wires._]

According to our chief authority, Holme, a female thus “quoiffed,” with
“a pair of locks and curls,” was in “great fashion, about the year
1670.” He adds, that “they are _false locks_, set on wyres, to make them
stand at a distance from the head; as the _fardingales_ made their
clothes stand out (from the hips downwards) in queen Elizabeth’s reign.”


[Illustration: _Female Head Dress in 1688._]

There is a little difficulty in naming this head dress; for Holme is so
diffuse and indignant that he gives it no term though he describes the
engraving. The figure is remarkable because it is in many respects
similar to the manner wherein the ladies of 1825 adjust the head. It
will be remembered that Holme was a herald, and though his descriptions
have not hitherto been here related in his armorial language, he always
sets them out so, in his “storehouse of armory and blazon.” It may be
amusing to conclude these extracts from him with his description of this
figure in his own words: thus then the old “deputy for the kings of
arms” describes it:--

“He beareth _argent_ a woman’s face; her forehead adorned with a knot of
_diverse coloured_ ribbons; the head with a ruffle quoif, set in
corners, and the like ribbons behind the head. This,” says Holme, “is a
_fashion-monger’s_ head, tricked and trimed up, according to the mode of
these times, wherein I am writing of it; and, in my judgment, were a fit
_coat_ for such seamsters as are skilled in inventions. _But_” (he
angrily breaks forth,) “_what_ do I talk of _arms_ to _such_, by reason
they will be shortly old, and therefore not to be endured by them, whose
brains are always upon new devises and inventions! But _all_ are brought
again from the _old_; for there is no _new_ thing under the sun; for
what _is_ now, _hath been_ formerly!”

       *       *       *       *       *

In the great dining-room at Lambeth-palace, there are portraits of all
the archbishops, from Laud to the present time. In these we may observe
the gradual change of the clerical dress, in the article of wigs.
Archbishop Tillotson was the first prelate who wore a wig, which then
was not unlike the natural hair, and worn without powder.[304]

       *       *       *       *       *

It is related of a barber in Paris, that, to establish the utility of
his bag-wigs, he caused the history of Absalom to be painted over his
door; and that one of the profession, at a town in Northamptonshire,
used this inscription, “Absalom, hadst thou worn a perriwig, thou hadst
not been hanged.”[305] It is somewhere told of another that he
ingeniously versified his brother peruke-maker’s inscription, under a
sign which represented the death of Absalom and David weeping; he wrote
up thus:--

    “Oh, Absalom! Oh, Absalom!
      Oh, Absalom! my son,
    If thou hadst worn a perriwig,
      Thou hadst not been undone!”

       *       *       *       *       *

The well-known, light, flaxen wig of Townsend, the well-known
police-officer, is celebrated in a song beginning thus:--

_Townsend’s Wig._

_Tune_--“Nancy Dawson.”

    Of all the wigs in Brighton town,
    The black, the grey, the red, the brown,
    So firmly glued upon the crown,
    There’s none like Johnny Townsend’s:
    It’s silken hair and flaxen hue,
    (It is a scratch, and not a quene,)
    Whene’er it pops upon the view,
    Is known for Johnny Townsend’s!

       *       *       *       *       *

Wigs were worn by the Romans when bald; those of the Roman ladies were
fastened upon a caul of goat-skin. Perriwigs commenced with their
emperors; they were awkwardly made of hair, painted and glued together.

False hair was always in use, though more from defect than fashion; but
the year 1529 is deemed the epoch of the introduction of long perriwigs
into France; yet it is certain that ladies _tetes_ were in use here a
century before. Mr. Fosbroke, from whose “Encyclopædia of Antiquities”
these particulars are derived, says, “that strange deformity, the
judge’s wig, first appears as a _general_ genteel fashion in the
seventeenth century.” Towards the close of that century, men of fashion
combed their wigs at public places, as an act of gallantry, with very
large ivory or tortoiseshell combs, which they carried in their pockets
as constantly as their snuffboxes. At court, in the mall of St.
James’s-park, and in the boxes of the theatre, gentlemen conversed and
combed their perukes.


~Hair.~

Horace Walpole relates that when the countess of Suffolk married Mr.
Howard, they were both so poor, that they took a resolution of going to
Hanover before the death of queen Anne, in order to pay their court to
the future royal family. Having some friends to dinner, and being
disappointed of a full remittance, she was forced to sell her hair to
furnish the entertainment. Long wigs were then in fashion, and the
countess’s hair being fine, long, and fair, produced her twenty pounds.

       *       *       *       *       *

A fashion of wearing the hair gave rise to a college term at Cambridge,
which is thus mentioned and explained in a dictionary of common parlance
at that university:--

    “APOLLO. One whose hair is loose and flowing;
      Unfrizzled, _unanointed_, and untied;
      No powder seen.----

“His royal highness prince William of Gloucester was an _Apollo_ during
the whole of his residence at the university of Cambridge! The strange
fluctuation of fashions has often afforded a theme for amusing
disquisition. ‘I can remember,’ says the pious archbishop Tillotson, in
one of his sermons, discoursing on this _head_, viz. _of hair!_ ‘since
the wearing the hair _below_ the ears was looked upon as a _sin_ of the
first magnitude; and when ministers generally, whatever their text was,
did either find, or make occasion to reprove the great _sin_ of long
hair; and if they saw any one in the congregation guilty in that kind,
they would point him out particularly, and _let fly at him_ with great
zeal.’ And we can remember since, the wearing the hair _cropt_, i. e.
above the ears, was looked upon, though not as a ‘sin,’ yet as a very
vulgar and _raffish_ sort of a thing; and when the _doers_ of newspapers
exhausted all their wit in endeavouring to rally the new-raised corps of
_crops_, regardless of the noble duke who _headed_ them; and, when the
rude, rank-scented rabble, if they saw any one in the streets, whether
time, or the tonsor, had thinned his flowing hair, would point him out
particularly, and ‘let fly at him,’ as the archbishop says, till not a
shaft of ridicule remained! The tax upon hair powder has now, however,
produced all over the country very plentiful _crops_. Among the _Curiosa
Cantabrigiensia_, it may be recorded, that our ‘most _religious_ and
gracious king,’ as he was called in the liturgy, Charles the Second,
who, as his worthy friend, the earl of Rochester, remarked,

      ‘never said a foolish thing,
    Nor ever _did_ a wise one,’--

sent a letter to the university of Cambridge, forbidding the members to
wear _perriwigs_, smoke tobacco, and read their sermons! It is needless
to remark, that tobacco has not yet made its _exit in fumo_, and that
_perriwigs_ still continue to adorn ‘the _heads of houses_!’--Till the
present all prevailing, all accommodating fashion of crops became
general at the university, no young man presumed to dine in hall till he
had previously received a handsome trimming from the hair-dresser. An
inimitable imitation of ‘The Bard’ of Gray, is ascribed to the pen of
the honourable Thomas (the late lord) Erskine, when a student at
Cambridge. Mr. E. having been disappointed of the attendance of his
college barber, was compelled to forego his _commons_ in hall! An odd
thought came into his head. In revenge, he determined to give his
hair-dresser a good _dressing_; so he sat down, and began as follows:--

    “‘Ruin seize thee, scoundrel Coe,
      Confusion on thy frizzing wait;
    Hadst thou the only comb below,
      Thou never more shouldst touch my pate.

    “‘Club, nor queue, nor twisted tail,
    Nor e’en thy chatt’ring, barber, shall avail
    To save thy horse-whipped back from daily fears
    From Cantab’s curse, from Cantab’s tears.’”

The editor of the “Gradus ad Cantabrigiam” regrets that he has not room
for the whole of the ode.

[Illustration: ~An Ancient Barber.~]

There is a curious print from Heemskerck, of a barber of old times
labouring in his vocation: it shows his room or shop. An old woman is
making square pancakes at the fire-place, before which an overfed man
sits on a chair sleeping: there is a fat toping friar seated by the
chimney corner, with his fingers on the crossed hands of a demure
looking nun by his side, and he holds up a liquor-measure to denote its
emptiness: a nun-like female behind, blows a pair of bellows over her
shoulder, and seems dancing to a tune played on the guitar or cittern,
by a humorous looking fellow who is standing up: another nun-like female
sounds a gridiron with a pair of tongs, while another friar blows an
instrument through a window. These persons are perhaps sojourning there
as pilgrims, for there is a print hung against the wall representing an
owl in a pilgrim’s habit on his journey. In this room the barber’s
bleeding basin is hung up, and his razor is on the mantel ledge: the
barber himself is washing the chin of an aged fool, whom, from the hair
lying on the ground, it appears he has just polled. A dog on his hind
legs is in a fool’s habit, probably to intimate that the fool is under
the hands of the barber preparatory to his fraternizing with the friars
and their dames. The print is altogether exceedingly humorous, and
illustrative of manners: so much of it as immediately concerns the
barber is given in the present engraving from it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Leigh Hunt, in “The Indicator,” opposes female indifference to the
hair. He says, “Ladies, always delightful, and not the least so in their
undress, are apt to deprive themselves of some of their best morning
beams by appearing with their hair in papers. We give notice, that
essayists, and of course all people of taste, prefer a cap, if there
must be any thing; but hair, a million times over. To see grapes in
paper-bags is bad enough; but the rich locks of a lady in papers, the
roots of the hair twisted up like a drummer’s, and the forehead staring
bald instead of being gracefully tendrilled and shadowed!--it is a
capital offence,--a defiance to the love and admiration of the other
sex,--a provocative to a paper war: and we here accordingly declare the
said war on paper, not having any ladies at hand to carry it at once
into their headquarters. We must allow at the same time, that they are
very shy of being seen in this condition, knowing well enough, how much
of their strength, like Sampson’s, lies in that gifted ornament. We have
known a whole parlour of them fluttered off, like a dove-cote, at the
sight of a friend coming up the garden.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Of the barber’s art, as it was practised formerly, Mr. Archdeacon Nares
gives a curious sample from Lyly, an old dramatist, one of whose
characters being a barber, says, “thou knowest I have taught thee the
_knacking of the hands_, the tickling on a man’s haires, like the tuning
of a citterne. I instructed thee in the phrases of our eloquent
occupation, as, how, sir, will you be trimmed? will you have your beard
like a spade or a bodkin? a pent-hous on your upper lip, or an ally on
your chin? a low curle on your head like a bull, or dangling locke like
a spaniel? your mustachoes sharpe at the ends, like shomakers’ aules, or
hanging downe to your mouth like goates flakes? your love-lockes
wreathed with a silken twist, or shaggie to fall on your shoulders?”

Barbers’ shops were anciently places of great resort, and the practices
observed there were consequently very often the subject of allusions.
The _cittern_, or lute, which hung up for the diversion of the
customers, is the foundation of a proverb.[306] The cittern resembled
the guitar. In Burton’s “Winter Evening Entertainments,” published in
1687, with several wood-cuts, there is a representation of a barber’s
shop, where the person waiting his turn is playing on a lute.[307]

The peculiar mode of _snapping the fingers_, as a high qualification in
a barber, is mentioned by Green, another early writer. “Let not the
barber be forgotten: and look that he be an excellent fellow, and one
that can _snap his fingers with dexterity_.” Morose, one of Ben Jonson’s
characters in his “Silent Woman,” is a detester of noise, and
particularly values a barber who was silent, and did not snap his
fingers. “The fellow trims him silently, and hath not _the knack with
his shears or his fingers_: and that continency in a barber he thinks so
eminent a virtue, as it has made him chief of his counsel.”[308]

This obsolete practice with barbers is noticed in Stubbe’s “Anatomy of
Abuses.” “When they come to washing,” says Stubbe, “oh! how gingerly
they behave themselves therein. For then shall your mouth be bossed with
the lather, or some that rinseth of the balles, (for they have their
sweete balles wherewith all they use to washe,) your eyes closed must be
anointed therewith also. Then _snap go the fingers_, ful bravely, Got
wot. Thus this tragedy ended, comes me warme clothes to wipe and dry him
withall; next, the eares must be picked, and closed together againe
artificially, forsooth,” &c. This citation is given by a correspondent
to the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” who adds to it his own observations:--“I
am old enough,” he says, “to remember when the operation of
shaving, in this kingdom, was almost exclusively performed by the
_barbers_: what I speak of is some three-score years ago, at which time
_gentlemen_-shavers were unknown. Expedition was then a prime quality in
a barber, who smeared the lather over his customers’ faces with his
hand; for the delicate refinement of the brush had not been introduced.
The lathering of the beard being finished, the operator threw off the
lather adhering to his hand, by a peculiar jerk of the arm, which caused
the joints of the fingers to crack, this being a more expeditious mode
of clearing the hand than using a towel for that purpose; and the more
audible the crack, the higher the shaver stood in his own opinion, and
in that of his fraternity. This then, I presume, is the custom alluded
to by Stubbe.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. J. T. Smith says, “The entertaining and venerable Mr. Thomas
Batrich, barber, of Drury-lane, informs me, that before the year 1756,
it was a general custom to lather with the hand; but that the French
barbers, much about that time, brought in the brush.” He also says, that
“A good lather is half the shave,” is a very old remark among the trade.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a newspaper report of some proceedings at a police office, in
September, 1825, a person deposing against the prisoner, used the phrase
“as common as a barber’s chair;” this is a very old saying. One of
Shakspeare’s clowns speaks of “a barber’s chair, that fits all,” by way
of metaphor; and Rabelais shows that it might be applied to any thing in
very common use.[309]

       *       *       *       *       *

The _Barber’s Pole_ is still a sign in country towns, and in many of the
villages near London. It was stated by lord Thurlow in the house of
peers, on the 17th of July, 1797, when he opposed the surgeons’
incorporation bill that, “By a statute still in force, the barbers and
surgeons were each to use a pole. The barbers were to have theirs blue
and white, striped, with no other appendage; but the surgeons, which was
the same in other respects, was likewise to have a gallipot and a red
rag, to denote the particular nature of their vocation.”

The origin of the barber’s pole is to be traced to the period when the
barbers were also surgeons, and practised phlebotomy. To assist this
operation, it being necessary for the patient to grasp a staff, a stick
or a pole was always kept by the barber-surgeon, together with the
fillet or bandaging he used for tying the patient’s arm. When the pole
was not in use the tape was tied to it, that they might be both together
when wanted. On a person coming in to be bled the tape was disengaged
from the pole, and bound round the arm, and the pole was put into the
person’s hand: after it was done with, the tape was again tied on the
pole, and in this state, pole and tape were often hung at the door, for
a sign or notice to passengers that they might there be bled: doubtless
the competition for custom was great, because as our ancestors were
great admirers of bleeding, they demanded the operation frequently. At
length instead of hanging out the identical pole used in the operation,
a pole was painted with stripes round it, in imitation of the real pole
and its bandagings, and thus came the sign.

That the use of the pole in bleeding was very ancient, appears from an
illumination in a missal of the time of Edward I., wherein the usage is
represented. Also in “Comenii Orbis pictus,” there is an engraving of
the like practice. “Such a staff,” says Brand, who mentions these
graphic illustrations, “is to this very day put into the hand of
patients undergoing phlebotomy by every village practitioner.”

       *       *       *       *       *

_The News_ Sunday-paper of August 4, 1816, says, that a person in
Alston, who for some years followed the trade of a barber, recently
opened a spirit-shop, when to the no small admiration and amusement of
his acquaintance, he hoisted over his door the following lines:--

    Rove not from _pole_ to _pole_, but here turn in,
    Where naught exceeds the shaving, but the _gin_.

The south corner shop of Hosier-lane, Smithfield, is noticed by Mr. J.
T. Smith as having been “occupied by a barber whose name was Catch-pole;
at least so it was written over the door: he was a whimsical fellow; and
would, perhaps because he lived in Smithfield, show to his customers a
short bladed instrument, as the dagger with which Walworth killed Wat
Tyler.” To this may be added, a remark not expressed by Mr. Smith, that
Catch-pole had a barber’s pole for many years on the outside of his
door.[310]

       *       *       *       *       *

Catch-pole’s manœuvre to catch customers, and get his shop talked about,
was very successful. It is observed in the “Spectator,” that--“The art
of managing mankind is only to make them stare a little, to keep up
their astonishment, to let nothing be familiar to them, but ever to have
something in your sleeve, in which they must think you are deeper than
they are.” The writer of the remark exemplifies it by this
story:--“There is an ingenious fellow, a barber of my acquaintance,
who, besides his broken fiddle and a dryed sea-monster, has a
twine-cord, strained with two nails at each end, over his window, and
the words, rainy, dry, wet, and so forth, written to denote the weather
according to the rising or falling of the cord. We very great scholars
are not apt to wonder at this: but I observed a very honest fellow, a
chance customer, who sat in the chair before me to be shaved, fix his
eye upon this miraculous performance during the operation upon his chin
and face. When those, and his head also, were cleared of all
incumbrances and excrescences, he looked at the fish, then at the
fiddle, still grubbing in his pockets, and casting his eye again at the
twine, and the words writ on each side; then altered his mind as to
farthings, and gave my friend a silver six-pence. The business, as I
said, is to keep up the amazement: and if my friend had had only the
skeleton and kitt, he must have been contented with a less payment.”

       *       *       *       *       *

It was customary with barbers to have their shops lighted by candles in
brass chandeliers of three, four, and six branches. Mr. Smith noticing
their disuse says, “Mr. Batrich has two suspended from his ceiling; he
has also a set of bells fixed against the wall, which he has had for
these forty years. These are called by the common people _Whittington’s
Bells_. In his early days, about eighty years back, when the newspapers
were only a penny a-piece, they were taken in by the barbers for the
customers to read during their waiting time. This custom is handed to us
by the late E. Heemskerck, in an etching by Toms, of a barber’s shop,
composed of monkies, at the foot of which are the following lines:--

    “A barber’s shop adorn’d we see,
    With monsters, news, and poverty;
    Whilst some are shaving, others bled,
    And those that wait the papers read;
    The master full of wigg, or tory,
    Combs out your wig, and tells a story.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Smith’s inquiries concerning barbers have been extensive and
curious. He says, “On one occasion, that I might indulge the humour of
being shaved by a woman, I repaired to the Seven Dials, where, in Great
St. Andrew’s-street, a slender female performed the operation, whilst
her husband, a strapping soldier in the Horse-guards, sat smoking his
pipe. There was a famous woman in Swallow-street, who shaved; and I
recollect a black woman in Butcher-row, a street formerly standing by
the side of St. Clement’s church, near Temple-bar, who is said to have
shaved with ease and dexterity.” His friend Mr. Batrich informed him
that he had read of “the five barberesses of Drury-lane, who shamefully
mal-treated a woman in the reign of Charles II.” Mr. Batrich died while
Mr. Smith’s “Ancient Topography of London,” was passing through the
press.

       *       *       *       *       *

The “Glasgow Chronicle,” about the year 1817, notices the sudden death,
in Calton, of Mr. John Falconer, hair-dresser, in Kirk-street. While in
the act of shaving a man, he staggered, and was falling, when he was
placed on a chair, and expired in five minutes. His shop was the arena
of all local discussion, and was therefore denominated the Calton
coffee-room. His father and he had been in the trade for upwards of half
a century. His father was the first who reduced the price of shaving to
a halfpenny; and when his brethren in the town wished him again to raise
it, he replied, “Charge a penny! Jock and me are just considering about
lowering it to a farthing.” He would never take more than a halfpenny
though it was offered him; and being very skilful at his business, and
of a frank jocular turn, he had a large share of public favour, and was
enabled even at this low rate to gather money and build houses. He died
about sixteen years before his son, who carried on the business. He
often said others wrought for need, but he did it for pleasure or
recreation, and never was so happy as when he was improving the
countenances of the lieges. He was generally allowed to be at the top of
his profession. Some old men whom he and his father had shaved for fifty
years, boasted that they were never touched by another: one very old
customer regularly came for many a year to his shop every Saturday night
from the western extremity of the town. His shop was furnished with two
dozen of antique chairs, as many pictures, and a musical clock, and for
a long time he had a good library of books, but they at length nearly
wholly disappeared, and he took up to his house the few that remained as
his own share. At two different times, when trade was dull, he gave his
tenants a jubilee on the term day, and presented their discharges
without receiving a farthing. He left behind him property worth between
2,000_l._ and 3000_l._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Golden Starwort. _Aster Solidaginoides._
  Dedicated to _St. Cloud_.

  [299] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiq.

  [300] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiq. and Nares’s Glossary.

  [301] Smith’s Anc. Topog. Lond.

  [302] Athenæum.

  [303] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiq.

  [304] Lysons’ Environs.

  [305] Gent.’s Mag.

  [306] Nare’s Glos.

  [307] Smith’s Anc. Topog. Lond.

  [308] Ibid.

  [309] Nares’s Glossary.

  [310] Smith’s Anc. Topog. Lond.


~September 8.~

  _Nativity of the Blessed Virgin._ _St. Adrian_, A. D. 306. _St.
  Sidronius_, A. D. 1067. _Sts. Eusebius_, _Nestablus_, _Zeno_, and
  _Nestor_, Martyrs under Julian. _St. Corbinian_, Bp. A. D. 730. _St.
  Disen_, or _Disibode_, A. D. 700. _The Festival of the Holy Name of
  the Virgin Mary._


NATIVITY, B. V. M.

[Illustration: ~Nativity B. V. M.~]

This Roman catholic festival is in the church of England calendar and
almanacs.

According to Butler and other Romish writers, “the title of the mother
of God was confirmed to the virgin Mary” by the traditions of their
church; and her nativity has been kept “above a thousand years,” with
matins, masses, homilies, collects, processions, and other forms and
ceremonies ordained by that hierarchy. Some of its writers “attribute
the institution of this feast to certain revelations which a religious
contemplative had; who, they say, every year upon the 8th of
_September_, heard most sweet music in heaven, with great rejoicings of
the angels; and once asking one of them the cause, he answered him, that
upon that day was celebrated in heaven the nativity of the mother of
God; and upon the relation of this man, the church began to celebrate it
on earth.”[311]

Upon this it is observed and related by the late Mr. Brady thus:--

“A circumstance so important in its nature, and unfolded in so peculiar
and miraculous a manner, was of course communicated to the then reigning
pope, Servius; who immediately appointed a yearly feast ‘to give an
opportunity for the religious on earth to join with the angels in this
great solemnity;’ and there have been some contemplations dedicated for
this occasion, wherein is unfolded, ‘_for the benefit of mankind_,’
certain circumstances of her ‘sallies of love and union with God,’ even
before her pious mother St. Anne gave her being! It is somewhat
extraordinary, that, notwithstanding the day of the nativity of the
virgin was so clearly proved, after having been forgotten for many
centuries, pope Servius, when he appointed the festival, did not also
honour it with an octave or vigil; for it appears that pope Innocent IV.
has the credit of the octave which he instituted A. D. 1244, and that
pope Gregory XI. appointed the vigil A. D. 1370. At the death indeed of
Gregory IX. it was in contemplation to observe an octave upon the
following occasion: the cardinals had been long shut up without agreeing
upon the appointment of a successor to the deceased pope, when some of
these holy men made a vow to the virgin, that if through her merits they
could come to a decision they would in future observe her _octave_; a
vow which had an instantaneous effect, and caused Celestine to be
elected to St. Peter’s chair; though, as this nominal pope lived only
eighteen days from his election, the vow was not fulfilled until
Innocent IV. succeeded to that dignity. The long and uncourteous
disregard, however, of the early church to the immaculate mother of our
Lord, in respect to the day of her nativity, was amply compensated by
other attentions, and there still remain many persons in catholic
countries, in Spain and Italy in particular, who place a much greater
reliance on the efficiency of the mediation of the virgin, than they do
on that of our Lord himself: and if we are to credit the numerous
authors who have made her divine powers their theme, and celebrated her
extraordinary condescensions, our wonder and astonishment must be
excited in a most eminent degree. Some of her courtesies are calculated
for teaching a lesson of humility, which no doubt was the operating
cause of her performing such offices, which in no other view appear of
importance. At one time she descends from heaven to mend the gown of
Thomas à Becket, which was ripped at the shoulder. Whilst the monks of
Clervaux were at work, the virgin relieved their fatigue, by wiping the
perspiration from their faces. That the important duties of an abbey
should not be neglected, she for some time personally superintended
them, whilst the abbess was absent with a monk who had seduced her from
the path of virtue. She even descended from heaven to bleed a young man
who prayed to her, and whose health required that operation. At the
entreaty of a monk, who prayed to her for that purpose, she supplied his
place when absent, and sung matins for him. And, we are solemnly
assured, that when St. Allan was much indisposed, she rewarded him for
his devotional attentions to her, by graciously giving him that
nourishment which female parents are accustomed only to afford their
offspring! To what depths of impious absurdity will not ignorance and
credulity debase mankind!”[312]

       *       *       *       *       *

Legendary stories in honour of the virgin are numberless. For edifying
reading on this particular festival, the “Golden Legend” relates, among
others, the following:--

A bishop’s vicar, by name Theophylus, on the death of his diocesan, was
willed by the people to succeed him; but Theophylus refused, saying, he
had rather be a vicar than a bishop. However, the new bishop displaced
him from being vicar, whereupon Theophylus grieved, and falling into
despair, consulted a Jew, who being a magician, summoned the devil to
the help of Theophylus. The devil being duly acquainted with the state
of affairs, wrote a bond with Theophylus’s blood, whereby the said
Theophylus was held and firmly bound to renounce the virgin, and the
profession of christianity, and the same being by him duly sealed and
delivered, as his act and deed, the devil was therewith content, and
procured the bishop to re-establish Theophylus in his office. When
Theophylus was a vicar again, he began to repent that he had given his
bond, and prayed the virgin to relieve him from it. Wherefore she
appeared to Theophylus in a vision, “and rebuked him of his felony, and
commanded him to forsake the devil,” and to confess himself in heart a
christian man. This he accordingly did, and therefore the virgin
obtained his pardon, and brought his bond from the devil, and laid it on
his breast; and Theophylus became joyful, and related to the bishop and
all the people what had befallen him, and they marvelled greatly, and
gave praise to the virgin, and “three dayes after he rested in peas,”
and died in his vicarage, whereunto the devil had caused him to be
presented.

At another time a widow, whose son had been taken prisoner, wept without
comfort, and prayed to the virgin for his delivery, but he still
remained prisoner; and at last, when she saw that her prayers availed
not, she entered into a church where an image of the virgin was carved,
and standing before the image, reminded the virgin of her importunities,
and that she had not helped her; “and therefore,” said she, “like as my
son is taken from me, so shall I take away thy son, and keep him as a
hostage for mine.” Then she took away from the image the child that it
held, “and shette it in her chest, and locked it fast ryght diligently,
and was ryght joyfull that she had so good hostage for her sone.”
Wherefore, on the following night, the virgin liberated the widow’s son,
and desired him to go and tell his mother that, as he was released, she
desired to have her own son back. This he did, and the widow, in great
joy, “toke the chylde of the ymage, and came to the chirche, and
delyvered it to our lady, sayenge, lady, I thanke you, for ye have
delivered to me _my_ son, and here I deliver to you _yours_.”

One other story is of a thief who was always devout to the virgin. On a
time he was taken and judged, and ordered to be hanged; but when he was
hanged “the blyssed virgin Mary susteyned, and helde hym up, with her
handes, thre dayes, that he dyed not.” When they that caused him to be
hanged, “found hym lyvying, and of glad chere,” they supposed that “the
corde had not been well strayned,” and would have cut his throat with a
sword; but “our blyssed lady” put her hands between his neck and the
weapon, so that he could be neither killed nor hurt; and then they took
him down “and let him go in the honour of the blyssed virgyn Marye;” and
he went and “entred into a monastery, and was in the service of the
moder of God as longe as he lyved.”

Perhaps these three stories provided for _the festival of the nativity_
of the blessed virgin Mary in papal times, may be deemed sufficient in
our times.

       *       *       *       *       *

Spain, as a catholic country, is profuse in adoration of the virgin. On
her festivals a shrine is erected in the open street, decorated with
flowers, and surrounded by a number of wax candles. A flight of stairs
leads to an altar, whereon is placed an image of the virgin mother, with
an embroidered silk canopy above. On these stairs a priest takes his
station, and preaches to the multitude, while other priests go round, at
intervals, with a salver, to collect oblations from the devotees. To
those who give liberally, the priest presents little engravings of the
virgin, which are highly valued. An obliging correspondent, who
communicates these particulars, (J. H. D. of Portsmouth,) says, “I have
two of them, which I obtained on one of those occasions at Cadiz, in
1811, one of which I herewith send you.” Of this consecrated print, the
engraving at the head of the present article is a fac-simile.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Amellus. _Aster Amellus._
  Dedicated to _St. Adrian_.

  [311] Ribadeneira.

  [312] Clavis Calendaria.


~September 9.~

  _Sts. Gorgonius_, _Dorotheus_, and Companions A. D. 304. _St. Omer_,
  A. D. 607. _St. Kiaran_, Abbot A. D. 549. _St. Osmana_ of Ireland.
  _St. Bettelin._


_St. Bettelin_, or _Beccelin_.

The town of Stafford is honoured by this saint being its patron, where
“his relics were kept with great veneration.” He is said to have served
St. Guthlac, and been of all others most dear to him, and to have led an
“anchoretical life in the forest near Stafford.”[313]


FANNY BRADDOCK.

The fate of this unhappy young woman who committed suicide at Bath, on
the 9th of September, 1731, is still remembered in that city. She
resided with Mr. John Wood, the architect, and on the night of the 8th
went well to bed, nowise disordered in behaviour. Her custom was to burn
a candle all night, and for her maid to lock the door, and push the key
under it, so that she always got up in the morning to let her maid into
the room. After she had retired, on the evening mentioned, she got out
of bed again, and, it is supposed, employed some time in reading. She
put on a white night-gown, and pinned it over her breast; tied a gold
and a silver girdle together, and at one end having made three knots
about an inch asunder, that if one slipped another might hold, she
opened the door, put the knotty end of the girdle over it, and locking
the door again, made a noose at the other end, through which she put her
neck, by getting on a chair and then dropped from it. She hung with her
back against the door, and had hold of the key with one of her hands;
she had bit her tongue through, and had a bruise on her forehead; this
was occasioned, probably, by the breaking of a red girdle she had tried
first, which was found in her pocket with a noose on it; there were two
marks on the door. The coroner’s inquest sat on her that day, and
brought in their verdict _non compos mentis_. She was daughter to the
late general Braddock, who at his death left her and her sister 6000_l._
By her sister’s death about four years before, she became mistress of
the whole fortune, but being infatuated by the love of gaming, met “an
unlucky chance” which deprived her of her fortune. She had been heard to
say, that no one should ever be sensible of her necessities, were they
at the last extremity. She was generally lamented, and in life had been
greatly esteemed for courteous and genteel behaviour, and good sense.
She was buried in a decent manner in the abbey church, in the grave of
her honest brave old father, a gentleman who had experienced some
undeserved hardships in life; but who might be said to have been thus
far happy, that he lived not to see or hear of so tragical a catastrophe
of his beloved daughter. The following verses were written by her on her
window:--

    “O, death! thou pleasing end to human woe!
    Thou cure for life! thou greatest good below!
    Still may’st thou fly the coward and the slave,
    And thy soft slumbers only bless the brave.”[314]

Mr. Wood who wrote “an Essay towards a Description of Bath,” speaks of
many circumstances which unite to prove that Fanny Braddock had long
meditated self-destruction. In a book entitled _New Court Tales_, she is
called “the beautiful and celebrated Sylvia,” which Wood says “she was
not very improperly styled, having been a tenant under my roof during
the last thirteen months of her life; and at the time of her unhappy
death, her debt of two and fifty pounds three shillings and fourpence
for rent, &c. entitled me to the sole possession of all her papers and
other effects, which I seized on Monday, the 13th of September, 1731.”
Though Wood probably knew better how to draw up an inventory, and make
an appraisement, than a syllogism, yet at the end of five months the
creditors drew “a new inventory” of what was in his possession, and made
a new appraisement. “The goods were then sold,” says Wood, “and people
striving for something to preserve the memory of the poor deceased lady,
the price of every thing was so advanced that the creditors were all
paid, and an overplus remained for the nearest relation; though it
ought to have come to _me_, as a consideration towards the damages I
sustained on the score of Sylvia’s untimely death”!

Whatever was Wood’s estimation of his unhappy tenant when alive, he
could afford to praise her dead. “Nothing can be more deplorable than
the fate of this unfortunate young woman; a fate that I have heard
hundreds in high life lament their not suspecting, that they might have
endeavoured to prevent it, though it should have been at half the
expense of their estates; and yet many of those people, when common fame
every where sounded Sylvia’s running out of her fortune, would endeavour
to draw her into play to win her money, and accept of whatever was
offered them from her generous hand!” She was ensnared by a woman named
Lindsey, who kept a house for high play. “When I came down to Bath,”
says Wood, “in the year 1727, Sylvia was entirely at the dame’s command,
whenever a person was wanting to make up a party for play at her house.
Dame Lindsey’s wit and humour, with the appearance of sanctity in a
sister that lived with her, strongly captivated the youth of both sexes,
and engaged them in her interest.” The reputation of this “dame Lindsey”
was at a low ebb, but Wood observes, “in the course of three years I
could never, by the strictest observations, perceive Sylvia to be
tainted with any other vice than that of suffering herself to be decoyed
to the gaming-table; and, at her own hazard, playing for the amusement
and advantage of others. I was therefore not long in complying with a
proposal she made to me in the summer of the year 1738, for renting part
of a house I then lived in, in Queen-square; her behaviour was such as
manifested nothing but virtue, regularity, and good nature. She was
ready to accept of trifling marks of friendship, to give her a pretence
of making great returns; and she was no sooner seated in my house than
ladies of the highest distinction, and of the most unblemished
characters were her constant visiters: her levee looked more like that
of a minister of state than of a private young lady. Her endowments
seemed to have had a power of attraction among her own sex, even
stronger than that of all the riches of a court among the gentlemen that
are allured by them.”

The last night of her life she had spent in Mr. Wood’s study, where she
took her supper, and dandled two of his children on her knees till the
hour of retiring. She then went to the nursery and taking leave of a
sleeping infant in its cradle, praised the innocence of its looks.
Passing to her own room she undressed and went to bed, and, as her
servant left the room, bade her good night; she had never done so
before. It is probable that at that moment she thought on her fatal
purpose, and some passages in Harrington’s translation of “Orlando
Furioso,” are supposed to have strengthened it. It was found that after
she had arisen she had been reading in it; the book lay open at pp. 74
and 75, the story of Olympia, who, by the perfidy and ingratitude of her
bosom friend, was ruined.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Canadian Golden Rod. _Solidago Canadensis._
  Dedicated to _St. Omer_.

  [313] Butler.

  [314] Gentleman’s Magazine.


~September 10.~

  _St. Nicholas_, of Tolentino, A. D. 1306. _St. Pulcheria_, Empress, A.
  D. 453. _Sts. Nemesianus_, _Felix_, _Lucius_, another _Felix_,
  _Litteus_, _Polianus_, _Victor_, _Jader_, and _Dativus_, Bps. with
  other Priests, Deacons, &c., in Numidia, banished under Valerian. _St.
  Finian_, called _Winin_, by the Welsh, Bp. 6th Cent. _St. Salvias_,
  Bp. of Albi, A. D. 580.


~Autumn.~

  [Autumn is by some supposed to commence on the 8th of this month.]

[Illustration: ~Autumn.~]

    Laden with richest products of the earth;
    Its choicest fruits, enchanting to the eye,
    Grateful to taste, and courting appetite.

Dr Forster is of opinion that _autumn_ commences on the 10th of
September. “It occupies ninety days. The mean temperature is 49.37°, or
11.29° below the summer: the medium of the day declines in this season
from 58° to 40°. The mean height of the barometer is 29.781 inches;
being .096 inches below the mean of summer. The range increases rapidly
during this season; the mean extent of it is 1.49 inches. The prevailing
winds are the class SW., throughout the season. The evaporation is 6.444
inches, or a sixth part less than the proportion indicated by the
temperature. The mean of De Luc’s hygrometer is seventy-two degrees. The
average rain is 7.441 inches: the proportion of rain increases, from the
beginning to near the end of the season: this is the true rainy season
with us; and the earth, which had become dry to a considerable depth
during the spring and summer, now receives again the moisture required
for springs, and for the more deeply rooted vegetables, in the following
year.

“The fore part of this season is, nevertheless, if we regard only the
sky, the most delightful part of the year, in our climate. When the
decomposition of vapour, from the decline of the heat, is as yet but in
commencement, or while the electricity remaining in the air continues to
give buoyancy to the suspended particles, a delicious calm often
prevails for many days in succession, amidst a perfect sunshine,
mellowed by the vaporous air, and diffusing a rich golden tint, as the
day declines, upon the landscape. At this period, chiefly, the _stratus_
or _fallcloud_, the lowest and most singular of the modifications, comes
forth in the evenings, to occupy the low plains and vallies, and shroud
the earth in a veil of mist, until revisited by the sun. So perfectly
does this inundation of suspended aqueous particles imitate real water,
when viewed in the distance at break of day, that I have known the
country people themselves deceived by its unexpected appearance.”

Mr. Howard remarks that--“A phenomenon attends this state of the air,
too remarkable to be passed over in silence. An immense swarm of small
spiders take advantage of the moisture, to carry on their operations, in
which they are so industrious, that the whole country is soon covered
with the fruit of their labours, in the form of a fine network, commonly
called _gossamer_. They appear exceedingly active in the pursuit of the
small insects, which the cold of the night now brings down; and commence
this fishery about the time that the swallows give it up, and quit our
shores. Their manner of locomotion is curious: half volant, half
aëronaut, the little creature darts from the papillæ on his rump a
number of fine threads which float in the air. Mounted thus in the
breeze, he glides off with a quick motion of the legs, which seem to
serve the purpose of wings, for moving in any particular direction. As
these spiders rise to a considerable height, in very fine weather, their
tangled webs may be seen descending from the air in quick succession,
like small flakes of cotton.”[315]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Autumnal Crocus. _Crocus autumnalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Pulcheria_.

  [315] Howard’s Climate of London.


~September 11.~

  _Sts. Protus_ and _Hyacinthus_, A. D. 257. _St. Paphnutius_, A. D.
  335. _St. Patiens_, Abp. of Lyons, A. D. 480.


NICKNACKITARIANISM.

On the 11th of September, 1802, the following cause was decided by a
jury in the sheriff’s court.

_Hurst_ v. _Halford_

The plaintiff was a _nicknackitarian_, that is, a dealer in curiosities,
such as Egyptian mummies, Indian implements of war, arrows dipped in the
poison of the upas-tree, bows, antique shields, helmets, &c. He was
described as possessing the skin of the cameleopard exhibited in the
Roman amphitheatre, the head of the spear used by king Arthur, and the
breech of the first cannon used at the siege of Constantinople; and, in
short, of almost every rarity that the most ardent virtuoso would wish
to possess.

The defendant was the executor of a widow lady of the name of Morgan,
who, in the enjoyment of a considerable fortune, indulged her fancy, and
amused herself in collecting objects of natural and artificial
curiosity.

It was stated that this lady had been long in the habit of purchasing a
variety of rare articles of the plaintiff: she had bought of him models
of the temple of Jerusalem and the Alexandrian library, a specimen of
the type invented by Memnon, the Egyptian, and a genuine manuscript of
the first play acted by Thespis and his company in a waggon; for all
these she had in her lifetime paid most liberally. It appeared also she
had erected a mausoleum, in which her deceased husband was laid, and she
projected the depositing her own remains, when death should overtake
her, by the side of him. The plaintiff was employed in fitting it up,
and ornamenting it with a tessellated pavement; this was also paid for,
and constituted no part of the present demand. This action was brought
against the defendant to recover the sum of 40_l._ for stuffing and
embalming a bird of paradise, a fly-bird, an ourang-outang, an
ichneumon, and a cassowary. The defendant did not deny that the
plaintiff had a claim on the estate of the deceased, but he had let
judgment go by default, and attempted merely to cut down the amount of
the demand. The plaintiff’s foreman, or assistant, proved that the work
had been done by the direction of Mrs. Morgan, and that the charge was
extremely reasonable. On the contrary, the defendant’s solicitor
contended that the charge was most extravagant; he stated, that the
museum of the deceased virtuoso had been sold by public auction, and
including the models of the temple of Jerusalem and the Alexandrian
library, the antique type, Thespian manuscript, spearhead, and every
thing else she had been all her life collecting, it had not netted more
than 110_l._ As to the stuffed monkies and birds, which constituted the
foundation of the plaintiff’s claim, they scarce had defrayed the
expense of carrying them away; they were absolute rubbish. The
plaintiff’s attorney replied that his client’s labour was not to be
appreciated by what the objects of it produced at a common sale,
attended, perhaps, by brokers, who were as ignorant as the stuffed
animals they were purchasing.

The under-sheriff observed, that in matters of taste the intrinsic value
of an article was not the proper medium of ascertaining the compensation
due to the labour which produced it; a virtuoso frequently expended a
large sum of money for what another man would kick out of his house as
lumber. If Mrs. Morgan, who it was proved was a lady of fortune, wished
to amuse the gloomy hours of her widowhood by stuffing apes and birds,
her executor was at least bound to pay the expense she had incurred, in
indulging her whimsical fancy. He saw no reason why a single shilling of
the plaintiff’s demand should be subtracted; and the jury viewed the
curiosities in the same light, and gave a verdict for the plaintiff,
damages 40_l._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Variegated Meadow Saffron. _Colchium variegatum._
  Dedicated to _St. Hyacinthus_.


~September 12.~

  _St. Eanswide_, Abbess, 7th Cent. _St. Guy_ of Anderlecht, 11th Cent.
  _St. Albeus_, A. D. 525.


GLASS-CUTTERS AT NEWCASTLE.

On the 12th of September, 1823, the inhabitants of Newcastle and
Gateshead were gratified with a spectacle which in that part was novel
and peculiarly interesting, although in London it is common. It was a
procession through the principal streets, of the workmen employed in
several of the glass-houses, each bearing in his hand a specimen of the
art, remarkable either for its curious construction, or its beauty and
elegance. The morning was ushered in with the ringing of bells, and
notice of the intended procession having been previously circulated,
numbers of people crowded the streets. A little after twelve o’clock it
moved forward along the Close, amid the cheers of the assembled
multitude, the firing of cannon and the ringing of bells, and preceded
by the band of the Tyne Hussars. It was composed of the workmen of the
Northumberland, the South Shields, the Wear (Sunderland), the Durham and
British (Gateshead), the Stourbridge (Gateshead), and the North Shields
glass companies, arranged according to the seniority of their respective
houses, and each distinguished by appropriate flags. The sky was clear,
and the rays of the sun, falling upon the glittering utensils and
symbols, imparted richness and grandeur to their appearance. The hat of
almost every person in it was decorated with a glass feather, whilst a
glass star sparkled on the breast, and a chain or collar of variegated
glass hung round the neck; some wore sashes round the waist. Each man
carried in his hand a staff, with a cross piece on the top, displaying
one or more curious or beautiful specimens of art. These elevations
afforded a sight of the different vessels, consisting of a profusion of
decanters, glasses, goblets, jugs, bowls, dishes, &c., the staple
articles of the trade, in an endless variety of elegant shape, and of
exquisite workmanship, with several other representations remarkable
either for excellence of manufacture or for curious construction.
Amongst these were two elegant bird-cages, containing birds, which sung
at periods during the procession. A salute was fired several times from
a fort mounted with glass cannon, to the astonishment of the spectators;
a glass bugle which sounded the halts, and played several marches, was
much admired for its sweetness and correctness of tone. Several elegant
specimens of stained glass were exhibited; many of the men wore glass
hats and carried glass swords. When the procession arrived at the
mansion-house it halted, while a salute was fired from the glass cannon;
the procession then moved forward, passing along the bridge, through
Gateshead, and then returned and paraded through the principal streets
of Newcastle, to dinners provided at different inns.

Mr. John Sykes, in the volume of “Local Records” published by him at
Newcastle, from whence this account is taken, says, “that a procession
of this kind is highly commendable, not as a mere _unmeaning show_
calculated for caricature, but as exhibiting to public view some of the
finest efforts of human industry and genius.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Semilunar Passion Flower. _Passiflora peltata._
  Dedicated to _St. Eanswide_.


~September 13.~

  _St. Eulogius_, Patriarch of Alexandria, A. D. 608. _St. Amatus_, Bp.
  A. D. 690. Another _St. Amatus_, or _Ame_, Abbot, A. D. 627. _St.
  Maurilius_, 5th Cent.

       *       *       *       *       *


  “GENTLEMAN SMITH,”
  THE ORIGINAL CHARLES SURFACE.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Dear Sir,

Probably a biographical sketch of this eminent professor of the
histrionic art, may prove acceptable to your interesting weekly sheet.
Of the latter days of Mr. Smith, I write from my own recollection of
him. It is a pleasant occupation to record the acts of these worthies of
the legitimate drama--to notice the talents and acquirements of an actor
so universally respected for the kindness of his disposition--the
firmness of a mind gradually developing principles and conduct worthy
the sympathy and respect of all--and whose ease and gracefulness of
manner obtained for him the honourable distinction of “Gentleman Smith.”

The subject of our memoir was born in London, in 1730. He was designed
for the church, and in 1737 his father sent him to Eton, from whence he
was removed to St. John’s-college, Cambridge, in 1748. The vivacity and
spirit which had distinguished young Smith while at Eton, here led him
into some rash and impetuous irregularities. He was young--very young:
unknown to the world, and too worldly in his pleasures. The force of
evil example, so glaringly displayed within our colleges and
grammar-schools, was powerful--and Smith yielded to its power. One hasty
act of imprudence and passion, frustrated his father’s hopes, and
determined the future pursuits of this tyro. Having one evening drunk
too freely with some associates of kindred minds, and being pursued by
the proctor, he had the imprudence to snap an unloaded pistol at him.
For this offence he was doomed to a punishment to which he would not
submit; and in order to avoid expulsion immediately quitted college. He
now had the opportunity of gratifying his inclination for the stage, and
without any deep reflection upon the step he was about to take,
immediately upon his arrival in London, applied to Mr. Rich, then
manager of Covent-garden theatre, and succeeded in obtaining an
engagement. He made his first appearance in January, 1753, in the
character of _Theodosius_; on which occasion many of his college friends
came up for the purpose of giving him their support. His second attempt
was _Polydore_, in the “Orphan;” after which he appeared successively in
_Southampton_, in the “Earl of Essex,” and _Dolabella_, in “All for
Love.” Mr. Smith was obliged for some time to play subordinate parts;
but after Mr. Barry quitted the stage, he undertook several of the
principal characters in which that great actor had appeared with such
distinguished approbation. Mr. Smith’s mode of acting had many
peculiarities which were considered as defects, but from his frequent
appearance, the audience seemed to forget them, or to regard them as
trifles undeserving notice, when viewed in connection with the many
excellencies which he always displayed. This favourable disposition
towards him was greatly increased by his upright and independent conduct
in private life, which gained for him very general esteem. When
Churchill published his “Rosciad,” in 1761, the only notice he took of
him in his satire, is comprised in the following couplet:--

    “Smith the genteel, the airy, and the smart,
    Smith was just gone to school to say his part.”

After being twenty-two years at Covent-garden, Garrick engaged him, in
the winter of 1774, to perform at Drury-lane, where he remained till the
close of his professional labours in 1788. Though Mr. Smith, for a
considerable period, played the first parts in tragedy, nature seemed
not to have qualified him for this branch of the histrionic art. His
person was tall and well formed, but his features wanted flexibility,
for the expression of the stronger and finer emotions of tragedy, and
his voice had a monotony and harshness, which took much from the effect
of his finer performances. The parts in this line in which he acquired
most popularity were _Richard the Third_, _Hotspur_, and _Hastings_.

But, now, I must speak of those powers in which Mr. Smith was
unrivalled. His personation of _Charles Surface_, in the “School for
Scandal,” (of which he was the original representative,) has always been
spoken of as his masterpiece, and, indeed, the highest praise and
admiration were always awarded him for originality, boldness of
conception, truth, freedom, ease, and gracefulness of action and manner.
A sigh of tender regret to the recollection of so great a worthy has
been uttered by the pleasant ELIA, in his “Essay upon Old Actors,” to
which I refer every lover of the drama,--there he will discover what our
favourites in the old school of acting were,--and what our modern
professors ought now to be!

Mr. Smith’s _Kitely_ has been extolled as superior to that of Garrick.
_Archer_ and _Oakly_ are two other parts, in which he acquired high
reputation.

On the 9th of March, 1788, after performing _Macbeth_, he delivered an
epilogue, in which he announced his intention to quit the stage at the
close of the season, thinking it time to “resign the sprightly _Charles_
to abler hands and younger heads.” On the ninth of June following, he
took his leave, after the performance of _Charles Surface_, in a short,
but neat and elegant address: expressing his gratitude for the candour,
indulgence, and generosity he had experienced, and his hope that the
“patronage and protection the public had vouchsafed him on the stage,
would be followed by some small esteem, when he was off.” He performed
but once afterwards, which was in the same part, in 1798, for the
benefit of his old friend King. Mr. Smith was first married to the
sister of the earl of Sandwich, the widow of Kelland Courtnay, Esq.; she
died in 1762. Soon afterwards he married Miss Newson, of Leiston, in
Suffolk. Lord Chedworth bequeathed him a legacy of 200_l._ He died at
Bury St. Edmunds, on the 13th of September, 1819, in the 89th year of
his age.[316]

In my humble walk of life, when a boy at the free grammar-school of Bury
St. Edmunds, I had, with my young “classical” companions, frequent
opportunities of meeting this aged veteran of the drama. His appearance
was always agreeable to us. He encouraged our playful gambols, and was
well-pleased in giving us something to be pleased with. In his eightieth
year he looked “most briskly juvenal.” His person was then debonair, and
his fine, brown, intelligent eye reflected all the mind could realize of
the volition of _Charles Surface_. His dress was in perfect keeping with
the vivacious disposition of the man. He always wore, when
perambulating, a white hat, edged with green--blue coat--figured
waistcoat--fustian- breeches, and gaiters to correspond. Thus
apparelled, he was, when the weather was favourable, to be met with in
some one of the beautifully rural walks in the neighbourhood of the
town, tripping on at a sharp, brisk pace, and twisting his thin
gold-headed cane in his right hand. His politeness was proverbial; and
the same ease and gracefulness of carriage--dignity of manner--and
suavity of address--were features as conspicuous off, as when on, the
stage. It was a lucky moment for us to meet him near our “tart” and
“_turn-over_” shop. He would anticipate our _raspberry_ cravings, and
remind us that he “was once a school-boy,” and that the _fagging_ system
was only to be tolerated in the hopeful expectation of a plentiful
reward in “sweets” and “sugar-candy.” He was one whom Shakspeare has
painted--

    “That liv’d, that lov’d, that lik’d, that look’d with cheer.”

Should this trifling sketch fall into the hands of any of my respected
fellows, who were with me during my labours at the above-named school, I
am confident they will contemplate this great man’s memory with that
regard which his rich pleasantries, and our personal knowledge of him,
are calculated to inspire. He was an honourable man; and it was his
honourable conduct which alone conducted him to an honourable
distinction in the evening of his days. Unlike the many of his
profession, whose talents blaze forth for a while, and then depart like
a sunbeam, he retired into the quiet of domestic life--sought peace and
solace--and found them. In a word, “Gentleman Smith” was a respecter of
virtue:--and he developed its precepts to the world in the incidents of
his own life.

  I am, dear Sir,

  Yours very truly,

  S. R.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Officinal Crocus. _Crocus Sativus._
  Dedicated to _St. Eulogius_.

  [316] An interesting notice of Mr. Smith will be found in a small and
  elegant little work, entitled “County Biography,” &c., published by
  Longman and Co., accompanied by a good portrait of the subject of this
  article.


~September 14.~

  _The Exaltation of the Holy Cross_, A. D. 629. _St. Catharine_ of
  Genoa, A. D. 1510. _St. Cormac_, Bp. of Cashel, and king of Munster,
  A. D. 908.


  ~Holy Cross,~
  or
  HOLY ROOD.

_Holy Cross_ is in our almanacs and the church of England calendar on
this day, whereon is celebrated a Romish catholic festival in honour of
the holy cross, or, as our ancestors called it, the _holy rood_. From
this denomination _Holyrood-house_, Edinburgh, derives its name.

The _rood_ was a carved or sculptured groupe consisting of a crucifix,
or image of Christ on the cross, with, commonly, the virgin Mary on one
side, and John on the other; though for these were sometimes substituted
the four evangelists, and frequently rows of saints were added on each
side.[317]

The _rood_ was always placed in a gallery across the nave, at the
entrance of the chancel or choir of the church, and this gallery was
called the _rood-loft_, signifying the rood-gallery; the old meaning of
the word _loft_ being a high, or the highest, floor, or a room higher
than another room. In the _rood-loft_ the musicians were stationed, near
the rood, to play during mass.

The _holy roods_ or _crosses_ being taken down at the time of the
reformation, the rood-loft or gallery became the _organ-loft_ or singing
gallery, as we see it in our churches at present: the ancient
_rood-loft_ was usually supported by a cross-beam, richly carved with
foliage, sometimes superbly gilt, with a screen of open tabernacle-work
beneath.[318]

When the _roods_, and other images in churches were taken down
throughout England, texts of scripture were written on the walls of the
churches instead. The first rood taken down in London was the rood
belonging to St. Paul’s cathedral, and then all the other roods were
removed from the churches of the metropolis.[319]

The holy rood, at Boxley, in Kent, was called the _Rood of Grace_; its
image, on the cross, miraculously moved its eyes, lips, and head, upon
the approach of its marvelling votaries. The _Boxley Rood_ was brought
to London, and Hilsey, bishop of Rochester, within whose diocese it had
performed wonders under the papacy, took it to pieces at St. Paul’s
cross, and showed the people the springs and wheels by which, at the
will of the priests, it had been secretly put in motion.[320] The open
detection and destruction of this gross imposture, reconciled many, who
had been deceived, to the reformation.

       *       *       *       *       *

The festival of _Holy Cross_, or as it is more elaborately termed by the
Catholics, _the Exaltation of the Holy Cross_, is in commemoration of
the alleged miraculous appearance of the cross to Constantine in the
sky at mid-day. It was instituted by the Romish church on occasion of
the recovery of a large piece of the pretended real cross which Cosroes,
king of Persia, took from Jerusalem when he plundered it. The emperor
Heraclius defeated him in battle, retook the relic, and carried it back
in triumph to Jerusalem.

According to Rigordus, a historian of the thirteenth century, the
capture of this wood by Cosroes, though it was recaptured by Heraclius,
was a loss to the human race they never recovered. We are taught by him
to believe that the mouths of our ancestors “used to be supplied with
thirty, or in some instances, no doubt according to their faith, with
thirty-two teeth, but that since the cross was stolen by the infidels,
no mortal has been allowed more than twenty-three!”[321]

       *       *       *       *       *

Nutting appears to have been customary on this day. Brand cites from the
old play of “Grim, the Collier of Croydon:”--

    “This day, they say, is called Holy-rood day,
    And all the youth are now a nutting gone.”

It appears, from a curious manuscript relating to Eton school, that in
the month of September, “on a certain day,” most probably the
fourteenth, the scholars there were to have a play-day, in order to go
out and gather nuts, a portion of which, when they returned, they were
to make presents of to the different masters; but before leave was
granted for their excursion, they were required to write verses on the
fruitfulness of autumn, and the deadly cold of the coming winter.[322]

       *       *       *       *       *

“Tuesday, Sept. 14, 1731, being Holyrood day, the king’s huntsmen hunted
their free buck in Richmond New park, with bloodhounds, according to
custom.”[323]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Passion Flower. _Passiflora cærulea._
  Dedicated to the _Exaltation of the Cross_.

  [317] Fosbroke’s British Monachism.

  [318] Ibid.

  [319] Stow’s Chron.

  [320] Hume.

  [321] Brady’s Clavis Calendaria.

  [322] Slater’s Schol. Eton, A. D. 1560. M. G. Donat. Brit. Mus. 4843
  Brand.

  [323] Gentleman’s Magazine.


~September 15.~

  _St. Nicetas_, 4th Cent. _St. Nicomedes_, A. D. 90. _St. John_, the
  Dwarf, 5th Cent. _St. Aicard_, or _Achart_, Abbot, A. D. 687. _St.
  Aper_, or _Evre_, Bp. A. D. 486.

The weather on an average is, at least, six times out of seven fine on
this day.[324]

                      It yet is not day;
    The morning hath not lost her virgin blush,
    Nor step, but mine, soiled the earth’s tinsel robe.
    ---- How full of heaven this solitude appears,
    This healthful comfort of the happy swain;
    Who from his hard but peaceful bed roused up,
    In ’s morning exercise saluted is
    By a full quire of feathered choristers,
    Wedding their notes to the inamoured air.
    Here Nature, in her unaffected dresse,
    Plaited with vallies, and imbost with hills,
    Enchast with silver streams, and fringed with woods,
    Sits lovely in her native russet.

  _Chamberlayne._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Byzantine Saffron. _Colchicum Byzanticum._
  Dedicated to _St. Nicetas_.

  [324] Dr. Forster’s Peren. Calendar.


~September 16.~

  _St. Cornelius_, Pope, A. D. 252. _St. Cyprian_, Abp. of Carthage, A.
  D. 258. _St. Euphemia_, A. D. 307. _Sts. Lucia_ and _Geminianus._
  _Sts. Ninian_, or _Ninyas_, Bp. A. D. 432. _St. Editha_, A. D. 984.


JEMMY GORDON.

This eccentric individual, who is recorded on the 23d of May, died in
the workhouse of St. Leonard’s, at Cambridge, on the 16th of September,
1825. He had for many years been in the receipt of an annuity of five
and twenty pounds bequeathed to him by Mr. Gordon, a deceased relative.
Several confinements in the town gaol left Gordon at liberty to write
memoirs of himself, which are in the possession of Mr. W. Mason,
picture-dealer of Cambridge. He may amuse and essentially benefit
society if he publish the manuscripts, accompanied by details drawn from
personal recollections of the deceased biographer, with reflections on
the misapplication of talent and the consequences of self-indulgence. It
is an opportunity whereon to “point a moral, and adorn a tale.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sea Starwort. _Aster Tripolum._
  Dedicated to _St. Editha_.


~September 17.~

  _St. Lambert_, Bp. A. D. 709. _St. Columba_, A. D. 853. _St.
  Hildegardis_, Abbess, A. D. 1179. _St. Rouin_, or _Rodingus_, or
  _Chrodingus_, A. D. 680. _Sts. Socrates_ and _Stephen_, Martyrs under
  Dioclesian.


~Lambert.~

He is a saint in the Romish calendar; his name “Lambert” stands
unsainted in the church of England calendar and almanacs: sometimes he
is called Landebert. He was bishop of Maestricht from which see he was
expelled in 673, and retired to the monastery of Stavelo, where he
continued seven years, submitting to the rules of the novices. He was
afterwards restored to his bishopric, and discharged its functions with
zeal and success. But during the disorders which prevailed in the
government of France, he was murdered on the 17th of September, 703, and
in 1240, his festival was ordained to be kept on this day.[325]

       *       *       *       *       *


THEATRICALS.

This is about the season when the summer theatres close, and the winter
theatres open. Most of the productions written, and represented of late
years, seem symptomatic of decay in dramatic and histrionic talent. The
false taste of some of the vocal performers, is laughed at in a light
piece called “Der Freischütz Travestie: by Septimus Globus, Esq.” One of
its versifications is in a “SCENE--UNSEEN.” According to the author,--

A SONG--SINGS ITSELF.

TUNE.--_Galloping Dreary Dun._

    Fine singers we have, both woman and man,
                 Gallop O! fly away! jump!
    They all bravura, as fast as they can,
                They mock Catalani,
                Up long laney,
                    Bawling,
                    Squalling,
    Galloping all away! drag and tail,--die away--plump!

    They come on the stage, so fine and so gay,
                  Gallop O! fly away! jump!
    They mount in the air, and they ride away,
                      They mock Catalani, &c.

    They canter one off, all into the dark,
                  Gallop O! fly away! jump!
    The Jack-bottom sings, instead of the lark,
                      They mock Catalani, &c.

    They let off a trill, and it asks the way,
                  Gallop O! fly away! jump!
    They quiver and shake--oh! I bid you good day,
                      They mock Catalani, &c.

    Such singing I guess, does nobody good,
                  Gallop O! fly away! jump!
    Notes wander about, like the babes in the wood,
                      They mock Catalani, &c.

    I sing by myself, but pray take a peep,
                  Gallop O! fly away! jump!
    You’ll soon find singers, to sing you to sleep,
                      They mock Catalani, &c.
                                [_Exit Song._

From the same piece there may be another “seasonable” extract, for we
are at that period of the year when the chase, which was once a
necessary pursuit, is indulged as an amusement. In Von Weber’s “Der
Freischütz,” the casting of the fifth bullet by Caspar is accompanied by
“a wild chase in the clouds;” the writer who travestied that opera, as
it was represented at the Lyceum theatre, represents this operation to
be thus accompanied:--

  _Neighing and barking_ ‘old clothes!’--_Skylarking_--_A wild chase in
  the clouds_; an ‘Etherial Race--inhabitants of air,’ consisting of
  skeleton dogs muzzled, skeleton horses, and skeleton horsemen, _with
  overalls and preservers, and_ MR. GREEN from the city, are _in pursuit
  of a skeleton stag_ ‘to Bachelor’s-hall,’ _with_ grave _music
  accompanying the following_--

SONG AND CHORUS. BY SKELETON HUNTSMEN.

“_Bright Chanticleer proclaims the dawn._”

    The moon’s eclipse proclaims our hunt,
      The graves release their dead,
    The common man lifts up the wood,
      The lord springs from the lead;
    The lady-corpses hurry on,
      To join the ghostly crowds,
    And off we go, with a ho! so--ho!
      A--hunting in the clouds.
        With a hey, ho, chivey!
        Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy!
            &c.

    No hill, no dale, no glen, no mire,
      No dew, no night, no storm,
    No earth, no water, air, nor fire,
      Can do wild huntsmen harm.
    We laugh at what the living dread,
      And throw aside our shrouds,
    And off we go, with a ho! so--ho!
      A--hunting in the clouds.
        With a hey, ho, chivey!
        Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy,
            &c.

    Oft, when by body-snatchers stol’n,
      And surgeons for us wait,
    Some honest watchmen take the rogues
      To be examined straight,
    We slip away from surgeons, and
      From police-office crowds,
    And off we go, with a ho! so--ho!
      A--hunting in the clouds.
        With a hey, ho, chivey!
        Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy!
            &c.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Narrow-leaved Mallow. _Malva augustiflora._
  Dedicated to _St. Lambert_.

  [325] Audley’s Comp. to the Almanac.


~September 18.~

  _St. Thomas_, Abp. of Valentia, A. D. 1555. _St. Methodius_, Bp. of
  Tyre, A. D. 311. _St. Ferreol_, A. D. 304. _St. Joseph_, of Cupertino,
  A. D. 1663.


_St. Ferreol._

He was “a tribune or colonel,” Butler says, at Vienne in France, and
imprisoned on suspicion of being a christian, which he verified by
refusing to sacrifice according to the religion of the country,
whereupon being scourged and laid in a dungeon, on the third day his
chains fell off his hands and legs, and he swam over the Rhone. It
appears that the miraculous chain-falling was ineffectual, for he was
discovered and beheaded near the river.

       *       *       *       *       *

The anniversary of this saint and martyr is celebrated at Marseilles
with great pomp. The houses are decorated with streamers to the very
tops; and the public way is crossed by cords, on which are suspended
numberless flags of various colours. The ships are always ornamented
with flags and streamers. The procession passes under several arches,
hung with boughs, before it stops at the altars or resting-places, which
are covered with flowers: every thing concurs to give to this solemnity
an air of cheerfulness. The eye dwells with pleasure on the garlands of
beautiful flowers, the green boughs, and the emblem of the divinity
contained in the flags of the procession. The attendants are extremely
numerous; every gardener carries his wax taper, ornamented with the most
rare and beautiful flowers; he has also the vegetables and fruits with
which heaven had blessed his labour, and sometimes he bears some nests
of birds.

The _butchers_ also make a part of this procession, clothed in long
tunics, and with a hat _à la Henri IV_. armed with a hatchet or cleaver;
they lead a fat ox dressed with garlands and ribands, and with gilt
horns, like the ox at the carnival: his back is covered with a carpet,
on which sits a pretty child, dressed as St. John the Baptist. During
the whole week which precedes the festival, the butchers lead about this
animal: they first take him to the police, where they pay a duty, and
then their collection begins, which is very productive: every one wishes
to have the animal in his house; and it is a prevailing superstition
among the people, that they shall have good luck throughout the year if
this beast leave any trace of his visit, however dirty it may be. The ox
is killed on the day after the festival. The child generally lives but a
short time: exhausted by the fatigue which he has suffered, and by the
caresses which he has received, and sickened by the sweetmeats with
which he has been crammed, he languishes, and often falls a victim.

A number of young girls, clothed in white, their heads covered with
veils, adorned with flowers, and girded with ribands of a uniform colour
are next in the procession. Children, habited in different manners,
recall the ancient “mysteries.” Several young women are dressed as nuns;
these are St. Ursula, St. Rosalia, St. Agnes, St. Teresa, &c. The
handsomest are clothed as Magdalens; with their hair dishevelled on
their lovely faces, they look with an air of contrition on a crucifix
which they hold in the hand: others appear in the habit of the _Sœurs de
la Charité_, whose whole time is devoted to the service of the sick.
Young boys fill other parts, such as angels, abbots, monks; among whom
may be distinguished St. Francis, St. Bruno, St. Anthony, &c. In the
midst of the shepherds marches the little St. John, but half covered
with a sheep’s skin, like the picture of his precursor; he leads a lamb
decked with ribands, a symbol of the saviour who offered himself for us,
and died for the remission of our sins. The streets are strewed with
flowers; numerous choristers carry baskets full of roses and yellow
broom, which they throw, on a given signal, before the host or holy
sacrament: they strew some of these on the ladies who sit in rows to see
the procession; these also have baskets of flowers on their knees, which
they offer to the host; they amuse themselves with covering the young
virgins and little saints with the flowers. The sweet scents of the
roses, the cassia, the jessamine, the orange, and the tuberose, mingled
with the odour of the incense, almost overpower the senses. The
procession proceeds to the port, and it is there that the ceremony
presents a sublime character: the people fill the quays; all the decks
are manned with seamen, dressed in their best blue jackets, their heads
uncovered, and their red caps in their hands. All bend the knee to the
God of the Universe: the seamen stretch out their hands towards the
prelate, who, placed under a canopy, gives the benediction: the most
profound silence reigns among this immense crowd. The benediction
received, every one rises instantaneously; the bells begin to ring, the
music plays, and the whole train takes the road to the temple from which
they came.[326]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Pendulous Starwort. _Aster pendulus._
  Dedicated to _St. Thomas_, of Villanova.

  [326] Times Telescope, 1819; from Coxe’s Gentleman’s Guide through
  France.


~September 19.~

  _St. Januarius_, Bp. of Benevento, A. D. 305. _St. Theodore_, Abp. of
  Canterbury, A. D. 690. _Sts. Peleus_, _Pa-Termuthes_, and Companions.
  _St. Lucy_ A. D. 1090. _St. Eustochius_, Bp. A. D. 461. _St.
  Sequanus_, or _Seine_, Abbot, A. D. 580.


STOURBRIDGE FAIR

This place, near Cambridge, is also called Sturbridge, Sturbitch, and
Stirbitch. A Cambridge newspaper speaks of _Stirbitch_ fair being
proclaimed on the 19th of September, 1825, for a fortnight, and of
_Stirbitch_ horse-fair commencing on the 26th of the month. The
corruption of this proper name, stamps the persons who use it in its
vulgar acceptation as being ignorant as the ignorant; the better
instructed should cease from shamefully acquiescing in the long
continued disturbance of this appellation.

Stephen Batman, in his “Doome warning,” published in 1582, relates that
“Fishers toke a disfigured divell, in a certain _stoure_, (which is a
mighty gathering togither of waters, from some narrow lake of the sea,)
a horrible monster with a goats heade, and eyes shyning lyke fyre,
whereuppon they were all afrayde and ranne awaye; and that ghoste
plunged himselfe under the ise, and running uppe and downe in the
_stowre_ made a terrible noyse and sound.” We get in _Stirbitch_ a most
“disfigured divell” from Stourbridge. The good people derive their “good
name” from their river.

       *       *       *       *       *

Stourbridge fair originated in a grant from king John to the hospital of
lepers at that place. By a charter in the 30th year of Henry VIII., the
fair was granted to the magistrates and corporation of Cambridge. The
vicechancellor of the university has the same power in it that he has in
the town of Cambridge.

       *       *       *       *       *

By an order of privy council of the 3rd of October, 1547, the mayor and
under-sheriff of the county were required, not only to acknowledge
before the vicechancellor, heads of colleges and proctors, that they had
interfered with the privileges of the university in Stourbridge fair,
but also, “that the mayor, in the common hall, shall openly, among his
brethren, acknowledge his wilfull proceeding.” The breach consisted in
John Fletcher, the mayor, having refused to receive into the tolbooth
certain persons of “naughty and corrupt behaviour,” who were “prisoners,
taken by the proctors of the university, in the last Sturbridge fair;”
wherefore he was called before the lords and others of the council, and
his fault therein “so plainly and justly opened” that he could not deny
it, but did “sincerely and willingly confess his said fault.”[327]

       *       *       *       *       *

In 1613, Stourbridge fair acquired such celebrity, that hackney-coaches
attended it from London. Subsequently not less than sixty coaches plied
at this fair, which was the largest in England. Vast quantities of
butter and cheese found there a ready market; it stocked the people of
Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, and other counties with clothes, and all other
necessaries; and shopkeepers supplied themselves from thence with the
commodities wherein they dealt.[328]

       *       *       *       *       *

Jacob Butler, Esq. who died on the 28th of May, 1765, stoutly maintained
the charter of Stourbridge fair: he was of Bene’t-college, Cambridge,
and a barrister-at-law. In stature he was six feet four inches high, of
determined character, and deemed “a great eccentric” because, among
other reasons, he usually invited the giants and dwarfs, who came for
exhibition, to dine with him. He was so rigid in seeing the charter
literally complied with, that if the ground was not cleared by one
o’clock on the day appointed, and he found any of the booths standing,
he had them pulled down, and the materials taken away. On one occasion
when the wares were not removed by the time mentioned in the charter, he
drove his carriage among the crockery and destroyed a great quantity.

The rev. John Butler, LL.D. rector of Wallington, in Hertfordshire,
father of Mr. Butler, who was his eldest son, endeavoured in the year
1705, to get Stourbridge fair rated to the poor. This occasioned a
partial and oppressive assessment on himself that involved him in great
difficulties. Dr. Butler died in 1714, and Jacob Butler succeeded to his
difficulties and estates in the parish of Barnwell. As a trustee under
an act for the turnpike road from Cambridge to London, Mr. Butler was
impeached of abuses in common with his co-trustees. Being obnoxious, he
was singled out to make good the abuse, and summoned to the county
sessions, where he appeared in his barrister’s gown, was convicted and
fined ten pounds, which he refused to pay, and was committed. He
excepted to the jurisdiction, wherein he was supported by the opinion of
sir Joseph Yorke, then attorney-general, and to save an estreat applied
to the under-sheriff, who refused his application, and afterwards went
to the clerk of the peace at Newmarket, from whom he met the like
treatment; this forced him to the quarter-sessions, where he obtained
his discharge, after telling the chairman he felt it hard to be
compelled to the trouble and expense of teaching him and his brethren
law. He appears to have been a lawyer of that school, which admitted no
law but the old common law of the land, and statute law. In 1754, “to
stem the venality and corruption of the times, he offered himself a
candidate to represent the county in parliament, unsupported by the
influence of the great, the largess of the wealthy, or any interest, but
that which his single character could establish in the esteem of all
honest men and lovers of their country. But when he found the struggles
for freedom faint and ineffectual, and his spirits too weak to resist
the efforts of his enemies, he contented himself with the testimony of
those few friends who dare to be free, and of his own unbiassed
conscience, which, upon this, as well as every other occasion, voted in
his favour; and upon these accounts he was justly entitled to the name
of _the old Briton_.” He bore this appellation to the day of his death.
The loss of a favourite dog is supposed to have accelerated his end;
upon its being announced to him, he said, “I shall not live long now my
dog is dead.” He shortly afterwards became ill, and, lingering about two
months, died.

His coffin, which was made from a large oak by his express order, some
months before his death, became an object of public curiosity; it was of
sufficient dimensions to contain several persons, and wine was copiously
quaffed therein by many of those who went to see it. To a person, who
was one of the legatees, the singular trust was delegated of driving
him to the grave, on the carriage of a waggon, divested of the body:
seated in the front, he was to drive his two favourite horses, Brag and
Dragon, to Barnwell church, and should they refuse to receive his body
there, he was to return and bury him in the middle of the grass-plat in
his own garden. Part only of his request was complied with, for the body
being put into a leaden coffin, and the leaden one into a shell, was
conveyed in a hearse, and the coffin made before his death was put upon
the carriage of his waggon, and driven before the hearse by the
gentleman above mentioned when arrived at the church door, it was taken
from the carriage by four men, who received half-a-guinea each; it was
then put into the vault, and the corpse being taken from the hearse was
carried to the vault, there put into the coffin, and then screwed down.

[Illustration: ~Jacob Butler, Esq.~]

The late rev. Michael Tyson of Bene’t-college, “a good antiquary and a
gentleman artist,” amused himself with etching a few portraits; among
them “were some of the old masters of his college, and some of the noted
characters in and about Cambridge, as Jacob Butler of Barnwell, who
called himself the _old Briton_,” which Mr. Nichols says “may be called
his best, both in design and execution; for it expresses the very man
himself.” A gentleman of the university has obligingly communicated to
this work a fine impression of Mr. Tyson’s head of “the _old Briton_,”
from whence the present portrait is engraven.


_Origin of Stourbridge Fair._

Mr. George Dyer, in a supplement to his recently published “Privileges
of the University of Cambridge,” being a sequel to his “History of the
University,” cites thus from Fuller:--

“Stourbridge fair is so called from Stour, a little rivulet (on both
sides whereof it is kept,) on the east of Cambridge, whereof this
original is reported. A clothier of Kendal, a town characterized to be
_Lanificii gloria et industria præcellens_, casually wetting his cloath
in water in his passage to London, exposed it there to sale, on cheap
termes, as the worse for wetting, and yet it seems saved by the bargain.
Next year he returned again with some other of his townsmen, proffering
drier and dearer cloath to be sold. So that within a few years hither
came a confluence of buyers, sellers, and lookers-on, which are the
three principles of a fair. _In memoria_ thereof, Kendal men challenge
some privilege in that place, annually choosing one of the town to be
chief, before whom an antic sword was carried with some mirthful
solemnities, disused of late, since these sad times, which put men’s
minds into more serious employments.” This was about 1417.

       *       *       *       *       *

The “History of Stourbridge Fair,” &c. a pamphlet published at Cambridge
in 1806, supplies the particulars before the reader, respecting Jacob
Butler and the fair, except in a few instances derived from authorities
acknowledged in the notes. From thence also is as follows:--

Stourbridge fair was annually set out on St. Bartholomew’s day, by the
aldermen and the rest of the corporation of Cambridge, who all rode
there in grand procession, with music playing before them; and, when the
ceremony was finished, used to ride races about the place; then
returning to Cambridge, cakes and ale were given to the boys who
attended them, at the Town-hall; but, we believe, this old custom is now
laid aside. On the 7th of September they rode in the same manner to
proclaim it; which being done, the fair then began, and continued three
weeks, though the greatest part was over in a fortnight.

This fair, which was allowed, some years ago, to be the largest in
Europe, is kept in a corn-field about half a mile square, the river Cam
running on the north side, and the rivulet called the Stour, (from
which, and the bridge which crosses it, the fair received its name,) on
the east side; it is about two miles from Cambridge market-place, and
where, during the time of the fair, coaches, &c. attend to convey
persons to the fair. The chief diversions at the fair were drolls,
rope-dancing, sometimes a music-booth, and plays performed; and though
there is an act of parliament which prohibits the acting of plays within
ten miles of Cambridge, the Norwich company have permission to perform
there every night during the fair.

If the corn was not cleared off the field by the 24th of August, the
builders were at liberty to tread it down to build their booths; and on
the other hand, if the booths and materials were not cleared away by
Michaelmas-day at noon, the ploughmen might enter the same with their
horses, ploughs, and carts, and destroy whatever they found remaining on
the ground after that time. The filth, straw, dung, &c. left by the
fair-keepers, making the farmers amends for their trampling and
hardening the ground. The shops, or booths, were built in rows like
streets, having each their name; as Garlick-row, Booksellers’-row,
Cook-row, &c. and every commodity had its proper place; as the
cheese-fair, hop-fair, wool-fair, &c. In these streets, or rows, as well
as in several others, were all kinds of tradesmen, who sell by wholesale
or retail, as goldsmiths, toy-men, braziers, turners, milliners,
haberdashers, hatters, mercers, drapers, pewterers, china warehouses,
and, in short, most trades that could be found in London, from whence
many of them came; there were also taverns, coffee-houses, and
eating-houses in great plenty, all kept in booths, except six or seven
brick-houses, in any of which (except the coffee-house booth,) you might
be accommodated with hot or cold roast goose, roast or boiled pork, &c.

Crossing the road, at the south end of Garlick-row, on the left hand,
was a square formed of the largest booths, called the _Duddery_, the
area of which was from two hundred and forty to three hundred feet,
chiefly taken up with woollen drapers, wholesale tailors, sellers of
second-hand clothes, &c. where the dealers had a room before their
booths to take down and open their packs, and bring in waggons to load
and unload the same. In the centre of the square there formerly stood a
high pole with a vane at the top. On two Sundays, during the principal
time of the fair, morning and afternoon, divine service was performed,
and a sermon preached by the minister of Barnwell, from a pulpit placed
in this square, who was very well paid for the same, by a contribution
made among the fair-keepers.

In this duddery only, it is said, that 100,000_l._ worth of woollen
manufacture has been sold in less than a week, exclusive of the trade
carried on here by the wholesale tailors from London, and other parts of
England, who transacted their business wholly with their pocket-books,
and meeting with their chapmen here from all parts of the country, make
up their accounts, receive money, and take further orders. These, it is
said, exceed the sale of goods actually brought to the fair, and
delivered in kind; it was frequently known that the London wholesale-men
have carried back orders from their dealers for 10,000_l._ worth of
goods, and some a great deal more. Once, in this duddery, there was a
booth consisting of six apartments, which contained goods worth
20,000_l._ belonging solely to a dealer in Norwich stuffs.

The trade for wool, hops, and leather, was prodigious; the quantity of
wool only, which was sold at one fair, was said to amount to between 50
and 60,000_l._, and of hops to nearly the same sum.

The 14th of September was the horse-fair day, which was always the
busiest day during the time of the fair, and the number of people, who
came from all parts of the county on this day, was very great.
Colchester oysters and fresh herrings were in great request,
particularly by those who lived in the inland parts of the kingdom.

The fair was like a well-governed city, and less disorder or confusion
were to be seen here than in any other place, where there was so great a
concourse of people assembled. Here was a court of justice, open from
morning till night, where the mayor, or his deputy, always attended to
determine all controversies in matters arising from the business of the
fair, and for keeping the peace; for which purpose he had eight servants
to attend him, called _red-coats_, who were employed as constables, and
if any dispute arose between buyer and seller, &c. upon calling out
red-coat there was one of them immediately at hand; and if the dispute
was not quickly decided, the offenders were taken to the said court,
and the case determined in a summary way, (as was practised in those
called pie-powder courts in other fairs,) and from which there was no
appeal.

The greatest inconvenience attending the tradesmen at this fair, was the
manner in which they were obliged to lodge in the night; their bed (if
it may be so called,) was laid upon two or three boards nailed to four
posts about a foot from the ground, and four boards fixed round it to
keep them from falling out; in the day-time it was obliged to be removed
from the booth, and laid in the open air, exposed to the weather; at
night it was again taken in, and made up in the best manner they were
able, and they laid almost neck and heels together, it being not more
than five feet long. Very heavy rains, which fall about this season,
would sometimes force through the hair-cloths, which were almost the
only covering to the booths, and oblige them to get up again; and high
winds have been known to blow down many of the booths, particularly in
the year 1741.


CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

Legislative discussion and interference have raised a feeling of
kindness towards the brute creation which slumbered and slept in our
forefathers. Formerly, the costermonger was accustomed to make wounds
for the express purpose of producing torture. He prepared to drive an
ass, that had not been driven, with his knife. On each side of the back
bone, at the lower end, just above the tail, he made an incision of two
or three inches in length through the skin, and beat into these
incisions with his stick till they became open wounds, and so remained,
while the ass lived to be driven to and from market, or through the
streets of the metropolis. A costermonger, now, would shrink from this,
which was a common practice between the years 1790 and 1800. The present
itinerant venders of apples, and other fruit, abstain from wanton
barbarity, while coachmen and carmen are punished for it under Mr.
Martin’s act. This gentleman’s humanity, though sometimes eccentric, is
ever active; and, when judiciously exercised, is approved by natural
feelings, and supported by public opinion.

A correspondent has pleasantly thrown together some amusing citations
respecting the ass. It is a rule with the editor of the _Every-Day Book_
not to alter communications, or he would have turned one expression, in
the course of the subjoined paper, which seems to bear somewhat
ludicrously upon the interference of the member for Galway, in behalf of
that class of animals which have endured more persecution than any in
existence, except, perhaps, our fellow human-beings, the Jews.


THE ASS.

(_For Hone’s Every-Day Book._)

Poorly as the world may think of the intellectual abilities of asses,
there have been some very clever fellows among them. There have been
periods when, far from his name being synonymous with stupidity, and his
person made the subject of the derision, the contempt, and, what is
worse, the scourge of the vulgar--(for that is “the unkindest _cut_ of
all”)--he was “respected and beloved by all who had the pleasure of his
acquaintance!” Leo Africanus asserts, that asses may be taught to dance
to music, and it is surprising to see the accurate manner in which they
will keep time. In this, at least, they must be far superior to us, poor
human beings, if they can _keep time_, for “time stays for _no man_,” as
the proverb says. Though their vocal powers do not equal those of a
_Bra_-ham, yet we have had an undoubted proof of the sensitiveness of
their ear to the sweets of harmony; Gay also tells us--

    “The ass learnt metaphors and tropes,
    But most on music fixed his hopes.”--

And merry Peter Pindar thus apostrophises his asinine namesake:--

    “What tho’ I’ve heard some voices sweeter;
    Yet exquisite thy hearing, gentle Peter!
      Whether a judge of music, I don’t know--
      If so--
    Thou hast th’ advantage got of many a score
    That enter at the open door.”----

What an unfounded calumny then must it have been on the part of the
Romans, to declare these “Roussins d’Arcadie” (as La Fontaine calls
them) so deficient in their aural faculties, that “to talk to a deaf
ass” was proverbial for “to labour in vain!”--Perhaps it was under the
same delusion that, as Goldsmith says,--

    “John Trott was desired by two witty peers,
    To tell them the reason why asses had ears.”

John owns his ignorance of the subject, and facetiously exclaims--

    “Howe’er, from this time, I shall ne’er see your graces,
    As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses!”

Which joke, by the bye, the author of “Waverley” has deigned to make
free with, and thrust into the mouth of a thick-headed fellow, in the
fourth volume of the “Crusaders.”

Gesner says he saw one leap through a hoop, and, at the word of command,
lie down just as if he were dead.

Mahomet had an excellent creature, half ass and half mule: for if we may
take his word for it, the beast carried him from Mecca to Jerusalem in
the twinkling of an eye in one step!--“It is only the _first step_ which
is difficult,” says the French proverb, and here it is undoubtedly
right.

Sterne gives us a most affecting account of one which had the misfortune
to die. “The ass,” the old owner told him, “he was assured loved him.
They had been separated three days, during which time the ass had sought
him as much as he had sought the ass: and they had scarce either eat or
drank till they met.” This certainly could not have assisted much to
improve the health of the donkey. I cannot better conclude my evidence
of his shrewdness and capacity than with an anecdote which many authors
combine in declaring:--

    “De la peau du lion _l’âne_ s’étant vêtu
    Etoit craint partout à la ronde:
    Et bien qu’animal sans vertu
    Il faisoit trembler tout le monde.
    Un petit bout d’oreille, echappé par malheur,
    Decouvrit la fourbe et l’erreur.
    _Martin_ fit alors son office,” &c.

  _La Fontaine._

It is curious to see the same taste and the same peculiarities attached
to the same family. As long as the ass was thought to be a lion, he was
suffered to go on,--but when he is discovered to be an _ass_, forth
steps Mr. _Martin_--then the task is his!

Now for the estimation in which they were held.

Shakspeare makes the fairy queen, the lovely Titania, fall in love with
a gentleman who sported an ass’s head:--

    “Methought I was enamour’d of an ass,”

said the lady waking--and she thought right, if love be

                  “All made of fantasy,
    All adoration, duty, and observance.”

At Rouen, they idolized a donkey in the most ludicrous manner, by
dressing him up very gaily in the church, dancing round him, and
singing, “eh! eh! eh! father ass! eh! eh! eh! father ass!” which,
however flattering to him, was really no compliment to themselves.

The ass on which Silenus rode, when he did good service to Jove, and the
other divinities, was transported up into the celestial regions. Apion
affirms, that when Antiochus spoiled the temple at Jerusalem a golden
ass’s head was found, which the Jews used to worship.--To this Josephus
replies with just indignation, and argues how could they adore the image
of that, which, “when it does not perform what we impose upon it, we
beat with a great many stripes!” Poor beasts! they must be getting used
to hard usage by this time! The wild ass was a very favourite creature
for hunting, as we learn from Martial (13 Lib. 100 Ep.); and Virgil
sings--

    “Sæpè etiam cursu timidos agitabis onagros.”

Its flesh was esteemed a dainty. Xenophon, in the first book of the
“Anabasis,” compares it to venison; and Bingley says, it is eaten to
this day by the Tartars: but what is more curious, Mæcenas, who was a
sensible man in other respects, preferred, according to Pliny, the meat
of the foal of the tame donkey! “de gustibus non disputandum” indeed!
With its milk Poppœa composed a sort of paste with which she bedaubed
her face, for the purpose of making it fair: as we are told by Pliny
(Lib. 11. 41) and Juvenal (Sat. 2. 107): and in their unadulterated milk
she used frequently to bathe for the same purpose (Dio. 62. 28.):

    “Propter quod secum comites educit _asellas_
    Exul Hyperboreum si dimittatur ad axem.”

  _Juv._ 6. 468.

And in both respects she was imitated by many of the Roman ladies. Of
its efficacy to persons of delicate habits there can be no doubt, and
Dr. Wolcott only called it in question (when recommended by Dr. Geach,)
for the purpose of making the following excellent epigram:--

    “And, doctor, do you really think
    That ass’s milk I ought to drink?
    ’Twould quite remove my cough, you say,
    And drive my old complaints away.--
    It cured yourself--I grant it true--
    But then--’twas _mother’s milk_ to _you_?”

And lastly, even when dead, his utility is not ended; for, as we read in
Plutarch (Vita Cleomenis) the philosopher affirmed, that “from the dead
bodies of asses, _beetles_ were produced!”

  TIM TIMS.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Devil’s Bit Scabious. _Scabiosa Succisa._
  Dedicated to _St. Lucy_.

  [327] Mr. Dyer’s Privileges of Cambridge, vol. i. p. 111.

  [328] Dr. N. Drake’s Shakspeare and his Times.


~September 20.~

  _Sts. Eustachius_ and Companions. _St. Agapetus_, Pope, A. D. 536.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 20th of September, 1753, the foundation stone of the new exchange
at Edinburgh was laid by George Drummond, Esq. grand master of the
society of freemasons in Scotland. The procession was very grand and
regular: each lodge of masons, of which there were twelve or thirteen,
walked in procession by themselves, all uncovered, amounting to six
hundred and seventy-two, most of whom were operative masons. The
military paid proper honours to the company, and escorted the
procession. The grand master, supported by a former grand master and the
present substitute, was joined in the procession by the lord provost,
magistrates, and council, in their robes, with the city sword, mace, &c.
carried before them, accompanied with the directors of the scheme, &c.
The foundation stone, bearing the Latin inscription, lay all that day on
the pavement, to be viewed by the populace.

The freemasons, having caused a magnificent triumphal arch in the true
Augustine style to be erected at the entry of the place where the stone
was laid, they passed through it, and the magistrates went to a theatre
erected for them, covered with tapestry, and decked with flowers, on the
west of the place where the stone was to be laid; and directly opposite,
to the east, another theatre was erected for the grand master and
officers of the grand lodge, and being seated in a chair placed for him,
the grand master soon after laid the stone; and put into it, in holes
made for that purpose, two medals, one of them being inscribed--

    “IN THE LORD IS ALL OUR TRUST.”

The grand master having applied the square the plumb, the level, the
mallet, &c. to the stone, in order to fix the same in its proper
position, gave it three knocks with the mallet, which were followed by
three huzzas from the brethren: then the mason’s anthem, which was
played by the music when the stone was first slung in the tackle, was
again repeated, the brethren, &c. joining in the chorus, which being
ended, a cornucopia, with two silver vessels, were handed to the grand
master, filled with corn, wine, and oil; he, according to an ancient
ceremony, poured them on the stone, saying,

“May the bountiful hand of heaven supply this city with abundance of
corn, wine, oil, and all other necessaries of life.”

This being also succeeded by three huzzas, the anthem was again played;
and when finished, the grand master repeated these words:

“May the grand architect of the universe, as we have now laid the
foundation stone, of his kind providence enable us to carry on and
finish what we have now begun; and may he be a guard to this place, and
the city in general, and preserve it from decay and ruin to the latest
posterity.”

Having closed the ceremony with a short prayer for the sovereign, the
senate of the city, the fraternity of masons, and all the people, and
the anthem having been again played, the grand master addressed himself
to the lord provost and magistrates, &c. in a polite and learned manner,
applauding their noble design, and praying that heaven would crown their
endeavours, &c. with the desired success. He also made a speech to the
undertakers, admonishing them to observe the instructions of the
directors, &c. and to do their duty as artificers, for their own honour,
credit, &c. Several medals struck on the occasion, were distributed by
the grand master to the magistrates, &c.[329]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Common Meadow Saffron. _Colchicum autumnale._
  Dedicated to _St. Eustachius_.

  [329] Gentleman’s Magazine.


~September 21.~

  _St. Matthew_, Apostle and Evangelist. _St. Maura_, A. D. 850. _St.
  Lo_, or _Laudus_, Bp. of Coutances, A. D. 568.


~St. Matthew.~

This is a festival in the church of England calendar, and in the
almanacs.

Mr. Audley notices of Matthew, that he was also called Levi; that he was
the son of Alpheus, a publican, or tax-gatherer, under the Romans; and
that he is said to have preached the gospel in Ethiopia, and to have
died a martyr there. Mr. A. inclines to think that he died a natural
death. He says, it is generally, if not universally, agreed by the
ancients, that Matthew wrote his gospel in Hebrew, but that several
moderns think it was written in Greek, and that Matthew has more
quotations from the Old Testament than any of the evangelists.

       *       *       *       *       *

On this day the lord mayor, aldermen, sheriffs, and governors of the
several royal hospitals in London, attend divine service, and hear a
sermon preached at Christ church, Newgate-street; they then repair to
the great hall in Christ’s hospital, where two orations are delivered,
one in Latin, and the other in English, by the two senior scholars of
the grammar-school; and afterwards partake of an elegant dinner.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cilcated Passion Flower. _Passiflora cilcata._
  Dedicated to _St. Matthew_.


~September 22.~

  _St. Maurice_, and his Companions, 4th Cent. _St. Emmeran_, Bp. of
  Poitiers, A. D. 653.

    “Now soften’d suns a mellow lustre shed,
    The laden orchards glow with tempting red;
    On hazel boughs the clusters hang embrown’d,
    And with the sportsman’s war the new-shorn fields resound.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tree Boletus. _Boletus arborens._
  Dedicated to _St. Maurice_.


~September 23.~

  _St. Linus_, Pope. _St. Thecla_, 1st Cent. _St. Adamnan_, Abbot, A. D.
  705.

On the 23d of September, 1751, a man ran, driving a coach-wheel, from
the Bishop’s-head in the Old Bailey, to the eleventh mile stone at
Barnet, and back again, in three hours and fifty-one minutes, having
four hours to do it in, for a wager of 50_l._[330]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  White Starwort. _Aster dumotus._
  Dedicated to _St. Thecla_.

  [330] Gentleman’s Magazine.


~September 24.~

  _St. Gerard_, Bp. of Chonad, A. D. 1046. _St. Germer_, or _Geremar_,
  Abbot, A. D. 658. _St. Rusticus_, or _St. Rotiri_, Bp. of Auvergne,
  5th Cent. _St. Chuniald_, or _Conald_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Dung Fungus. _Agaricus fimetarius._
  Dedicated to _St. Gerard_.


~September 25.~

  _S. Ceolfrid_, Abbot, A. D. 716. _St. Barr_, or _Finbarr_, first Bp.
  of Cork, 6th Cent. _St. Firmin_, Bp. of Amiens, 3d Cent. _St.
  Aunaire_, Bp. of Auxerre, A. D. 605.


_Gymnastics._

A late distinguished senator said in parliament, “man is born to
_labour_ as the sparks fly upwards.” This observation is founded on a
thorough knowledge of the destiny from which none can escape. The idle
are always unhappy, nor can even mental vigour be preserved without
bodily exercise. Neither he who has attained to inordinate wealth, nor
he who has reached the greatest heights of human intellect is exempt
from the decree, that every man must “_work_ for his living.” If the
“gentleman” does not work to maintain his family, he must work to
maintain his life; hence he walks, rides, hunts, shoots, and travels,
and occupies his limbs as well as his mind; hence noblemen amuse
themselves at the turning lathe, and the workman’s bench, or become mail
coachmen, or “cutter-lads:” and hence sovereigns sometimes “play at
being workmen,” or, what is worse, at the “game” of war.

Without exercise the body becomes enfeebled, and the mind loses its
tension. Corporeal inactivity cannot be persisted in even with the aid
of medicine, without symptoms of an asthenic state. From this deliquium
the patient must be relieved in spite of his perverseness, or he becomes
a maniac or a corpse. Partial remedies render him “a nervous man;” his
only effectual relief is bodily exercise.

Exercise in the open air is indispensable, and many who walk in the wide
and rapidly extending wilderness of the metropolis have sufficient; but,
to some, the exercise of walking is not enough for carrying on the
business of life; while others, whose avocations are sedentary, scarcely
come under the denomination of sesquipedalians. These resort to
stretching out the arms, kicking, hopping, what _they_ call “jumping,”
running up and down a pair of stairs, sparring, or playing with the dumb
bells: these substitutes may assist, but, alone, they are inadequate to
the preservation of health.

Some years ago a work on gymnastics, by Salzmann, was translated from
the German into English. Its precepts were unaided by example; it
produced a sensation, people talked about it at the time, and agreed
that the bodily exercises it prescribed were good, but nobody took them,
and gymnastics, though frequently thought upon, have not until lately
been practised. In the first sheet of the _Every-Day Book_ public
attention was called to this subject, and since them Mr. Voelker, a
native of Germany, has opened a gymnasium at No. 1, Union-place, in the
New-road, near the Regent’s-park; and another at Mr. Fontaine’s
riding-school, Worship-street, Finsbury-square. The editor of this work
has visited Mr. Voelker’s gymnasium in the New-road; and with a view to
public benefit, and because they will operate a new feature in manners,
he promulgates the information that such institutions are established.

Mr. Voelker’s prospectus of his establishment is judicious. He contends
that while education has been exclusively directed to the developement
of the mental faculties, the bodily powers have been entirely neglected.
“The intimate connection between mind and body has not been sufficiently
considered; for who does not know, from his own experience, that the
mind uniformly participates in the condition of the body; that it is
cheerful, when the body is strong and healthy; and depressed, when the
body is languid and unhealthy?”

Mr. Voelker refers to Xenophon, and to the great promoters of education
in modern times, namely, Locke, Rousseau, Campe, Basedow, Pestalozzi,
and Fellenberg, as authorities for the use of gymnastics; but he says it
was reserved for professor Jahn to be the restorer of this long-lost
art. In 1810, he established a gymnasium at Berlin; and the number of
his pupils, consisting of boys, youth, and men, soon increased to
several thousands. His ardent zeal and indefatigable exertion, and his
powerful and persuasive appeals to his pupils, had such an effect, that
all vied with each other in endeavouring to render their bodies strong
and active. But the rising of the German people, in 1813, suddenly
changed the cheerful game into a serious combat. Professor Jahn, and
such of his pupils as were capable of bearing arms, (many of these being
but fourteen years of age,) joined the volunteers of Lutzen. But few
lived to revisit the place, where they had prepared themselves for
enduring the hardships of war. Most of these young heroes covered the
fields of battle with their corpses from the gates of Berlin to the
capital of their enemies. The exercises, however, were resumed at
Berlin, and had spread through several other towns, when the campaign of
1815 caused a new, but short interruption.

“As a pupil of Jahn’s,” says Mr. Voelker, “I also had the honour of
serving among the volunteers. The campaign being finished, I returned to
my studies: and when I thought myself sufficiently qualified for the
duties of a teacher, I commenced them in 1818. At first I established
gymnastic exercises at the academy of Eisenach, and in the university of
Tubingen. In these establishments, as in all others where similar
exercises had been introduced by professor Jahn or his pupils, a new
vigour was imparted to the scholars. Boys, youths, and men, soon found
more pleasure in exercises which strengthened the powers of their body,
than in pleasures which render it effeminate and weak. By the
consciousness of increased vigour, the mind, too, was powerfully
excited, and strove for equal perfection; and each of the pupils had
always before his eyes, as the object of his exertions, _mens sana in
corpore sano_. Even men indolent by nature were irresistibly carried
away by the zeal of their comrades. Weakly and sick persons, too,
recovered their health; and these exercises were, perhaps, the only
effectual remedy that could have been found for their complaints. The
judgment of physicians, in all places where these exercises were
introduced, concurred in their favourable effect upon health; and
parents and teachers uniformly testified, that by them their sons and
pupils, like all other young men who cultivated them, had become more
open and free, and more graceful in their deportment. Fortune led me to
the celebrated establishment of M. Von Fellenberg; and this great
philosopher, and at the same time practical educator, gave the high
authority of his approbation to the gymnastic science. It would not
become me to state how I have laboured in the academy of that gentleman;
but the recommendations with which he and others have favoured me, and
also the testimonials, for which I am indebted to them, sufficiently
prove that I do not set too high a value upon the utility of this branch
of education. After I had established this system of education there, I
accepted an invitation as professor at the Canton school at Chur, which
I received from the government of the Canton. My exertions there had the
same result as in other establishments, as is fully shown by the
testimonials of the government. The thanks which I received from so many
of my pupils, the testimonials from the directors of those
establishments in which I have taught, my own consciousness of not
having worked in vain, and the invitations of some friends, emboldened
me to come forward in England, also, with gymnastics, on the plan of
professor Jahn, and animate me with the confidence that here, too, my
endeavours will not be fruitless.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The subscription to professor Voelker’s gymnasium in the New-road and at
Worship-street is, for one month, 1_l._; for three months, 2_l._ 10_s._;
for six months, 4_l._; for a twelvemonth, six guineas: or an association
of twenty gentlemen may pay each 2_l._ for three, and 3_l._ for six
months. Pupils from boarding-schools pay each 2_l._ for three, and 3_l._
for six months; but a number together pay each 1_l._ 10_s._ for three,
2_l._ 10_s._ for six, and 4_l._ for twelve months. Pupils not taking
lessons with the other pupils, pay a guinea for every lesson. Twelve
lessons may be had when convenient for 1_l._ 10_s._


_The Exercises._

I. The preliminary exercises serve principally to strengthen the arms
and legs, and to increase their activity, to give the body a graceful
carriage, to accustom it to labour, and thus prepare it for the other
exercises.

II. Running for a length of time, and with celerity. If the pupil
follows the prescribed rules, and is not deterred by a little fatigue in
the first six lessons, he will soon be able to run three English miles
in from twenty to twenty-five minutes. Some of Mr. V.’s pupils have been
able to run for two hours incessantly, and without being much out of
breath.

III. Leaping in distance and height, with and without a pole. Every
pupil will soon convince himself to what degree the strength of the
arms, the energy of the muscles of the feet, and good carriage of the
body, are increased by leaping, particularly with a pole. Almost every
one learns in a short time to leap his own height, and some of the
pupils have been able to leap ten or eleven feet high. It is equally
easy to learn to leap horizontally over a space three times the length
of the body; even four times that length has been attained.

IV. Climbing up masts, ropes, and ladders. Every pupil will soon learn
to climb up a mast, rope, or ladder of twenty-four feet high; and after
six months’ exercise, even of thirty-four or thirty-six feet. The use of
this exercise is very great in strengthening the arms.

V. The exercises on the pole and parallel bars, serve in particular to
expand the chest, to strengthen the muscles of the breast and small of
the back, and to make the latter flexible. In a short time, every pupil
will be enabled to perform exercises of which he could not have thought
himself capable, provided that he do not deviate from the prescribed
course and rules.

VI. Vaulting, which is considered one of the principal exercises for the
increase of strength, activity, good carriage of the body, and courage,
which employs and improves the powers of almost all parts of the body,
and has hitherto always been taught as an art by itself, is brought to
some perfection in three months.

VII. Fencing with the broad sword, throwing lances, wrestling, and many
other exercises.

All these exercises so differ from one another, that generally those
parts of the body which are employed in one, rest in another. Every
lesson occupies from one hour and a half to two hours, its length
depending on the degree of labour required for the exercises practised
in it.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the New-road, lessons are given on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and
Saturday, from six to eight o’clock, A. M., or on Tuesday, Wednesday,
and Friday, from six to eight o’clock, P. M. Young pupils are instructed
every day from eight to nine o’clock, A. M.

At Worship-street, the lessons are given on Mondays, Thursdays, and
Saturdays, from seven to nine o’clock in the evening.

       *       *       *       *       *

The drawing for this article was made by Mr. George Cruikshank, after
his personal observation of Mr. Voelker’s gymnasium in the New-road: it
was engraved by Mr. H. White.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

You, who have so long and so ably instructed us in the amusements of our
ancestors, will not, I hope, neglect to give publicity to a new species
of amusement which is not only pleasant in itself, but absolutely
necessary in this overgrown metropolis. I allude to the gymnastic
exercises which have lately been introduced from Germany into this
country. They are as yet but little known, and some portion of that
prejudice exists against them which invariably attends a new discovery:
fortunately, however, it is in the power of the _Editor of the Every-Day
Book_ to combat the former by a simple notice, while the latter will be
much shaken if it be known that these exercises are approved by him.

An inhabitant of London need only look out of his own window to see
practical illustrations of the necessity of these exercises. How often
do we see a young man with an intelligent but very pale countenance,
whose legs have hardly strength to support the weight of his bent and
emaciated body. He once probably was a strong and active boy, but he
came to London, shut himself up in an office, took no exercise because
he was not obliged to take any; grew nervous and bilious; took a great
deal of medical advice and physic; took every thing in fact but the true
remedy, exercise; and may probably still linger out a few years of
wretched existence, when death will be welcomed as his best friend.
This, though an extreme case, is a very common one, and the unfortunate
beings who approximate to it in a considerable degree are still more
numerous. Many of the miseries and diseases of young and old, male and
female, in this city, may be traced eventually to want of exercise. Give
us pure air, and we can exist with comparatively little exercise; but
bad air and no exercise at all, are poisons of a very active
description.

These exercises are so contrived that they exert equally every part of
the body without straining or tiring any; and I speak from my own
experience, when I say that after two hours’ practice in professor
Voelker’s gymnasium, opposite Mary-le-bone church in the new
Paddington-road, I am not more fatigued than when I entered it, and feel
an agreeable glow of body, and flow of spirits, which walking or riding
does not create. I, as well as some other pupils, have two or three
miles to walk to the gymnasium; we have the option of going morning or
evening, and we do not find the walk and two hours of the exercises
before breakfast, fatigue us or incapacitate us in the slightest degree
from going through our customary avocations. I should also add that in
bodily strength I am under, rather than above, par.

[Illustration: ~Voelker’s Gymnastics.~]

It is not easy to describe these exercises to those who have not seen
them. They consist: First, Of preliminary exercises of the hands and
legs, which give force and agility to those members, and prepare the
body for the other exercises. Secondly, Horizontal parallel bars, from
three to five feet high, according to the size of the pupil, on which he
raises his body by the arms, and swings his legs over in a variety of
directions: this exercise opens the chest, and gives great strength to
the muscles of the arms and body. Thirdly, The horizontal round pole
supported by posts from five to eight feet high, according to the height
of the performer. An endless variety of exercises may be performed on
this pole, such as raising the body by the arms, going from one end to
the other by the hands alone, vaulting, swinging the body over in all
directions, &c. &c. Fourthly, The horse, a large wooden block shaped
like the body of a horse--the pupils jump upon and over this
much-enduring animal in many ways. Fifthly, Leaping in height and
distance with and without poles. Sixthly, Climbing masts, ropes, and
ladders of various heighths. Seventhly, Throwing lances, running with
celerity and for a length of time, hopping, &c. &c. &c. It is, moreover,
in our option to take whatever portion of the exercises we may find most
agreeable.

The improvement which the gentlemen who practise these exercises
experience in health (not to mention strength, agility, and grace,) is
very considerable, and altogether wonderful in several who have entered
in a feeble and sickly state. This, one would think, would be sufficient
to prove that the exercises are not attended with danger, even were I
not to mention that I have not seen a single accident. Neither is their
utility necessarily confined to boyhood, as several gentlemen upwards of
forty can clearly testify; nor does the pleasure of practising them
depart with the novelty, but always increases with proficiency and time.

The expense the professor has already incurred in providing implements
and adequate accommodation has been very considerable, and his terms are
so moderate that a small number of pupils cannot possibly remunerate
him; it is therefore to be hoped, no less for his sake than for our own,
that he should meet with encouragement in this city.

With respect to the professor himself he has every quality that can
recommend him to his pupils. The grace with which he performs the
exercises is only equalled by his attention and care, and his mild and
unassuming manners have won the hearts of all who know him. His pupils
feel grateful not only for the benefits they have themselves received,
but for the advantage that is likely to accrue to the country from the
introduction of these wholesome, athletic amusements.

  I am, &c.

  G*.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Great Boletus. _Boletus Bovinus._
  Dedicated to _St. Ceolfrid_.


~September 26.~

  _Sts. Cyprian_ and _Justina_, A. D. 304. _St. Eusebius_, Pope, A. D.
  310. _St. Colman Elo_, Abbot, A. D. 610. _St. Nilus_, the younger,
  Abbot, A. D. 1005.


~Old Holy-rood.~

This day is so marked in the church of England calendar and in the
almanacs. Respecting the _rood_ enough, perhaps, was said to gratify the
reader’s curiosity on _holy-rood day_.


~St. Cyprian.~

Is also in the calendar and almanacs on this day. He was a native of
Carthage in the third century, and as a father is highly esteemed for
the piety of his writings and the purity of the Latin tongue wherein
they were written.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Gigantic Golden Rod. _Solidago gigantea._
  Dedicated to _St. Justina_.


~September 27.~

  _Sts. Cosmas_ and _Damian_, A. D. 303. _Sts. Elzear_ and _Delphina_,
  A. D. 1323, and 1369.


_Sts. Cosmas_ and _Damian_.

These saints are said to have been beheaded under Dioclesian.

In a church dedicated to these saints at Isernia, near Naples, while sir
William Hamilton was ambassador from Great Britain to that court, votive
offerings were presented of so remarkable a nature, as to occasion him
to acquaint sir Joseph Banks with the particulars. They were the
grossest relics of the ancient pagan worship. The late Mr. Richard Payne
Knight wrote a remarkable “Dissertation” on the subject for the use of
the _Dilettanti_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Manyflowered Starwort. _Aster multiflorus._
  Dedicated to _St. Delphina_.


~September 28.~

  _St. Wenceslas_, duke of Bohemia, A. D. 938. _St. Lioba_, Abbess, A.
  D. 779. _St. Eustochium_, A. D. 419. _St. Exuperius_, Bp. of
  Toulouse, A. D. 409.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Evergreen Golden Rod. _Solidago sempervirens._
  Dedicated to _St. Eustochium, V_.


~September 29.~

  _The Dedication of St. Michael’s Church_, or _The Festival of St.
  Michael and all the holy Angels_. _St. Theodota_, A. D. 642.


~St. Michael.~

This saint is in our almanacs and in the calendar of the church of
England. The day is a great festival in the Romish church. The rev.
Edward Barnard, of Brantinghamthorpe, in “_The Protestant Beadsman_,” an
elegantly written “series of biographical notices and hymns,
commemorating the saints and martyrs whose holidays are kept by the
church of England,” says, “The rank of archangel is given in scripture
to none but Michael, who is represented as the guardian and protector
both of the Jewish church, and the glorious church of Christ, in which
the former merged. On this account he is celebrated by name, while the
rest of the holy angels are praised collectively. St. Michael is
mentioned in scripture five times, and always in a military view; thrice
by Daniel, as fighting for the Jewish church against Persia; once by St.
John, as fighting at the head of his angelic troops against the dragon
and his host; and once by St. Jude, as fighting personally with the
devil, about the body of Moses; for the very ashes of God’s servants
have angelic protection. It has been thought by many, that there is no
other archangel but Michael. An author of great name, who has not given
his reasons or authority, inclines to this opinion; and adds, that he
succeeded Lucifer in this high dignity. Others imagine, and not without
strong probability, that Michael is the Son of God himself. The
interpretation of his name, and the expression (used by St. John) of
‘his angels,’ strengthen this supposition; for to whom can the angels
belong but to God, or Christ? The title, by which Gabriel spoke of him,
when he required his assistance, (‘Michael your prince’) is likewise
brought forward, by bishop Horsley, in confirmation of this opinion.
Besides, the Jews always claimed to be under the immediate spiritual
protection and personal government of God, who calls them his peculiar
people. How then can Michael preside over them? This festival will not
loose any dignity by the adoption of such an interpretation, but will
demand a more conscientious observance from those, who celebrate in it,
not only the host of friendly angels, but, likewise (under the title of
Michael) Jesus Christ the common Lord both of angels and men.” A
well-informed expositor of the “Common Prayer-book,” Wheatley, says that
the feast of _St. Michael and all angels_ is observed, that the people
may know what benefits are derived from the ministry of angels.

       *       *       *       *       *

The accompanying engraving is from an ancient print emanating from the
“contemplations” of catholic churchmen, among whom there is diversity of
opinion concerning the number of archangels. Their inquiries have been
directed to the subject, because it is an article of the catholic faith
that angels, as well as saints, intercede for men, and that their
intercession may be moved by prayers to them. In conformity with this
persuasion patron-saints and angels are sometimes drawn for, by putting
certain favourite names together, and selecting one, to whom, as the
patron-saint or angel, the invocations of the individual are from that
time especially addressed.

In the great army of angels the archangels are deemed commanders. The
angels themselves are said to be divided into as many legions as there
are archangels; whether these are seven or nine does not appear to be
determined; but Michael, as in the present engraving, is always
represented as the head or chief archangel, he is here accompanied by
six only.

Dr. Laurence, regius professor of Hebrew at Oxford, and now archbishop
of Cashel, recently printed at the Clarendon press, the long lost “Book
of Enoch.” This celebrated apocryphal writing of ancient times calls
“Michael one of the holy angels, who, presiding over human virtue,
commands the nations.” It says, that Raphael “presides over the spirits
of men;” that Uriel “presides over clamour and terror;” and Gabriel,
“over paradise and over the cherubims.”

Our old heraldic friend, Randle Holme, says, Michael is the head of the
“order of _archangels_;” his design is a banner hanging on a cross, and
he is armed, as representing victory with a dart in one hand, and a
cross on his forehead. He styles Raphael as leader of the “order of
powers,” with a thunderbolt and a flaming sword to withsta “order of
_seraphims_;” his ensign is a flaming heart and a cross-staff. Gabriel
he makes governor of the “order of _angels_,” and his ensign a book and
a staff. Of the other three archangels in the print, it would be
difficult to collect an account immediately.

[Illustration: ~St. Michael and other Archangels.~]

Our forefathers were told by the predecessor of Alban Butler, that
Michael bore the banner of the celestial host, chased the angel Lucifer
and his followers from heaven, and enclosed them in dark air unto the
day of judgment, not in the upper region, because there it is clear and
delightful, nor upon the earth, because there they could not torment
mankind, but between heaven and earth, that when they look up they may
see the joy they have lost, and when they look downward, may see men
mount to heaven from whence they fell. The relation says, they flee
about us as flies; they are innumerable, and like flies they fill the
air without number; and philosophers and doctors are of opinion, that
the air is as full of devils and wicked spirits “as the sonne bemes ben
full of small motes which is small dust or poudre.”[331]

       *       *       *       *       *

Bishop Hall, in his “Triumphs of Rome,” mentions a red velvet buckler to
have been preserved in a castle in Normandy which Michael wore in his
combat with the dragon.

Bishop Patrick who wrote subsequently, in 1674, says “I hope that the
precious piece of St. Michael’s red cloth is forthcoming--his dagger and
his shield were to be seen at the beginning of this age, though one of
their historians says, that five years before he came thither, in 1607
the bishop of Avranches had forbidden his shield to be any more showed:
but who knows but some of the succeeding bishops may have been better
natured, and not have denied this gratification to the desires of their
gaping devotees.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Bishop Patrick cites a Roman catholic litany, wherein after addresses to
God, the Trinity, and the virgin Mary, there are invocations to St.
Michael, St. Gabriel, and St. Raphael, together with all the orders of
angels, to “pray for us.” He also instances that in the old Roman
missal, and in the Sarum missal, there is a proper mass to Raphael the
archangel, as the protector of pilgrims and travellers, and a skilful
worker with medicine. Likewise an office for the continual intercession
of St. Gabriel, and all the heavenly militia. In these catholic services
St. Michael is invoked as a “most glorious and warlike prince,” “chief
officer of paradise,” “captain of God’s hosts,” “the receiver of souls,”
“the vanquisher of evil spirits,” and “the admirable general.” After
mentioning several miracles attributed by the Romanists to St. Michael,
the bishop says, “You see from this legend, that when people are mad
with superstition, any story of a cock and a bull will serve their turn
to found a festival upon, and to give occasion for the further
veneration of a saint or an angel, though the circumstances are never so
improbable.” He relates as an instance, that in a Romish church-book,
Michael is said to have appeared to a bishop, whom he required to go to
a hill-top, where if he found a bull tied, he was to found a church, and
dedicate it to God and St. Michael. The bishop found the bull, and
proceeded to found the church, but a rock on each side hindered the
work, wherefore St. Michael appeared to a man, and bade him go and put
away the rock, and dread nothing; so the man went, and “sette to his
shoulders,” and bade the rock go away in the name of God and St.
Michael; and so the rocks departed to the distance necessary to the
work. “This removing the rock,” says bishop Patrick, “is a pretty
stretcher!”


~Michaelmas.~

It is noticed by Mr. Brand in his “Popular Antiquities,” which cites
most of the circumstances presently referred to, that--“It has long been
and still continues the custom at this time of the year, or thereabouts,
to elect the governors of towns and cities, the civil guardians of the
peace of men, perhaps, as Bourne supposes, because the feast of angels
naturally enough brings to our minds the old opinion of tutelar spirits,
who have, or are thought to have, the particular charge of certain
bodies of men, or districts of country, as also that every man has his
guardian angel, who attends him from the cradle to the grave, from the
moment of his coming in, to his going out of life.”

Mr. Nichols notices in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” that on Monday,
October 1st, 1804,--“The lord mayor and alderman proceeded from
Guildhall, and the two sheriffs with their respective companies from
Stationers’-hall, and having embarked on the Thames, his lordship in the
city barge, and the sheriffs in the stationers’ barge, went in aquatic
state to Palace-yard. They proceeded to the court of Exchequer: where,
after the usual salutations to the bench (the cursitor baron, Francis
Maseres, Esq. presiding) the recorder presented the two sheriffs; the
several writs were then read, and the sheriffs and the senior
under-sheriff took the usual oath. The ceremony, on this occasion, in
the court of Exchequer, which vulgar error supposed to be an unmeaning
farce, is solemn and impressive; nor have the new sheriffs the least
connection either with chopping of sticks, or counting of hobnails. The
tenants of a manor in Shropshire are directed to come forth to do their
suit and service; on which the senior alderman below the chair steps
forward, and chops a single stick, in token of its having been customary
for the tenants of that manor to supply their lord with fuel. The owners
of a forge in the parish of St. Clement (which formerly belonged to the
city, and stood in the high road from the Temple to Westminster, but now
no longer exists,) are then called forth to do their suit and service;
when an officer of the court, in the presence of the senior alderman,
produces six horse-shoes and sixty-one hobnails, which he counts over in
form before the cursitor baron; who, on this particular occasion, is the
immediate representative of the sovereign.

“The whole of the numerous company then again embarked in their barges,
and returned to Blackfriars-bridge, where the state carriages were in
waiting. Thence they proceeded to Stationers’-hall, where a most elegant
entertainment was given by Mr. Sheriff Domville.”

       *       *       *       *       *

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

I have no doubt but many thousands of my fellow-citizens were unaware of
the existence and very recent destruction of the _baronial_
establishment of their chief magistrate; and that, therefore, by
recording a few particulars you will endeavour to mark the era, when,
perhaps, the last of these gentlemanly households, once to be found in
every knightly and noble family, was destroyed in England. It is perhaps
an unavoidable consequence of change of manners; but to those who
delight in contemplating those of their ancestors, to witness the wreck
of what appears almost consecrated by ancient usage, affords any thing
but a pleasurable sensation. In former days those of rank considered it
a degradation to have menials officiate about their persons, and
therefore created officers in their households, which were looked upon
as initiatory schools to every thing gallant or polite, and were
consequently eagerly filled by noble youths and aspiring cadets. In
imitation of those with whom for a brief period he ranked, the lord
mayor of London had an establishment arranged for him, consisting of the
following officers:

_Four Squires._

1st. The _sword-bearer_, whose duty it was to advise his lordship of the
necessary etiquette to be observed on stated occasions. To some it may
appear very unimportant whether the lord mayor has on a violet or a
scarlet gown; whether the mace is always carried before him or not, and
strictly speaking it is so; but while old customs are harmless, and tend
to preserve dignity and good order, why should they not be observed?
This place used to be purchased, but when the late Mr. Cotterel died,
who gave I believe upwards of 7000_l._ for it, and could have parted
with it for 9000_l._ but was prevented by the corporation, it was made a
gift place, and given to Mr. Smith of the chamberlain’s office, who now
holds it subject to an annual election. This has placed the office on a
very different, less independent, and less respectable footing, than it
used to be. The predecessor of Mr. Cotterel, Heron Powney, Esq., who
enjoyed the office thirty-three years, exercised great authority
throughout the house, and used, with great form, to attend the lord
mayor every morning to instruct him in any necessary ceremonial; and on
all public occasions, assisted by two yeomen of the water side, robed
his lordship: this is now performed by servants. There are four
swords--the _black_, used on Good Friday, 30th of January, fire of
London, and all fast days, when his lordship _ought_ to go to St.
Paul’s: on these days he wears his livery gown. The _common_ sword, to
go to the sessions, courts of aldermen, common council, &c.; the
_Sunday_ sword; and the _pearl_ sword, which used to be carried on very
rare occasions only, but is now exhibited at every turn. This gentleman,
in the olden times, had apartments at the Old Bailey, and derived
emolument from granting admission to two galleries during the sessions.
He wears a black silk damask gown, and a cap of maintenance, and chain
upon state days. He sits at the head of the table which goes by his
name, at which the gentlemen of the household dined when they were in
waiting; but now they only dine together fourteen days in the year, on
public occasions. The lord mayors were latterly allowed 1500_l._ per
annum for the maintenance of this table, which supplied that in the
servants’ hall; but the latter have long been on board wages, to the
great loss of many an exhausted pauper.

The second squire was Mr. _Common Hunt_: his principal office is
indicated by his title; but he was likewise master of the ceremonies. He
was in waiting every Monday and Wednesday, and every third Sunday while
the house was in waiting. The last who held this office was Mr. Charles
Cotterel, brother to the late sword-bearer, at whose death in 1807 it
was abolished, and the duty of master of the ceremonies has since been
performed by Mr. Goldham, one of the serjeants of the chamber. The
common hunt’s house used to be at the Dog-house-bar in the City-road.

The third squire is Mr. _Common Crier_, whose duty it is to attend his
lordship with the mace to the courts of aldermen and common council,
common halls, and courts of hustings: he is in waiting every Tuesday and
Thursday; and whenever the lord mayor wears his scarlet robes, attends
him with the mace. His dress is a damask gown and counsellor’s wig: he
had apartments at Aldersgate. Formerly this place was purchased, but not
within the memory of man.

The fourth squire is the _water-bailiff_, who is empowered by the lord
mayor to act as sub-conservator of the Thames and Medway. He is in
waiting every Friday and Saturday, every third Sunday, and all public
days. Dress, damask gown. Had apartments at Cripplegate. This is now
likewise a gift place.

The _four attornies_ used to attend his lordship in turn, weekly, to
advise him in his magisterial capacity; but this part of their duty has
now become obsolete, and has devolved to Mr. Hobler.

To the lord mayor’s household also properly belong three serjeant
carvers, three serjeants of the chamber, one serjeant of the channel,
one yeoman of the chamber, two marshals, four yeomen of the water-side,
one yeoman of the channel, one under water-bailiff, six young men.

The members of the household, with the exception of the four squires,
attornies, and marshals, had the privilege of alienating their places on
payment of 50_l._ to the corporation; but if they died without paying
this fine, their places lapsed to the city, and the value of them was
consequently lost to their family. But let the one who sold hold what
situation he might in this little republic, the purchaser was admitted
to only the lowest rank, that of junior young man, that all below the
one who sold might rise a step.

The gentlemen were in waiting on fixed days; sometimes the whole number,
at others only a part, and at these times were entitled to a dinner, and
on any extra occasion when the sword was carried: there was a bill of
fare for each day. At table, the marshals were the lowest _above_ the
salt. This was formerly made of pewter, but in the year     , a carver
presented the table with one of silver, nearly similar in form. The
pewter one was used in the servants’ hall until it was rendered useless
by the introduction of board wages. Except the squires, attornies, and
marshals, the household now all wear black gowns, in form like those of
the livery, made of prince’s stuff faced with velvet, though formerly
they were curious enough. Divided as if by a herald into two parts,
dexter and sinister, one side was formed of the colours distinguishing
the lord mayor’s livery, and the other those of the two sheriffs.

On Plough Sunday his lordship goes to church to qualify, when two of the
yeomen of the water-side attend, that they may depose to this fact at
the next sessions. On the Monday his lordship keeps wassail with his
household, and with his lady presides at the head of their table. This
used indeed to be a gala day; but elegance now takes place of profusion
and hilarity. Formerly they could scarcely see their opposite neighbour
for the piles of sweetmeats; but these have disappeared to make way for
the city plate and artificial flowers. The lady mayoress is generally
accompanied by two or three ladies, to obviate the unpleasantness of
finding herself the only female among so many strangers: the chaplain on
that day takes the lower end of the table. The yeoman of the cellar is
stationed behind his lordship, and at the conclusion of the dinner
produces two silver cups filled with negus, and giving them to his lord
and lady, proclaims with a loud voice, “Mr. Sword-bearer, squires, and
gentlemen all! my lord mayor and lady mayoress drink to you in a loving
cup, and bid you all heartily welcome!” After drinking, they pass the
cups down each side of the table, for all to partake and drink their
healths. When the ladies retire the chaplain leads her ladyship, and
after a few songs his lordship follows. _Then_ a mighty silver bowl of
punch was introduced, and a collection amounting to nearly 25_l._ _used_
to be made for the servants. They were all introduced, from the stately
housekeeper to the kitchen girl, in merry procession to accept the
largess, taste the punch, and perhaps the cook or a pretty housemaid did
not escape without a kiss. This was not the only day on which the
servants partook of the bounty of the gentlemen. Every Saturday there
was a collection of three shillings and sixpence from the sword-bearer
and the other squire, and one shilling and sixpence from the other
individuals. This was termed cellarage, and was divided between the
yeoman of the cellar and the butler. But these golden days are over.
Since the days of the Fitzaleyns and Whittingtons, it has been found
expedient to make the lord mayors an allowance to enable them, or rather
assist them, to maintain the hospitality and splendour of their station;
but such is the perverseness of human nature, that as this has from time
to time been increased, the gorgeousness of the display seems to have
decreased. The following are the receipts and expenses of Mr. Wilkes
during his mayoralty:

_Receipts._

                                                           £.  _s._ _d._
  Payments from the chamberlain’s office                 2372   8    4
  Cocket office                                           702   5    6½
  Gauger                                                  250   0    0
  Annual present of plate from the Jews                    50   0    0
  Lessees of Smithfield-market                             10   0    0
  Licenses                                                  4  10    0
  From the bridge-house towards the feast                  50   0    0
  Alienation of a young man’s place                        40   0    0
  Sale of a young man’s place                            1000   0    0
  Presentation of the sheriffs                             13   6    8
  For keeping the mansion-house in order                  100   0    0
  Six freedoms to the lord mayor                          150   0    0
  In lieu of buckets                                        6   0    0
  Licensing the sessions paper                            130   0    0
  From Mr. Roberts, comptroller, for the importation fee   10  10    0
                                                        ---------------
                                                        £4889   0    6½
                                                        ---------------

_Expenses._

                                                           £.  _s._ _d._
  Lord mayor’s table, including public dinners           2050   0    0
  Sword-bearer’s table                                   1500   0    0
  Lord mayor’s-day                                        520   0    0
  Easter Monday                                          1200   0    0
  Rout                                                    190   0    0
  Old Bailey                                              730   0    0
  Horses, coaches, &c.                                    420   0    0
  Servants’ wages, liveries, &c.                          570   0    0
  Lamps, wax, and other candles                           295   0    0
  Linen                                                   160   0    0
  Coals and firing                                        280   0    0
  China and glass                                         110   0    0
  Stationery wares, newspapers, &c.                        60   0    0
  Winter and summer for the sword-bearer and household     36  13    0
  Glazier, upholsterer, &c.                                46   0    0
  Music, &c.                                               35   0    0
  Ribands, &c.                                             24   0    0
                                                        ---------------
                                                        £8226  13    0
                                                        ---------------

N. B. Benefactions on public occasions, charities, &c. cloths, fees to
the water-bailiff, are not included.

  Expenses                                               8226  13    0
  Receipts                                               4889   0    6½
                                                        ---------------
  Balance                                               £3337  12    5½
                                                        ---------------

The _rout_ was first discontinued by sir Brooke Watson, because it was
always customary to have it in passion week. The allowance has since had
an increase of 3000_l._ This liberality on the part of the corporation,
instead of exciting a corresponding feeling on the part of their
magistrates, seems rather to have raised in them a spirit of cupidity,
and of late years, on many occasions, the office seems to have been
undertaken on a kind of speculation for saving money. Though allowed
1500_l._ a year for the sword-bearer’s table, every chicken and bottle
of wine began to be grudged; and after repeated appeals by the household
to the court of common council, on account of the shabby reductions
successively made, and which were considered as unjust, as they had
purchased their places with the usual privileges, the corporation
concluded a treaty with them a short time ago, by which a specified sum
of money was secured to each individual, either on giving up his place,
or at his death to be paid to his family. They have of course given up
the right of alienating their places, and thus perpetuating the system.
The corporation have thus gained an extensive increase of patronage;
though the number of officers is to be reduced as the places fall in.
But some of the aldermen below the chair were rather disagreeably
surprised at the result; for the common council very justly deducted the
1500_l._ at which the expense of the table was generally calculated,
from his lordship’s allowance.

  I am, &c.

  C. R. H.

       *       *       *       *       *

The _lord mayor’s household_, scarcely known in its constitution by the
citizens whom the lord mayor selects for his visitors, is well set forth
by the preceding letter of a valuable correspondent. It concerns all who
are interested in the maintenance of civic splendour, and especially
those who are authorized to regulate it. Such papers, and indeed any
thing regarding the customs of London, will always be acceptable to the
readers of this work, who have not until now been indulged with
information by those who have the power to give it. The _Every-Day Book_
is a collection of ancient and present usages and manners, wherein such
contributions are properly respected, and by the Editor they are always
thankfully received.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Michaelmas-day the sheriffs of London, previously chosen, are
solemnly sworn into office, and the lord mayor is elected for the year
ensuing.

Pennant speaking of the mercers’ company, which by no means implied
originally a dealer in silks, (for _mercery_ included all sorts of small
wares, toys, and haberdashery,) says, “This company is the first of the
twelve, or such who are honoured with the privilege of the lord mayor’s
being elected out of one of them.” If the lord mayor did not belong to
either of the twelve, it was the practice for him to be translated to
one of the favoured companies. The custom was discontinued in the
mayoralty of sir Brook Watson, in 1796, and has not been revived.

  E. I. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

The “Gentleman’s Magazine” notices a singular custom at
Kidderminster--“On the election of a bailiff the inhabitants assemble in
the principal streets to throw cabbage stalks at each other. The
town-house bell gives signal for the affray. This is called lawless
hour. This done, (for it lasts an hour,) the bailiff elect and
corporation, in their robes, preceded by drums and fifes, (for they have
no waits,) visit the old and new bailiff, constables, &c. &c. attended
by the mob. In the mean time the most respectable families in the
neighbourhood are invited, to meet and fling apples at them on their
entrance. I have known forty pots of apples expended at one house.”

_Michaelmas Goose._

    “September, when by custom (right divine)
     Geese are ordain’d to bleed at Michael’s shrine.”

  _Churchill._

Mr. Brand notices the English custom of having a roast goose to dinner
on Michaelmas-day. He cites Blount as telling us that “goose-intentos”
is a word used in Lancashire, where “the husbandmen claim it as a due to
have a goose _intentos_ on the sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost; which
custom took origin from the last word of the old church-prayer of that
day: ‘Tua, nos quæsumus, Domine, gratia semper præveniat et sequitur; ac
bonis operibus jugiter præstet esse intentos.’ The common people very
humourously mistake it for a goose with _ten toes_.” To this Mr. Brand
objects, on the authority of Beckwith, in his new edition of the
“Jocular Tenures:” that “besides that the sixteenth Sunday after
Pentecost, or after Trinity rather, being movable, and seldom falling
upon Michaelmas-day, which is an immovable feast, the service for that
day could very rarely be used at Michaelmas, there does not appear to be
the most distant allusion to a goose in the words of that prayer.
Probably no other reason can be given for this custom, but that
Michaelmas-day was a great festival, and geese at that time most
plentiful. In Denmark, where the harvest is later, every family has a
roasted goose for supper on St. Martin’s Eve.”

Mr. Douce is quoted by Mr. Brand, as saying, “I have somewhere seen the
following reason for eating goose on Michaelmas-day, viz. that queen
Elizabeth received the news of the defeat of the Spanish Armada, whilst
she was eating a goose on Michaelmas-day, and that in commemoration of
that event she ever afterwards on that day dined on a goose.” This Mr.
Brand regards as strong proof that the custom prevailed even at court in
queen Elizabeth’s time; and observing that it was in use in the tenth
year of king Edward the Fourth, as will be shown presently, he
represents it to have been a practice in queen Elizabeth’s reign, before
the event of the Spanish defeat, from the “Posies of Gascoigne,”
published in 1575.

    “And when the tenauntes come
       to paie their quarter’s rent,
     They bring some fowle at Midsummer,
       a dish of fish in Lent,
     At Christmasse a capon,
       at _Michaelmasse_ A GOOSE;
     And somewhat else at New-yeres tide,
       _for feare their lease flie loose_.”

  _Gascoyne._

So also the periodical paper called “The World,” represents that “When
the reformation of the calendar was in agitation, to the great disgust
of many worthy persons who urged how great the harmony was in the old
establishment between the holidays and their attributes, (if I may call
them so,) and what confusion would follow if MICHAELMAS-DAY, for
instance, was not to _be celebrated when stubble-geese are in their
highest perfection_; it was replied, that such a propriety was merely
imaginary, and would be lost of itself, even without any alteration of
the calendar by authority: for if the errors in it were suffered to go
on, they would in a certain number of years produce such a variation,
that we should be mourning for a good king Charles on a false thirtieth
of January, at a time of year when our ancestors used to be tumbling
over head and heels in Greenwich-park in honour of Whitsuntide: and at
length be choosing king and queen for Twelfth Night, when we ought to be
admiring the London prentice at Bartholomew-fair.”

According to Brand, geese are eaten by ploughmen at the harvest-home;
and it is a popular saying, “If you eat goose on Michaelmas-day you will
never want money all the year round.”

In 1470, John de la Hay took of William Barnaby, lord of Lastres, in the
county of Hereford, one parcel of the land of that demesne, rendering
twenty-pence a year, and one _goose_ fit for the lord’s dinner on the
feast of St. Michael the archangel, with suit of court and other
services.

       *       *       *       *       *

According to Martin, in his “Description of the Western Islands of
Scotland,” the protestant inhabitants of Skie, observe the festivals of
Christmas, Easter, Good Friday, and that of St. Michael, on which latter
day they have a cavalcade in each parish, and several families bake the
cake called St. Michael’s bannock. So also, “They have likewise a
general cavalcade on St. Michael’s-day in Kilbar village, and do then
also take a turn round their church. Every family, as soon as the
solemnity is ended, is accustomed to bake St. Michael’s cake, and all
strangers, together with those of the family, must eat the bread that
night.” We read too, in Macauley’s History, that “It was, till of late,
a universal custom among the islanders, on Michaelmas-day, to prepare in
every family a loaf or cake of bread, enormously large, and compounded
of different ingredients. This cake belonged to the archangel, and had
its name from him. Every one in each family, whether strangers or
domestics, had his portion of this kind of shew-bread, and had, of
course, some title to the friendship and protection of Michael.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Macauley, in the “History of St. Kilda,” says, that “In Ireland a sheep
was killed in every family that could afford one, on the same
anniversary; and it was ordained by law that a part of it should be
given to the poor. This, and a great deal more was done in that kingdom,
to perpetuate the memory of a miracle wrought there by St. Patrick
through the assistance of the archangel. In commemoration of this,
Michaelmas was instituted a festival day of joy, plenty, and universal
benevolence.”


_Ganging Day._

Mr. Brand found in a London newspaper of October 18, 1787, the following
extraordinary _septennial_ custom at Bishops Stortford, in
Hertfordshire, and in the adjacent neighbourhood, on _old_
Michaelmas-day: “On the morning of this day, called Ganging-day, a great
number of young men assemble in the fields, when a very active fellow is
nominated the leader. This person they are bound to follow, who, for the
sake of diversion, generally chooses the route through ponds, ditches,
and places of difficult passage. Every person they meet is bumped, male
or female; which is performed by two other persons taking them up by
their arms, and swinging them against each other. The women in general
keep at home at this period, except those of less scrupulous character,
who, for the sake of partaking of a gallon of ale and a plumb-cake,
which every landlord or publican is obliged to furnish the revellers
with, generally spend the best part of the night in the fields, if the
weather is fair; it being strictly according to ancient usage not to
partake of the cheer any where else.”

M. Stevenson, in “The Twelve Moneths, Lond. 1661, 4to.” mentions the
following superstition; “They say, so many dayes old the moon is on
Michaelmass-day, so many floods after.”


_Anecdote of a Goose._

An amusing account of a Canada goose once the property of Mr. Sharpe, at
Little Grove, near East Barnet, was inserted by that gentleman in his
copy of “Willughby’s Ornithology.” He says:--

The following account of a Canada goose is so extraordinary, that I am
aware it would with difficulty gain credit, were not a whole parish able
to vouch for the truth of it. The Canada geese are not fond of a
poultry-yard, but are rather of a rambling disposition. One of these
birds, however, was observed to attach itself, in the strongest and most
affectionate manner, to the house-dog; and would never quit the kennel,
except for the purpose of feeding, when it would return again
immediately. It always sat by the dog; but never presumed to go into the
kennel, except in rainy weather. Whenever the dog barked, the goose
would cackle and run at the person she supposed the dog barked at, and
try to bite him by the heels. Sometimes she would attempt to feed with
the dog; but this the dog, who treated his faithful companion rather
with indifference, would not suffer.

This bird would not go to roost with the others at night, unless driven
by main force; and when, in the morning, she was turned into the field,
she would never stir from the yard gate, but sit there the whole day, in
sight of the dog. At last, orders were given that she should be no
longer molested, but suffered to accompany the dog as she liked: being
thus left to herself, she ran about the yard with him all the night; and
what is particularly extraordinary, and can be attested by the whole
parish, whenever the dog went out of the yard and ran into the village,
the goose always accompanied him, contriving to keep up with him by the
assistance of her wings; and in this way of running and flying, followed
him all over the parish.

This extraordinary affection of the goose towards the dog, which
continued till his death, two years after it was first observed, is
supposed to have originated from his having accidentally saved her from
a fox in the very moment of distress. While the dog was ill, the goose
never quitted him day or night, not even to feed; and it was apprehended
that she would have been starved to death, had not orders been given for
a pan of corn to be set every day close to the kennel. At this time the
goose generally sat in the kennel, and would not suffer any one to
approach it, except the person who brought the dog’s or her own food.
The end of this faithful bird was melancholy; for, when the dog died,
she would still keep possession of the kennel; and a new house-dog being
introduced, which in size and colour resembled that lately lost, the
poor goose was unhappily deceived; and going into the kennel as usual,
the new inhabitant seized her by the throat, and killed her.

       *       *       *       *       *

Michaelmas-day is one of the “four usual quarter-days, or days for
payment of rent in the year.”

_A Michaelmas Notice to quit._

    To ALL gad-flies and gnats, famed for even-tide hum,
    To the blue-bottles, too, with their gossamer drum;
    To all long-legs and moths, thoughtless rogues still at ease,
    Old Winter sends greeting--health, friendship, and these.

    WHEREAS, on complaint lodged before me this day,
    That for months back, to wit, from the first day of May,
    Various insects, pretenders to beauty and birth,
    Have, on venturesome wing, lately traversed the earth,
    And, mistaking fair Clara’s chaste lips for a rose,
    Stung the beauty in public--and frightened her beaux.

    AND, WHEREAS, on the last sultry evening in June,
    The said Clara was harmlessly humming a tune;
    A blue-bottle, sprung from some dunghill, no doubt,
    Buzzed about her so long--he at last put her out.

    AND WHEREAS sundry haunches and high-seasoned pies,
    And a thousand sweet necks have been o’errun with flies;
    In his wisdom, Old Winter thinks nothing more fit
    Than to publish this friendly ‘memento to quit.’

    AT YOUR PERIL, ye long-legs, this notice despise!
    Hasten hence, ye vile gad-flies! a word to the wise!
    Hornets, horse-stingers, wasps, fly so hostile a land,
    Or your death-warrant’s signed by Old Winter’s chill hand.[332]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Michaelmas Daisy. _Aster Tradescanti._
  Dedicated to _St. Michael and all Angels_.

  [331] Golden Legend.

  [332] From Times Telescope.


~September 30.~

  _St. Jerome_, Priest, Doctor of the Church, A. D. 420. _St. Gregory_,
  Bp. surnamed the Apostle of Armenia, and the Illuminator, 4th Cent.
  _St. Honorius_, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 653.


~St. Jerome.~

This saint is in the church of England calendar and almanacs.
Particulars concerning him will be related hereafter; it is sufficient
to observe, for the present, that the church of England sets him forth
as an authority for reading the Old Testament Apocrypha.


_Custom at Kidderminster._

The annual election of a bailiff at this town, before noticed,[333] is
still accompanied by the rude mirth of the populace. The Editor is
obliged to a lady for the following communication.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Dear Sir,

I have just cast my eye upon your definition of the term “costermonger,”
and it reminds me of an annual custom at Kidderminster, (my native
town,) which you may perhaps think an account of, a fit subject for
insertion in the _Every-Day Book_.

The magistrate and other officers of the town are annually elected, and
the first Monday after Michaelmas-day is the day of their inauguration,
in celebration of which, they each of them cause to be thrown to the
populace, (who assemble to the amount of some thousands,) from the
windows of their houses, or sometimes from the town-hall, a large
quantity of apples, in the whole often amounting, from twenty to thirty
pots, (baskets containing five pecks each.) This practice occasions, of
course, a kind of prescriptive holiday in the town, and any one having
the temerity to refuse his apprentice or servant leave to attend the
“apple-throwing,” would most probably have cause to repent such an
invasion of right. A rude concourse therefore fills the streets which
are the scenes of action; and as a sort of “safety valve,” if I may
“compare great things with small,” recourse is had by the crowd to the
flinging about of old shoes, cabbage stalks, and almost every accessible
kind of missile; till at length the sashes are raised, and the gifts of
Pomona begin to shower down upon the heads of the multitude. Woe be to
the unlucky wight who may chance to ride through the town during the
introductory part of this custom; no sooner does he appear, than a
thousand aims are taken at him and his horse, or carriage, and the poor
belated rider “sees, or dreams he sees,” (if ignorant of the practice,)
the inhabitants of a whole town raised to oppose his single progress,
without being able to form the most distant idea of their motive for so
doing. At Ludlow there is a custom as ancient and equally foolish, that
of pulling a rope, but of this I know nothing except by report.

  I am,

  H. M.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Golden Amaryllis. _Amaryllis Aurea._
  Dedicated to _St. Jerome._

  [333] In Col. 1337.




[Illustration: OCTOBER.]


      Then came October, full of merry glee,
      For yet his noule was totty of the must,
      Which he was treading, in the wine-fat’s see,
      And of the joyous oyle, whose gentle gust
      Made him so frollick, and so full of lust:
      Upon a dreadfull scorpion he did ride,
      The same which by Dianae’s doom unjust
      Slew great Orion; and eeke by his side
    He had his ploughing-share, and coulter ready tyde.

  _Spenser._

This is the tenth month of the year. From our Saxon ancestors, “October
had the name of _Wyn_-monat,” _wyn_ signifying wine; “and albeit they
had not anciently wines made in Germany, yet in this season had they
them from divers countries adjoining.”[334] They also called it
_Winter-fulleth_.[335]

In noticing the stanza, beneath the above engraving by Mr. Williams from
his own design, Mr. Leigh Hunt says, that “Spenser, in marching his
months before great nature, drew his descriptions of them from the world
and its customs in general; but turn his October wine-vats into
cider-presses and brewing-tubs, and it will do as well.” He continues to
observe, that “This month on account of its steady temperature, is
chosen for the brewing of such malt liquor as is designed for keeping.
The farmer continues to sow his corn, and the gardener plants forest
and fruit trees. Many of our readers, though fond of gardens, will learn
perhaps for the first time that trees are cheaper things than flowers;
and that at the expense of not many shillings, they may plant a little
shrubbery, or make a rural skreen for their parlour or study windows, of
woodbine, guelder-roses, bays, arbutus, ivy, virgin’s bower, or even the
poplar, horse-chestnut, birch, sycamore, and plane-tree, of which the
Greeks were so fond. A few roses also, planted in the earth, to flower
about his walls or windows in monthly succession, are nothing in point
of dearness to roses or other flowers purchased in pots. Some of the
latter are nevertheless cheap and long-lived, and may be returned to the
nursery-man at a small expense, to keep till they flower again. But if
the lover of nature has to choose between flowers or flowering shrubs
and trees, the latter, in our opinion, are much preferable, inasmuch as
while they include the former, they can give a more retired and verdant
feeling to a place, and call to mind, even in their very nestling and
closeness, something of the whispering and quiet amplitude of nature.

“Fruits continue in abundance during this month, as everybody knows from
the shop-keeper; for our grosser senses are well informed, if our others
are not. We have yet to discover that imaginative pleasures are as real
and touching as they, and give them their deepest relish. The additional
flowers in October are almost confined to the anemone and scabious; and
the flowering-trees and shrubs to the evergreen cytisus. But the hedges
(and here let us observe, that the fields and other walks that are free
to every one are sure to supply us with pleasure, when every other place
fails,) are now sparkling with their abundant berries,--the wild rose
with the hip, the hawthorn with the haw, the blackthorn with the sloe,
the bramble with the blackberry; and the briony, privet, honeysuckle,
elder, holly, and woody nightshade, with their other winter feasts for
the birds. The wine obtained from the elder-berry makes a very pleasant
and wholesome drink, when heated over a fire; but the humbler sloe,
which the peasants eat, gets the start of him in reputation, by changing
its name to _port_, of which wine it certainly makes a considerable
ingredient. A gentleman, who lately figured in the beau-monde, and
carried coxcombry to a pitch of the ingenious, was not aware how much
truth he was uttering in his pleasant and disavowing definition of port
wine: ‘A strong intoxicating liquor much drank by the lower orders.’

“Swallows are generally seen for the last time this month, the
house-martin the latest. The red-wing, field-fare, snipe, Royston crow,
and wood-pigeon, return from more northern parts. The rooks return to
the roost trees, and the tortoise begins to bury himself for the winter.
The mornings and afternoons increase in mistiness, though the middle of
the day is often very fine; and no weather when it is unclouded, is apt
to give a clearer and manlier sensation than that of October. One of the
most curious natural appearances is the _gossamer_, which is an infinite
multitude of little threads shot out by minute spiders, who are thus
wafted by the wind from place to place.

“The chief business of October, in the great economy of nature, is
dissemination, which is performed among other means by the high winds
which now return. Art imitates her as usual, and sows and plants also.
We have already mentioned the gardener. This is the time for the
domestic cultivator of flowers to finish planting as well, especially
the bulbs that are intended to flower early in spring. And as the chief
business of nature this month is dissemination or vegetable birth, so
its chief beauty arises from vegetable death itself. We need not tell
our readers we allude to the changing leaves with all their lights and
shades of green, amber, red, light red, light and dark green, white,
brown, russet, and yellow of all sorts.”

    The orient is lighted with crimson glow,
      The night and its dreams are fled,
    And the glorious roll of nature now
      Is in all its brightness spread.
    The autumn has tinged the trees with gold,
      And crimson’d the shrubs of the hills;
    And the full seed sleeps in earth’s bosom cold;
      And hope all the universe fills.

  [334] Verstegan.

  [335] Dr. F. Sayer.


~October 1.~

  _St. Remigius_, A. D. 533. _St. Bavo_, Patron of Ghent, A. D. 653.
  _St. Piat_, A. D. 286. _St. Wasnulf_, or _Wasnon_, A. D. 651. _St.
  Fidharleus_, Abbot in Ireland, A. D. 762. _Festival of the Rosary._


_Remigius._

This is another saint in the church of England calendar and the
almanacs. He was bishop or archbishop of Rheims, and the instructor of
Clovis, the first king of the Franks who professed christianity;
Remigius baptized him by trine immersion. The accession of Clovis to the
church, is deemed to have been the origin of the “_most christian
king_,” and the “_eldest son of the church_,” which the kings of France
are stiled in the present times.


_Salters’ Company._

The beadles and Servants of the worshipful company of salters are to
attend divine service at St. Magnus church, London-bridge, pursuant to
the will of sir John Salter, who died in the year 1605; who was a good
benefactor to the said company, and ordered that the beadles and
servants should go to the said church the first week in October, three
times each person, and say, “How do you do brother Salter? I hope you
are well!”[336]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lowly Amaryllis. _Amaryllis humilis_.
  Dedicated to _St. Remigius_.

  [336] Annual Register, 1769.


~October 2.~

  _Feast of the Holy Angel-Guardians._ _St. Thomas_, Bp. of Hereford, A.
  D. 1282. _St. Leodegarius_, or _Leger_, A. D. 678.


_Guardian-Angels._

The festival of “the Holy Angel-Guardians” as they are called by Butler,
is this day kept by his church. He says that, “according to St. Thomas,”
when the angels were created, the lowest among them were enlightened by
those that were supreme in the orders. It is not to be gathered from him
how many orders there were; but Holme says, that “after the fall of
Lucifer the bright star and his company, there remained still in heaven
more angels then ever there was, is, and shall be, men born in the
earth.” He adds, that they are “ranked into nine orders or chorus,
called the nine quoires of holy angels;” and he ranks them thus:--

  1. The order of _seraphims_.
  2. The order of _cherubims_.
  3. The order of _archangels_.
  4. The order of _angels_.
  5. The order of _thrones_.
  6. The order of _principalities_.
  7. The order of _powers_.
  8. The order of _dominions_.
  9. The order of _virtues_.

Some authors put them in this sequence: 1. seraphims; 2. cherubims; 3.
thrones; 4. dominions; 5. virtues; 6. powers; 7. principalities; 8.
archangels; 9. angels. Holme adds, that “God never erected any order,
rule, or government, but the devil did and will imitate him; for where
God hath his church, the devil will have his synagogue.” The latter part
of this affirmation is versified by honest Daniel De Foe. He begins his
“True-born Englishman” with it:--

    Wherever God erects a house of prayer
    The devil’s sure to have a chapel there.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Angel_, in its primitive sense, denotes a _messenger_, and frequently
signifies men, when, from the common notion of the term, it is conceived
to denote ministering spirits. Angels, as celestial intelligences, have
been the objects of over curious inquiry, and of worship. Paul prohibits
this: “Let no man,” he says, “beguile you of your reward, in a voluntary
humility, and the worshipping of angels, intruding into those things
which he hath not seen.”[337] An erudite and sincere writer remarks,
that “The worship, which so many christians pay to angels and saints,
and images and relics, is really a false worship, hardly distinguishable
from idolatry. When it is said, in excuse, that ‘they worship these only
as mediators,’ that alters the case very little; since to apply to a
false mediator is as much a departure from Jesus Christ, our only
advocate, as to worship a fictitious deity is withdrawing our faith and
allegiance from the true God.”[338]

       *       *       *       *       *

Amid the multiplicity of representations by Roman catholic writers
concerning angels, are these by Father Lewis Henriques, “That the
streets of Paradise are adorned with tapestry, and all the histories of
the world are engraven on the walls by excellent sculptors; that the
angels have no particular houses, but go from one quarter to another for
diversity; that they put on women’s habits, and appear to the saints in
the dress of ladies, with curles and locks, with waistcoats and
fardingales, and the richest linens.”

This occupation of the _angels_ agrees with the occupations that
Henriques assigns to the _saints_; who, according to him, are to enjoy,
with other pleasures, the recreation of bathing: “There shall be
pleasant bathes for that purpose; they shall swim like fishes, and sing
as melodious as nightingales; the men and women shall delight
themselves with muscarades, feasts and ballads; women shall sing more
pleasantly than men, that the delight may be greater; and women shall
rise again with very long hair, and shall appear with ribands and laces
as they do upon earth.” Father Henriques was a Jesuit, and communicates
this information in a book entitled, “_The Business of the Saints in
Heaven_,” published by the written authority of Father Prado, the
Provincial of the order of Jesuits at Castille, dated at Salamanca,
April 28th, 1631.[339]


[Illustration: ~Hannah Want.~]

    “For _Age_ and _Want_ save while you may
     No morning sun lasts a whole day.”

_The Times_ and other journals report the “obit” of this female. “On the
2nd of October, 1825, died Mrs. Hannah Want, at Ditchingham, Norfolk,
in the 106th year of her age. She was born on the 20th of August, 1720,
and throughout this long life enjoyed a state of uninterrupted health;
and retained her memory and perception to the end with a clearness truly
astonishing. Till the day previous to her decease she was not confined
to her bed; and on the 105th anniversary of her birth, entertained a
party of her relatives who visited her to celebrate the day: she lived
to see a numerous progeny to the fifth generation, and at her death
there are now living children, grand-children, great-grand-children, and
great-great-grand-children to the number of one hundred and twenty-one.”

An intelligent correspondent writes: “As it is _not_ an ‘_every-day_’
occurrence for people to live so long, perhaps you may be pleased to
immortalize Hannah Want, by giving her a leaf of your _Every-Day Book_.”
That the old lady may live as long after her death as this work shall be
her survivor the Editor can promise, “with remainder over” to his
survivors.

Hannah Want, in common with all long-livers, was an early riser. The
following particulars are derived from a correspondent. She was seldom
out of bed after nine at night, and even in winter; and towards the last
of her life, was seldom in it after six in the morning. Her sleep was
uniformly sound and tranquil; her eye-sight till within the last three
years was clear; her appetite, till two days before her death, good; her
memory excellent; she could recollect and discourse on whatever she knew
during the last century. Her diet was plain common food, meat and
poultry, pudding and dumpling, bread and vegetables in moderate
quantities; she drank temperately, very temperately, of good, very good,
mild home-brewed beer. During the last twenty years she had not taken
tea, though to that period she had been accustomed to it. She never had
the small pox, and never had been ill. Her first seventy-five years were
passed at Bungay in Suffolk, her last thirty at the adjoining village of
Ditchingham in Norfolk. She was the daughter of a farmer named
Knighting. Her husband, John Want, a maltster, died on Christmas-day,
1802, at the age of eighty-five, leaving Hannah ill provided for, with
an affectionate and dutiful daughter, who was better than house and
land; for she cherished her surviving parent when “age and want, that
ill-matched pair, make countless thousands mourn.”

Hannah Want was of a serious and sedate turn; not very talkative, yet
cheerfully joining in conversation. She was a plain, frugal, careful
wife and mother; less inclined to insist on rights, than to perform
duties; these she executed in all respects, “and all without hurry or
care.” Her stream of life was a gentle flow of equanimity, unruffled by
storm or accident, till it was exhausted. She was never put out of her
way but once, and that was when the house wherein she lived at Bungay
was burned down, and none of the furniture saved, save one featherbed.

In answer to a series of questions from the Editor, respecting this aged
and respectable female, addressed to another correspondent, he says,
“What a work you make about an old woman! ‘I’ll answer none of your
silly questions; ax Briant!’ as a neighbouring magistrate said to sir
Edmund Bacon, who was examining him in a court of justice. The old woman
was well enough. There is nothing more to be learned about her, than how
long a body may crawl upon the earth, and think nothing worth
thinking--as if ‘thinking was but an idle waste of thought;’ and how
long a person to whom ‘naught is every thing, and every thing is
nothing’, did nothing worth doing. I suppose that the noted H. W. knew
as much of life in 105 hours, as Hannah Want did in 105 years. All I
know or can learn about her is nothing, and if you can make any thing of
it you may. Some of our _free-knowledgists_, ‘with a pale cast of
thought’ have taken a cast of her head, and discovered that her organ of
self-destructiveness was harmonized by the organ of long-livitiveness.”
This latter correspondent is too hard upon Hannah; but he encloses
information on another subject that may be useful hereafter, and
therefore what he amusingly says respecting her, is at the service of
those readers who are qualified to make something of nothing.

A portrait of Hannah Want, in 1824, when she was in her 104th year,
taken by Mr. Robert Childs, “an ingenious gentleman” of Bungay, and
etched by him, furnishes the present engraving of her.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Friars’ Minors Soapwort. _Saponaria Officinalis._
  Dedicated to _the Guardian Angels_.

  [337] Colossians ii. 17.

  [338] Jortin.

  [339] Moral Practice of the Jesuits. Lond. 12mo. 1670.


~October 3.~

  _St. Dionysius_ the Areopagite, A. D. 51. _St. Gerard_, Abbot, A. D.
  959. _The two Ewalds_, A. D. 690.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Downy Helenium. _Helenium pubescens._
  Dedicated to _St. Dionysius._

SONNET.

_Written at Chatsworth with a Pencil in October._

TIME--SUNSET.

      I always lov’d thee, and thy yellow garb,
      October dear!--and I have hailed thy reign,
      On many a lovely, many a distant plain,
      But here, thou claim’st my warmest best regard.
      Not e’en the noble banks of silver Seine

    Can rival Derwent’s--where proud Chatsworth’s tow’rs
    Reflect Sol’s setting rays--as now yon chain
    Of gold-tipp’d mountains crown her lawns and bowers.
      Here, countless beauties catch the ravish’d view,
        Majestic scenes, all silent as the tomb;
        Save where the murmuring of Derwent’s wave,
      To tenderest feelings the rapt soul subdue,
          While shadowy forms seem gliding through the gloom
        To visit those again they lov’d this side the grave.

  _Rickman._


~October 4.~

  _St. Francis_ of Assisium, A. D. 1226. _Sts. Marcus_, _Marcian_, &c.
  _St. Petronius_, Bp. A. D. 430. _St. Ammon_, Hermit, A. D. 308. _St.
  Aurea_, Abbess, A. D. 666. _St. Edwin_, King, A. D. 633. _The Martyrs
  of Triers._


  SALE OF
  HYDE-PARK-CORNER TOLL-GATE.

Before the close of the sessions of parliament in 1825 an act passed for
the removal of the toll-gate at Hyde-park-corner, with a view to the
free passage of horsemen and carriages between London and Pimlico. So
great an accommodation to the inhabitants of that suburb, manifests a
disposition to relieve other growing neighbourhoods of the metropolis
from these vexatious imposts. On the present occasion a gentleman,
evidently an artist, presented the Editor with a drawing of
Hyde-park-corner gate on the day when it was sold; it is engraved
opposite. This liberal communication was accompanied by the subjoined
letter:--

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

I have taken the liberty of enclosing you a representation of a scene
which took place at Hyde-park-corner last Tuesday, October 4th, being no
less than the public sale of the toll-house, and all the materials
enumerated in the accompanying catalogue. If you were not present, the
drawing I have sent may interest you as a view of the old toll-house and
the last scene of its eventful history. You are at liberty to make what
use of it you please. The sale commenced at one o’clock, the auctioneer
stood under the arch before the door of the house on the north side of
Piccadilly. Several carriage folks and equestrians, unconscious of the
removal of the toll, stopped to pay, whilst the drivers of others passed
through knowingly, with a look of satisfaction at their liberation from
the accustomed restriction at that place. The poor dismantled house
_without a turnpike man_, seemed “almost afraid to know
itself”--“Othello’s occupation was gone.” By this time, if the
conditions of the auction have been attended to, not a vestige is left
on the spot. I have thought this event would interest a mind like yours,
which permits not any change in the history of improvement, or of places
full of old associations, to take place without record.

  I remain, sir,

  Yours, &c.

  A CONSTANT READER.

[Illustration: ~Sale of Hyde-Park-Corner Toll-gate.~]

  “The last time! a going! gone.”
                             _Auctioneer._
  “Down! down! derry down!”
                             _Public._

The sale by auction of the “toll-houses” on the north and south side of
the road, with the “weighing machine,” and lamp-posts at
Hyde-park-corner, was effected by Mr. Abbott, the estate agent and
appraiser, by order of the trustees of the roads. They were sold for
building materials; the north toll-house was in five lots, the south in
five other lots; the gates, rails, posts, and inscription boards were in
five more lots; and the engine-house was also in five lots. At the same
time, the weighing machine and toll-houses at Jenny’s Whim bridge were
sold in seven lots; and the toll-house near the bun-house at Chelsea,
with lamp posts on the road, were likewise sold in seven lots. The whole
are entirely cleared away, to the relief of thousands of persons
resident in these neighbourhoods. It is too much to expect every thing
vexatious to disappear at once; this is a very good beginning, and if
there be truth in the old saying, we may expect “a good ending.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Southernwood. _Artemesia Aproxanum._
  Dedicated to _St. Francis Assissium_.


~October 5.~

  _St. Placidus_, &c. A. D. 546. _St. Galla_, 6th Cent.


THE ASS.

The cantering of TIM TIMS[340] startles him who told of his “youthful
days,” at the school wherein poor “Starkey” cyphered part of his little
life. C. L. “getting well, but weak” from painful and severe
indisposition, is “off and away” for a short discursion. Better health
to him, and good be to him all his life. Here he is.


  THE ASS
  _No. 2._

(_For Hone’s Every-Day Book._)

Mr. Collier, in his “Poetical Decameron” (Third Conversation) notices a
Tract, printed in 1595, with the author’s initials only, A. B., entitled
“The Noblenesse of the Asse: a work rare, learned, and excellent.” He
has selected the following pretty passage from it. “He (the Ass)
refuseth no burthen, he goes whither he is sent without any
contradiction. He lifts not his foote against any one; he bytes not; he
is no fugitive, nor malicious affected. He doth all things in good sort,
and to his liking that hath cause to employ him. If strokes be given
him, he cares not for them; and, as our modern poet singeth,

    “Thou wouldst (perhaps) he should become thy foe,
    And to that end dost beat him many times;
    He cares not for himselfe, much lesse thy blow.”[341]

Certainly Nature, foreseeing the cruel usage which this useful servant
to man should receive at man’s hand, did prudently in furnishing him
with a tegument impervious to ordinary stripes. The malice of a child,
or a weak hand, can make feeble impressions on him. His back offers no
mark to a puny foeman. To a common whip or switch his hide presents an
absolute insensibility. You might as well pretend to scourge a
school-boy with a tough pair of leather breeches on. His jerkin is well
fortified. And therefore the Costermongers “between the years 1790 and
1800” did more politicly than piously in lifting up a part of his upper
garment. I well remember that beastly and bloody custom. I have often
longed to see one of those refiners in discipline himself at the cart’s
tail, with just such a convenient spot laid bare to the tender mercies
of the whipster. But since Nature has resumed her rights, it is to be
hoped, that this patient creature does not suffer to extremities; and
that to the savages who still belabour his poor carcase with their blows
(considering the sort of anvil they are laid upon) he might in some
sort, if he could speak, exclaim with the philosopher, “Lay on: you beat
but upon the case of Anaxarchus.”

Contemplating this natural safeguard, this fortified exterior, it is
with pain I view the sleek, foppish, combed and curried, person of this
animal, as he is transmuted and disnaturalized, at Watering Places, &c.
where they affect to make a palfrey of him. Fie on all such
sophistications!--It will never do, Master Groom. Something of his
honest shaggy exterior will still peep up in spite of you--his good,
rough, native, pine-apple coating. You cannot “refine a scorpion into a
fish, though you rince it and scour it with ever so cleanly
cookery.”[342]

The modern poet, quoted by A. B., proceeds to celebrate a virtue, for
which no one to this day had been aware that the Ass was remarkable.

    One other gift this beast hath as his owne,
    Wherewith the rest could not be furnished;
    On man himselfe the same was not bestowne,
    To wit--on him is ne’er engendered
    The hatefull vermine that doth teare the skin
    And to the bode [body] doth make his passage in.

And truly when one thinks on the suit of impenetrable armour with which
Nature (like Vulcan to another Achilles) has provided him, these subtle
enemies to _our_ repose, would have shown some dexterity in getting into
_his_ quarters. As the bogs of Ireland by tradition expel toads and
reptiles, he may well defy these small deer in his fastnesses. It seems
the latter had not arrived at the exquisite policy adopted by the human
vermin “between 1790 and 1800.”

But the most singular and delightful gift of the Ass, according to the
writer of this pamphlet, is his _voice_; the “goodly, sweet, and
continual brayings” of which, “whereof they forme a melodious and
proportionable kinde of musicke,” seem to have affected him with no
ordinary pleasure. “Nor thinke I,” he adds, “that any of our immoderne
musitians can deny, but that their song is full of exceeding pleasure to
be heard; because therein is to be discerned both concord, discord,
singing in the meane, the beginning to sing in large compasse, then
following on to rise and fall, the halfe note, whole note, musicke of
five voices, firme singing by four voices, three together or one voice
and a halfe. Then their variable contrarieties amongst them, when one
delivers forth a long tenor, or a short, the pausing for time, breathing
in measure, breaking the minim or very least moment of time. Last of all
to heare the musicke of five or six voices chaunged to so many of Asses,
is amongst them to heare a song of world without end.”

There is no accounting for ears; or for that laudable enthusiasm with
which an Author is tempted to invest a favourite subject with the most
incompatible perfections. I should otherwise, for my own taste, have
been inclined rather to have given a place to these extraordinary
musicians at that banquet of nothing-less-than-sweet sounds, imagined by
old Jeremy Collier (Essays, 1698; Part. 2.--On Music.) where, after
describing the inspirating effects of martial music in a battle, he
hazards an ingenious conjecture, whether a sort of _Anti-music_ might
not be invented, which should have quite the contrary effect of “sinking
the spirits, shaking the nerves, curdling the blood, and inspiring
despair, and cowardice and consternation.” “’Tis probable” he says, “the
roaring of lions, the warbling of cats and screech-owls, together with a
mixture of the howling of dogs, judiciously imitated and compounded,
might go a great way in this invention.” The dose, we confess, is pretty
potent, and skilfully enough prepared. But what shall we say to the Ass
of Silenus (quoted by TIMS), who, if we may trust to classic lore, by
his own proper sounds, without thanks to cat or screech-owl, dismaid and
put to rout a whole army of giants? Here was _Anti-music_ with a
vengeance; a whole _Pan-Dis-Harmonicon_ in a single lungs of leather!

But I keep you trifling too long on this Asinine subject. I have already
past the _Pons Asinorum_, and will desist, remembering the old pedantic
pun of Jem Boyer, my schoolmaster:--

ASS _in præsenti_ seldom makes a WISE MAN _in futuro_.

  C. L.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Starlike Camomile. _Boltonia Asteroides._
  Dedicated to _St. Placidus_.

  [340] Ante, p. 1308.

  [341] Who this modern poet was, says Mr. C., is a secret worth
  discovering.--The wood-cut on the title of the Pamphlet is--an Ass
  with a wreath of laurel round his neck.

  [342] Milton: _from memory_.


~October 6.~

  _St. Bruno_, Founder of the Carthusian Monks, A. D. 1101. _St. Faith_
  or _Fides_, and others.


_St. Faith._

This name in the church of England calendar and almanacs belongs to a
saint of the Romish church.

According to Butler, St. Faith was a female of Aquitain, put to death
under Dacian. He says she was titular saint of several churches in
France, particularly that of Longueville in Normandy, which was enriched
by Walter Giffard, earl of Buckingham. He also says she was “patroness
of the priory of Horsam, in the county of Norfolk;” that “the
subterraneous chapel of St. Faith, built under St. Paul’s, in London,
was also very famous;” and that “an arm of the saint was formerly kept
at Glastenbury.” Nevertheless, Mr. Audley thinks, that as the ancient
Romans deified Faith according to the heathen mythology, and as
christian Rome celebrates on August 1st the passion of the holy virgins,
Faith, Hope, and Charity, it is highly probable these virtues have been
mistaken for persons; and, admitting this, Dr. M. Geddes smartly says,
“they may be truly said to have suffered, and still to suffer martyrdom
at Rome.” Mr. Audley adds, “There is indeed the church of St. Faith at
London; but as our calendar is mostly copied from the Romish one, that
will account for the introduction of the good virgin amongst us.”[343]


ST. BRUNO.

This saint was an anchoret and the founder of the Carthusian monks. He
is stiled by writers of his own age “master of the Chartreuse;” from his
order comes our Charter-house at London.

A prelate of the same name is renowned in story, and his last adventures
are related in verse.


BISHOP BRUNO.

  “Bruno, the bishop of Herbipolitanum, sailing in the river of
  Danubius, with Henry the Third, then emperour, being not far from a
  place which the Germanes call Ben Strudel, or the devouring gulfe,
  which is neere unto Grinon, a castle in Austria, a spirit was heard
  clamouring aloud, ‘Ho! ho! bishop Bruno, whither art thou travelling?
  but dispose of thyself how thou pleasest, thou shalt be my prey and
  spoile.’ At the hearing of these words they were all stupified, and
  the bishop with the rest crost and blest themselves. The issue was,
  that within a short time after, the bishop feasting with the emperor
  in a castle belonging to the countesse of Esburch, a rafter fell from
  the roof of the chamber wherein they sate, and strooke him dead at the
  table.”

  _Heywood’s Hierarchie of the blessed Angels._

    Bishop Bruno awoke in the dead midnight,
    And he heard his heart beat loud with affright:
    He dreamt he had rung the palace bell,
    And the sound it gave was his passing knell.

    Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain
    He turned to sleep and he dreamt again
    He rung at the palace gate once more,
    And Death was the porter that opened the door.

    He started up at the fearful dream,
    And he heard at his window the screech owl scream!
    Bishop Bruno slept no more that night;--
    Oh! glad was he when he saw the day light!

    Now he goes forth in proud array,
    For he with the emperor dines to-day;
    There was not a baron in Germany
    That went with a nobler train than he.

    Before and behind his soldiers ride,
    The people throng’d to see their pride;
    They bow’d the head, and the knee they bent,
    But nobody blest him as he went.

    So he went on stately and proud,
    When he heard a voice that cried aloud,
    Ho! ho! bishop Bruno! you travel with glee--
    But I would have you know, you travel to me!

    Behind, and before, and on either side,
    He look’d, but nobody he espied;
    And the bishop at that grew cold with fear,
    For he heard the words distinct and clear.

    And when he rung the palace bell,
    He almost expected to hear his knell
    And when the porter turn’d the key,
    He almost expected Death to see.

    But soon the bishop recover’d his glee,
    For the emperor welcomed him royally
    And now the tables were spread, and there
    Were choicest wines and dainty fare.

    And now the bishop had blest the meat,
    When a voice was heard as he sat in his seat,--
    With the emperor now you are dining in glee,
    But know, bishop Bruno, you sup with me!

    The bishop then grew pale with affright,
    And suddenly lost his appetite;
    All the wine and dainty cheer
    Could not comfort his heart so sick with fear.

    But by little and little recovered he
    For the wine went flowing merrily,
    And he forgot his former dread,
    And his cheeks again grew rosy red.

    When he sat down to the royal fare
    Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there;
    But when the masquers entered the hall,
    He was the merriest man of all.

    Then from amid the masquers’ crowd
    There went a voice hollow and loud;
    You have passed the day, bishop Bruno, with glee!
    But you must pass the night with me!

    His cheek grows pale and his eye-balls glare,
    And stiff round his tonsure bristles his hair;
    With that there came one from the masquers’ band,
    And he took the bishop by the hand.

    The bony hand suspended his breath,
    His marrow grew cold at the touch of Death;
    On saints in vain he attempted to call,
    Bishop Bruno fell dead in the palace hall.

  _Southey._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lateflowering Feverfew. _Pyrethrum Scrotinum._
  Dedicated to _St. Bruno_.

  [343] Comp. to Almanac.


~October 7.~

  _St. Mark_, Pope, A. D. 336. _Sts. Sergius_ and _Bacchus_. _Sts.
  Marcellus_ and _Apuleius_. _St. Justina_ of Padua, A. D. 304. _St.
  Osith_, A. D. 870.


_Purveyance for Winter._

After the harvest for human subsistence during winter, most of the
provision for other animals ripens, and those with provident instincts
are engaged in the work of gathering and storing.

Perhaps the prettiest of living things in the forest are squirrels. They
may now be seen fully employed in bearing off their future food; and now
many of the little creatures are caught by the art of man; to be encaged
for life to contribute to his amusement.


_Squirrels and Hares._

On a remark by the hon. Daines Barrington, that “to observe the habits
and manners of animals is the most pleasing part of the study of
zoology,” a correspondent, in a letter to “Mr. Urban,” says “I have for
several years diverted myself by keeping squirrels, and have found in
them not less variety of humours and dispositions than Mr. Cowper
observed in his hares. I have had grave and gay, fierce and gentle,
sullen and familiar, and tractable and obedient squirrels. One property
I think highly worthy of observation, which I have found common to the
species, as far as my acquaintance with them has extended; and that
acquaintance has been by no means confined to a few: yet this property
has, I believe, never been adverted to by any zoological writer. I mean,
that they have an exact musical ear. Not that they seem to give the
least attention to any music, vocal or instrumental, which they hear;
but they universally dance in their cages to the most exact time,
striking the ground with their feet in a regular measured cadence, and
never changing their tune without an interval of rest. I have known them
dance perhaps ten minutes in _allegro_ time of eight quavers in a bar,
thus:

[Music]

then, after a pause, they would change to the time of six quavers
divided into three quavers and a dotted crotchet, thus:

[Music]

again, after a considerable rest, they would return to common time
divided by four semiquavers, one crotchet, four semiquavers and another
crotchet, in a bar, thus:

[Music]

always continuing to dance or jump to the same tune for many minutes,
and always resting before a change of tune. I once kept a male and a
female in one large cage, who performed a peculiar dance together thus;
the male jumped sideways, describing a portion of a circle in the air;
the female described a portion of a smaller circle concentric with the
first, always keeping herself duly under the male, performing her leap
precisely in the same time, and grounding her feet in the same moment
with him.

    ___________________________
  A/   _____________________   \B
     C/_____________________\D

While the male moved from A to B, or from B to A, the female moved from
C to D, or from D to C, and their eight feet were so critically grounded
together, that they gave but one note. I must observe, that this
practice of dancing seems to be an expedient to amuse them in their
confinement; because, when they are for a time released from their
cages, they never dance, but reserve this diversion until they are again
immured.”

Mr. Urban’s correspondent continues thus, “no squirrel will lay down
what he actually has in his paws, to receive even food which he prefers,
but will always eat or hide what he has, before he will accept what is
offered to him. Their sagacity in the selection of their food is truly
wonderful. I can easily credit what I have been told, that in their
winter hoards not one faulty nut is to be found; for I never knew them
accept a single nut, when offered to them, which was either decayed or
destitute of kernel: some they reject, having only smelt them; but they
seem usually to try them by their weight, poising them in their
fore-feet. In eating, they hold their food not with their whole
fore-feet, but between the inner toes or thumbs. I know not whether any
naturalist has observed that their teeth are of a deep orange colour.”

This gentleman, who writes late in the year 1788, proceeds thus, “A
squirrel sits by me while I write this, who was born in the spring,
1781, and has been mine near seven years. He is, like Yorick, ‘a
whoreson mad fellow--a pestilent knave--a fellow of infinite jest and
fancy.’ When he came to me, I had a venerable squirrel, corpulent, and
unwieldy with age. The young one agreed well with him from their first
introduction, and slept in the same cage with him; but he could never
refrain from diverting himself with the old gentleman’s infirmities. It
was my custom daily to let them both out on the floor, and then to set
the cage on a table, placing a chair near it to help the old squirrel in
returning to his home. This was great exercise to the poor old brute;
and it was the delight of the young rogue to frustrate his efforts, by
suffering him to climb up one bar of the chair, then pursuing him,
embracing him round the waist, and pulling him down to the ground; then
he would suffer him to reach the second bar, or perhaps the seat of the
chair, and afterwards bring him back to the floor as at first. All this
was done in sheer fun and frolic, with a look and manner full of
inexpressible archness and drollery. The old one could not be seriously
angry at it; he never fought or scolded, but gently complained and
murmured at his unlucky companion. One day, about an hour after this
exercise, the old squirrel was found dead in his cage, his wind and his
heart being quite broken by the mischievous wit of his young mess-mate.
My present squirrel one day assaulted and bit me without any
provocation. To break him of this trick, I pursued him some minutes
about the room, stamping and scolding at him, and threatening him with
my handkerchief. After this, I continued to let him out daily, but took
no notice of him for some months. The coolness was mutual: he neither
fled from me, nor attempted to come near me. At length I called him to
me: it appeared that he had only waited for me to make the first
advance; he threw off his gravity towards me, and ran up on my shoulder.
Our reconciliation was cordial and lasting; he has never attempted to
bite me since, and there appears no probability of another quarrel
between us, though he is every year wonderfully savage and ferocious at
the first coming-in of filberts and walnuts. He is frequently suffered
to expatiate in my garden; he has never of late attempted to wander
beyond it; he always climbs up a very high ash tree, and soon after
returns to his cage, or into the parlour.”

For what this observant writer says of _hares_, see the 17th day of the
present month.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Indian Chrysanthemum. _Chrysanthemum Indicum._
  Dedicated to _St. Mark_, Pope.


~October 8.~

  _St. Bridget_, A. D. 1373. _St. Thais_, A. D. 348. _St. Pelagia_, 5th
  Cent. _St. Keyna_, 5th or 6th Cent.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet Maudlin. _Actillea Ageratum._
  Dedicated to _St. Bridget_.


~October 9.~

  _St. Dionysius_, Bp. of Paris, and others, A. D. 272. ST. DOMNINUS, A.
  D. 304. _St. Guislain_, A. D. 681. _St. Lewis Bertrand_, A. D. 1581.


~St. Denys.~

This is the patron saint of France, and his name stands in our almanacs
and in the church of England calendar, as well as in the Romish
calendar.

[Illustration: ~St. Denys.~]

    St. Denys had his head cut off, he did not care for that,
    He took it up and carried it two miles without his hat.

“The times have been that when the brains were out the man would die;”
they were “_the times_!” Yet, even in those times, except “the
Anthrophagi, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders,” men,
whose heads grew _upon_ their shoulders, wore them in that situation
during their natural lives until by accident a head was taken off, and
then infallibly “the man would die.” But the extraordinary persons
called “saints,” were exempt from ordinary fatality: could all their
sayings be recorded, we might probably find it was as usual for a
decapitated saint to ask, “Won’t you give me my head?” before he walked
to be buried, as for an old citizen to call, “Boy, bring me my wig,”
before he walked to club.

St. Denys was beheaded with some other martyrs in the neighbourhood of
Paris. “They beheaded them,” says the reverend father Ribadeneira, “in
that mountain which is at present called _Mons Martyrum_ (_Montmartre_),
the mountain of the martyrs, in memory and honour of them; but after
they had martyred them, there happened a wonderful miracle. The body of
St. Denys rose upon its feet, and took its own head up in its hands, as
if he had triumphed and carried in it the crown and token of its
victories. The angels of heaven went accompanying the saint, singing
hymns choir-wise, with a celestial harmony and concert, and ended with
these words, ‘_gloria tibi, Domine alleluia_;’ and the saint went with
his head in his hands about two miles, till he met with a good woman
called Catula, who came out of her house; and the body of St. Denys
going to her, it put the head in her hands.” Perhaps this is as great a
miracle as any he wrought in his life; yet those which he wrought after
his death “were innumerable.” Ribadeneira adds one in favour of pope
Stephen, who “fell sick, and was given over by the doctors in the very
monastery of St. Denys, which is near Paris; where he had a revelation,
and he saw the princes of the apostles, St. Peter, and St. Paul, and St.
Denys, who lovingly touched him and gave him perfect health, and this
happened in the year of our Lord, 704, upon the 28th of July; and in
gratitude for this favour he gave great privileges to that church of St.
Denys, and carried with him to Rome certain relics of his holy body, and
built a monastery in his honour.”

It appears from an anecdote related by an eminent French physician, that
it was believed of St. Denys that he kissed his head while he carried
it; and it is equally marvellous that a man was so mad as not to believe
it true. The circumstance is thus related:

“A famous watchmaker of Paris, infatuated for a long time with the
chimera of perpetual motion, became violently insane, from the
overwhelming terror which the storms of the revolution excited. The
derangement of his reason was marked with a singular trait. He was
persuaded that he had lost his head on the scaffold, and that it was put
in a heap with those of many other victims: but that the judges, by a
rather too late retraction of their cruel decree, had ordered the heads
to be resumed, and to be rejoined to their respective bodies; and he
conceived that, by a curious kind of mistake, he had the head of one of
his companions placed on his shoulders. He was admitted into the
Bicétre, where he was continually complaining of his misfortune, and
lamenting the fine teeth and wholesome breath which he had exchanged for
those of very different qualities. In a little time, the hopes of
discovering the perpetual motion returned; and he was rather encouraged
than restrained in his endeavours to effect his object. When he
conceived that he had accomplished it, and was in an ecstasy of joy, the
sudden confusion of a failure removed his inclination even to resume the
subject. He was still, however, possessed with the idea that his head
was not his own: but from this notion he was diverted by a repartee made
to him, when he happened to be defending the possibility of the miracle
of St. Denys, who, it is said, was in the habit of walking with his head
between his hands, and in that position continually kissing it. ‘What a
fool you are to believe such a story,’ it was replied, with a burst of
laughter; ‘How could St. Denys kiss his head? was it with his heels?’
This unanswerable and unexpected retort struck and confounded the madman
so much, that it prevented him from saying any thing farther on the
subject; he again betook himself to business, and entirely regained his
intellects.”[344]

St. Denys, as the great patron of France, is highly distinguished.
“France,” says bishop Patrick, “glories in the relics of this saint; yet
Baronius tells us, that Ratisbonne in Germany has long contested with
them about it, and show his body there; and pope Leo IX. set out a
declaration determining that the true body of St Denys was entire at
Ratisbonne, wanting only the little finger of his right hand, yet they
of Paris ceased not their pretences to it, so that here are two bodies
venerated of the same individual saint; and both of them are mistaken if
they of Prague have not been cheated, among whose numerous relics I find
the arm of St. Denys, the apostle of Paris, reckoned.” The bishop
concludes by extracting part of a Latin service, in honour of St. Denys,
from the “Roman Missal,”[345] wherein the prominent miracle before
alluded to is celebrated in the following words, thus rendered by the
bishop into English.--

    He fell indeed, but presently arose,
    The breathless body finds both feet and way,
    He takes his head in hand, and forward goes,
    Till the directing angels bid him stay.
    Well may the church triumphantly proclaim
    This martyr’s death, and never dying fame.

Several devotional books contain prints representing St. Denys walking
with his head in his hands. One of them, entitled “Le Tableau de la
Croix, represente dans les Ceremonies de la S^{te.} Messe,” consists of
a hundred engravings by J. Collin,[346] and from one of them the “lively
portraiture” of the saint prefixed to this article is taken.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Milky Agaric. _Agaricus lactiflorus._
  Dedicated to _St. Denis_.

  [344] Pinel on Insanity.

  [345] Paris, 1520, folio.

  [346] Imp. a Paris, 4to.


~October 10.~

  _St. Francis Borgia_, A. D. 1572. _St. Paulinus_, Abp. of York, A. D.
  644. _St. John_ of Bridlington, A. D. 1379.


  1825.
  Oxford and Cambridge Terms begin on this day.

AUTUMN.

    There is a fearful spirit busy now.
      Already have the elements unfurled
      Their banners: the great sea-wave is upcurled:
    The cloud comes: the fierce winds begin to blow
      About, and blindly on their errands go;
      And quickly will the pale red leaves be hurled
      From their dry boughs, and all the forest world
    Stripped of its pride, be like a desert show.
    I love that moaning music which I hear
      In the bleak gusts of autumn, for the soul
    Seems gathering tidings from another sphere,
      And, in sublime mysterious sympathy,
      Man’s bounding spirit ebbs and swells more high,
    Accordant to the billow’s loftier roll.[347]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cape Acetris. _Velthemia Viridifolia._
  Dedicated to _St. Francis Borgia_.

  [347] Literary Pocket Book


~October 11.~

  _Sts. Tarachus_, _Probus_, and _Andronicus_, A. D. 304. _St. Gummar_,
  or _Gomar_, A. D. 774. _St. Ethelburge_, or _Edilburge_, A. D. 664.
  _St. Canicus_, or _Kenny_, Abbot in Ireland, A. D. 599.


_St. Ethelburge._

In ancient times, on the festival of this saint, furmity was “an usual
dish.”[348]


~Old Michaelmas Day.~

On this day it was a custom in Hertfordshire for young men to assemble
in the fields and choose a leader, whom they were obliged to follow
through ponds and ditches, “over brake and briar.” Every person they met
was taken up by the arms and bumped, or swung against another. Each
publican furnished a gallon of ale and plum-cake, which was consumed
in the open air. This was a septennial custom and called
_ganging-day_.[349]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Holly. _Ilex aquifolium._
  Dedicated to _St. Ethelburge_.

  [348] Fesbroke’s Ency. of Antiq.

  [349] Brand.


~October 12.~

  _St. Wilfrid_, Bp. of York, A. D. 709.


_Seasonable Work._

Now come the long evenings with devices for amusing them. In the
intervals of recreation there is “work to do.” This word “work” is
significant of an employment which astonishes men, and seems never to
tire the fingers of their industrious helpmates and daughters; except
that, with an expression which we are at a loss to take for either jest
or earnest, because it partakes of each, they now and then exclaim,
“women’s work is never done!” The assertion is not exactly the fact, but
it is not a great way from it. What “man of woman born” ever considered
the quantity of stitches in a shirt without fear that a general mutiny
among females might leave him “without a shirt to his back?” Cannot an
ingenious spinner devise a seamless shirt, with its gussets, and
wristbands, and collar, and selvages as durable as hemming? The immense
work in a shirt is concealed, and yet happily every “better half” prides
herself on thinking that she could never do too much towards making good
shirts for her “good man.” Is it not in his power to relieve her from
some of this labour? Can he not form himself and friends into a “society
of hearts and manufactures,” and get shirts made, as well as washed, by
machinery and steam? These inquiries are occasioned by the following


LETTER FROM A LADY.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

I assure you the _Every-Day Book_ is a great favourite among the ladies;
and therefore, I send for your insertion a calculation, furnished me by
a maiden aunt, of the number of stitches in a plain shirt she made for
her grandfather.

  Stitching the collar, four rows              3,000
  Sewing the ends                                500
  Button-holes, and sewing on buttons            150
  Sewing on the collar and gathering the neck  1,204
  Stitching wristbands                         1,228
  Sewing the ends                                 68
  Button-holes                                   148
  Hemming the slits                              264
  Gathering the sleeves                          840
  Setting on wristbands                        1,468
  Stitching shoulder-straps, three rows each   1,880
  Hemming the neck                               390
  Sewing the sleeves                           2,554
  Setting in sleeves and gussets               3,050
  Taping the sleeves                           1,526
  Sewing the seams                               848
  Setting side gussets                           424
  Hemming the bottom                           1,104
                                              ------
                     Total number of stitches 20,646 in
                   My aunt’s grandfather’s plain shirt,
                       As witness my hand,
                         GERTRUDE GRIZENHOOFE.

  Cottenham,

  Near Cambridge,

  Sept. 1825.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Wavy Fleabane. _Inula undulata._
  Dedicated to _St. Wilfred_.


~October 13.~

  _St. Edward_, King and Confessor, A. D. 1066. _Sts. Faustus_,
  _Januarius_, and _Martialis_, A. D. 304. _Seven Friar Minors_,
  Martyrs, A. D. 1221. _St. Colman_, A. D., 1012. _St. Gerald_, Count of
  Aurillac, or Orilhac, A. D. 909.


~Translation King Edward Confessor.~

This, in the church of England calendar and almanacs, denotes the day to
be a festival to the memory of the removal of his bones or relics, as
they are called by the Roman church, from whence the festival is
derived.


_Corpulency._

On the 13th of October, 1754, died at Stebbing in Essex, Mr. Jacob
Powell. He weighed nearly forty stone, or five hundred and sixty pounds.
His body was above five yards in circumference, and his limbs were in
proportion. He had sixteen men to carry him to his grave.[350]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Smooth Helenium. _Helenium autumnale._
  Dedicated to _St. Edward_.

  [350] Gentleman’s Magazine.


~October 14.~

  _St. Calixtus_, or _Callistus_, Pope, A. D. 222. _St. Donatian_, Bp.
  A. D. 389. _St. Burckard_, 1st Bp. of Wurtsburg, A. D. 752. _St.
  Dominic_, surnamed _Loricatus_, A. D. 1060.


THE YEAR.

The year is now declining; “the sear, the yellow leaf” falls, and “dies
in October.” There is a moral in every thing to moralizing minds; these
indications of wear on the face of the earth, induce moralities on the
use and abuse of time.

       *       *       *       *       *

_The Hare and Tortoise._

      In days of yore, when Time was young,
    When birds convers’d as well as sung,
    When use of speech was not confin’d
    Merely to brutes of human kind,
    A forward hare, of swiftness vain,
    The genius of the neighb’ring plain,
    Would oft deride the drudging crowd:
    For geniuses are ever proud.
    He’d boast, his flight ’twere vain to follow,
    For dog and horse he’d beat them hollow;
    Nay, if he put forth all his strength,
    Outstrip his brethren half a length.

      A tortoise heard his vain oration,
    And vented thus his indignation:
    “Oh puss! it bodes thee dire disgrace,
    When I defy thee to the race.
    Come, ’tis a match, nay, no denial,
    I’ll lay my shell upon the trial.”
    ’Twas done and done, all fair, a bet,
    Judges prepar’d, and distance set.

      The scamp’ring hare outstript the wind,
    The creeping tortoise lagg’d behind,
    And scarce had pass’d a single pole,
    When puss had almost reach’d the goal.
    “Friend tortoise,” quoth the jeering hare,
    “Your burthen’s more than you can bear,
    To help your speed it were as well
    That I should ease you of your shell:
    Jog on a little faster, pr’ythee,
    I’ll take a nap, and then be with thee.”
    So said, so done, and safely sure,
    For say, what conquest more secure?
    Whene’er he walk’d (that’s all that’s in it)
    He could o’ertake him in a minute.

      The tortoise heard his taunting jeer,
    But still resolv’d to persevere,
    Still drawl’d along, as who should say,
    I’ll win, like Fabius, by delay;
    On to the goal securely crept,
    While puss unknowing soundly slept.

      The bets were won, the hare awoke,
    When thus the victor tortoise spoke:
    “Puss, tho’ I own thy quicker parts,
    Things are not always done by starts,
    You may deride my awkward pace,
    But slow and steady wins the race.”

  _Lloyd._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Indian Fleabane. _Inula Indica._
  Dedicated to _St. Calixtus_.


~October 15.~

  _St. Teresa_, Virgin, A. D. 1582. _St. Tecla_, Abbess. _St.
  Hospicius_, or _Hospis_, A. D. 580.


_Scent of Dogs, and Tobacco._

A contemporary kalendarian[351] appears to be an early smoker and a keen
sportsman. He says, “From having constantly amused ourselves with our
pipe early in the morning, we have discovered and are enabled to point
out an almost infallible method of judging of good scent. When the
tobacco smoke seems to hang lazily in the air, scarcely sinking or
rising, or moving from the place where it is emitted from the pipe,
producing at the same time a strong smell, which lasts some time in the
same place after the smoke is apparently dispersed, we may on that day
be sure that the scent will lay well. We have seldom known this rule to
deceive; but it must be remembered that the state of the air will
sometimes change in the course of the day, and that the scent will drop
all of a sudden, and thus throw the hounds all out, and break off the
chase abruptly. For as Sommerville says:--

                 Thus on on the air
    Depend the hunter’s hopes. When ruddy streaks
    At eve forebode a blustering stormy day,
    Or lowering clouds blacken the mountain’s brow,
    When nipping frosts, and the keen biting blasts
    Of the dry parching east, menace the trees
    With tender blossoms teeming, kindly spare
    Thy sleeping pack, in their warm beds of straw
    Low sinking at their ease; listless they shrink
    Into some dark recess, nor hear thy voice
    Thought oft invoked; or haply if thy call
    Rouse up the slumbering tribe, with heavy eyes
    Glazed, lifeless, dull, downward they drop their tails
    Inverted; high on their bent backs erect
    Their pointed bristles stare, or ’<DW41> the tufts
    Of ranker weeds, each stomach-healing plant
    Curious they crop, sick, spiritless, forlorn.
    These inauspicious days, on other cares
    Employ thy precious hours.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet Sultan. _Centaurea moschi._
  Dedicated to _St. Teresa_.

  [351] Dr. Forster.


~October 16.~

  _St. Gall_, Abbot, A. D. 646. _St. Lullus_, or _Lullon_, Abp., A. D.
  787. _St. Mummolin_, or _Mommolin_, Bp. A. D. 665.


CUSTOM AT ESKDALE, YORKSHIRE.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

Ascension-day, whereon there is a remarkable annual custom in
maintenance of a tenure, has passed, but as it originated from a
circumstance on the 16th of October, you can introduce it on that day,
and it will probably be informing as well as amusing to the majority of
readers. The narrative is derived from a tract formerly published at
Whitby. I am, &c.

  WENTANA CIVIS.

On this day in the fifth year of the reign of king Henry II. after the
conquest of England, (1140,) by William, duke of Normandy, the lord of
_Uglebarnby_, then called William de Bruce, the lord of Snaynton, called
Ralph de Percy, and a gentleman freeholder called Allotson, did meet to
hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood or desert, called Eskdale side;
the wood or place did belong to the abbot of the monastery of Whitby in
Yorkshire, who was then called Sedman, and abbot of the said place.

Then, the aforesaid gentlemen did meet with their hounds and boar-staves
in the place aforesaid, and there found a great wild boar; and the
hounds did run him very hard, near the chapel and hermitage of Eskdale
side, where there was a monk of Whitby, who was an hermit; and the boar
being so hard pursued, took in at the chapel door, and there laid him
down, and died immediately, and the hermit shut the hounds out of the
chapel, and kept himself at his meditation and prayers; the hounds
standing at bay without, the gentlemen in the thick of the wood, put
behind their game, in following the cry of the hounds, came to the
hermitage and found the hounds round the chapel; then came the gentlemen
to the door of the chapel, and called on the hermit, who did open the
door, and then they got forth, and within lay the boar dead, for which
the gentlemen, in a fury, because their hounds were put out of their
game, run at the hermit with their boar-staves, whereof he died; then
the gentlemen knowing, and perceiving that he was in peril of death,
took sanctuary at Scarborough; but at that time, the abbot, being in
great favour with the king, did remove them out of the sanctuary,
whereby they became in danger of the law, and not privileged, but like
to have the severity of the law, which was death. But the hermit being a
holy man, and being very sick and at the point of death, sent for the
abbot, and desired him to send for the gentlemen, who had wounded him to
death; so doing, the gentlemen came, and the hermit being sick, said, “I
am sure to die of these wounds:” but the abbot answered, “They shall
die for it,” but the hermit said, “Not so, for I will freely forgive
them my death, if they are content to be enjoined this penalty (penance)
for the safeguard of their souls;” the gentlemen being there present,
bid him enjoin what he would, so he saved their lives: then said the
hermit, “you and yours shall hold your land of the abbot of Whitby, and
his successors in this manner: that upon _Ascension-day Even_, you or
some of you shall come to the wood of _Strayheads_, which is in Eskdale
side, and the same (Ascension-day) at sun rising, and there shall the
officer of the abbot blow his horn, to the intent that you may know how
to find him, and deliver unto you William de Bruce, ten stakes, eleven
street stowers, and eleven yadders, to be cut with a knife of a penny
price; and you Ralph de Percy, shall take one and twenty of each sort,
to be cut in the same manner; and you Allotson, shall take nine of each
sort to be cut as aforesaid, and to be taken on your backs, and carried
to the town of Whitby, and to be there before nine o’clock of the same
day before mentioned; and at the hour of nine o’clock, if it be full
sea, to cease their service, as long as till it be low water, and at
nine o’clock of the same day, each of you shall set your stakes at the
brim of the water, each stake a yard from another, and so yadder them
with your yadders, and to stake them on each side, with street stowers,
that they stand three tides, without removing by the force of the water;
each of you shall make at that hour in every year, except it be full sea
at that hour, which when it shall happen to come to pass, the service
shall cease: you shall do this to remember that you did slay me; and
that you may the better call to God for mercy, repent yourselves, and do
good works. The officer of Eskdale side, shall blow, _Out on you! out on
you! out on you!_ for this heinous crime of yours. If you or your
successors refuse this service, so long as it shall not be a full sea,
at the hour aforesaid, you or your’s shall forfeit all your land to the
abbot or his successors; this I do entreat, that you may have your
lives, and goods for this service, and you to promise by your parts in
heaven, that it shall be done by you and your successors, as it is
aforesaid:” and then the abbot said, “I grant all that you have said,
and will confirm it by the faith of an honest man.” Then the hermit
said, “My soul longeth for the Lord, and I as freely forgive these
gentlemen my death, as Christ forgave the thief upon the cross;” and in
the presence of the abbot and the rest, he said moreover these words,
“_In manus tuas, Domine commendo spiritum meum, à vinculis enim mortis
redimisti me, Domine veritatis_,” (Into thy hands O Lord I recommend my
spirit, for thou hast redeemed me from the bonds of death O Lord of
Truth,) and the abbot and the rest said “_Amen_,” and so yielded up the
ghost the eighth day of December, upon whose soul God have mercy. Anno
Domini, 1160.[352]

N. B. This service is still annually performed.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yarrow. _Achillæ multifolium._
  Dedicated to _St. Gall_.

  [352] Blount by Beckwith.


~October 17.~

  _St. Hedwiges_, or _Avoice_, duchess of Poland, A. D. 1243, _St.
  Anstrudis_, or _Anstru_, A. D. 688. _St. Andrew_ of Crete, A. D. 761.


~St. Etheldreda.~

She was daughter of Annas, king of the East Angles, and born about 630,
at Ixning, formerly a town of note on the western border of Suffolk,
next Cambridgeshire. At Coldingham Abbey, Yorkshire, she took the veil
under Ebba, daughter of king Ethelfrida, an abbess, afterwards
celebrated for having saved herself and her nuns from the outrage of the
Danes by mutilating their faces; the brutal invaders enclosed them in
their convent and destroyed them by fire.

Notwithstanding Etheldreda’s vow to remain a nun, she was twice forced
by her parents to marry, and yet maintained her vow; hence she is
styled, in the Romish breviaries, “twice a widow and always a virgin.”
On the death of her first husband Tonbert, a nobleman of the East
Angles, the isle of Ely became her sole property by jointure, and she
founded a convent, and the convent church there; and for their
maintenance endowed them with the whole island. She married her second
husband Egfrid, king of Northumberland, on the death of Tonbert, in 671,
but persisted in her vow, and died abbess of her convent on the 23d of
June, 679. On the 17th of October, sixteen years afterwards, her relics
were translated, and therefore on this day her festival is commemorated.
In 870, the Danes made a descent on the isle of Ely, destroyed the
convent and slaughtered the inhabitants. By abbreviation her name became
corrupted to Auldrey and Audrey.[353]


_Tawdry--St. Audrey._

As at the annual fair in the isle of Ely, called St. Audrey’s fair,
“much ordinary but showy lace was usually sold to the country lasses,
St. Audrey’s lace soon became proverbial, and from that cause _Taudry_,
a corruption of St. Audrey, was established as a common expression to
denote not only lace, but any other part of female dress, which was much
more gaudy in appearance than warranted by its real quality and value.”
This is the assertion of Mr. Brady, in his “Clavis Calendaria,” who, for
aught that appears to the contrary, gives the derivation of the word as
his own conjecture, but Mr. Archdeacon Nares, in his admirable
“Glossary,” shows the meaning to have been derived from Harpsfield, “an
old English historian,” who refers to the appellation, and “makes St.
Audrey die of a swelling in her throat, which she considered as a
particular judgment, for having been in her youth much addicted to
wearing fine necklaces.” There is not now any grounds to doubt that
_tawdry_ comes from St. Audrey. It was so derived in Dr. Johnson’s
“Dictionary” before Mr. Todd’s edition. Dr. Ash deemed the word of
“uncertain etymology.”


HARES AND SQUIRRELS.

The pleasant correspondent of Mr. Urban, whose account of his squirrels
is introduced on the seventh day of the present month, was induced, by
Mr. Cowper’s experience in the management of his hares, to procure a
_hare_ about three weeks old. “The little creature,” he says, “at first
pined for his dam, and his liberty, and refused food. In a few days I
prevailed with him to take some milk from my lips, and this is still his
favourite method of drinking. Soon after, observing that he greedily
lapped sweet things, I dipped a cabbage-leaf in honey, and thus tempted
him to eat the first solid food he ever tasted. I beg leave to add to Mr
Cowper’s bill of fare, nuts, walnuts, pears, sweet cakes of all kinds,
sea biscuits, sugar, and, above all, apple-pie. Every thing which is
hard and crisp seems to be particularly relished.--The iris of the hare
is very beautiful; it has the appearance of the gills of a young
mushroom, seeming to consist of very delicate fibres, disposed like
radii issuing from a common centre. I shall be glad to be informed by
any person, skilled in anatomy, whether this structure of the iris be
not of use to enable the eye to bear the constant action of the light;
as it is a common opinion that this animal sleeps, even in the day-time,
with its eyes open. I have observed, likewise, that the fur of the hare
is more strongly electrical than the hair of any other animal. If you
apply the point of a finger to his side in frosty weather, the hairs are
immediately strongly attracted towards it from all points, and closely
embrace the finger on every side.”

It should be added from this agreeable writer, as regards the
_squirrel_, that he was much surprised at the great advantage the little
animal derives from his extended tail, which brings his body so nearly
to an equipoise with the air, as to render a leap or fall from the
greatest height perfectly safe to him. “My squirrel has more than once
leaped from the window of the second story, and alighted on stone steps,
or on hard gravel, without suffering any inconvenience. But I should be
glad to have confirmation, from an eye-witness, of what Mr. Pennant
relates on the credit of Linnæus, Klein, Rzaczinski, and Scheffer, viz.
that a squirrel sometimes crosses a river on a piece of bark by way of
boat, using his tail as a sail. Not less astonishing is the undaunted
courage of these little brutes: they seem sometimes resolved to conquer
as it were, by reflection and fortitude, their natural instinctive
fears. I have often known a squirrel tremble and scream at the first
sight of a dog or cat, and yet, within a few minutes, after several
abortive attempts, summon resolution enough to march up and smell at the
very nose of his gigantic enemy. These approaches he always makes by
short abrupt leaps, stamping the ground with his feet as loud as he can;
his whole mien and countenance most ridiculously expressive of ancient
Pistol’s affected valour and intrepidity.”


IN RE SQUIRRELS.

_Be it remembered_, that C. L. comes here and represents his relations;
that is to say, on behalf of the recollections, being the next of kin,
of him, the said C. L., and of sundry persons who are “aye treading” in
the manner of squirrels aforesaid; and thus he saith:--

_For the Every-Day Book._

What is gone with the Cages with the climbing Squirrel and bells to
them, which were formerly the indispensable appendage to the outside of
a Tinman’s shop, and were in fact the only Live Signs? One, we believe,
still hangs out on Holborn; but they are fast vanishing with the good
old modes of our ancestors. They seem to have been superseded by that
still more ingenious refinement of modern humanity--the Tread-mill; in
which _human_ Squirrels still perform a similar round of ceaseless,
improgressive clambering; which must be nuts to them.

We almost doubt the fact of the teeth of this creature being so purely
orange-, as Mr. Urban’s correspondent gives out. One of our old
poets--and they were pretty sharp observers of nature--describes them as
brown. But perhaps the naturalist referred to meant “of the colour of a
Maltese orange,”[354] which is rather more obfuscated than your fruit of
Seville, or Saint Michael’s; and may help to reconcile the difference.
We cannot speak from observation, but we remember at school getting our
fingers into the orangery of one of these little gentry (not having a
due caution of the traps set there), and the result proved sourer than
lemons. The Author of the Task somewhere speaks of their anger as being
“insignificantly fierce,” but we found the demonstration of it on this
occasion quite as significant as we desired; and have not been disposed
since to look any of these “gift horses” in the mouth. Maiden aunts keep
these “small deer” as they do parrots, to bite people’s fingers, on
purpose to give them good advice “not to venture so near the cage
another time.” As for their “six quavers divided into three quavers and
a dotted crotchet,” I suppose, they may go into Jeremy Bentham’s next
budget of Fallacies, along with the “melodious and proportionable kinde
of musicke,” recorded in your last number of another highly gifted
animal.[355]

  C. L.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tenleaved Sunflower. _Helianthus decapetalus._
  Dedicated to _St. Anstrudis_.

  [353] Audley. Brady.

  [354] Fletcher in the “Faithful Shepherdess.”--The Satyr offers to
  Clorin,

          --grapes whose lusty blood
    Is the learned Poet’s good,
    Sweeter yet did never crown
    The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown
    Than the _squirrels’ teeth_ that crack them.----

  [355] Page 1360.


~October 18.~

  _St. Luke the Evangelist_, A. D. 63. _St. Julian Sabus_, 4th Cent.
  _St. Justin._ _St. Monon_, 7th Cent.


~St. Luke.~

The name of this evangelist is in the church of England calendar and
almanacs on this day, which was appointed his festival by the Romish
church in the twelfth century. As a more convenient occasion will occur
for a suitable notice of his history and character, it is deferred till
then. It is presumed that he died about the year 70, in the
eighty-fourth year of his age, having written his gospel about seven or
eight years before.


  CHARLTON FAIR.
  _Commonly called_
  HORN FAIR.

At the pleasant village of Charlton, on the north side of Blackheath,
about eight miles from London, a fair is held annually on St. Luke’s
day. It is called “Horn Fair,” from the custom of carrying horns at it
formerly, and the frequenters still wearing them. A foreigner travelling
in England in the year 1598, mentions horns to have been conspicuously
displayed in its neighbourhood at that early period. “Upon taking the
air down the river (from London), on the left hand lies Ratcliffe, a
considerable suburb. On the opposite shore is fixed a long pole with
rams-horns upon it, the intention of which was vulgarly said to be a
reflection upon wilful and contented cuckolds.”[356] An old newspaper
states, that it was formerly a custom for a procession to go from some
of the inns in Bishopsgate-street, in which were, a king, a queen, a
miller, a counsellor, &c., and a great number of others, with horns in
their hats, to Charlton, where they went round the church three times.
This was accompanied by so many indecencies on Blackheath, such as the
whipping of females with furze, &c., that it gave rise to the proverb of
“all is fair at Horn Fair.”[357] A curious biographical memoir relates
the custom of going to Horn Fair in womens’ clothes. “I remember being
there upon Horn-Fair day, I was dressed in my land-ladie’s best gown and
other women’s attire, and to Horn Fair we went, and as we were coming
back by water, all the cloathes were spoiled by dirty water, &c., that
was flung on us in an inundation, for which I was obliged to present her
with two guineas to make atonement for the damages sustained.”[358] Mr.
Brand, who cites these notices, and observes that Grose mentions this
fair, adds, that “It consists of a riotous mob, who, after a printed
summons dispersed through the adjacent towns, meet at Cuckold’s Point,
near Deptford, and march from thence in procession through that town and
Greenwich to Charlton, with horns of different kinds upon their heads;
and at the fair there are sold rams’ horns, and every sort of toy made
of horn: even the gingerbread figures have horns.” The same recorder of
customs mentions an absurd tradition assigning the origin of this fair
to a grant from king John, which, he very properly remarks, is “too
ridiculous to merit the smallest attention.”

“A sermon,” says Mr. Brand, “is preached at Charlton church on the
fair-day.” This sermon is now discontinued on the festival-day: the
practice was created by a bequest of twenty shillings a year to the
minister of the parish for preaching it.

The horn-bearing at this fair may be conjectured to have originated from
the symbol, accompanying the figure of St. Luke: when he is represented
by sculpture or painting, he is usually in the act of writing, with an
ox or cow by his side, whose horns are conspicuous. These seem to have
been seized by the former inhabitants of Charlton on the day of the
saint’s festival, as a lively mode of sounding forth their rude pleasure
for the holiday. Though most of the painted glass in the windows of the
church was destroyed during the troubles in the time of Charles I., yet
many fragments remain of St. Luke’s ox with wings on his back, and
goodly horns upon his head: indeed, with the exception of two or three
armorial bearings, and a few cherubs’ heads, these figures of St. Luke’s
horned symbol, which escaped destruction, and are carefully placed in
the upper part of the windows, are the only painted glass remaining;
save also, however, that in the east window, there are the head and
shoulders of the saint himself, and the same parts of the figure of
Aaron.

The procession of horns, customary at Charlton fair, has ceased; but
horns still continue to be sold from the lowest to “the best booth in
the fair.” They are chiefly those of sheep, goats, and smaller animals,
and are usually gilt and decorated for their less innocent successors to
these ornaments. The fair is still a kind of carnival or masquerade. On
St. Luke’s-day, 1825, though the weather was unfavourable to the
customary humours, most of the visitors wore masks; several were
disguised in women’s clothes, and some assumed whimsical characters. The
spacious and celebrated Crown and Anchor booth was the principal scene
of their amusements. The fair is now held in a private field: formerly
it was on the green opposite the church, and facing the mansion of sir
Thomas Wilson. The late lady Wilson was a great admirer and patroness of
the fair; the old lady was accustomed to come down with her attendants
every morning during the fair, “and in long order go,” from the steps of
her ancient hall, to without the gates of her court-yard, when the bands
of the different shows hailed her appearance, as a signal to strike up
their melody of discords: Richardson, always pitched his great booth in
front of the house. Latterly, however, the fair has diminished;
Richardson was not there in 1825, nor were there any shows of
consequence. “Horns! horns!” were the customary and chief cry, and the
most conspicuous source of frolic: they were in the hat and bonnet of
almost every person in the rout. A few years ago, it was usual for
neighbouring gentry to proceed thither in their carriages during the
morning to see the sports. The fair lasts three days.

       *       *       *       *       *

One of the pleasantest walks from Greenwich is over Blackheath, along by
the park-wall to Charlton; and from thence after passing through that
village, across Woolwich common and Plumstead common, along green lanes,
over the foot paths of the fields, to the very retired and rural
village of East Wickham, which lies about half a mile on the north side
of Welling, through which is the great London road to Dover. There are
various pleasant views for the lover of cultivated nature, with
occasional fine bursts of the broad flowing Thames. Students in botany
and geology will not find it a stroll, barren of objects in their
favourite sciences.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Floccose Agaric. _Agaricus floccosus._
  Dedicated to _St. Luke, Evangelist_.

  [356] Hentzner.

  [357] Brand.

  [358] Life of Mr. William Fuller, 1703, 12mo.


~October 19.~

  _St. Peter_, of Alcantara, A. D. 1562. _Sts. Ptolemy_, _Lucius_, and
  another, A. D. 166. _St. Frideswide_, patroness of Oxford, 8th Cent.
  _St. Ethbin_, or _Egbin_, Abbot, 6th Cent.

_The Last Rose of Summer._

    ’Tis the last rose of summer,
      Left blooming alone,
    All her lovely companions
      Are faded and gone;
    No flower of her kindred,
      No rosebud is nigh,
    To reflect back her blushes,
      Or give sigh for sigh!

    I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one
      To pine on the stem,
    Since the lovely are sleeping,
      Go sleep thou with them;
    Thus kindly I scatter
      Thy leaves o’er the bed,
    Where thy mates of the garden
      Lie scentless and dead.

    So soon may I follow,
      When friendships decay,
    And from love’s shining circle
      The gems drop away!
    When true hearts lie withered,
      And fond ones are flown,
    Oh! who would inhabit
      This bleak world alone?

  _Moore._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tall Tickseed. _Coreopsis procosa._
  Dedicated to _St. Frideswide_.


~October 20.~

  _St. Artemius_, A. D. 362. _St. Barsabias_, Abbot, and others, A. D.
  342. _St. Zenobius_, Bp. _St. Sindulphus_, or _St. Sendou_, 7th Cent.
  _St. Adian_, Bp. of Mayo, A. D. 768.


_Migration of Birds._

Woodcocks have now arrived. In the autumn and setting in of winter they
keep dropping in from the Baltic singly, or in pairs, till December.
They instinctively land in the night, or in dark misty weather, for they
are never seen to arrive, but are frequently discovered the next morning
in any ditch which affords them shelter, after the extraordinary fatigue
occasioned by the adverse gales which they often have to encounter in
their aërial voyage. They do not remain near the shores longer than a
day, when they are sufficiently recruited to proceed inland, and they
visit the very same haunts which they left the preceding season. In
temperate weather they retire to mossy moors, and high bleak mountainous
parts; but as soon as the frost sets in, and the snows begin to fall,
they seek lower and warmer situations, with boggy grounds and springs,
and little oozing mossy rills, which are rarely frozen, where they
shelter in close bushes of holly and furze, and the brakes of woody
glens, or in dells which are covered with underwood: here they remain
concealed during the day, and remove to different haunts and feed only
in the night. From the beginning of March to the end of that month, or
sometimes to the middle of April, they all keep drawing towards the
coasts, and avail themselves of the first fair wind to return to their
native woods.--The snipe, _scolopax gallinago_, also comes now, and
inhabits similar situations. It is migratory, and met with in all
countries: like the woodcock, it shuns the extremes of heat and cold, by
keeping upon the bleak moors in summer, and seeking the shelter of the
valleys in winter. In unfrozen boggy places, runners from springs, or
any open streamlets of water, they are often found in considerable
numbers.[359]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yellow Sultan. _Centaurea suavcolens._
  Dedicated to _St. Artemius_.

  [359] Dr. Forster’s Perennial Calendar.


~October 21.~

  _Sts. Ursula_, and her Companions, 5th Cent. _St. Hilarion_, Abbot, A.
  D. 371. _St. Fintan_, or _Munnu_, Abbot, in Ireland, A. D. 634.


THE SEASON.

After a harvest with a good barley crop, a few minutes may be seasonably
amused by a pleasant ballad.

_John Barleycorn._

    There went three kings into the east,
      Three kings both great and high,
    An’ they ha’ sworn a solemn oath
      John Barleycorn should die.

    They took a plough and plough’d him down,
      Put clods upon his head,
    And they hae sworn a solemn oath
      John Barleycorn was dead.

    But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
      And show’rs began to fall;
    John Barleycorn got up again,
      And sore surpris’d them all.

    The sultry suns of summer came,
      And he grew thick and strong,
    His head weel arm’d wi’ pointed spears,
      That no one should him wrong.

    The sober autumn enter’d mild,
      When he grew wan and pale;
    His bending joints and drooping head
      Show’d he began to fail.

    His colour sicken’d more and more,
      He faded into age;
    And then his enemies began
      To show their deadly rage.

    They’ve taen a weapon, long and sharp,
      And cut him by the knee;
    Then ty’d him fast upon a cart,
      Like a rogue for forgerie.

    They laid him down upon his back,
      And cudgell’d him full sore;
    They hung him up before the storm,
      And turn’d him o’er and o’er.

    They filled up a darksome pit
      With water to the brim,
    They heaved in John Barleycorn,
      There let him sink or swim.

    They laid him out upon the floor,
      To work him farther woe,
    And still as signs of life appear’d,
      They toss’d him to and fro.

    They wasted, o’er a scorching flame,
      The marrow of his bones;
    But a miller us’d him worst of all,
      For he crush’d him between two stones.

    And they hae ta’en his very heart’s blood,
      And drank it round and round;
    And still the more and more they drank,
      Their joy did more abound.

    John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
      Of noble enterprise,
    For if you do but taste his blood,
      ’Twill make your courage rise.

    ’Twill make a man forget his woe,
      ’Twill heighten all his joy:
    ’Twill make the widow’s heart to sing
      Tho’ the tear were in her eye.

    Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
      Each man a glass in hand;
    And may his great posterity
      Ne’er fail in old Scotland!

  _Burns._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Hairy Silphium. _Silphium asteriscus._
  Dedicated to _St. Ursula_.


~October 22.~

  _St. Philip_, Bp. of Heraclea, and others, A. D. 304. _Sts. Nunilo_
  and _Alodia_, A. D. 840. _St. Donatus_, Bp. of Fiesoli, in Tuscany, A.
  D. 816. _St. Mello_, or _Melanius_, 4th Cent. _St. Mark_, Bp. A. D.
  156.


_St. Mark, Bishop of Jerusalem._

The two first bishops of Jerusalem were “the apostle St. James and his
brother St. Simeon; thirteen bishops who succeeded them were of the
Jewish nation.” Upon an edict of the emperor Adrian, prohibiting all
Jews from coming to Jerusalem, Mark, being a Gentile Christian, was
chosen bishop of the Christians in that city, and was their first
Gentile bishop. He is said to have been martyred in 156.[360]


THE SEASON.

They who think the affections are always in season, may not deem these
lines out of season.

TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION.

_To a Mother._

    In the sweet “days of other years,”
    When o’er my cradle first thy tears
    Were blended with maternal fears,
      And anxious doubts for me;
    How often rose my lisping prayer,
    That heav’n a mother’s life would spare,
    Who watch’d with such incessant care,
      My helpless infancy.

    Those happy hours are past away,
    Yet fain I’d breathe an artless lay,
    To greet my mother this blest day,
      For oh! it gave thee birth;
    Hope whispers that it will be dear,
    As seraph’s music to thine ear,
    That thou wilt hallow with a tear,
      This tribute to thy worth.

    And thy approving voice would be
    More sweet--more welcome far to me
    Than greenest wreaths of minstrelsy,
      Pluck’d from the muses’ bowers;
    And round this lowly harp of mine,
    I’d rather that a hand like thine,
    One simple garland should entwine,
      Than amaranthine flowers.

    My childish griefs were hush’d to rest,
    Those lips on mine fond kisses prest,
    Those arms my feeble form carest,
      When few a thought bestow’d--
    When sickness threw its venom’d dart,
    My pillow was thy aching heart--
    Thy gentle looks could joy impart,
      With angel love they glow’d.

    This world is but a troubled sea,
    And rude its billows seem to me;
    Yet my frail bark must shipwreck’d be,
      Ere I forget such friend;
    Or send an orison on high,
    That begs not blessings from the sky,
    That heav’n will hear a daughter’s sigh,
      And long thy life defend.

       *       *       *       *       *

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Three-leaved Silphium. _Silphium trifoliatum._
  Dedicated to _St. Nunilo_.

  [360] Butler.


~October 23.~

  _St. Theodoret_, A. D. 362. _St. Romanus_, Abp. of Rouen, A. D. 639.
  _St. John Capistran_, A. D. 1456. _St. Ignatius_, Patriarch of
  Constantinople, A. D. 878. _St. Severin_, Abp. of Cologne, A. D. 400.
  _Another St. Severin._


_St. Severin._

The annals of the saints are confused. St. Severin, Abp. of Cologne, is
famous in the history of the church: by him, his own diocese, and that
of Tongres, “was purged from the venom of the Arian heresy, about the
year 390.” He “knew by revelation the death and glory of St. Martin at
the time of his departure,” and died about 400. So says Butler, who
immediately begins with “_Another St. Severin_ or _Surin_, patron of
Bourdeaux,” said by some “to have come to Bourdeaux from some part of
the east;” and by others, to have been “the same with the foregoing
archbishop of Cologne.” It is difficult to make a distinction when we
find “two single gentlemen rolled into one.” Whether one or two is of
little consequence perhaps: their biographers were miraculists. He of
Cologne led “an angelical life,” according to Butler, who adds, that
“his life wrote by Fortunatus is the best:” the latter biographer
achieved as great marvels with his pen, as his namesake with his
wishing-cap.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Rushy Starwort. _Aster junicus._
  Dedicated to _St. Theodoret_.


~October 24.~

  _St. Proclus_, Abp. of Constantinople, A. D. 447. _St. Felix_, A. D.
  303. _St. Magloire_, A. D. 575.


_St. Proclus._

Besides his other perfections he was a queller of earthquakes. Butler
instances that “Theophanes, and other Greek historians, tell us that a
child was taken up into the air, and heard angels singing the Trisagion,
or triple doxology,” which is “in the preface of the mass;” and that
therefore St. Proclus “taught the people to sing it:” he says that “it
is at least agreed, that on their singing it the earthquakes ceased.”
Butler represents the style of this father to be “full of lively witty
turns, more proper to please and delight than to move the heart.” Twenty
of his homilies were published at Rome in 1630, whereof “the first,
fifth, and sixth are upon the blessed Virgin Mary, whose title of Mother
of God,” says Butler, “he justly extols.” He wrote upon mysterious
theology and the church festivals, and was a great disputant.

       *       *       *       *       *

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Zigzag Starwort. _Aster flexuosus._
  Dedicated to _St. Proclus_.


~October 25.~

  _Sts. Crysanthus_ and _Daria_, 3rd Cent. _Sts. Crispin_ and
  _Crispinian_, A. D. 287. _St. Gaudentius_ of Brescia, A. D. 420. _St.
  Boniface_ I. Pope, A. D. 422.


~Crispin.~

The name of this saint is in the church of England calendar and the
almanacs, why Crispinian’s is disjoined from it we are not informed.


[Illustration: ~St. Crispin and St. Crispinian~

=_PATRONS OF THE GENTLE CRAFT._=]

    “Our shoes were sow’d with merry notes,
      And by our mirth expell’d all moan;
    Like nightingales, from whose sweet throats
      Most pleasant tunes are nightly blown;
          The Gentle Craft is fittest then
          For poor distressed gentlemen!”

  _St. Hugh’s Song._

This representation of St. Crispin and St. Crispinian at their seat of
work, is faithfully copied from an old engraving of the same size by H.
David. Every body knows that they were shoemakers, and patrons of that
“art, trade, mystery, calling, or occupation,” in praise whereof, when
properly exercised, too much cannot be said. Now for a word or two
concerning these saints. To begin seriously, we will recur to the tenth
volume of the “Lives of the Saints,” by “the Rev. Alban Butler,” where,
on the 504th page, we find St. Crispin and St. Crispinian called “two
glorious martyrs,” and are told that they came from Rome to preach at
Soissons, in France, “towards the middle of the third century, and, in
imitation of St. Paul, worked with their hands in the night, making
shoes, though they were said to have been nobly born and brothers.” They
converted many to the Christian faith, till a complaint was lodged
against them before Rictius Varus, “the most implacable enemy of the
Christian name,” who had been appointed governor by the emperor Maximian
Herculeus. Butler adds, that “they were victorious over this most
inhuman judge, by the patience and constancy with which they bore the
most cruel torments, and finished their course by the sword about the
year 287.” In the sixth century a great church was built to their honour
at Soissons, and their shrine was richly ornamented. These are all the
circumstances that Butler relates concerning these popular saints: most
unaccountably he does not venture a single miracle in behalf of the good
name and reputation of either.

       *       *       *       *       *

On _Crispin’s-day_, in the year 1415, the battle of Agincourt was fought
between the English, under king Henry V., and the French, under the
constable d’Albret. The French had “a force,” says Hume, “which, if
prudently conducted, was sufficient to trample down the English in the
open field.” They had nearly a hundred thousand cavalry. The English
force was only six thousand men at arms, and twenty-four thousand foot,
mostly archers. The constable of France had selected a strong position
in the fields in front of the village of Agincourt. Each lord had
planted his banner on the spot which he intended to occupy during the
battle. The night was cold, dark, and rainy, but numerous fires lighted
the horizon; while bursts of laughter and merriment were repeatedly
heard from the soldiery, who spent their time in revelling and debate
around their banners, discussing the probable events of the next day,
and fixing the ransom of the English king and his barons. No one
suspected the possibility of defeat, and yet no one could be ignorant
that they lay in the vicinity of the field of Cressy. In that fatal
field, and in the equally fatal field of Poictiers, the French had been
the assailants: the French determined therefore, on the present
occasion, to leave that dangerous honour to the English. To the army of
Henry, wasted with disease, broken with fatigue, and weakened by the
privations of a march through a hostile country in the presence of a
superior force,--this was a night of hope and fear, of suspense and
anxiety. They were men who had staked their lives on the event of the
approaching battle, and spent the intervening moments in making their
wills, and in attending the exercises of religion. Henry sent his
officers to examine the ground by moon-light, arranged the operations of
the next day, ordered bands of music to play in succession during the
night, and before sun-rise summoned his troops to attend at matins and
mass: from thence he led them to the field.

His archers, on whom rested his principal hope, he placed in front;
beside his bow and arrows, his battle-axe or sword, each bore on his
shoulder a long stake sharpened at both extremities, which he was
instructed to fix obliquely before him in the ground, and thus oppose a
rampart of pikes to the charge of the French cavalry. Many of these
archers had stripped themselves naked; the others had bared their arms
and breasts that they might exercise their limbs with more ease and
execution: their well-earned reputation in former battles, and their
savage appearance this day struck terror into their enemies. Henry
himself appeared on a grey palfrey in a helmet of polished steel,
surmounted by a crown sparkling with jewels, and wearing a surcoat
whereon were emblazoned in gold the arms of England and France. Followed
by a train of led horses, ornamented with the most gorgeous trappings,
he rode from banner to banner cheering and exhorting the men. The French
were drawn up in the same order, but with this fearful disparity in
point of number, that while the English files were but four, theirs were
thirty deep. In their lines were military engines or cannon to cast
stones into the midst of the English. The French force relatively to the
English was as seven or six to one. When Henry gave the word, “Banners
advance!” the men shouted and ran towards the enemy, until they were
within twenty paces, and then repeated the shout; this was echoed by a
detachment which immediately issuing from its concealment in a meadow
assailed the left flank of the French while the archers ran before their
stakes, discharged their arrows, and then retired behind their rampart.
To break this formidable body, a select battalion of eight hundred men
at arms had been appointed by the constable; only seven score of these
came into action; they were quickly slain, while the others unable to
face the incessant shower of arrows, turned their vizors aside, and lost
the government of their horses, which, frantic with pain, plunged back
in different directions into the close ranks. The archers seizing the
opportunity occasioned by this confusion, slung their bows behind them,
and bursting into the mass of the enemy, with their sword and battle
axes, killed the constable and principal commanders, and routed the
first division of the army. Henry formed the archers again, and charged
the second division for two hours in a bloody and doubtful contest,
wherein Henry himself was brought on his knees by the mace of one of
eighteen French knights who had bound themselves to kill or take him
prisoner: he was rescued by his guards, and this second division was
ultimately destroyed. The third shared the same fate, and resistance
having ceased, Henry traversed the field with his barons, while the
heralds examined the arms and numbered the bodies of the slain. Among
them were eight thousand knights and esquires, more than a hundred
bannerets, seven counts, the three dukes of Brabant, Bar, and Alençon,
and the constable and admiral of France. The loss of the conquerors
amounted to no more than sixteen hundred men, with the earl of Suffolk
and the duke of York, who perished fighting by the king’s side, and had
an end more honourable than his life. Henry became master of fourteen
thousand prisoners, the most distinguished of whom were the dukes of
Orleans and Bourbon, and the counts of Eu, Vendome, and Richmond. As
many of the slain as it was possible to recognise were buried in the
nearest churches, or conveyed to the tombs of their ancestors. The rest,
to the number of five thousand eight hundred, were deposited in three
long and deep pits dug in the field of battle. This vast cemetery was
surrounded by a strong enclosure of thorns and trees, which pointed out
to succeeding generations the spot, where the resolution of a few
Englishmen triumphed over the impetuous but ill-directed valour of their
numerous enemies. Henry returned to England by way of Dover: the crowd
plunged into the waves to meet him: and the conqueror was carried in
their arms from his vessel to the beach. The road to London exhibited
one triumphal procession. The lords, commons, and clergy, the mayor,
aldermen, and citizens, conducted him into the capital: tapestry,
representing the deeds of his ancestors, lined the walls of the houses:
pageants were erected in the streets: sweet wines ran in the conduits:
bands of children tastefully arrayed sang his praise: and the whole
population seemed intoxicated with joy.--_Lingard._

This memorable achievement on _Crispin’s-day_ is immortalized by
Shakspeare, in a speech that he assigns to Henry V. before the battle.

    This day is called--the feast of Crispian:
    He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
    Will stand a-tip-toe when this day is named,
    And rouse him at the name of Crispian:
    He, that shall live this day, and see old age,
    Will yearly, on the vigil, feast his friends,
    And say,--To-morrow is St. Crispian:
    Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars.
    Old men forget; yet shall not all forget,
    But they’ll remember, with advantages,
    What feats they did that day: Then shall our names,
    Familiar in their mouth as household words,--
    Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
    Warwick, and Talbot, Salisbury, and Glo’ster,--
    Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered:
    This story shall the good man teach his son:
    And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
    From this day to the ending of the world,
    But we in it shall be remembered:
    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
    For he to-day that sheds his blood with me,
    Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
    This day shall gentle his condition:
    And gentlemen in England, now abed,
    Shall think themselves accursed they were not here;
    And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks
    That fought with us upon St. Crispin’s day.

       *       *       *       *       *

In “Times Telescope” for 1816, it is observed, that “the shoemakers of
the present day are not far behind their predecessors, in the manner of
keeping St. Crispin. From the highest to the lowest it is a day of
feasting and jollity. It is also, we believe, observed as a festival
with the corporate body of cordwainers, or shoemakers, of London, but
without any sort of _procession_ on the occasion,--except the
_proceeding_ to a _good_ tavern to partake of a good dinner, and drink
the _pious memory_ of St. Crispin.”

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 29th of July, 1822, the cordwainers of Newcastle held a
coronation of their patron St. Crispin, and afterwards walked in
procession through the several streets of that town. The coronation took
place in the court of the Freemen’s Hospital, at the Westgate, at eleven
o’clock; soon after twelve, the procession moved forward through the
principal streets of that town and Gateshead, and finally halted at the
sign of the Chancellor’s-head, in Newgate-street, where the members of
the trade partook of a dinner provided for the occasion. A great number
of people assembled to witness the procession, as there had not been a
similar exhibition since the year 1789.[361]

       *       *       *       *       *

The emperor Charles V. being curious to know the sentiments of his
meanest subjects concerning himself and his administration, often went
incog. and mixed himself in such companies and conversation as he
thought proper. One night at Brussels, his boot requiring immediate
mending, he was directed to a cobbler. Unluckily, it happened to be St.
Crispin’s holiday, and, instead of finding the cobbler inclined for
work, he was in the height of his jollity among his acquaintance. The
emperor acquainted him with what he wanted, and offered him a handsome
gratuity.--“What, friend!” says the fellow, “do you know no better than
to ask one of our craft to work on St. Crispin? Was it Charles himself,
I’d not do a stitch for him now; but if you’ll come in and drink St.
Crispin, do and welcome: we are as merry as the emperor can be.” The
emperor accepted the offer: but while he was contemplating their rude
pleasure, instead of joining in it, the jovial host thus accosts
him:--“What, I suppose you are some courtier politician or other, by
that contemplative phiz; but be you who or what you will, you are
heartily welcome:--drink about--here’s Charles the Fifth’s
health.”--“Then you love Charles the Fifth?” replied the emperor.--“Love
him!” says the son of Crispin; “ay, ay, I love his long-noseship well
enough; but I should love him much better would he but tax us a little
less; but what have we to do with politics? round with the glasses, and
merry be our hearts.” After a short stay, the emperor took his leave,
and thanked the cobbler for his hospitable reception. “That,” cried he,
“you are welcome to; but I would not have dishonoured St. Crispin to-day
to have worked for the emperor.” Charles, pleased with the good nature
and humour of the man, sent for him next morning to court. You must
imagine his surprise to see and hear his late guest was his sovereign:
he feared his joke upon his long nose must be punished with death. The
emperor thanked him for his hospitality, and, as a reward for it, bade
him ask for what he most desired, and take the whole night to settle his
surprise and his ambition. Next day he appeared, and requested that, for
the future, the cobblers of Flanders might bear for their arms a boot
with the emperor’s crown upon it. That request was granted, and, as his
ambition was so moderate, the emperor bade him make another. “If,” says
he, “I am to have my utmost wishes, command that, for the future, the
company of cobblers shall take place of the company of shoemakers.” It
was, accordingly, so ordained; and, to this day, there is to be seen a
chapel in Flanders, adorned with a boot and imperial crown on it: and in
all processions, the company of cobblers takes precedence of the company
of shoemakers.[362]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Fleabane Starwort. _Aster Conizoides._
  Dedicated to _St. Crispin_.

  Meagre Starwort. _Aster miser._
  Dedicated to _St. Crispinian_.

  [361] Sykes’s Local Records.

  [362] European Magazine, vol. xl.


~October 26.~

  _St. Evaristus_, Pope, A. D. 112. _Sts. Lucian_ and _Marcian_, A. D.
  250.

It is noticed by Dr. Forster, that in a mild autumn late grapes now
ripen on the vines, and that the gathering of the very late sorts of
apples, and of winter pears, still continues: these latter fruits, like
those of the earlier year, are to be laid up in the loft to complete
their process of ripening, which, except in a few sorts, is seldom
completed on the trees.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Late Golden Rod. _Solidago petiolaris._
  Dedicated to _St. Evaristus_.


~October 27.~

  _St. Frumentius_, Apostle of Ethiopia, 4th Cent. _St. Elesbaan_, King
  of Ethiopia, A. D. 527. _St. Abban_, Abbot in Ireland, 6th. Cent.

Evelyn says, “the loppings and leaves of the elm, dried in the sun,
prove a great relief to cattle when fodder is dear, and will be
preferred to oats by the cattle.” The Herefordshire people, in his time,
gathered them in sacks for this purpose, and for their swine.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Floribund Starwort. _Aster floribundus._
  Dedicated to _St. Frumentius_.


~October 28.~

  _St. Simon_, the Zealot, Apostle. _St. Jude_, Apostle. _St. Faro_, Bp.
  of Meaux, A. D. 672. _St. Neot_, A. D. 877.


~St. Simon and St. Jude.~

A festival to these apostles is maintained on this day in the church of
England, whereon also it is celebrated by the church of Rome; hence
their names in our almanacs.

_Simon_ is called the Canaanite, either from Cana the place of his
birth, or from his having been of a hot and sprightly temper. He
remained with the other apostles till after pentecost, and is imagined
on slight grounds to have preached in Britain, and there been put to
death. _Jude_, or Judas, also called _Thaddeus_ and _Libbius_, was
brother to James the brother to Christ, (Matt. xiii. 55.) Lardner
imagines he was the son of Joseph by a former wife. Some presume that he
suffered martyrdom in Persia, but this is doubtful.[363]

       *       *       *       *       *

This anniversary was deemed as rainy as St. Swithin’s. A character in
the “Roaring Girl,” one of Dodsley’s old plays, says, “as well as I know
’twill rain upon Simon and Jude’s day:” and afterwards, “now a continual
Simon and Jude’s rain beat all your feathers as flat down as pancakes.”
Hollinshed notices that on the eve of this day in 1536, when a battle
was to have been fought between the troops of Henry VIII., and the
insurgents in Yorkshire, there fell so great a rain that it could not
take place. In the Runic calendar, the day is marked by a ship because
these saints were fishermen.[364]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Late Chrysanthemum. _Chrysanthemum scrotinum._
  Dedicated to _St. Simon_.
  Scattered Starwort. _Aster passiflorus._
  Dedicated to _St. Jude_.

  [363] Audley.

  [364] Brand.


~October 29.~

  _St. Narcissus_, Bp. of Jerusalem. 2d Cent. _St. Chef_, in latin
  _Theuderius_, Abbot, A. D. 575.


_New Literary Institution, in 1825._

At this period, active measures were adopted in London for forming a
“_Western Literary and Scientific Institution_,” for persons engaged in
commercial and professional pursuits; its objects being 1. The
establishment of a library of reference and circulation, and rooms for
reading and conversation. 2. The formation of the members into classes,
to assist them in the acquisition of ancient and modern languages. 3.
The delivery of lectures in literature and science. This is an
undertaking fraught with advantages, especially to young men whose
situations do not permit them convenient access to means of instruction
within the reach of their employers, many of whom may be likewise
bettered by its maturity. The mechanics had an excellent “institution,”
while persons, who, engaged in promoting general business, and meriting
equal regard, remained without the benefit which growing intelligence
offers to all who have industry and inclination sufficient to devise
methods for reaching it. Other institutions have arisen, and are rapidly
arising, for equally praiseworthy purposes.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Green Autumnal Narcissus. _Narcissus viridiflorus._
  Dedicated to _St. Narcissus_, Bp.


~October 30.~

  _St. Marcellus_, the Centurion, A. D. 298. _St. Germanus_, Bp. of
  Capua, A. D. 540. _St. Asterius_, Bp. of Amasea in Pontus, A. D. 400.


ST. KATHARINE’S BY THE TOWER.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

  _Oct._ 29, 1825.

The ancient and beautiful collegiate church of St. Katharine finally
closes tomorrow, previous to its demolition by the St. Katharine’s dock
company. The destruction of an edifice of such antiquity, one of the
very few that escaped the great fire of 1666, has excited much public
attention. I hope, therefore, that the subject will not be lost sight of
in your _Every-Day Book_. Numbers of the nobility and gentry, who,
notwithstanding an earnest appeal was made to them, left the sacred pile
to its fate, have lately visited it. In fact, for the beauty and
simplicity of its architecture, it has scarcely a rival in London,
excepting the Temple church: the interior is ornamented with various
specimens of ancient carving; a costly monument of the duke of Exeter,
and various others of an interesting kind. This interesting fabric has
been sacrificed by the present chapter, consisting of the master, sir
Herbert Taylor, three brethren chaplains, and three sisters, to a new
dock company, who have no doubt paid them handsomely for sanctioning the
pulling down of the church, the violation of the graves, and the turning
of hundreds of poor deserving people out of their homes; their plea is,
that they have paid the chapter. I hope, sir, you will pardon the
liberty I have taken in troubling you with these particulars; and that
you will not forget poor Old Kate, deserted as she is by those whose
duty it was to have supported her.

  I remain,

  Your obedient servant,

  A NATIVE OF THE PRECINCT.

P.S. There is no more occasion for these docks than for one at the foot
of Ludgate-hill.

       *       *       *       *       *

The purpose of this correspondent may be answered, perhaps, by
publishing his well-founded lamentation over the final dissolution of
his church; his call upon me could not be declined. I did not get his
note till the very hour that the service was commencing, and hurried
from Ludgate-hill to the ancient “collegiate church of St. Katharine’s
by the Tower,” where I arrived just before the conclusion of prayers.
Numbers unable to get accommodation among the crowd within, were coming
from the place; but “where there’s a will there’s a way,” and I
contrived to gain a passage to the chancel, and was ultimately conducted
to a seat in a pew just as the rev. R. R. Bailey, resident chaplain of
the tower, ascended the curious old pulpit of this remarkable structure.
This gentleman, whose “History of the Tower” is well known to
topographers and antiquaries, appropriately selected for his text, “Go
to now, ye that say, to-day or to-morrow we will go into such a city,
and continue there a year, and buy and sell and get gain.” (James iv.
13.) He discoursed of the frailty of man’s purpose, and the insecurity
of his institutions, and enjoined hope and reliance on Him whose order
ordained and preserves the world in its mutations. He spoke of the
“unfeeling and encroaching hand of commerce,” which had rudely seized on
the venerable fabric, wherein no more shall be said--

    “Lord, how delightful ’tis to see,
    A whole assembly worship thee.”

To some of the many present the building was endeared by locality, and
its burial ground was sacred earth. Yet from thence the bones of their
kindred were to be expelled, and the foundations of the edifice swept
away. For eight centuries the site had been undisturbed, save for the
reception of the departed from the world--for him whose friends claimed
that there “the servant should be free from his master,” or for the
opulent, who, in his end, was needy as the needy, and required only “a
little, little grave.” Yet the very chambers of the dead were to be
razed, and the remains of mortality dispersed, and a standing water was
to be in their stead. The preacher, in sad remembrance, briefly, but
strongly, touched on the coming demolition of the fane, and there were
those among the congregation who deeply sorrowed. On the features of an
elderly inhabitant opposite to me, there was a convulsive twitching,
while, with his head thrown back, he watched the preacher’s lips, and
the big tear sprung from his eyes; and the partner of his long life
leaned forward and wept; the bosoms of their daughters rose and fell in
grief; matrons and virgins sobbed; manly hearts were swollen, and strong
men were bowed.

After the sermon “sixty poor children of the precinct,” for whose
benefit it was preached--it was the last office that could be celebrated
there in their behalf--sung a hymn to the magnificent organ, which, on
the morrow, was to be pulled down. They choralled in tender tones--

    “Great God, O! hear our humble song,
       An off’ring to thy praise,
     O! guard our tender youth from wrong,
       And keep us in thy ways!”

These were the offspring of a neighbourhood of ill fame, whence, by
liberal hands, they had been plucked and preserved as brands from the
burning fire. It seemed as though they were about to be scattered from
the fold wherein they had been folded and kept.

While the destruction of this edifice was contemplated, the purpose gave
rise to remonstrance; but resistance was quelled by the applications,
which are usually successful in such cases. “An Earnest Appeal to the
Lords and Commons in Parliament, by a Clergyman,” was ineffectually
printed and circulated with the hope of preventing the act. This little
tract says:--

“The collegiate body to whom the church and precinct pertain, and who
have not _always_ been so insensible to the nobler principles they now
abandon, owe their origin to Maud, wife of king Stephen--their present
constitution to Eleanor, wife of king Henry III.--and their exemption
from the general dissolution in the time of Henry VIII. to the
attractions (it is said) of Anne Boleyn. The queens’ consort have from
the first been patronesses, and on a vacancy of the crown matrimonial,
the kings of England. The fabric for which, in default of its retained
advocates, I have ventured now to plead, is of the age of king Edward
III., lofty and well-proportioned, rich in ancient carving, adorned with
effigies of a Holland, a Stafford, a Montacute, all allied to the blood
royal, and in spite of successive mutilations is well able to plead for
itself: surely then, for its own sake, as well as for the general
interests involved in its preservation, it is not too much to ask, that
it may, at least, be confronted with those who wish its
destruction--that its obscure location may not cause its condemnation
unseen--that no one will pass sentence who has not visited the spot, and
that, having so done, he will suffer the unbiassed dictates of his own
heart to decide.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Mixen Agaric. _Agaricus fimetarius._
  Dedicated to _St. Marcellus_.


~October 31.~

  _St. Quintin_, A. D. 287. _St. Wolfgang_, Bp. of Ratisbon, A. D. 994.
  _St. Foillan_, A. D. 655.


  ALLHALLOW EVEN;
  or,
  HALLOW E’EN.

Respecting this, which is the vigil of All Saints-day, Mr. Brand has
collected many notices of customs; to him therefore we are indebted for
the following particulars:--

On this night young people in the north of England dive for apples, or
catch at them, when stuck upon one end of a kind of hanging beam, at the
other extremity of which is fixed a lighted candle. This they do with
their mouths only, their hands being tied behind their backs. From the
custom of flinging nuts into the fire, or cracking them with their
teeth, it has likewise obtained the name of _nutcrack night_. In an
ancient illuminated missal in Mr. Douce’s collection, a person is
represented balancing himself upon a pole laid across two stools; at the
end of the pole is a lighted candle, from which he is endeavouring to
light another in his hand, at the risk of tumbling into a tub of water
placed under him. A writer, about a century ago, says, “This is the last
day of October, and the birth of this packet is partly owing to the
affair of _this night_. I am alone; but the servants having demanded
_apples_, _ale_, and _nuts_, I took the opportunity of running back my
own annals of _Allhallows Eve_; for you are to know, my lord, that I
have been a mere adept, a most famous artist, both in the college and
country, on occasion of _this anile, chimerical solemnity_.”[365]

Pennant says, that the young women in Scotland determine the figure and
size of their husbands by _drawing cabbages blind-fold_ on Allhallow
Even, and, like the English, _fling nuts into the fire_. It is mentioned
by Burns, in a note to his poem on “Hallow E’en,” that “The first
ceremony of Hallow E’en is pulling each a stock or plant of kail. They
must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet
with. Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the
size and shape of the grand object of all their spells--the husband or
wife. If any _yird_, or earth, stick to the root, that is _tocher_, or
fortune; and the taste of the _custoc_, that is the heart of the stem,
is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems,
or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the _runts_, are placed
somewhere above the head of the door; and the christian names of the
people whom chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority
of placing the _runts_, the names in question.” It appears that the
Welsh have “a play in which the youth of both sexes seek for an
even-leaved sprig of the ash: and the first of either sex that finds
one, calls out Cyniver, and is answered by the first of the other that
succeeds; and these two, if the omen fails not, are to be joined in
wedlock.”[366]

Burns says, that “Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the
lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and
accordingly as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one
another, the course and issue of the courtship will be.” It is to be
noted, that in Ireland, when the young women would know if their lovers
are faithful, they put three nuts upon the bars of the grates, naming
the nuts after the lovers. If a nut cracks or jumps, the lover will
prove unfaithful; if it begins to blaze or burn, he has a regard for the
person making the trial. If the nuts, named after the girl and her
lover, burn together, they will be married. This sort of divination is
also in some parts of England at this time. Gay mentions it in his
“Spell:”--

    “Two hazel nuts I threw into the flame,
    And to each nut I gave a sweet-heart’s name:
    This with _the loudest bounce_ me sore amaz’d,
    That in a _flame of brightest colour_ blaz’d;
    As _blaz’d the nut_, so _may thy passion grow_,
    For t’was thy nut that did so brightly glow!”

There are some lines by Charles Graydon, Esq.--“On Nuts burning,
Allhallows Eve.”

    “These glowing nuts are emblems true
    Of what in human life we view;
    The ill-match’d couple fret and fume,
    And thus, in strife themselves consume,
    Or, from each other wildly start,
    And with a noise for ever part.
    But see the happy happy pair,
    Of genuine love and truth sincere;
    With mutual fondness, while they burn,
    Still to each other kindly turn:
    And as the vital sparks decay
    Together gently sink away:
    Till life’s fierce ordeal being past.
    Their mingled ashes rest at last.”[367]

Burns says, “the passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part
of the history of human nature, in its rude state, in all ages and
nations; and it maybe some entertainment to a philosophic mind to see
the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.” He gives,
therefore, the principal charms and spells of this night among the
peasantry in the west of Scotland. One of these by young women, is, by
pulling stalks of corn. “They go to the barn yard, and pull, each, at
three several times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the
top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in
question will come to the marriage bed any thing but a maid.” Another is
by the _blue clue_. “Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must
strictly observe these directions: steal out, all alone, to the kiln,
and, darkling, throw into the pot a clew of blue yarn; wind it in a new
clew off the old one; and, towards the latter end, something will hold
the thread; demand, ‘wha hauds?’ _i. e._ who holds? and answer will be
returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the christian and surname of your
future spouse.” A third charm is by eating an apple at a glass. “Take a
candle and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple before it, and some
traditions say, you should comb your hair all the time; the face of your
conjugal companion _to be_, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping
over your shoulder.”

In an appendix to the late Mr. “Pennant’s Tour,” several other very
observable and perfectly new customs of divination on this night are
enumerated. One is to “steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of
hemp-seed, harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after
you. Repeat, now and then, ‘hemp-seed I saw thee, hemp-seed I saw thee;
and him (or her) that is to be my true, come after me and pou thee.’
Look over your left shoulder and you will see the appearance of the
person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say,
‘come after me and shaw thee,’ that is, show thyself; in which case it
simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, ‘come after me and
harrow thee.’”

Another is, “to winn three wechts o’naething.” The wecht is the
instrument used in winnowing corn. “This charm must likewise be
performed unperceived and alone. You go to the barn and open both doors,
taking them off the hinges, if possible: for there is danger that the
_being_, about to appear, may shut the doors and do you some mischief.
Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our
country dialect, we call a _wecht_, and go through all the attitudes of
letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and, the
third time, an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy
door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the
appearance or retinue marking the employment or station in life.”

Then there is “to fathom the stack three times.” “Take an opportunity of
going unnoticed to a _bear stack_ (barley stack), and fathom it three
times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your
arms the appearance of your future conjugal yokefellow.” Another, “to
dip your left shirt sleeve in a burn where three lairds’ lands meet.”
“You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running
spring or rivulet, where ‘three lairds’ lands meet,’ and dip your left
shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve
before it to dry. Lie awake; and some time near midnight, an apparition,
having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and
turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.”

The last is a singular species of divination “with three _luggies_, or
dishes.” “Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in
another, and leave the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to
the hearth where the dishes are ranged: he (or she) dips the left hand,
if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come
to the bar of matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty
dish, it foretells with equal certainty no marriage at all. It is
repeated three times: and every time the arrangement of the dishes is
altered.” Sir Frederick Morton Eden says, that “_Sowens_, with butter
instead of milk, is not only the Hallow E’en supper, but the Christmas
and New-year’s-day’s breakfast, in many parts of Scotland.”[368]

In the province of Moray, in Scotland, “A solemnity was kept on the eve
of the first of November as a thanksgiving for the safe in-gathering of
the produce of the fields. This I am told, but have not seen; it is
observed in Buchan and other countries, by having Hallow Eve fire
kindled on some rising ground.”[369]

In Ireland fires were anciently lighted up on the four great festivals
of the Druids, but at this time they have dropped the fire of November,
and substituted candles. The Welsh still retain the fire of November,
but can give no reason for the illumination.[370]

The minister of Logierait, in Perthshire, describing that parish, says:
“On the evening of the 31st of October, O. S., among many others, one
remarkable ceremony is observed. Heath, broom, and dressings of flax,
are tied upon a pole. This <DW19> is then kindled. One takes it upon his
shoulders; and, running, bears it round the village. A crowd attend.
When the first <DW19> is burnt out, a second is bound to the pole, and
kindled in the same manner as before. Numbers of these blazing <DW19>s
are often carried about together; and when the night happens to be dark,
they form a splendid illumination. This is Halloween, and is a night of
great festivity.”[371] Also at Callander, in Perthshire:--“On All Saints
Even they set up bonfires in every village. When the bonfire is
consumed, the ashes are carefully collected into the form of a circle.
There is a stone put in, near the circumference, for every person of the
several families interested in the bonfire; and whatever stone is moved
out of its place, or injured before next morning, the person represented
by that stone is devoted, or _fey_; and is supposed not to live twelve
months from that day. The people received the consecrated fire from the
Druid priests next morning, the virtues of which were supposed to
continue for a year.”[372] At Kirkmichael, in the same shire, “The
practice of lighting bonfires on the first night of winter, accompanied
with various ceremonies, still prevails in this and the neighbouring
highland parishes.”[373] So likewise at Aberdeen, “The Midsummer Even
fire, a relict of Druidism, was kindled in some parts of this county;
the Hallow Even fire, another relict of Druidism, was kindled in Buchan.
Various magic ceremonies were then celebrated to counteract the
influence of witches and demons, and to prognosticate to the young their
success or disappointment in the matrimonial lottery. These being
devoutly finished, the Hallow fire was kindled, and guarded by the male
part of the family. Societies were formed, either by pique or humour, to
scatter certain fires, and the attack and defence here often conducted
with art and fury.”--“But now”--“the Hallow fire, when kindled, is
attended by children only; and the country girl, renouncing the rites of
magic, endeavours to enchant her swain by the charms of dress and of
industry.”[374]

Pennant records, that in North Wales “there is a custom upon All Saints
Eve of making a great fire called Coel Coeth, when every family about an
hour in the night makes a great bonfire in the most conspicuous place
near the house; and when the fire is almost extinguished, every one
throws a white stone into the ashes, having first marked it; then,
having said their prayers, turning round the fire, they go to bed. In
the morning, as soon as they are up, they come to search out the stones;
and if any one of them is found wanting, they have a notion that the
person who threw it in will die before he sees another All Saints Eve.”
They also distribute _soul cakes_ on All Souls-day, at the receiving of
which poor people pray to God to bless the next crop of wheat.

Mr. Owen’s account of the bards, in sir R. Hoare’s “Itinerary of
archbishop Baldwin through Wales,” says, “The autumnal fire is still
kindled in North Wales on the eve of the first day of November, and is
attended by many ceremonies; such as running through the fire and smoke,
each casting a stone into the fire, and all running off at the
conclusion to escape from the black short-tailed sow; then supping upon
parsnips, nuts, and apples; catching at an apple suspended by a string
with the mouth alone, and the same by an apple in a tub of water; each
throwing a nut into the fire, and those that burn bright betoken
prosperity to the owners through the following year, but those that burn
black and crackle denote misfortune. On the following morning the stones
are searched for in the fire, and if any be missing they betide ill to
those that threw them in.”

At St. Kilda, on Hallow E’en night, they baked “a large cake in form of
a triangle, furrowed round, and which was to be all eaten that
night.”[375] In England, there are still some parts wherein the grounds
are illuminated upon the eve of All Souls, by bearing round them straw,
or other fit materials, kindled into a blaze. The ceremony is called _a
tinley_, and the Romish opinion among the common people is, that it
represents an emblematical lighting of souls out of purgatory.

“The inhabitants of the isle of Lewis (one of the western islands of
Scotland,) had an antient custom to sacrifice to a sea god, called
Shony, at Hallow-tide, in the manner following: the inhabitants round
the island came to the church of St. Mulvay, having each man his
provision along with him. Every family furnished a peck of malt, and
this was brewed into ale. One of their number was picked out to wade
into the sea up to the middle; and, carrying a cup of ale in his hand,
standing still in that posture, cried out with a loud voice, saying,
‘Shony, I give you this cup of ale, hoping that you’ll be so kind as to
send us plenty of sea-ware, for enriching our ground the ensuing year;’
and so threw the cup of ale into the sea. This was performed in the
night time. At his return to land, they all went to church, where there
was a candle burning upon the altar; and then standing silent for a
little time, one of them gave a signal, at which the candle was put out,
and immediately all of them went to the fields, where they fell a
drinking their ale, and spent the remainder of the night in dancing and
singing,” &c.[376]

At Blandford Forum, in Dorsetshire, “there was a custom, in the papal
times, to ring bells at Allhallow-tide for all christian souls.” Bishop
Burnet gives a letter from king Henry the Eighth to Cranmer “against
superstitious practices,” wherein “the vigil and ringing of bells all
the night long upon Allhallow-day at night,” are directed to be
abolished; and the said vigil to have no hatching or ringing. So
likewise a subsequent injunction, early in the reign of queen Elizabeth,
orders “that the superfluous ringing of bels, and the superstitious
ringing of bells at Alhallowntide, and at Al Soul’s day, with the two
nights next before and after, be prohibited.”

General Vallancey says, concerning this night, “On the Oidhche Shamhna,
(Ee Owna,) or vigil of Samam, the peasants in Ireland assemble with
sticks and clubs, (the emblems of laceration,) going from house to
house, collecting money, bread-cake, butter, cheese, eggs, &c. &c. for
the feast, repeating verses in honour of the solemnity, demanding
preparations for the festival in the name of St. Columb Kill, desiring
them to lay aside the fatted calf, and to bring forth the black sheep.
The good women are employed in making the griddle cake and candles;
these last are sent from house to house in the vicinity, and are lighted
up on the (Saman) next day, before which they pray, or are supposed to
pray, for the departed soul of the donor. Every house abounds in the
best viands they can afford. Apples and nuts are devoured in abundance;
the nut-shells are burnt, and from the ashes many strange things are
foretold. Cabbages are torn up by the root. Hemp-seed is sown by the
maidens, and they believe that if they look back, they will see the
apparition of the man intended for their future spouse. They hang a
shift before the fire, on the close of the feast, and sit up all night,
concealed in a corner of the room, convinced that his apparition will
come down the chimney and turn the shift. They throw a ball of yarn out
of the window, and wind it on the reel within, convinced that if they
repeat the paternoster backwards, and look at the ball of yarn without,
they will then also see his sith, or apparition. They dip for apples in
a tub of water, and endeavour to bring one up in the mouth. They
suspend a cord with a cross stick, with apples at one point, and candles
lighted at the other; and endeavour to catch the apple, while it is in a
circular motion, in the mouth. These, and many other superstitious
ceremonies, the remains of Druidism, are observed on this holiday, which
will never be eradicated while the name of Saman is permitted to
remain.”

It is mentioned by a writer in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” that
_lamb’s-wool_ is a constant ingredient at a merry-making on Holy Eve, or
on the evening before All Saints-day in Ireland. It is made there, he
says, by bruising roasted apples, and mixing them with ale, or sometimes
with milk. “Formerly, when the superior ranks were not too refined for
these periodical meetings of jollity, white wine was frequently
substituted for ale. To _lamb’s-wool_, apples and nuts are added as a
necessary part of the entertainment; and the young folks amuse
themselves with _burning nuts in pairs_ on the bar of the grate, or
among the warm embers, to which they give their name and that of their
lovers, or those of their friends who are supposed to have such
attachments; and from the manner of their burning and duration of the
flame, &c. draw such inferences respecting the constancy or strength of
their passions, as usually promote mirth and good humour.” _Lamb’s-wool_
is thus etymologized by Vallancey:--“The first day of November was
dedicated to the angel presiding over fruits, seeds, &c. and was
therefore named _La Mas Ubhal_, that is, the day of the apple fruit, and
being pronounced _lamasool_, the English have corrupted the name to
_lamb’s-wool_.”

So much is said, and perhaps enough for the present, concerning the
celebration of this ancient and popular vigil.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Fennel-leaved. Tickseed _Coreopsis ferulifolia_.
  Dedicated to _St. Quintin_.

_Seasonable._

    Now comes the season when the humble want,
    And know the misery of their wretched scant:
    Go, ye, and seek their homes, who have the power,
    And ease the sorrows of their trying hour.

       *       *       *       *       *

    “There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth
    To him who gives, a blessing never ceaseth.”

  [365] Life of Harvey, the conjuror, 8vo., 1728.

  [366] Owen’s Welsh Dictionary.

  [367] Graydon’s Collection of Poems, 8vo., Dublin, 1801.

  [368] Eden’s State of the Poor.

  [369] Shaw’s Hist. of Moray.

  [370] Vallancey, Collect. Hibern.

  [371] Sinclair’s Stat. Acc. of Scotland.

  [372] Ibid.

  [373] Ibid.

  [374] Ibid.

  [375] Martin’s Western Islands.

  [376] Ibid.




[Illustration: NOVEMBER.]


        Next was November; he full grown and fat
        As fed with lard, and that right well might seeme;
        For he had been a fatting hogs of late,
        That yet his browes with sweat did reek and steam;
        And yet the season was full sharp and breem;
        In planting eeke he took no small delight,
        Whereon he rode, not easie was to deeme
        For it a dreadful centaure was in sight,
    The seed of Saturn and fair Nais, Chiron hight.

  _Spenser._

This is the eleventh month of the year. The anglo-saxons gave names in
their own tongue to each month, and “November they termed _wint-monat_,
to wit, wind-moneth, whereby wee may see that our ancestors were in this
season of the yeare made acquainted with blustring Boreas; and it was
the antient custome for shipmen then to shrowd themselves at home, and
to give over sea-faring (notwithstanding the littlenesse of their then
used voyages) untill blustring March had bidden them well to fare.”[377]
They likewise called it _blot-monath_. In the saxon, “_blot_” means
_blood_; and in this month they killed great abundance of cattle for
winter-store, or, according to some, for purposes of sacrifice to their
deities.[378]

Bishop Warburton commences a letter to his friend Hurd, with an allusion
to the evil influence which the gloominess of this month is proverbially
supposed to have on the mind. He dates from Bedford-row, October 28th,
1749:--“I am now got hither,” he says, “to spend the month of November:
the dreadful month of November! when the little wretches hang and drown
themselves, and the great ones sell themselves to the court and the
devil.”

“This is the month,” says Mr. Leigh Hunt, “in which we are said by the
Frenchman to hang and drown ourselves. We also agree with him to call it
‘the gloomy month of November;’ and, above all, with our in-door,
money-getting, and unimaginative habits, all the rest of the year, we
contrive to make it so. Not all of us, however: and fewer and fewer, we
trust, every day. It is a fact well known to the medical philosopher,
that, in proportion as people do not like air and exercise, their blood
becomes darker and darker: now what corrupts and thickens the
circulation, and keeps the humours within the pores, darkens and clogs
the mind; and we are then in a state to receive pleasure but
indifferently or confusedly, and pain with tenfold painfulness. If we
add to this a quantity of _unnecessary_ cares and sordid mistakes, it is
so much the worse. A love of nature is the refuge. He who grapples with
March, and has the smiling eyes upon him of June and August, need have
no fear of November.--And as the Italian proverb says, every medal has
its reverse. November, with its loss of verdure, its frequent rains, the
fall of the leaf, and the visible approach of winter, is undoubtedly a
gloomy month to the gloomy but to others, it brings but pensiveness, a
feeling very far from destitute of pleasure; and if the healthiest and
most imaginative of us may feel their spirits pulled down by reflections
connected with earth, its mortalities, and its mistakes, we should but
strengthen ourselves the more to make strong and sweet music with the
changeful but harmonious movements of nature.” This pleasant observer of
the months further remarks, that, “There are many pleasures in November
if we will lift up our matter-of-fact eyes, and find that there are
matters-of-fact we seldom dream of. It is a pleasant thing to meet the
gentle fine days, that come to contradict our sayings for us; it is a
pleasant thing to see the primrose come back again in woods and meadows;
it is a pleasant thing to catch the whistle of the green plover, and to
see the greenfinches congregate; it is a pleasant thing to listen to the
deep amorous note of the wood-pigeons, who now come back again; and it
is a pleasant thing to hear the deeper voice of the stags, making their
triumphant love amidst the falling leaves.

“Besides a quantity of fruit, our gardens retain a number of the flowers
of last month, with the stripped lily in leaf; and, in addition to
several of the flowering trees and shrubs, we have the fertile and
glowing china-roses in flower: and in fruit the pyracantha, with its
lustrous red-berries, that cluster so beautifully on the walls of
cottages. This is the time also for domestic cultivators of flowers to
be very busy in preparing for those spring and winter ornaments, which
used to be thought the work of magic. They may plant hyacinths, dwarf
tulips, polyanthus-narcissus, or any other moderately-growing bulbous
roots, either in water-glasses, or in pots of light dry earth, to flower
early in their apartments. If in glasses, the bulb should be a little in
the water; if in pots, a little in the earth, or but just covered. They
should be kept in a warm light room.

“The trees generally lose their leaves in the following
succession:--walnut, mulberry, horse-chesnut, sycamore, lime, ash, then,
after an interval, elm, then beech and oak, then apple and peach-trees,
sometimes not till the end of November; and lastly, pollard oaks and
young beeches, which retain their withered leaves till pushed off by
their new ones in spring. Oaks that happen to be stripped of their
leaves by chaffers, will often surprise the haunter of nature by being
clothed again soon after midsummer with a beautiful vivid foliage.

“The farmer endeavours to finish his ploughing this month, and then lays
up his instruments for the spring. Cattle are kept in the yard or
stable, sheep turned into the turnip-field, or in bad weather fed with
hay; bees moved under shelter, and pigeons fed in the dove-house.

“Among our autumnal pleasures, we ought not to have omitted the very
falling of the leaves:

    To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air,
    Go eddying round.

  _C. Lamb._

“Towards the end of the month, under the groves and other shady places,
they begin to lie in heaps, and to rustle to the foot of the passenger;
and there they will lie till the young leaves are grown overhead, and
spring comes to look down upon them with their flowers:--

    O Spring! of hope, and love, and youth, and gladness,
    Wind-winged emblem! brightest, best, and fairest!
    Whence comest thou, when, with dark winter’s sadness,
    The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest?
    Sister of joy, thou art the child who wearest
    Thy mother’s dying smile, tender and sweet;
    Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest
    Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet,
    Disturbing not the leaves, which are her winding sheet.”

  _Shelley._

  [377] Verstegan.

  [378] Dr. F. Sayer.


~November 1.~

  _All Saints._ _St. Cæsarius_, A. D. 300. _St. Mary._ M. _St.
  Marcellus_, Bp. of Paris, 5th Cent. _St. Benignus_, Apostle of
  Burgundy, A. D. 272. _St. Austremonius_, 3d Cent. _St. Harold_ VI.,
  King of Denmark, A. D. 980.


~All Saints.~

This festival in the almanacs and the church of England calendar is from
the church of Rome, which celebrates it in commemoration of those of its
saints, to whom, on account of their number, particular days could not
be allotted in their individual honour.

On this day, in many parts of England, apples are bobbed for, and nuts
cracked, as upon its vigil, yesterday; and we still retain traces of
other customs that we had in common with Scotland, Ireland, and Wales,
in days of old.

       *       *       *       *       *

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

Should the following excerpt relative to the first of November be of use
to you, it is at your service, extracted from a scarce and valuable work
by Dr. W. Owen Pughe, entitled “Translations of the Heroic Elegies of
Llywarch Hên, London, 1792.”

“The first day of November was considered (among the ancient Welsh) as
the conclusion of summer, and was celebrated with bonfires, accompanied
with ceremonies suitable to the event, and some parts of Wales still
retain these customs. Ireland retains similar ones, and the fire that is
made at these seasons, is called _Beal teinidh_, in the Irish language,
and some antiquaries of that country, in establishing the eras of the
different colonies planted in the island, have been happy enough to
adduce as an argument for their Phœnician origin this term of _Beal
teinidh_.

“The meaning of _tàn_, (in Welsh), like the Irish _teinidh_, is fire,
and _Bal_ is simply a projecting springing out or expanding, and when
applied to vegetation, it means a budding or shooting out of leaves and
blossoms, the same as _balant_, of which it is the root, and it is also
the root of _bala_ and of _blwydd_, _blwyddyn_ and _blynedd_, a year, or
circle of vegetation. So the signification of _bâl dân_, or _tân bâl_,
would be the rejoicing fire for the vegetation, or for the crop of the
year.”

The following seven triplets by Llywarch Hên, who lived to the
surprising age of one hundred and forty years, and wrote in the sixth
century, also relate to the subject. The translations, which are
strictly literal, are also from the pen of Dr. Pughe.

Triplets.

1.

    On All Saints day hard is the grain,
    The leaves are dropping, the puddle is full,
    At setting off in the morning
    Woe to him that will trust a stranger.

Tribanau.

1.

    Calangauaf caled grawn
    Dail ar gychwyn, Uynwyn Uawn:--
    Y bore cyn noi fyned,
    Gwae a ymddiried i estrawn.

2.

    All Saints day, a time of pleasant gossiping,
    The gale and the storm keep equal pace,
    It is the labour of falsehood to keep a secret.

2.

    Calangauaf cain gyfrin,
    Cyfred awel a drychin:
    Gwaith celwydd yw celu rhin.

3.

    On All Saints day the stags are lean,
    Yellow are the tops of birch; deserted is the summer dwelling:
    Woe to him who for a trifle deserves a curse.

3.

    Calangauaf cul hyddod
    Melyn blaen bedw, gweddw hafod:
    Gwae a haedd mefyl er bychod.

4.

    On All Saints day the tops of the branches are bent;
    In the mouth of the mischievous, disturbance is congenial:
    Where there is no natural gift there will be no learning.

4.

    Calangauaf crwm blaen gwrysg:
    Gnawd o ben diried derfysg;
    Lle ni bo dawn ni bydd dysg.

5.

    On All Saints day blustering is the weather,
    Very unlike the beginning of the past fair season:
    Besides God there is none who knows the future.

5.

    Calangauaf garw hin,
    Annhebyg i gyntefin:
    Namwyn Duw nid oes dewin.

6.

    On All Saints day ’tis hard and dry,
    Doubly black is the crow, quick is the arrow from the bow,
    For the stumbling of the old, the looks of the young wear a smile.

6.

    Calangauaf caled cras,
    Purddu bran, buan o fras:
    Am gwymp hen chwerddid gwèn gwâs.

7.

    On All Saints day bare is the place where the heath is burnt,
    The plough is in the furrow, the ox at work:
    Amongst a hundred ’tis a chance to find a friend.

7.

    Calangauaf Uwn goddaith,
    Aradyr yn rhych, ych yn ngwaith:
    O’r cant odid cydymmaith.

It will be perceived that each triplet, as was customary with the
ancient Britons is accompanied by a moral maxim, without relation to the
subject of the song.

  GWILYM SAIS.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Laurastinus. _Laurastinus sempervirens._
  Dedicated to _St. Fortunatus_.


~November 2.~

  _All Souls; or the Commemoration of the Faithful departed._ _St.
  Victorinus_ Bp. A. D. 304. _St. Marcian_, A. D. 387. _St. Vulgan_, 8th
  Cent.


~All Souls.~

This day, also a festival in the almanacs, and the church of England
calendar, is from the Romish church, which celebrates it with masses and
ceremonies devised for the occasion. “Odilon, abbot of Cluny, in the 9th
century, first enjoined the ceremony of praying for the dead on this
day in his own monastery; and the like practice was partially adopted by
other religious houses until the year 998, when it was established as a
general festival throughout the western churches. To mark the
pre-eminent importance of this festival, if it happened on a Sunday it
was not postponed to the Monday, as was the case with other such
solemnities, but kept on the Saturday, _in order that the church might
the sooner aid the suffering souls_; and, that the dead might have every
benefit from the pious exertions of the living, the remembrance of this
ordinance was kept up, by persons dressed in black, who went round the
different towns, ringing a loud and dismal-toned bell at the corner of
each street, every Sunday evening during the month; and calling upon the
inhabitants to remember the deceased suffering the expiatory flames of
purgatory, and to join in prayer for the repose of their souls.[379]”


_Time._

Mr. John M‘Creery, to whose press Mr. Roscoe committed his “History of
Leo X.,” and the subsequent productions of his pen, has marked this day
by dating a beautiful poem on it, which all who desire to seize the
“golden grains” of time, will do well to learn and remember daily.

INSCRIPTION

FOR MY DAUGHTERS’ HOUR-GLASS.

    Mark the golden grains that pass
    Brightly thro’ this channell’d glass,
    Measuring by their ceaseless fall
    Heaven’s most precious gift to all!
    Busy, till its sand be done,
    See the shining current run;
    But, th’ allotted numbers shed,
    Another hour of life hath fled!
    Its task perform’d, its travail past,
    Like mortal man it rests at last!--
    Yet let some hand invert its frame
    And all its powers return the same,
    Whilst any golden grains remain
    ’Twill work its little hour again.--
    But who shall turn the glass for man,
    When all his golden grains have ran?
    Who shall collect his scatter’d sand,
    Dispers’d by time’s unsparing hand?--
    Never can one grain be found,
    Howe’er we anxious search around!

    Then, daughters, since this truth is plain,
    That Time once gone ne’er comes again.
    Improv’d bid every moment pass--
    See how the sand rolls down your glass.

  _Nov._ 2. 1810.

  J. M. C.

Mr. M‘Creery first printed this little effusion of his just and vigorous
mind on a small slip, one of which he gave at the time to the editor of
the _Every-Day Book_, who if he has not like

    ------ the little busy bee
    Improved each shining hour,

is not therefore less able to determine the value of those that are gone
for ever; nor therefore less anxious to secure each that may fall to
him; nor less qualified to enjoin on his youthful readers the importance
of this truth, “that time once gone, ne’er comes again.” He would bid
them remember, in the conscience-burning words of one of our poets,
that--

    “Time is the stuff that life is made of.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Winter Cherry. _Physalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Marcian_.

  [379] Brady’s Clavis Calendaria.


~November 3.~

  _St. Malachi_, Abp. of Armagh, A. D. 1143. _St. Hubert_, Bp. of Leige,
  A. D. 727. _St. Wenefride_, or _Winefride_. _St. Papoul_, or
  _Papulus_, 3d. Cent. _St. Flour_, A. D. 389. _St. Rumwald._

Without being sad, we may be serious; and continue to-day the theme of
yesterday.

Mr. Bowring, from whose former poetical works several citations have
already glistened these pages, in a subsequent collection of effusions,
has versified to our purpose. He reminds us that--

    Man is not left untold, untaught,
      Untrain’d by heav’n to heavenly things;
    No! ev’ry fleeting hour has brought
      Lessons of wisdom on its wings;
    And ev’ry day bids solemn thought
      Soar above earth’s imaginings.

    In life, in death, a voice is heard,
      Speaking in heaven’s own eloquence,
    That calls on purposes deferr’d,
      On wand’ring thought, on wild’ring sense,
    And bids reflection, long interr’d,
      Arouse from its indifference.

Another poem is a translation

FROM THE GERMAN.

_Ach wie nichtig, ach wie flüchtig!_

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is our earthly being!
    ’Tis a mist in wintry weather,
    Gather’d in an hour together,
    And as soon dispers’d in ether.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Are our days departing!
    Like a deep and headlong river
    Flowing onward, flowing ever--
    Tarrying not and stopping never.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Are the world’s enjoyments!
    All the hues of change they borrow,
    Bright to-day and dark to-morrow--
    Mingled lot of joy and sorrow!

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is all earthly beauty!
    Like a summer flow’ret flowing,
    Scattered by the breezes, blowing
    O’er the bed on which ’twas growing.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is the strength of mortals!
    On a lion’s power they pride them,
    With security beside them--
    Yet what overthrows betide them!

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is all earthly pleasure!
    ’Tis an air-suspended bubble,
    Blown about in tears and trouble,
    Broken soon by flying stubble.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is all earthly honour!
    He who wields a monarch’s thunder,
    Tearing right and law asunder,
    Is to-morrow trodden under.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is all mortal wisdom!
    He who with poetic fiction,
    Sway’d and silenced contradiction,
    Soon is still’d by death’s infliction.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is all earthly music!
    Though he sing as angels sweetly,
    Play he never so discreetly,
    Death will overpower him fleetly.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Are all mortal treasures!
    Let him pile and pile untiring,
    Time, that adds to his desiring,
    Shall disperse the heap aspiring.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is the world’s ambition!
    Thou who sit’st upon the steepest
    Height, and there securely sleepest,
    Soon wilt sink, alas! the deepest.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      Is the pomp of mortals!
    Clad in purple--and elated,
    O’er their fellows elevated,
    They shall be by death unseated.

    O how cheating, O how fleeting
      All--yes! all that’s earthly!
    Every thing is fading--flying--
    Man is mortal--earth is dying--
    Christian! live on Heav’n relying.

The same writer truly pictures our fearful estate, if we heed not the
silent progress of “the enemy,” that by proper attention we may convert
into a friend.--

_Time._

    On! on! our moments hurry by
      Like shadows of a passing cloud,
    Till general darkness wraps the sky,
      And man sleeps senseless in his shroud.

    He sports, he trifles time away,
      Till time is his to waste no more.
    Heedless he hears the surges play;
      And then is dash’d upon the shore.

    He has no thought of coming days,
      Though they alone deserve his thought
    And so the heedless wanderer strays,
      And treasures nought and gathers nought.

    Though wisdom speak--his ear is dull;
      Though virtue smile--he sees her not;
    His cup of vanity is full;
      And all besides forgone--forgot.

These “memorabilia” are from a three-shilling volume, entitled “Hymns,
by John Bowring,” intended as a sequel to the “Matins and Vespers.” Mr.
Bowring does not claim that his “little book” shall supply the place of
similar productions. “If it be allowed,” he says, “to add any thing to
the treasures of our devotional poetry; if any of its pages should be
hereafter blended with the exercises of domestic and social worship; or
if it shall be the companion of meditative solitude, the writer will be
more than rewarded.” All this gentleman’s poetical works, diversified as
they are, tend “to mend the heart.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Primrose. _Primula vulgaris._
  Dedicated to _St. Flour_.


~November 4.~

  _St. Charles Borromeo_, Cardinal, Abp. of Milan, A. D. 1584. _Sts.
  Vitalis_ and _Agricola_, A. D. 304. _St. Joannicius_, Abbot, A. D.
  845. _St. Clarus_, A. D. 894. _St. Brinstan_, Bp. of Winchester, A. D.
  931.


KING WILLIAM LANDED.

So say our almanacs, directly in opposition to the fact, that king
William III. did not land until the next day, the 5th: we have only to
look into our annals and be assured that the almanacs are in error.
Rapin says, “The fourth of November being Sunday, and the prince’s
birthday, now (in 1688) thirty-eight years of age, was by him dedicated
to devotion; the fleet still continuing their course, in order to land
at Dartmouth, or Torbay. But in the night, whether by the violence of
the wind, or the negligence of the pilot, the fleet was carried beyond
the desired ports without a possibility of putting back, such was the
fury of the wind. But soon after, the wind turned to the south, which
happily carried the fleet into Torbay, the most convenient place for
landing the horse of any in England. The forces were landed with such
diligence and tranquillity, that the whole army was on shore before
night. It was thus that the prince of Orange landed in England, without
any opposition, on the 5th of November, whilst the English were
celebrating the memory of their deliverance from the powder-plot about
fourscore years before,” &c. Hume also says, “The prince had a
prosperous voyage, and landed his army safely in Torbay on the 5th of
November, the anniversary of the gunpowder treason.” These historians
ground their statements on the authority of bishop Burnet, who was on
board the fleet, and from other writers of the period, and their
accuracy is provable from the public records of the kingdom,
notwithstanding the almanac-makers say to the contrary. It must be
admitted, however, that the fourth is kept as the anniversary of the
landing of king William, a holiday at different public offices.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Strawberry-tree. _Arbutus._
  Dedicated to _St. Brinstan_.


~November 5.~

  _St. Bertille_, Abbess of Chelles, A. D. 692.


~Powder Plot, 1605.~

This is a great day in the calendar of the church of England: it is duly
noticed by the almanacs, and kept as a holiday at the public offices. In
the “Common Prayer Book,” there is “A Form of Prayer with Thanksgiving,
to be used yearly upon the Fifth day of November; for the happy
deliverance of King JAMES I., and the three Estates of England, from the
most Traiterous and bloody-intended Massacre by Gunpowder: And also for
the happy Arrival of His late Majesty (King WILLIAM III.) on this Day,
for the Deliverance of our Church and Nation.”


GUY FAWKES.

There cannot be a better representation of “Guy Fawkes,” as he is borne
about the metropolis, “in effigy,” on the fifth of November, every year,
than the drawing to this article by Mr. Cruikshank. It is not to be
expected that poor boys should be well informed as to Guy’s history, or
be particular about his costume. With them “Guy Fawkes-day,” or, as
they as often call it, “Pope-day,” is a holiday, and as they reckon
_their_ year by their holidays, this, on account of its festivous
enjoyment, is the greatest holiday of the season. They prepare long
before hand, not “Guy,” but the fuel wherewith he is to be burnt, and
the fireworks to fling about at the burning: “the _Guy_” is the last
thing thought of, “the bonfire” the first. About this time ill is sure
to betide the owner of an ill-secured fence; stakes are extracted from
hedges, and branches torn from trees; crack, crack, goes loose paling;
deserted buildings yield up their floorings; unbolted flip-flapping
doors are released from their hinges as supernumeraries; and more
burnables are deemed lawful prize than the law allows. These are
secretly stored in some enclosed place, which other “collectors” cannot
find, or dare not venture to invade. Then comes the making of “the Guy,”
which is easily done with straw, after the materials of dress are
obtained: these are an old coat, waistcoat, breeches, and stockings,
which usually as ill accord in their proportions and fitness, as the
parts in some of the new churches. His hose and coat are frequently “a
world too wide;” in such cases his legs are infinitely too big, and the
coat is “hung like a loose sack about him.” A barber’s block for the
head is “the very thing itself;” chalk and charcoal make capital eyes
and brows, which are the main features, inasmuch as the chin commonly
drops upon the breast, and all deficiencies are hid by “buttoning up:” a
large wig is a capital achievement. Formerly an old cocked hat was the
reigning fashion for a “Guy;” though the more strictly informed “dresser
of the character” preferred a mock-mitre; now, however, both hat and
mitre have disappeared, and a stiff paper cap painted, and knotted with
paper strips, in imitation of ribbon, is its substitute; a frill and
ruffles of writing-paper so far completes the figure. Yet this neither
was not, nor is, a _Guy_, without a dark lantern in one hand, and a
spread bunch of matches in the other. The figure thus furnished, and
fastened in a chair, is carried about the streets in the manner
represented in the engraving; the boys shouting forth the words of the
motto with loud huzzas, and running up to passengers hat in hand, with
“pray remember Guy! please to remember Guy.”

[Illustration: ~Guy Fawkes.~]

    Please to remember the fifth of November
        Gunpowder treason and plot;
    We know no reason, why gunpowder treason
        Should ever be forgot!
                Holla boys! holla boys! huzza--a--a!

    A stick and a stake, for king George’s sake,
    A stick and a stump, for Guy Fawkes’s rump!
                Holla boys! holla boys! huzza--a--a

Scuffles seldom happen now, but “in my youthful days,” “when Guy met
Guy--then came the tug of war!” The partisans fought, and a decided
victory ended in the capture of the “Guy” belonging to the vanquished.
Sometimes desperate bands, who omitted, or were destitute of the means
to make “Guys,” went forth like Froissart’s knights “upon adventures.”
An enterprise of this sort was called “going to _smug_ a Guy,” that is,
to steal one by “force of arms,” fists, and sticks, from its rightful
owners. These partisans were always successful, for they always attacked
the weak.

In such times, the burning of “a _good_ Guy” was a scene of uproar
unknown to the present day. The bonfire in Lincoln’s Inn Fields was of
this superior order of disorder. It was made at the Great Queen-street
corner, immediately opposite Newcastle-house. Fuel came all day long, in
carts properly guarded against surprise: old people have remembered when
upwards of two hundred cart-loads were brought to make and feed this
bonfire, and more than thirty “Guys” were burnt upon gibbets between
eight and twelve o’clock at night.

At the same period, the butchers in Clare-market had a bonfire in the
open space of the market, next to Bear-yard, and they thrashed each
other “round about the wood-fire,” with the strongest sinews of
slaughtered bulls. Large parties of butchers from all the markets
paraded the streets, ringing peals from marrow-bones-and-cleavers, so
loud as to overpower the storms of sound that came from the rocking
belfries of the churches. By ten o’clock, London was so lit up by
bonfires and fireworks, that from the suburbs it looked in one red heat.
Many were the overthrows of horsemen and carriages, from the discharge
of hand-rockets, and the pressure of moving mobs inflamed to violence by
drink, and fighting their way against each other.

This fiery zeal has gradually decreased. Men no longer take part or
interest in such an observance of the day, and boys carry about their
“Guy” with no other sentiment or knowledge respecting him, than
body-snatchers have of a newly-raised corpse, or the method of
dissecting it; their only question is, how much they shall get by the
operation to make merry with. They sometimes confound their confused
notion of the principle with the mawkin, and for “the Guy,” they say,
“the Pope.” Their difference is not by the way of distinction, but
ignorance. “No popery,” no longer ferments; the spirit is of the lees.

       *       *       *       *       *

The day is commonly called Gunpowder treason, and has been kept as an
anniversary from 1605, when the plot was discovered, the night before it
was to have been put in execution. The design was to blow up the king,
James I., the prince of Wales, and the lords and commons assembled in
parliament. One of the conspirators, being desirous of saving lord
Monteagle, addressed an anonymous letter to him, ten days before the
parliament met, in which was this expression, “the danger is past, so
soon as you have burnt the letter.” The earl of Salisbury said it was
written by some fool or madman; but the king said, “so soon as you have
burnt the letter,” was to be interpreted, in as short a space as you
shall take to burn the letter. Then, comparing the sentence with one
foregoing, “that they should receive a terrible blow, this parliament,
and yet should not see who hurt them,” he concluded, that some sudden
blow was preparing by means of gunpowder. Accordingly, all the rooms and
cellars under the parliament-house were searched; but as nothing was
discovered, it was resolved on the fourth of November, at midnight, the
day before the parliament met, to search under the wood, in a cellar
hired by Mr. Percy, a <DW7>. Accordingly sir Thomas Knevet, going about
that time, found at the door a man in a cloak and boots, whom he
apprehended. This was Guy Fawkes, who passed for Percy’s servant. On
removing the wood, &c. they discovered thirty-six barrels of gunpowder,
and on Guy Fawkes being searched, there were found upon him, a dark
lantern, a tinder-box, and three matches. Instead of being dismayed, he
boldly said, if he had been taken within the cellar, he would have blown
up himself and them together. On his examination, he confessed the
design was to blow up the king and parliament, and expressed great
sorrow that it was not done, saying, it was the devil and not God that
was the discoverer. The number of persons discovered to have been in the
conspiracy were about thirteen; they were all Roman catholics, and their
design was to restore the catholic religion in England. It appears that
Guy Fawkes and his associates had assembled, and concerted the plot at
the old King’s-head tavern, in Leadenhall-street. Two of the
conspirators were killed, in endeavouring to avoid apprehension; eight
were executed. Two jesuits, Oldcorn and Garnet, also suffered death; the
former for saying “the ill success of the conspiracy did not render it
the less just;” the latter for being privy to the conspiracy and not
revealing it.

A corporation notice is annually left at the house of every inhabitant
in the city of London, previous to lord mayor’s day. The following
(delivered in St. Bride’s) is its form:

  SIR,

  _October the 11th, 1825._

BY Virtue of a Precept from my LORD MAYOR, in order to prevent any
Tumults and Riots that may happen on the Fifth of NOVEMBER and the next
ensuing LORD MAYOR’S DAY, you are required to charge all your Servants
and Lodgers, that they neither make, nor cause to be made, any SQUIBS,
SERPENTS, FIRE BALLOONS, or other FIREWORKS, nor fire, fling, nor throw
them out of your House, Shop, or Warehouse, or in the Streets of this
City, on the Penalties contained in an Act of Parliament made in the
Tenth year of the late King WILLIAM.

_Note._ The Act was made perpetual, and is not expired, as some
ignorantly suppose.

  C. PUCKERIDGE, _Beadle_.

  Taylor, Printer, Basinghall Street.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the fifth of November, a year or two ago, an outrageous sparkle of
humour broke forth. A poor hard-working man, while at breakfast in his
garret, was enticed from it by a message that some one who knew him
wished to speak to him at the street door. When he got there he was
shaken hands with, and invited to a chair. He had scarcely said “nay”
before “the ayes had him,” and clapping him in the vacant seat, tied him
there. They then painted his face to their liking, put a wig and paper
cap on his head, fastened a dark lantern in one of his hands, and a
bundle of matches in the other, and carried him about all day, with
shouts of laughter and huzzas, begging for their “Guy.” When he was
released at night he went home, and having slept upon his wrongs, he
carried them the next morning to a police office, whither his offenders
were presently brought by warrant, before the magistrates, who ordered
them to find bail or stand committed. It is illegal to _smug_ a man for
“a Guy.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Angular Physalis. _Physalis Alkakengi._
  Dedicated to _St. Bertille_.


~November 6.~

  _St. Leonard_, 6th Cent. _St. Winoc_, Abbot, 8th Cent. _St. Iltutus_,
  6th Cent.


~Michaelmas Term begins.~

    Now _Monsieur_ TERM will come to town,
    The lawyer putteth on his gown;
    Revenge doth run post-swift on legs,
    And’s sweet as muscadine and eggs;
    And this makes many go to law
    For that which is not worth a straw,
    But only they their mind will have,
    No reason hear, nor council crave.

  _Poor Robin’s Almanac_, 1757.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

  _October, 1825._

Presuming the object you have in view in your _Every-Day Book_ is to
convey useful and pleasing information with the utmost correctness, and,
if possible, without contradiction, I beg leave to say, your statement
in page 100, “that in each term there is one day whereon the courts do
not transact business, namely, on Candlemas-day in Hilary Term,
Ascension-day in Easter Term, Midsummer-day in Trinity Term, and
All-Saints’-day in Michaelmas Term,” is not quite correct with respect
to the two last days; for in last term (Trinity) Midsummer-day was
subsequent to the last day, which was on the 22d of June. And if
Midsummer-day falls on the morrow of Corpus Christi, as it did in 1614,
1698, 1709, and 1791, Trinity full Term then commences, and the courts
sit on that day; otherwise, if it occurs in the term it is a _dies non_.
In 1702, 1713, 1724, 1795, and 1801, when Midsummer-day fell upon what
was regularly the last day of term, the courts did not then sit,
regarding it as a Sunday, and the term was prolonged to the 25th. (See
Blackstone’s Commentaries, vol. iii. page 278.) With respect to
All-Saints’-day, (1st of November,) it does not now occur in Michaelmas
Term, for by the statute 24th Geo. II. c. 48, (1752,) the Essoin day of
that term is on the morrow of All-Souls, 3d of November, consequently
Michaelmas Term does not actually commence before the 6th of November.

With respect to the grand days of the inns of court, I find by “The
Student’s Guide to Lincoln’s Inn,” the two first days you mention are
correct with respect to that society; but in Trinity Term the grand day
is uncertain, unless Midsummer-day is in the term, then that is
generally the grand day. In Michaelmas Term, grand day is on the second
Thursday in the term.

In page 156, you state, “It is of ancient custom on the first day of
term for the judges to breakfast with the lord chancellor in _Lincoln’s
Inn Hall_.” Till within these few years, and only on the present lord
chancellor removing from Bedford-square, the judges, together with the
master of the rolls and his officers, the vice-chancellor, the masters
in chancery, the king’s serjeants and counsel, with the different
officers of the court of chancery, always assembled _at the chancellor’s
house_ to breakfast, and from thence, following the chancellor _in his
state carriage_, to Westminster. But on the removal of lord Eldon to
Hamilton-place, his lordship desired to meet the gentlemen of the courts
of law and equity in Lincoln’s Inn Hall; and from that time, the judges,
&c. have met in Lincoln’s Inn. This place is better adapted to the
convenience of the profession than one more distant.

The above observations, if worth notice, may be used on the first day of
next term, the 6th of November; but as the 6th is on a Sunday, term will
not actually begin until the 7th.

  I am, sir, &c.

  _Lincoln’s Inn, New-square._

  S. G.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Yew. _Taxus baccata._
  Dedicated to _St. Leonard_.


~November 7.~

  _St. Willibrord_, 1st Bp. of Utrecht, A. D. 738. _St. Werenfrid._ _St.
  Prosdecionus_, 1st. Bp. of Padua, A. D. 103.


CHRONOLOGY.


_Hats and Bonnets._

On the 7th of November, 1615, (Michaelmas Term, 13 Jac. I.) when Ann
Turner, a physician’s widow, was indicted at the bar of the court of
king’s bench, before sir Edward Coke (as an accessary before the fact)
for the murder of sir Thomas Overbury, the learned judge observing she
had a hat on, told her “to put it off; that a woman might be covered in
a church, but not when arraigned in a court of justice.” Whereupon she
said, she thought it singular that she might be covered in the house of
God, and not in the judicature of man. Sir Edward told her, “that from
God no secrets were hid; but that it was not so with man, whose
intellects were weak; therefore, in the investigation of truth, and
especially when the life of a fellow creature is put in jeopardy, on the
charge of having deprived another of life, the court should see all
obstacles removed; and, because the countenance is often an index to the
mind, all covering should be taken away from the face.” Thereupon the
chief justice ordered her hat to be taken off, and she covered her hair
with her handkerchief.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Sunday, the 7th of November, 1824, being the hundredth anniversary of
the death of the celebrated John Eyrle, Esq., Pope’s “_Man of Ross_,”
the new society of ringers in that town rung a “muffled peal” on the
occasion.--_Hereford Paper._[380]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Large Furerœa. _Furerœa Gigantea._
  Dedicated to _St. Willibrord_.

  [380] The Times, 17th November, 1824.


~November 8.~

  _The four crowned Brothers_, Martyrs, A. D. 304. _St. Willehad_, Bp.
  A. D. 787. _St. Godfrey_, Bp. A. D. 1118.

                       Now the leaf
    Incessant rustles from the mournful grove;
    Oft startling such as studious walk below;
    And slowly circles through the waving air.

As the maturing and dispersing of seeds was a striking character of the
last month, so the fall of the leaf distinguishes the present. From this
circumstance, the whole declining season of the year is often in common
language denominated the _fall_. The melancholy sensations which attend
this gradual death of vegetable nature, by which the trees are stripped
of all their beauty, and left so many monuments of decay and desolation,
forcibly suggest to the reflecting mind an apt comparison for the
fugitive generations of man.[381]

    Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,
    Now green in youth, now with’ring on the ground.
    Another race the following spring supplies;
    They fall successive, and successive rise:
    So generations in their course decay,
    So flourish these, when those are pass’d away.

  _Pope’s Homer._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cape Aletris. _Veltheimia glauca._
  Dedicated to _The four Brothers_.

  [381] Aikin’s Natural History of the Year.


~November 9.~

  _The Dedication of the Church of St. John Laterans._ _St. Theodorus_,
  surnamed _Tyro_, A. D. 306. _St. Mathurin_, A. D. 388. _St. Vanne_, or
  _Vitonus_, Bp. A. D. 525. _St. Benignus_, or _Binen_, Bp. A. D. 468.


~Lord Mayor’s Day.~

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

Enclosed are official printed copies of the two precepts issued previous
to lord mayor’s day, for the purpose of informing the master and wardens
of the respective livery companies, to whom they are directed, (as well
as the aldermen of the wards through which the procession passes,) of
the preparations necessary to be made on that day. These precepts are
first ordered to be printed at a court of aldermen; directions
accordingly are afterwards given by the town clerk, and, when printed,
they are sent to the four attornies of the lord mayor’s court, by whom
they are filled up, afterwards they are left at the mansion-house, and
lastly they are intrusted to the marshalmen to be delivered. The larger
precept is sent to the aldermen of the wards of Cheap, Cordwainer,
Vintry, Farringdon within, Farringdon without, Bread-street, Cripplegate
within, and Castle Baynard. The smaller precept is forwarded to the
whole of the livery companies.

  I am, sir, &c.

  S. G. *

  _November 2, 1825._

_Precept to the Aldermen._

By the MAYOR.

_To the Aldermen of the Ward of_

FORASMUCH as WILLIAM VENABLES, Esquire, lately elected Lord Mayor of
this City for the Year ensuing, is on _Wednesday_ the Ninth Day of
_November_ next to be accompanied by his Brethren the Aldermen, and
attended by the Livery of the several Companies of this City, to go from
Guildhall, exactly at Eleven o’clock in the Forenoon, to _Blackfriars
Stairs_, and from thence by Water to _Westminster_ there to be sworn,
and at his return will land at _Blackfriars Stairs_, and pass from
thence to _Fleet Bridge_, through _Ludgate Street_, _Saint Paul’s Church
Yard_, _Cheapside_, and down _King Street_ to the Guildhall, to Dinner:

Now, for the more decent and orderly Performance of the said Solemnity,
and for preventing any Tumults and Disorders which may happen by the
great Concourse of People,

These are in his Majesty’s Name to require you to cause the Constables
within your Ward to keep a good and sufficient double Watch and Ward of
able Men well weaponed on that Day, as well as at the landing Places as
in the Streets through which the said Solemnities are to pass; and you
are required to charge the said Constables to preserve the said Streets
and Passages free and clear from all Stops and Obstructions, and not
permit any Coach, Cart, or Dray to stand therein; and if any Coachman,
Drayman, or Carman refuse to move out of the said Streets, that they
carry such Coachman, Drayman, or Carman to one of the Compters, and such
Coach, Dray, or Cart to the _Green Yard_, and take their Numbers that
they may be prosecuted according to Law. And although every Person is
bound by the Law to take Notice of all general Acts of Parliament, yet
that there may not be the least colour or pretence of Ignorance or
Inadvertency, these are also to require you to cause your Beadle to go
from House to House, and acquaint the several Inhabitants, that by an
Act of Parliament made in the ninth and tenth years of the Reign of King
_William_ the Third (which is made perpetual,) It is enacted that no
Person of what degree or quality soever shall make, sell, or expose to
sale, any Squibs, Serpents, or other Fireworks; or any Cases Moulds, or
other Implements whatsoever for making such Fireworks, nor shall permit
any Person to cast or throw any Squibs, Serpents, or other Fireworks
from out of or in their Houses, Lodgings, or Habitations, nor shall any
Person whatsoever cast, throw, or fire any such Squibs, Serpents, or
other Fireworks, in, out of, or into any Street, House, or Passage;
every such Offence being adjudged by the said Act to be a common
Nuisance, and every Offender for every such single Offence being liable
to the several Penalties inflicted by the said Act.

And you are to enjoin your Constables and Watchmen carefully to observe
and apprehend all such Persons as shall presume to offend against the
said Act, or shall commit any Riots, Tumults, or other Disorders
whatsoever, and bring them before me or some other of his Majesty’s
Justices of the Peace within this City, that they may be punished
according to the said Act, and as the Law directs.

And that you cause Notice to be given to the Inhabitants of your Ward to
adorn the Fronts and Balconies of their Houses with their best Hangings
or other Ornaments, and that they cause the Streets before their
respective Houses to be cleanly swept and well paved and amended,
whereof the Scavengers are also to take Notice, and to be warned that
they see the same duly and effectually performed. And if any Constable,
Beadle, or other Officer shall be found remiss and negligent in their
Duty, in not apprehending any offending, they shall be prosecuted for
such their Neglect, Default, or Remissness, according to the utmost
Severity of the Law. Dated this Eleventh Day of

  _October_, 1825.

  WOODTHORPE.

  Printed by Arthur Taylor, Printer to the Honourable City of London,
  Basinghall Street.

  _Precept to the Companies._

  By the MAYOR.

  _To the Master and Wardens of the       Company of      _

WHEREAS the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor Elect and Court of Aldermen
have appointed at their return from _Westminster_, on _Wednesday_ the
9th day of _November_ next, to land at _Blackfriars Stairs_, and pass
from thence to _Fleet Street_, through _Ludgate Street_, to _St. Paul’s
Church Yard_, down _Cheapside_ and _King-street_, to the Guildhall, to
Dinner:

These are therefore to require you to be in your Barge by Eleven o’clock
in the Forenoon precisely, his Lordship being resolved to be going by
that time; and that as well in your going as return you will cause your
Barge to go in order according to your precedency; and that such of your
Company as walk in the Streets land at _Blackfriars Stairs_ aforesaid;
and that you be early and regular in taking and keeping your Standings.
Dated the Eleventh day of _October_, 1825.

  WOODTHORPE.

  Printed by A. Taylor, 40, Basinghall Street.

[Illustration: ~Lord Mayor’s Show.~]

           ---------------------- Behold
    How London _did_ pour out her citizens!
    The Mayor and all his brethren in best sort!

  _Shakspeare._

The procession of the corporation of London to Westminster on the
occasion of the new lord mayor being sworn into office, is familiar to
most residents in the metropolis, and the journals annually record the
modern processions and festivals in the Guildhall, sufficiently to
acquaint those who have not witnessed them with the nature of the
proceedings. It is not purposed then, for the present, to describe what
passes in our own times, but to acquaint the citizens and all who feel
an interest in ancient customs, with something of the splendour
attendant upon the ceremony in old times.

In 1575, “William Smythe, citezen and haberdasher of London,” wrote “A
breffe description of the Royall Citie of London, capitall citie of this
realme of England.” This manuscript which is in existence sets forth as
follows:

“The day of St. Simon and St. Jude, the mayor enters into his state and
office. The next day he goes by water to Westminster in most
triumphant-like manner, his barge being garnished with the arms of the
city; and near it a ship-boat of the queen’s majesty being trimmed up
and rigged like a ship of war, with divers pieces of ordnance,
standards, pennons, and targets of the proper arms of the said mayor, of
his company, and of the merchants’ adventurers, or of the staple, or of
the company of the new trades; next before him goeth the barge of the
livery of his own company, decked with their own proper arms; then the
bachelors’ barge; and so all the companies in London, in order, every
one having their own proper barge, with the arms of their company. And
so passing along the Thames, he landeth at Westminster, where he taketh
his oath in the exchequer before the judge there; which done, he
returneth by water as aforesaid, and landeth at Paul’s wharf, where he,
and the rest of the aldermen take their horses, and in great pomp pass
through Cheapside. And first of all cometh two great standards, one
having the arms of the city, and the other the arms of the mayor’s
company: next them two drums and a flute, then an ensign of the city,
and then about lxx or lxxx poore men marching two and two, in blue
gowns, with red sleeves and caps, every one bearing a pike and a target,
whereon is painted the arms of all them that have been mayors of the
same company that this new mayor is of. Then two banners, one of the
king’s arms, the other of the mayor’s own proper arms. Then a set of
hautboys playing, and after them certain _wyfflers_,[382] in velvet
coats and chains of gold, with white staves in their hands; then the
_Pageant of Triumph_ richly decked, whereupon by certain figures and
writings, some matter touching justice and the office of a magistrate is
represented. Then sixteen trumpeters, eight and eight, having banners of
the mayor’s company. Then certain _wyfflers_ in velvet coats and chains,
with white staves as before. Then the bachelors, two and two, in long
gowns, with crimson hoods on their shoulders of satin; which bachelors
are chosen every year of the same company, that the mayor is of, (but
not of the living) and serve as gentlemen on that and other festival
days, to wait on the mayor, being in number according to the quantity of
the company, sometimes sixty, or one hundred. After them twelve
trumpeters more, with banners of the mayor’s company; then the drum and
flute of the city, and an ensign of the mayor’s company; and after, the
waits of the city in blue gowns, red sleeves and caps, every one having
a silver collar about his neck. Then they of the livery in their long
gowns, every one having his hood on his left shoulder, half-black and
half-red, the number of them according to the greatness of the company
whereof they are. After them follow sheriff’s-officers, and then the
mayor’s officers, with other officers of the city, as the common
serjeant, and the chamberlain; next before the mayor goeth the
sword-bearer, having on his head the cap of honour, and the sword of the
city in his right hand, in a rich scabbard, set with pearl, and on his
left hand goeth the common crier of the city, with his great mace on his
shoulder all gilt. The mayor hath on a long gown of scarlet, and on his
left shoulder a hood of black velvet, and a rich collar of gold or SS.
about his neck, and with him rideth the old mayor also, in his scarlet
gown, hood of velvet, and a chain of gold about his neck. Then all the
aldermen, two and two, (among whom is the recorder,) all in scarlet
gowns; those that have been mayors have chains of gold, the others have
black velvet tippets. The two sheriffs come last of all, in their black
scarlet gowns and chains of gold. In this order they pass along through
the city to the Guildhall, where they dine that day, to the number of
one thousand persons, all at the charge of the mayor and the two
sheriffs. This feast costeth 400_l._, whereof the mayor payeth 200_l._
and each of the sheriffs 100_l._ Immediately after dinner, they go to
St. Paul’s church, every one of the aforesaid poor men bearing staff,
torches, and targets, which torches are lighted when it is late, before
they come from evening prayer.”[383] In more ancient times, the
procession to and from Westminster was by land; until in 1453, sir John
Norman built a sumptuous barge at his own expense, for the purpose of
going by water, whereupon watermen made a song in his praise, beginning,
“_Row thy boat, Norman_.” The twelve companies emulating their chief
have, from that period, graced the Thames on lord mayor’s day.

The first account of this annual exhibition known to have been
published, was written by George Peele, for the inauguration of sir
Wolstone Dixie, knight, on the 29th of October, 1585. On that occasion,
as was customary to the times, there were dramatic representations in
the procession--of an allegorical character. Children were dressed to
personify the city, magnanimity, loyalty, science, the country, and the
river Thames. They also represented a soldier, a sailor, and nymphs,
with appropriate speeches. The show opened with a moor on the back of a
lynx. On sir Thomas Middleton’s mayoralty, in 1613, the solemnity is
described as unparalleled for the cost, art, and magnificence of the
shows, pageants, chariots, morning, noon, and night triumphs. In 1655,
the city pageants, after a discontinuance of about fourteen years, were
revived. Edmund Gayton, the author of the description for that year,
says, that “our metropolis for these planetary pageants, was as famous
and renowned in foreign nations, as for their faith, wealth, and
valour.” In the show of 1659, an European, an Egyptian, and a Persian,
were personated. On lord mayor’s day, 1671, the king, queen, and duke of
York, and most of the nobility being present, there were “sundry shows,
shapes, scenes, speeches and songs, in parts;” and the like, in 1672,
and 1673, when the king again “graced the triumphs.” The king, queen,
duke and duchess of York, prince Rupert, the duke of Monmouth, foreign
ambassadors, the chief nobility, and secretary of state, were at the
celebration of lord mayor’s day, in 1674, when there were “emblematical
figures, artful pieces of architecture, and rural dancing, with pieces
spoken on each pageant.”

The printed description of these processions are usually entitled
“_Triumphs_,” though they are more commonly called “_The London
Pageants_,” all of them are scarce, and some of such extreme rarity, as
to bear a price at the rate of two and three guineas a leaf. The
description of sir Patience Ward’s show, on the 29th of October, 1680,
composed by Thomas Jordan, is an interesting specimen of the setting out
and pageantry of this procession. The lord mayor being of the livery of
the merchant-tailors’ company, at seven o’clock in the morning,
liverymen of the first rank, appointed to conduct the business of the
day, assembled at merchant-tailors’ hall, to meet the masters, wardens,
and assistants, in their gowns, faced with _foyns_, (the skin of the
martin.) In the second rank, others in gowns faced with _budge_,
(lambs’-skin, with the wool dressed outwards,) and livery-hoods. In the
third rank, a number of foyns-bachelors, and forty budge-bachelors, both
attired in scarlet hoods and gowns. Sixty gentlemen-ushers, in velvet
coats and chains of gold, bearing white staves. Thirty more in plush and
buff, bearing colours and banners. Thirty-six of the king’s trumpeters,
with silver trumpets, headed by the serjeant-trumpeter, he wearing two
scarfs, one the lord mayor’s, and the other the company’s colours. The
king’s drum-major, followed by four of the king’s drums and fifes. Seven
other drums and two fifes, wearing vests of buff, with black breeches
and waste scarfs. Two city marshals on horseback, with attendants. The
foot-marshal, with a rich broad shoulder-scarf, to put them in rank and
file, attended by six others. The fence-master, with attendants, bearing
bright broadswords drawn. Poor pensioners, with gowns and caps, bearing
standards and banners. A troop of poor persons, in azure gowns and caps.
One hundred more with javelins and targets, bearing the arms of their
benefactors. Being all assembled, they are by the foot-marshal’s
judgment, arranged into six divisions, ranked out by two and two. _The
first division contains_ the ensigns of the company, followed by the
poor company of pensioners. Four drums and one fife. Pensioners in coats
as before described. Persons of worth, each bearing a standard or
banner. Four trumpets. Two merchant-tailors’ ensigns, bearing their
supporters and crest. Six gentlemen-ushers. The budge-bachelors,
marching in measured order. _Second division._ Six trumpets. Two
gentlemen, bearing the coats of arms of the city, and the
merchant-tailors’ company. Eight gentlemen, wearing gold chains. The
foyns-bachelors. _Third division._ Two gentlemen in velvet coats with
banners. Ten gentlemen-ushers in coats and chains of gold, as before
described. A large body of the livery in their gowns and livery-hoods,
followed by “all lord mayors in the _potential mood_.” In their rear
divers of the city trumpets. Two gentlemen bearing the arms of the city
and the lord mayor. Gentlemen-ushers. The court of assistants. Four
drums. Six trumpets. Three gallants, bearing the banners of the diadem.
The king’s, queen’s, and city’s ensigns, attended by six gentlemen as
pages. The masters and wardens of the merchant-tailors’ company. Thus
formed, they march from merchant-tailors’ hall to the lord mayor’s
house, where his lordship and the aldermen take horse, according to
their degree, and the whole body proceed in state to Guildhall. Being
met at the gate by the old lord mayor, and there attired with the gown,
fur hood, and scarf, and guarded by knights, esquires, and gentlemen,
they all march through King-street down to Three-Crane-wharf, where the
lord mayor and aldermen, discharging some of the attendants, take barge
at the west-end of the wharf; the court of assistants’ livery, and the
best of the gentlemen-ushers taking barge at the east-end. The rest of
the ushers, with the foyns and the budge-bachelors, remain ashore, with
others, to await the return of his lordship, who proceeds with several
city companies by water, and is rowed all along by the Strand to
Westminster, a pleasure boat with great guns aboard saluting him on the
way. At New Palace Stairs they disembark, and making a lane to the hall,
the lord mayor passes along to take the oath and go through the usual
ceremonies. These being completed, he makes a liberal donation to the
poor of Westminster, reembarks with all his retinue, and being rowed
back to Blackfriars Stairs, he lands there under beat of drum and a
salute of three volleys from the artillery company in their martial
ornaments, some in buff, with head-pieces, many being of massy silver.
From Blackfriars they march before the lord mayor and aldermen through
Cheapside to Guildhall. The pensioners and banners who went not to
Westminster, being set in order to march, the foot-marshal in the rear
of the artillery company, leads the way along by the channel up
Ludgate-hill, through Ludgate, into St. Paul’s Churchyard, and so into
Cheapside, where his lordship is entertained by the _first pageant_,
consisting of a large stage with the coat armour of the
merchant-tailors’ company, eminently erected, consisting of a large tent
royal, _gules_, fringed and richly garnished, _or_, lined, faced, and
doubled, _ermine_. This stage is winged or flanked by two other stages,
bearing two excellent figures of lively carved camels, the supporters to
the company’s coat. On the back of one camel, a black native Indian, in
a golden robe, a purple mantle fringed with gold, pearl pendants in his
ears, coronet of gold with feathers, and golden buskins laced with
scarlet ribbon, holds a golden bridle in his left, and a banner of the
company, representing _Treasure_ in his right hand. On the other camel,
a West Indian, in a robe of silver, scarlet mantle, diamonds pendant
from his ears, buskins of silver, laced with purple ribbons, a golden
crown feathered, holds a silver bridle in his left, and a banner of the
lord mayor, representing _Traffic_, in his right hand. On one of the
camel stages four figures sit on pedestals, one at each corner,
representing _Diligence_, _Industry_, _Ingenuity_, and _Success_; on
the other camel-stage, in like manner, _Mediocrity_, _Amity_, _Verity_,
_Variety_, all richly habited in silk or sarcenet, bear splendid emblems
and banners. The royal tent, or imperial pavilion, between these two
stages, is supported on one side by a minister of state representing
_Royalty_, and on the other side by another representing _Loyalty_; each
in rich robes of honor _gules_, wearing on their left arms shields
_azure_, with this motto in gold, _For the king and kingdom_, one
bearing a banner of the king’s, and the other one of the city’s banners.
On a high and eminent seat of throne-like ascension is seated
_Sovereignty_, in royal posture and alone, with black curled hair,
wearing an imperial crown, a robe of purple velvet, lined, faced, and
caped with ermine, a collar of SS with a George pendant; bearing in one
hand a golden globe, in the other a royal sceptre. On a seat beneath,
are _Principality_, _Nobility_, and _Honour_, all richly habited. On the
next seat, gradually descending beneath, are, 1. _Gentility_, shaped
like a scholar and soldier, holding in one hand, clad with a golden
gauntlet, a silver spear, in the other a book; 2. _Integrity_, wearing
an earl’s coronet for the court, a loose robe of scarlet- silk
for the city, underneath a close coat of grass-green plush for the
county; 3. _Commonalty_, as a knight of the shire in parliamentary
robes. On the lowest seat, an _ancient English Hero_, with brown curling
hair, in ancient armour, as worn by chief commanders, the coat of mail
richly gilt, crimson and velvet scarf fringed with gold, a quiver of
arrows in a gold belt on one side, a sword at the other, buskins laced
with silver and gold, a silver helmet with red and white plume, in one
hand a large long bow, and a spear in the other. This personage,
representing _sir John Hawkwood_, a merchant-tailor of martial renown
under Edward III., when he conquered France, as soon as he perceives the
lord mayor prepared, with attention riseth up, and with a martial bow
exhibiteth a speech in verse of thirty-seven lines, in compliment to the
merchant-tailors and the lord mayor. His lordship testifying his
approbation, rideth with all his brethren through the throng of
spectators, till at Milk-street end, he is intercepted by _the second
pageant_, which is a chariot of ovation, or peaceful triumph, adorned
with delightful pieces of curious painting, and drawn by a golden lion
and a lamb. On the lion is mounted a young <DW64> prince, richly habited,
according to the royal mode in India, holding a golden bridle, and in
the other hand St. George’s banner, representing _Power_. On the lamb is
mounted a white beautiful seraphim-like creature, with long bright
flaxen curled hair, and on it a golden coronet of cherubims’ heads and
wings, a carnation sarcenet robe, with a silver mantle and wings of
gold, silver, purple, and scarlet, reining the lamb by a silver bridle
in his left hand, and with his right bearing an angelical staff, charged
with a red cross, representing _Clemency_. In the chariot sitteth seven
persons, 1. _Concordia_, 2. _Unanimia_, 3. _Pacifica_, 4. _Consentania_,
5. _Melodea_, 6. _Benevolentia_, (whose habits, and those of other
characters already and hereafter mentioned, are not described here for
want of room) and 7. “_Harmonia_, a lady of great gravity, with
masculine aspect, wearing a lovely dark brown peruke, curiously curled,
on which is planted a crown imperial; she wears a robe of French green
velvet, pleasantly embroidered with gold, a crimson  silk and
silver mantle, and sitting majestically alone in front, upon the
approach and fixation of my lord mayor, improves the opportunity, riseth
up, and delivereth an oration.” This consists of forty-four lines in
verse, wherein she acquaints his lordship that the other characters are
her attributes, recommends unity, because division is the policy of the
pope and the jesuits, expresses her belief that if the lion and the lamb
fall out, she should run to ruin, descants upon magistrate-like virtues,
and in the end tells his lordship,--

    You have done all things fair, no action foul;
    Your sherevalry gave relish of good rule,
    Nor need they doubt your mayoralty, therefore,
    Begging your pardon, I shall say no more.

This speech being concluded, his lordship exhibiting a gracious aspect
of favourable acceptation, advanceth further towards Guildhall, but is
civilly obstructed by another scene, and in regard, his lordship is a
merchant, and his company merchant-tailors, the _Third Triumphal Scene,
or Pageant_, is a ship called the _Patience_, with masts and sails,
fully rigged and manned, the _captain_ whereof addresseth to my lord a
speech beginning,--

    What cheer, my lord? I am return’d from sea,
    To amplifie your day of Jubilee,
    In this tried vessel, &c.

His lordship having surveyed the ship, and the trumpets sounding, he
continueth his determined course toward Guildhall, but by the way is
once more obstructed by another scene, called the _Palace of Pleasure_,
which is a triumphal ionic arch of excellent structure, where, in
distinct and perspicuous situations, sitteth nine beautiful and pleasant
ladies, whose names, natures, and ornaments are consentaneous, 1.
_Jollity_, 2. _Delight_, 3. _Fancy_, 4. _Felicity_, 5. _Wit_, 6.
_Invention_, 7. _Tumult_, 8. _Slaughter_, 9. _Gladness_; all of them
properly enrobed and adorned; and to augment their delight, there are
several persons properly habited, playing on sundry loud instruments of
music, one of which, with a voice as loud and as tunable as a treble
hautboy, chanteth out _a Ditty in commendation of the Merchant-tailors’
Trade_, commencing thus,

    Of all the professions that ever were nam’d
    The Taylers though slighted, is much to be fam’d:
    For various invention and antiquity,
    No trade with the _Taylers_ compared may be:
    For warmth and distinction and fashion he doth
    Provide for both sexes with silk, stuff, and cloth:
    Then do not disdain him or slight him, or flout him,
    Since (if well consider’d) you can’t live without him.
        But let all due praises (that can be) be made
        To honour and dignifie the _Taylers_ trade.

    When Adam and Eve out of Eden were hurl’d,
    They were at that time king and queen of the world:
    Yet this royal couple were forced to play
    The _Taylers_, and put themselves in green array;
    For modesty and for necessity’s sake
    They had figs for the belly, and leaves for the back
    And afterward clothing of sheep-skins they made
    Then judge if a _Tayler_ was not the first trade,
        The oldest profession; and they are but railers,
        Who scoff and deride men that be _Merchant-Taylers_.

This song, containing five more verses, being ended, the foot-marshal
places the assistants, livery, and the companies on both sides of
King’s-street, and the pensioners with their targets hung on the tops of
the javelins; in the rear of them the ensign-bearers; drums and fifes in
front; he then hastens the foins and budge-bachelors, together with the
gentlemen ushers, to Guildhall, where his lordship is again saluted by
the artillerymen with three volleys more, which concludes their duty.
His land attendants pass through the gallery or lane so made into
Guildhall; after which the company repairs to dinner in the hall, and
the several silk-works and triumphs are likewise conveyed into
Blackwell-hall; and the officers aforesaid, and the children that sit in
the pageants, there refresh themselves until his lordship hath dined. At
the dinner in Guildhall, his lordship and the guests being all seated,
the city music begin to touch their instruments with very artful
fingers. Their ears being as well feasted as their palates, and a
concert lesson or two succeeding, “a sober person with a good voice,
grave humour, and audible utterance, proper to the condition of the
times,” sings a song called _The Protestants’ Exhortation_, the burden
whereof is, _Love one another_, and the subject against the catholics.
The song being ended, the musicians play divers new airs, which having
done, three or four “habit themselves according to the humour of the
song,” and one of them chanteth forth The _Plotting <DW7>’s Litany_, in
ten stanzas, the first of which ends with

    Joyntly then wee ’l agree,
              To sing a Litany,
    And let the burden be,
                _Ora pro nobis_.

In the year 1688, the second mayoralty of sir Thomas Pilkington, who
being of the skinners’ company, a pageant in honour of their occupation,
consisted of “a spacious wilderness, haunted and inhabited with all
manner of wild beasts and birds of various shapes and colours, even to
beasts of prey, as wolves, bears, panthers, leopards, sables, and
beavers; likewise dogs, cats, foxes, and rabbits, which tossed up now
and then into a balcony fell oft upon the _company’s_ heads, and by them
tossed again into the crowd, afforded great diversion; melodious harmony
likewise allayed the fury of the wild beasts, who were continually
moving, dancing, curvetting, and tumbling to the music.”

On the alteration of the style, the swearing in of the lord mayor and
the accompanying show, which had been on the 29th of October, was
changed to the 9th of November. The speeches in the pageants were
usually composed by the city poet, an officer of the corporation, with
an annual salary, who provided a printed description for the members of
the corporation before the day. Settle, the last city poet, wrote the
last pamphlet intended to describe a lord mayor’s show; it was for sir
Charles Duncombe’s, in 1708, but the prince of Denmark’s death the day
before, prevented the exhibition. The last lord mayor who rode on
horseback at his mayoralty was sir Gilbert Heathcote in the reign of
queen Anne.

It will be remarked after this perusal, that the modern exhibitions have
no pretension to vie with the grandeur of the old “London triumphs.” In
1760, the court of common council recommended pageants to be exhibited
for the entertainment of their majesties on lord mayor’s day. Such
revivals are inexpedient, yet probably some means might be devised for
improving the appearance of the present procession, without further
expenditure from the city funds, or interfering with the public
appropriation of the allowance for the support of the civic dignity. All
that remains of the lord mayor’s show, to remind the curiously informed
of its ancient character, is in the first part of the procession,
wherein the poor men of the company to which the lord mayor belongs, or
persons hired to represent them, are habited in long gowns and close
caps of the company’s colour, and bear painted shields on their arms,
but without javelins. So many of these head the show, as there are years
in the lord mayor’s age. Their obsolete costume and hobbling walk are
sport for the unsedate, who, from imperfect tradition, year after year,
are accustomed to call them “old bachelors”--tongues less polite call
them “_old fogeys_.” The numerous band of gentlemen-ushers in velvet
coats, wearing chains of gold and bearing white staves, is reduced to
half-a-dozen full-dressed footmen, carrying umbrellas in their hands.
The antiquarian reminiscences occasioned by the throwing of substances
that stone-eaters alone would covet, from the tops of the houses, can
arise no more; and even the giants in Guildhall are elevated upon
octagon stone columns, to watch and ward the great west window, in no
other than a gigantic capacity: their proper situation they were
displaced from some few years ago, owing, it is presumed, to lack of
information in the civic authorities, that figures of giants anciently
belonged to Guildhall, and that their _corporate_ station was at the
Guildhall door. In their present station, they are as much out of place
as a church weathercock would be if it were removed from the steeple,
and put on the sounding board of the pulpit.


HUSBANDS AND WIVES.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

It is not often that men, now-a-days, send copies of verses to their
wives, but I think the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ who is fond of the
times gone by, is still old fashioned enough not to condemn the
practice. The following lines, which have not appeared in print, are
much at your service. My best wishes attend the complete success of your
useful and instructive undertaking.

  I remain,

  Your constant reader,

  H.

  _Norfolk, Oct. 19, 1825._

_To Mrs. -------- on my Birth-day._

    My Betsy lo! the year’s gone round,
      We see this day once more,
    November’s leaves bespread the ground,
      And I am forty-four.

    I look me back to boyhood’s days,
      When I was wont to pore
    O’er grammar, ’neath a master’s gaze,
      Nor thought of forty-four.

    The mathematics I began,
      Twice two I said was four,
    What more know I, tho’ time has ran,
      And made me forty-four.

    Of French and crabbed Latin too
      I laid in little store,
    Yet both are pleasing to my view,
      Now I am forty-four.

    Thus time makes pleasant in his round
      What once to us was sore,
    This truth full often have I found,
      Ere I was forty-four.

    One nymph to crown our nuptial bliss,
      See dancing on the floor,
    May all our days be blest as this
      On which I am forty-four.

    Tho’ small my girl, our share, our wealth,
      On wolf, we bar the door;
    If Providence but sends me health,
      I’m blest at forty-four.

    For thee, my love, long life I ask,
      That blessing sent of yore,
    When men like _boys_ conn’d o’er a task
      At ten times forty-four.


  [Illustration: ~The Aerial, or The Great Unknown,~
  AT VAUXHALL.]

    “The earth hath bubbles as the water has,
    And this is of them.”

This personage has obtained himself to be sketched and lithographed. It
is a true portraiture of his dress and form, but not of his face. By way
of denoting his pretension to “deathless notoriety,” it has these few
expressive words beneath it; namely,--“Without equal in nature or art,
this or in any other age or globe.” Afterwards follows this intimation,
“Published as the act directs, by Mr. Leeming, London, October, 1825.”
In vain did he solicit the printsellers to sell the prints for five
shillings each. Although he had coupled it with written intimation that
he is “the Ærial invaluable,” and that after his decease will be
inscribed on his tomb, “If this was not a _gentleman_, he would not have
been buried in christian burial,” yet the publishers were impenetrable
to his “assurance,” and therefore before and after, and on Guy Fawkes’
day, a man was employed to walk the streets with a board bearing a
couple of the impressions pasted thereon, the said man bearing also
unpasted ones, “to all who choose to buy them” at one shilling each.

The first public intimation of this “phenomenon,” is in the _Times_ of
Saturday, July 2, 1825:--“An individual in a splendid dress of Spanish
costume has excited much attention at Vauxhall gardens. Having walked or
rather skipped round the promenade, with a great air of consequence,
saluting the company as he passed along, he at length mingled amongst
the audience in the front of the orchestra, and distributed a number of
cards, on each of which was written, ‘The Ærial challenges the whole
world to find a man that can in any way compete with him as such.’ After
having served about three or four hundred of these challenges, he darted
off like lightning, taking the whole circuit of the gardens in his
career, and made his exit through the grand entrance into the road where
a carriage was in waiting for him, into which he sprang, and was driven
off.”

Postponing a few particulars of this visitation of Vauxhall by “_The
Ærial_” for a minute or two, we proceed to state that he declares
himself “an Adonis;” that to glad the eyes of artists with a view of his
uncommon person, he condescended to leave the good town of Manchester by
the common stage coach, and that assuming the disguise of common dress,
like Apollo in “Midas” after expulsion from the celestials, he arrived
in London on the day of June. Dull as he found this metropolis to
personal merit, yet, to his “Agreeable Surprise,” there were some who
said in the language of _Lingo_:--

    “Such beauties in view I
    Can never praise too high.”

Sculptors and painters of eminence to whom he proffered disclosure of
his elegant person were honoured by visits from him. He represents some
interviews to this effect. Sir Thomas Lawrence, the president of the
royal academy, gazed upon him, and inquired what “he considered the
essential principle of man?” the Ærial immediately answered “the thigh.”
Sir Thomas insensible to the mundane charms before him, observed that he
thought the beauties of the mind should be preferred to those of the
body, and therefore suggested the propriety of his cultivating mental
beauty. This was an indignity, for it was opposed to the theory
maintained by the Ærial, that mental beauty results from personal
beauty. Mr. Haydon was not quite so shocking; he admitted to, and to the
cost of the Ærial, as will hereafter appear, that he had “a beautiful
leg.” His oral developement of his sylph-like perfections to Mr.
Chantry, induced that gentleman to decline prolongation of the
interview, and to say he should at once call himself Ærial, and from
that moment he did. Mr. Behnes told him that he was “no conjuror,” and
that every body laughed at him. The Ærial was not to be so subdued, nor
by such means humbled. He deemed them to be the sayings of envy. His
organ of self-esteem attained a new swell, and in harmonious strength he
rose like Antæus from the dust, a giant refreshed.

He conceives that he is the most beautiful person in the world, and
hence besides calling himself “the Ærial,” the “New Discovery,” and “the
Great Unknown,” he adds “the Paragon of Perfection,” “the Phœnix,” “the
God of Beauty,” and “the Grand Arcana of Nature.” Some one intimated
that arcan_um_ would be correct; he said, he did not choose to _hum_,
and he was “not to be _hummed_.” It was hinted that he might assume the
name of Apollo; he turned from the speaker with contempt--“Apollo is
nothing compared with me; there is no figure to compete with me in any
respect, except the Achilles in the park, which may be somewhat like me
in the under part of the foot upon the ground, but upon that it is
impossible to determine with accuracy, unless the figure flew from the
pedestal.”

He relates, that he visited Dr. Thornton, who lectures at the
Marlborough rooms, in Great Marlborough-street, on “craniology, botany,
chemistry, astronomy, vision, hearing, the circulation of the blood,
digestion, and the beneficial effects produced by the different gases in
the cure of diseases.” He inquired of this gentleman whether he thought
“an exhibition of something never before seen under the sun, and which,
when seen, people would fall down and worship, would be likely to
_take_?” The doctor inquired what the “something” was; the Ærial
answered by inquiring which of all the exhibitions was likely to be the
most successful; the doctor answered, “the panorama of London in the
Regent’s-park when it opens.” “But what do you think an infinitely more
attractive exhibition will produce.” “It is impossible to say--perhaps
20,000_l._ a year; but what is yours?”--“You shall see--but not
now--to-morrow.” On the morrow the Ærial came with a small bundle; and
having obtained permission to retire therewith, alone to a room,
promised to return in a few minutes, and cheer the sight of the doctor
and his family with a more astonishing production of nature than the
doctor or all mankind born before him had seen, or after ages could see.
During his absence, the doctor’s household were on tiptoe expectation
till the long-looked-at door opened, when the Ærial entered in a
close-fitting dress, and walking to the middle of the room, threw out
his chest and left arm, and projecting his right arm behind, cried,
“Behold!”

Determined on an immediate public exhibition, the Ærial conceived the
idea of a new joint stock company, “capital one million;” for which
“good and valuable consideration,” he proposed to put himself at the
disposition of the company “so soon as the subscription was filled up.”
To certain observations of the chancellor against the “new companies,”
the Ærial attributed a general indifference to personal overtures that
he made to several individuals, with a view to arrangements for bringing
him “into the market.” He resolved to speculate on his own account; the
first thing to be obtained was a “grand room;” but the proprietor of the
“Egyptian-hall” was deaf to the voice of the charmer, and every room in
London was denied to him, except on degrading conditions which people
“without souls” are accustomed to require on such applications. Could he
have obtained _one_ friend to have gone shares with him, the _summum
bonum_ might have been obtained. If only _one_ monied man would have
advanced with capital, the Ærial would have advanced in person. It was
to have been an exhibition by candlelight, for candlelight he said was
indispensable to produce “extreme height,” and render him in common eyes
“a giant.” This effect of exhibition by candlelight would be, he said, a
“new discovery;” and therefore he added to himself the title of the “New
Discovery.” He is five feet one inch and a quarter high. Some one
unthinkingly conversing in his presence, stated him to be five feet one
inch and a _half_; the Ærial corrected the inaccuracy with severity. “A
_quarter_, sir,” he said; “five feet one and a _quarter_, sir; mine is
the _perfect_ height; a _quarter_ of an inch more would be higher, a
_quarter_ of an inch less would be lower than the standard of
perfection!”

Acquiring experience from disappointment, and deeming that the wonder of
his person might be as insupportable as “excess of light,” the Ærial
purposed to let himself in upon the public by degrees. At his chambers
in Thavies-inn, he procured the attendance of a person to mould that
limb, which Mr. Haydon, from inability to duly appreciate the rest of
his body, had denominated “a beautiful leg.” The operation was so
tedious, that the mould was not completed till eleven o’clock in the
evening. It was then carried away for the purpose of being cast, but the
Ærial suspected “all was not right,” and “convinced,” he says, “that the
artist was sitting up to surreptitiously take a thousand casts from it,
in the course of the night, and sell them all over the country,” he
jumped into a hackney, between one and two in the morning, and caused
the coachman to drive him “as fast as the horses could go,” to the
artist’s house. The coachman, then he, the door-knocker seized, and
there both kept “lowd rub a dub tabering, with frapping rip rap.” The
drowsy servant roused from slumber, “creeping like snail, unwillingly”
opened the street door; the Ærial called out “where’s my leg! I’m come
for my leg!” and, seizing “the candle,” rushed to the workroom, which to
his astonishment was in darkness till illumined by his presence, and
the light he bore in his hand. On seeing the mould of his leg in the
basket just as it had been brought, he seized and bore it off to his own
home, and after this achievement slept in peace. In the morning he
carried it himself to another place, and having had a cast taken from it
in his own presence, conveyed both away, and meditated how “all might
see, and having seen, admire.” Finally, he deposited the cast with Mr.
Cottrell, at his “last and boot-tree manufactory,” No. 125, (near
Leather-lane,) Holborn, upon a promise that it should be exhibited in
the shop window without note or comment: “it will speak for itself,” he
said. He frequently made kind inquiries as to this portional
representation of himself, till he was informed, that “two hundred
pounds had been bid for it:” this was not enough. On a subsequent
interview, he was acquainted that “another person said he was willing to
give three hundred for it.” This undervaluation was decisive. “Such
people” he said, “shall not have a part of my person: give me my leg;
plenty now will desire an entire cast of me: I will submit to it for the
sake of the world for a thousand pounds; no less: here is my address,
let any one who desires it come to me.” He once more resumed the actual
possession of the cast, but no one came, and he pondered in vain to
account for the motives of “the world.” At length, by accident, he let
the cast fall and broke it; this he entirely destroyed. He next sought
how to dispose of the mould without disgrace to it, or to himself.
Sudden and quick in purpose, he resolved to bury it in the ocean. The
mail carried him to Dover, and from on board a steam-vessel, when midway
between England and France, he let it down to the bed of the sea, as to
the bed of honour, and “left it alone in its glory.”

After this funeral excursion, which had extended to Calais, he was, on
Monday, the 29th of August, at the public office, Marlborough-street.
The newspapers state the circumstance to this effect:--“A young man,
smart and flippant withal, was introduced to Mr. Conant, the presiding
magistrate. Whether the individual thought with Burke, that ‘mystery was
an attribute of the sublime,’ we know not--but this we know, he at first
attempted to hide his merits under the humble appellative of Joseph
Thompson; but subsequently owned a lawful right to the name of Joseph
Leeming;--whether to an immoderate love of the grape, or malt, was to be
attributed the inclination of Joseph Leeming matters not, a serious
charge of drunkenness, and its almost certain offspring, a riotous
comportment in his majesty’s highway, was made against him. When it was
demanded what part of the metropolis was dignified by the sojourn of
Joseph, he replied, No. 20, Newman-street, where he had tarried about a
week. Indeed, Joseph, by his own avowal, is of the swallow nature--one
of those roving sons of fortune who fillip the world aside, and cock
their hat at fate. With this disposition he seldom remains more than a
week anywhere,--perhaps he thinks with Virgil, that ‘in no fixed place
the happy souls reside,’ and therefore puts his happiness in quick
migration. He had come direct from Calais. ‘And pray, sir,’ said the
magistrate, ‘what was your business at Calais?’--‘My _business_?’
retorted Joseph Leeming, ‘_business_, indeed!’--‘Well, sir,’ replied the
magistrate, making due acknowledgment for having imagined that Joseph
Leeming could have any business, ‘what was your _pleasure_?’ but our
hero was not to be catechised in this manner, yet feeling that his
dependence on his powers were gradually relaxing, he sent for an artist
to astonish the world by a publication of that fame which the modesty of
Joseph Leeming kept concealed. The messenger said the artist was not at
home, but he learned from a man at the house, that Joseph Leeming was,
what no one could have discovered, namely, a conjuror; and then came the
grand discovery which we have now to relate. England is now the museum
of the world; she has balloons, fighting-dogs, fighting-men, giantesses,
and griping churchmen. Mr. Leeming, with a laudable spirit to improve
the number of these curiosities, and to distend the jaws of public
wonderment somewhat wider, had hit upon a plan by which he might fly
through the air and wage an equal battle with rooks and magpies. He had
purposed, by the aid of a pair of patent wings, (to be had only of the
inventor,) to fly from one of the Dover cliffs down into the town of
Calais, or, upon extraordinary occasions, to light upon Paris gates,
thereby saving a world of trouble resulting from passports and
gendarmerie. However, nothing is more uncertain than the resolve of
genius, Mr. Leeming had lately examined the cliffs of Dover, and
whether, as he surveyed the shores of France from chalky England, he
thought a trip to the ‘land of the Gaul’ was too venturous for a goose
we know not; but the feat was relinquished, and the good people of Dover
and Calais were denied the pleasure of beholding an ærial race between
Mr. Leeming and a sea-gull for the point of destination. After this
introduction of Mr. Leeming, in his national greatness, to Mr. Conant,
his worship recurred to the original subject, and asked Mr. Leeming if
he had his ‘wings’ about him. Mr. Leeming said it was a question he
should not answer. ‘Because if you have,’ said Mr. Conant, ‘you may fly
out of the office as soon as you please, after you have paid five
shillings for being drunk.’ Mr. Leeming paid the five shillings; and so
much had the adventure awakened curiosity to the suggested voyage, that
the spectators could not divest themselves of the hope of seeing Mr.
Leeming fly from the step of the office-door to a neighbouring
chimney-pot; in this, however, they were deceived, as he preferred
walking out.”

Whether Mr. Leeming proposed “to fly” from Dover cliffs or not is of
little consequence, but a person at Dover who meditated and perhaps
achieved the experiment, deemed it inexpedient to be considered the
Ærial of Marlborough-street, and by public announcement, disclaimed the
identity. His appearance at that police office was after his return from
Calais. He was on his way home to Newman-street, in “tipsy dance,” when
in the imperative mood, he inquired his way of a watchman, who,
preferring the _suaviter in modo_, lodged him in the house appointed for
the reception of many who indulge too freely in “life in London.” The
constable inquired “who are you?” “If you cannot perceive I am a great
man with a mere look,” said the Ærial, “I shall not tell you: I will
have you all punished.” The result as we have seen, was the proceedings
before Mr. Conant.

For the visit to Vauxhall mentioned in _The Times_, he made due
preparation. His dress was a close jacket of blue and silver; theatrical
“trunks,” or short breeches, reaching to within two or three inches
above the knee; white silk stockings of twenty shillings the pair; blue
kid shoes; a double frill or ruff, edged with lace round the neck; and
wristbands trimmed with lace. His entrance into the gardens without a
hat, surprised and astonished the waiters, who ran across to each other
inquiring “who is he?” They imagined him a distinguished foreigner, but
as he walked the gardens unrecognised their curiosity ceased. During the
performances he was little noticed, for being uncovered, the company
presumed he was some performer awaiting his turn to exhibit; but when
the amusements had ceased, one or two visiters begged to know whom they
had the honour of addressing. He answered, “you’ll find out by and bye.”
Inquiries becoming troublesome, and a crowd of gazers pressing on, he
suddenly broke through, and sustained the character of Ærial, by a
“light fantastic toe” sort of flight, from one part of the ground to
another, till having arrived at the saloon and rotunda escape was
impossible. From a private pocket he handed the printed card copied in
_The Times_ paragraph, with another inscribed, “THE NEW DISCOVERY
_challenges the whole World, and artists individually, to find a man, or
even design, that can in any way, in form or shape, be compared to
him_.” The distribution of three or four hundred of these challenges
were, in general, satisfactory answers; and when he intimated an
inclination to walk, a passage was made, through which he passed with
the most dignified deportment he could assume, while the company
followed huzzaing. A gentleman required a ring for him; it was instantly
complied with, and the Ærial put himself into various positions, with
the intent of displaying his transcendant form in the attitudes of
ancient statues; that which seemed to give the most lively satisfaction
to himself and his increasing audience was the gladiator, wherein he is
represented by the engraving to this article. He maintained it with
painful perseverance and patient endurance, while the perspiration
poured down his face, and the spectators shrieked with laughter and
amazement. This achievement was the height of his ambition; at its
conclusion he withdrew to a couch, whereon he duly reclined in a studied
attitude, to the admiration of thousands, who, tempted by the “Wonderful
Discovery,” flocked in from the supper rooms to gaze. Loud cries and
shouts of “encore,” roused him from temporary repose; but it was not to
indulge the anxious desire, for he walked apparently undisturbed by the
distinction he had obtained, and entering a box called for “wine,
mighty wine.” Draughts of this were succeeded by potations of
rack-punch, while loud calls upon him were unanswered; allegations
derogatory to his dignity were noticed by looks of indignation and
contempt; “he spoke not, he moved not,” till increased throng and uproar
raised his indignation, when a person withdrew him from the gardens, put
on his cloak, and the Ærial retired delighted with his reception.

Perusing the papers on the morrow, and not finding accounts respecting
his Vauxhall adventure, he found an advertisement of a song dedicated to
the duke of York, printed in blue and white. “They are my colours,” said
the Ærial, “they are the colours of an ærial,--the duke is an ærial.”
Elated by this conception, he bought another new pair of silk stockings,
and accomplished another visit to Vauxhall the same evening, where being
immediately recognised by some who had seen him the evening before, he
was soon surrounded. On this occasion he adventured a challenge, with an
offer of 500_l._ to any one who would match himself against him for
beauty. Being pushed and pursued he sprung on the supper-table of a
company, to the loss or great damage of his second pair of silks, and
went home on foot by daylight, amidst the grins of unappreciating people
passing to their labour.

On the night of the juvenile fete, as the duke of Cambridge was to be
present with his son, the Ærial once more visited Vauxhall. Unhappily,
the duke and the young prince were the attracting objects.

    Deserted in his utmost need,
    By those his former fancies fed,

the Ærial retired to a box, and, through the medium of the waiters,
consoled himself from their beaufets so effectually, that before supper
time he was better qualified to represent an attendant in a bacchanal
procession, than the celestial character he assumed. Imagining that
certain smiles indicated a deadly jealousy of his superhuman structure,
and dreading assassination from the hands of the envious, he manifested
his feelings in an undaunted manner, and was overpowered in a scuffle.
Being unable to walk from excess of devotion to the rosy deity, he was
deposited in one of the cloak rooms, and left to repose: on awaking and
sallying forth into the gardens he was astonished to find the place
deserted; and, for lamp-light, the glare of the sun. His cloak and
purse were not to be found; remonstrance and entreaty were alike vain;
he was assured he should have both when they were recoverable, but not
then, and he found it convenient to accept the best substitute the place
afforded. To be content, where discontent avails not, is a philosophical
rudiment, and therefore he philosophically submitted to be assisted by
the waiters into a moth-eaten, mouldy, ragged watchman’s scarlet frieze
cloak, with “R. G. V. H.,” denoting “Royal Gardens, Vauxhall,” worked in
large worsted letters on the back; and in this attire he wandered, “not
unseen,” to his dormitory at a few miles distance. The particular
compliments he received by the way are not relatable. After a few hours’
rest, he made personal application at Vauxhall for his cloak and purse,
and both were returned to him, accompanied by an assurance from them
that he must not appear there again. Undaunted by so unexpected a return
for the patronage he had vouchsafed towards the gardens, and conceiving
that the proprietors ought not to sustain the injury his absence would
inflict on them, he laid out another pound in a fourth pair of hose, and
again, “in silk attire,” covered by a cloak, presented himself at the
door, but he had scarcely advanced from paying his entrance-money when
constables hurried him out, and he was not allowed to re-enter. This was
the last appearance of the Ærial at Vauxhall.

Conceiving that the managers of the theatres would gladly avail
themselves of his attractive powers, he habited himself as before
described, and announced himself at their doors as “The Ærial;” but they
were “not at home,” nor were they “at home” to his subsequent calls.
Such gross inattention to their interests was inconceivable; for it
seems he coveted no other remuneration than “to walk across the stage
and back again, and receive the plaudits of the audience.” He affirms
that he appeared on the boards of the Manchester theatre, and that the
people hooted because he would not deign to remain long enough for the
gratification of their extreme curiosity. Though convinced that no one
ever appeared to such advantage as he does, in the dress wherein he has
already appeared in public, yet he walks _en deshabille_ on ordinary
occasions, lest he should suffer violence from the fathers, brothers,
and lovers of the British ladies, who, according to his own
affirmation, are ready to throw themselves at his feet upon the least
encouragement. He says he is determined to ally himself to her alone, if
she can be found, who knows herself to be a Venus as he knows himself to
be an Adonis. He is of opinion that he is “winning each heart and
delighting each eye;” and he calls himself “the immortal Mr. L----.” It
was suggested to him as possible, that as no income resulted from his
outgoings, his property might be expended. His answer was to this
effect:--“When I am at the last extremity I can marry any lady I please
with thirty thousand pounds.” If he should find himself mistaken in his
conceptions before matters have proceeded so far, those to whom his
flights have rendered him a public character will soon forget his
extraordinary assumptions, and he will find a common station more
conducive to his personal quiet. He is unknown to the writer of this
article, who, nevertheless, is so well informed respecting him as to be
persuaded that when Mr. L.’s feverish excitement is over, his talents
merely require diligent cultivation in a different direction to ensure
this. A man is in less danger who thinks too meanly, than he who thinks
too highly of himself. It is easier to be comfortable in a lower sphere,
than to reach an elevated one and live happy in it.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Letter from the Ærial._

When this sheet was going to press a letter was received; which, being
properly authenticated, is here subjoined, with the words in italics as
marked in the original.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

  _November_ 16, 1825.

I conceive that nothing but my “death,” or at least “the beautiful leg,”
will atone to the world for my _little_ indiscretions. If you expect me
to appeal to the public, I answer, that I have been without father and
mother eleven years nearly, though now only twenty-five years old, and
measuring five feet two inches and a half, and in the hands of
guardians, though not wanting money, _four of whom_ it took to put me in
the watchhouse, and I answer that I would rather be hanged if “the most
liberal nation of the earth” wishes it.

You have observed that the company _shrieked_ with laughter and
amazement. Now I say _I_ was the only _one_ who _shrieked_ with
laughter, as I should at another hoax on the public. You might have
spared me the trouble of answering you, if you had not introduced a most
immutable picture of my conduct. You have represented me as the
individual courting excessive censure or praise; but I must here be
puppy enough to talk of general opinion, and say, that notwithstanding
the pretended _christian burial_ of me by the newspapers, it still
appears by each and every of them that in the end the magistrate had no
just cause to hate me. Besides acquiring experience from disappointment,
and Mr. Chantry who sent for _me_, I had a _dream_ which clearly
_convinced_ me I should not part with the cast.

I have no occasion to mention the author of the following quotation:--

    “Let Hercules himself do what he may,
    The cat will mew, the dog will have his day.”

  I am, Sir,

  Your most obedient servant,

  JOSEPH LEEMING.

  _No. 61, Berwick Street, Soho._

Having inserted this letter here the matter ends, for nothing remains to
be said.

It being within the purpose of the _Every-Day Book_ to observe on the
phenomena of the times, Mr. Leeming, as “the Ærial,” was included, but
not until he had been previously in print from the character he assumed.
His present letter speaks for itself. He admits “_little_”
indiscretions: among these “_little_” ones a _large_ one was, what he
terms, his “_hoax_” on the public; but his visits to the artists are of
another character. There exists no feeling towards him, on the part of
the editor of this work, but a kind one; and he advises him, for his own
sake, to “_study_ to be _quiet_.”

       *       *       *       *       *

    Happy the man whose wish and care,
      A few paternal acres bound;
    Content to breathe his native air,
                            In his own ground.

    Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
      Whose flocks supply him with attire;
    Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
                            In winter fire.

    Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
      Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
    In health of body, peace of mind,
                            Quiet by day.

    Sound sleep by night, study and ease
      Together mix’d; sweet recreation!
    And innocence which most does please
                            With meditation.

    Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
      Thus unlamented let me die;
    Steal from the world, and not a stone
                            Tell where I lie.

  _Pope._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Glaucus Aletris. _Veltheimia glauca._
  Dedicated to _St. John Lateran_.

  [382] _Whiffler_, Mr. Douce says, in his “_Illustrations of
  Shakspeare_,” is a term undoubtedly borrowed from _whiffle_, another
  name for a fife or small flute; for whifflers were originally those
  who preceded armies or processions, as fifers or pipers: in process of
  time the term _whiffler_, which had been always used in the sense of a
  _fifer_, came to signify any person who went before in a procession.
  He observes, that Minshew defines him to be a club or staff-bearer,
  and that it appears, _whifflers_ carried white staves, as in the
  annual feast of the printers, founders, and ink-makers, described by
  Randle Holme.

  Mr. Archdeacon Nares, in his _Glossary_, cites Grose’s mention of the
  _whifflers_ at Norwich, who make way for the corporation by
  flourishing their swords.

  A friend informs me, that the dexterity of the Norwich _whifflers_ in
  turning their swords to every possible direction is amazing.

  Mr. Archdeacon Nares remarks, that in the city of London, young
  freemen, who march at the head of their proper companies on the lord
  Mayor’s day, sometimes with flags, were called _whifflers_, or
  _bachelor whifflers_, not because they cleared the way, but because
  they went first as _whifflers_ did; and he quotes a character in the
  old play of the _City Match_, saying, “I look’d the next lord mayor’s
  day to see you o’ the livery, or one of the bachelor _whifflers_.”

  _Hone on Mysteries._

  [383] Dr. Drake’s Shakspeare and his Times, vol. ii.


~November 10.~

  _St. Andrew Avellino_, A. D. 1608. _Sts. Trypho_ and _Respicius_, A.
  D. 250. _St. Nympha_, 5th Cent. _St. Justus_, Abp. of Canterbury, A.
  D. 627. _St. Milles_, Bp., and _Sts. Abrosimus_ and _Sina_, A. D. 341.


DAY AFTER LORD MAYOR’S DAY.

_London on the 10th of November._

Thin attendance on ’Change to-day--dull eyes--languid countenance--a
little nervous this morning--fresh demand for soda-water and
ginger-beer--much breakfasting at the coffee-houses about twelve--scrags
of mutton in great request--confounded head-ache--shall be home early
to-morrow, my dear--let me have a little broth--deuce take the lord
mayor; I’ll never go again.[384]--

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Scotch Fir. _Pinus Silvestris._
  Dedicated to _St. Nympha_.

  [384] Morning Advertiser, Nov. 15, 1824.


~November 11.~

  _St. Martin_, Bp. A. D. 397. _St. Mennas_, A. D. 304.


~St. Martin.~

He is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. By Romish
writers he is called “the Great St. Martin, the glory of Gaul.” They say
that he was born in Lower Hungary, about 316, and becoming a soldier, a
beggar requested alms, when having no money he drew his sword, and
cutting his cloak into two pieces, gave half to the beggar, and wrapped
himself up in the other; whereupon Christ appeared to him the next
night, in the half he had given away, asked him if he knew it, and said
to angels that surrounded him, “Martin has given me this garment.” This
occasioned him to leave the army and enter the church, and he was made
an exorcist by St. Hilary. Turning hermit, he lived on roots and wild
herbs, and unawares ate a quantity of hellebore sufficient to kill an
unprivileged person. After this, one of his disciples fell ill of a
fever, and died suddenly without baptism; “whereupon,” says Alban
Butler, “feeling in himself a divine impulse to work a miracle,” he
stretched himself upon the body, and prayed till the deceased came to
life. She said her soul had been before the divine tribunal, and been
sentenced to a dark dungeon;--but that on two angels representing St.
Martin was praying for her coming back, she was ordered to be restored
to the body and raised to life. “Another time the saint restored to
life, in the same manner, a slave who had hanged himself.” In 371, he
was chosen bishop of Tours, and is said to have lived in a narrow hole
in the side of a rock. Near to it was a chapel with an altar, over a
tomb, but St. Martin would not visit it, because, although the person
buried was represented to have been a martyr, he was not assured that
the relics were genuine. He went, however, one day with some of his
clergy, and prayed for information, whereupon on his left hand, “he saw
near him a pale ghost of a fierce aspect, whom he commanded to speak;
the ghost told his name, and it appeared that he had been a robber who
was executed for his crimes, whom the people honoured as a martyr; none
but St. Martin saw him, the rest only heard his voice; he thereupon
caused the altar to be removed.” After the rectification of this
trifling mistake, he went on raising the dead, casting out devils, and
receiving revelations; but as he grew older “it cost him more
difficulty, and longer prayers, to cast out devils than formerly.” He
died in 397, and his shrine worked the usual miracles. This account of
St. Martin is abstracted from the rev. Alban Butler’s life of him.


~Martinmas.~

A custom anciently prevailed, though generally confined at present to
country villages, of killing cows, oxen, swine, &c. at this season,
which were cured for the winter, when fresh provisions were seldom or
never to be had.

    When Easter comes, who knows not than
    That veale and bacon is the man?
    And _Martilmass Beefe_ doth beare good tacke,
    When countrey folke do dainties lacke.

  _Tusser._

Martlemas beef was beef dried in the chimney, as bacon, and is so
called, because it was usual to kill the beef for this provision about
the feast of St. Martin.[385] There is mention of

    --dried flitches of some smoked beeve,
    Hang’d on a writhen wythe since Martin’s Eve.

  _Hall._

Mr. Brand relates, that rustic families in Northumberland clubbed at
Martinmas to buy a cow or other animal; the union for this purchase is
called a “mart.” After the animal was killed, they filled the entrails
with a kind of pudding meat, consisting of blood, suet, groats, &c.
which being formed into little sausage links, were boiled and sent about
as presents. These are called “black-puddings” from their colour. There
is also noticed a kind of entertainment in Germany, called the “feast of
sausages,” which was wont to be celebrated with great joy and festivity.
The day is a great festival on the continent: new wines then begin to be
tasted, and the hours are spent in carousing. An old author says, that
the great doings on this occasion almost throughout Europe in his time,
are derived from an ancient Athenian festival, observed in honour of
Bacchus, upon the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth days of the month
Anthesterion, corresponding with our November. Another says, that the
eleventh month had a name from the ceremony of “tapping their barrels on
it;” when it was customary to make merry. It is likewise imagined by Dr.
Stukeley, in his “Itinerary” concerning _Martinsal-hill_, thus: “I take
the name of this hill to come from the merriments among the northern
people, called _Martinalia_, or drinking healths to the memory of St.
Martin, practised by our Saxon and Danish ancestors. I doubt not but
upon St. Martin’s day, or Martinmass, all the young people in the
neighbourhood assembled here, as they do now upon the adjacent St.
Ann’s-hill, upon St. Ann’s day.” He adds, that “St. Martin’s day, in the
Norway clogs, (or wooden almanacs) is marked with a goose: for on that
day they always feasted with a roasted goose: they say, St. Martin,
being elected to a bishoprick, hid himself, (noluit episcopari) but was
discovered by that animal. _We_ have transferred the ceremony to
Michaelmas.”[386]

Dr. Forster, so often cited, observes, that a medal has lately been
struck in France in commemoration of this laudable custom; on one side
of which is embossed a goose, and on the reverse occurs the word
Martinalia. Relative to the custom of goose-eating, it is further
noticed in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the festival of St. Martin
occurs when geese are in high season. “It is always celebrated with a
voracity the more eager, as it happens on the eve of the _petit carême_,
when fowls can no longer be presented on the tables of a religious age.
A German monk, Martin Schoock, has made it a case of conscience whether,
even on the eve of the little Lent, it be allowable to eat goose: ‘_An
liceat Martinalibus anserem comedere_?’ After having dived into the
weedy pool of the casuist’s arguments, the delighted devotee emerges
with the permission to roast his goose; and thus the goose came to be a
standing dish on Martinmas as well as Michaelmas day.”

In some of the old church calendars the celebration of this day is
called “The Martinalia, a genial feast; wines are tasted of and drawn
from the lees; Bacchus is the figure of Martin.”[387]

“Time’s Telescope,” for 1814, cites some extracts from a little ballad,
entitled “Martilmasse Day:”--

    It is the day of Martilmasse,
    Cuppes of ale should freelie passe;
    What though Wynter has begunne
    To push downe the Summer sunne,
    To our fire we can betake,
    And enjoye the crackling brake,
    Never heedinge Wynter’s face
    On the day of Martilmasse.

    Some do the citie now frequent,
    Where costlie shows and merriment
    Do weare the vaporish eveninge out
    With interlude and revellinge rout;
    Such as did pleasure Englande’s queene
    When here her Royal Grace was seen
    Yet will they not this day let passe,
    The merrie day of Martilmasse.

    When the dailie sportes be done,
    Round the market crosse they runne,
    Prentis laddes and gallant blades
    Dancing with their gamesome maids,
    Till the Beadel, stout and sowre,
    Shakes his bell, and calls the houre;
    Then farewell ladde and farewell lasse
    To the merry night of Martilmasse.

    Martilmasse shall come againe,
    Spite of wind, and snow, and raine;
    But many a strange thing must be done,
    Many a cause be lost and won,
    Many a tool must leave his pelfe,
    Many a worldlinge cheat himselfe,
    And many a marvel come to passe,
    Before return of Martilmasse.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Weymouth Pine. _Pinus Strobus._
  Dedicated to _St. Martin_.

  [385] Tusser Redivivus.

  [386] Brand.

  [387] Brady’s Clavis Calendaria.


~November 12.~

  _St. Martin_, Pope, A. D. 655. _St. Nilus_, A. D. 390. _St. Livin_, A.
  D. 633. _St. Lebwin_, Patron of Daventer, 8th Cent.


_Birth-day of Admiral Vernon._

The anniversary of this famous old admiral’s nativity was formerly kept
with great enthusiasm. It was distinguished in 1740 in a very
extraordinary manner, by the ringing of bells, and public dinners in
many places, &c. In the evening there were the greatest rejoicings,
bonfires, and illuminations in London and other cities, that had been
known for many years. Don Blass was burnt in some places, and at
Chancery-lane-end was a _pageant_, whereon was represented admiral
Vernon, and a Spaniard on his knees offering him a sword; a view of
Porto Bello, &c.; over the admiral was wrote, “Venit, vidit, vicit;” and
under him, “Vernon semper viret.”[388]

       *       *       *       *       *

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Grape Aloe. _Velthennia Uvaria._
  Dedicated to _St. Nilus_.

  [388] Gentleman’s Magazine.


~November 13.~

  _St. Homobonus_, A. D. 1197. _St. Didacus_, A. D. 1463. _St. Stanislas
  Kostka_, A. D. 1568. _St. Mitrius._ _St. Brice_, A. D. 444. _St.
  Constant_, of Logherne, A. D. 777. _St. Chillen_, or _Killian_, of
  Ireland.


~St. Brice.~

This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs, for
what reason is unknown. He was born at Tours, became a monk under St.
Martin, and succeeded him in the see of that city.


ST. JOHN’S, CLERKENWELL.

The church of St. John, Clerkenwell, having been closed for reparation
since the first Sunday in July, was opened for divine service on the
13th of November, 1825, by the Rev. W. E. L. Faulkner, M. A. rector of
the parish. The exterior of the present edifice is altogether unseemly.
It is frequently called St. John’s chapel, and has more the air of a
meeting for dissenting worship, than a structure of the establishment;
if it had not a sort of steeple with a bell, it might be mistaken for a
theatre; but the interior is in every respect befitting its
ecclesiastical use. It has spacious galleries, is well pewed below, and
thoroughly lighted, with a very commodious vestry. In these respects it
is creditable to the inhabitants who have now so judiciously fitted it
up, that it will not require more than usual cleaning for many years.
Still it is to be regretted, that a structure, essentially gothic,
should have been accommodated to modern architecture. The deviation
seems to have taken place on its appropriation to the use of the parish
of St. John, about a century preceding the reparation it has now
undergone.

St. John’s parish is distinct from the parish of St. James, although, as
regards their poor, they are under one management; and the parish of St.
James has, in other respects, an ascendancy, which formerly was the
cause of open dissention. This difference originated on the setting out
of the parish, the boundaries whereof are described by an entry in the
vestry-book, which states in what way the church became parochial.
Before referring to it, a glance may be taken of the annexed engraving.
It is from an original drawing of a _south_ view of the church in the
year 1508, and preserved in the Cotton collection. It is especially
curious, because it shows the old square tower, on the site whereof the
present church stands, with the great bell tower above, which is
rapturously described by Stowe, as will be mentioned presently. The
building with two windows between three buttresses, surmounted by
pinnacles, was anciently the library.

[Illustration: ~Church of St. John, Clerkenwell, in 1508.~]


ENTRY IN THE VESTRY BOOK.

_The History of the Parish of St. John, Clerkenwell._

On friday the twenty seventh Day of December in the year of our Lord
Christ one thousand seven hundred twenty and three, and in the tenth
Year of the Reign of George by the Grace of God, king of Great Britain,
&c. being St. John’s Day, this Church was consecrated and dedicated to
the Service of Almighty God by the Right Reverend Father in God Edmund
[Gibson] by Divine Permission Lord Bishop of London, by the Name of the
Church of St. John Clerkenwell in the County of Middlesex.

This Church is what was the Choir of the antient Church of the Knights
Hospitallers, or the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem in England, which
Order began at Jerusalem about the Year of our Lord Christ 1099, taking
its rise and name from an Hospital built for the reception of Christian
Strangers and Pilgrims, who came to perform their Devotion at the Place
of our Lord’s Sepulchre, and from a Church adjoining dedicated to St.
John Baptist.

In the 11th Century the Christians in the Holy Land were very much
harassed by the Turks, till some Merchants from Amalfi in Italy visited
the parts about Syria and Egypt, and so far recommended themselves to
the Inhabitants by the many rare and pretious commodities they brought
thither, that the Calif of Egypt gave them a part of Jerusalem to live
in, where they built a Cloister and transplanted thither from Italy an
Abbot with some Benedictine Monks, who entertained all Christian
Pilgrims and travellers: soon after a Cloister was erected for Women,
and these being too small, the Hospital or Alms-House just mentioned was
founded for the reception of both sick and well, under the direction of
an Overseer maintained chiefly by Alms from Amalfi and other parts of
Italy: shortly after, the Church was built, and dedicated to St. John
Baptist; tradition informing, that his Father Zachary had often
travelled that way, from whence those of this Foundation took the Name
of Joannitæ, and continued an Order of Hospitalers or Alms-men some few
Years.

In the year 1099, when the Christian Princes, under the command of
Godfrey of Bologne, Duke of Lorrain besieged Jerusalem, Gerard the then
overseer, with the rest of the Hospitalers by a sudden and unexpected
Sally upon the rear of the Turks, contributed greatly to the overthrow
of the infidels, and the recovery of the Holy-Land. Godfrey made public
acknowledgments of this signal piece of Service, and being created King
of Jerusalem gave the Hospitalers large presents, and put the defence
of many Towns into their hands. From this time their Order commenced
that of Knighthood, Gerard being their first Grand Master. The Order was
confirmed by Pope Honorius the second, and by the then Patriarch of
Jerusalem. The members of it were called indifferently the Knights
Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem. It was their Vow and Profession
to exercise hospitality, to resist the Barbarians that should offer any
injury to Pilgrims on the High Ways, and to maintain the Christian
religion by force of Arms in their Country. They soon greatly increased
in Fame and Riches and spread into many nations: the services they did
to Christian Princes procured them every where great respect, Wealth and
Privileges, insomuch that tho’ at first they professed voluntary
poverty, they were afterwards at once in Possession of 19000 Manors in
Christendom.

This Order flourished with great pomp and splendour in this Nation:
their Prior was reckoned the first Baron in England; their Establishment
here was very early, for about a Year after their first Institution at
Jerusalem, viz. An. Dom. 1100, Jordan Briset Baron, and Muriel his wife,
founded a Priory in this place for the Knights of this Order, and built
a Church, which was dedicated to the Honour of St. John Baptist, in the
Year 1185, being then consecrated by Heraclius Patriarch of Jerusalem.
Both Church and House were burnt in 1381, by the Essex Rebels, but were
afterwards rebuilt and continued in the possession of the Knights
Hospitallers till the 32nd Year of Henry the 8th (which was years after
the general Dissolution of Religious Houses in this Kingdom,) when by a
particular Act of Parliament the Priory was suppressed, and the House,
Church, and all the Lands of the Knights Hospitallers were vested in the
Crown, with all Privileges, &c. thereto belonging, other than the right
of Sanctuary, which Right is by this Act discharged, but with an express
saving of the Privileges common to Churches and Church Yards applied and
used to God’s service. In this Act of Parliament the Hospital, House,
Church, &c. are mentioned, not as a part of, or within the Parish of St.
James, Clerkenwell, but as situate and being near to the City of London,
in the County of Middlesex, and so the same are mentioned in the grant
from the Crown and subsequent writings.

The Hospital or Priory Church, and House of St. John were preserved from
Spoil and down-pulling so long as Henry the 8th lived; but in the third
Year of King Edward the 6th the Body and side Isles with the great Bell
tower, (a most curious piece of workmanship, graven, gilt, and
enamelled,) were pulled down; but the Choir, (which remained,) was
closed up in the reign of Queen Mary, who restored the Order and
incorporated a Priory and several Brethren, and granted to them this
Church, House, and many Lands; but the Order being again dissolved by
Queen Elizabeth, the Church and Priory remained in the Crown till the
9th day of May, in the 5th year of King James the first, when by Letters
Patent of that date the King granted the same to Ralph Freeman and his
heirs, in free and common Soccage by the name of the City or House of
the late Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem in England, in the County of
Middlesex, and all the City, Circuit, and Precinct of the same House,
having therein one great Mansion House, one great Chapel, &c.,
containing by estimation 5 acres. From Freeman the said Church or
Chapel, and part of the great house and gardens, came in the 10th Year
of King James the first Ld. Wm. Cecil Lord Burghley, Son and Heir
apparent of Thomas Earl of Exeter, by whose daughter the Lady Diana, it
passed in marriage in the 5th Year of King Charles the 1st to Thomas,
Lord Bruce, afterwards Earl of Elgin, whose son Robert was created Earl
of Ailesbury, in which Family this Church or Chapel, (from thence called
Ailesbury Chapel,) continued till the Year 1706, and being then sold by
them, was afterwards, viz. in the Year 1721, purchased by Mr. Simon
Michell, with intent to accommodate the Inhabitants of a new Street by
him then partly built, called Red Lion Street, and the neighbouring
inhabitants with a convenient place for Divine Worship. He afterwards
enlarged the said Chapel, or what was used as such, being the middle
Isle only by restoring thereto the North isle, (which had been made part
of a dwelling-house,) and also the South Isle, (the upper part of which
had been converted into a Library, and the lower part separated by a
wall from what was left to the Chapel,) and having likewise entirely new
built the west front, and new roofed the whole, and furnished the Chapel
with convenient Galleries and pews; he proposed it thus rebuilt and
beautified to the Commissioners appointed in pursuance of Acts of
Parliament for building 50 New Churches in and about London, as proper
to be by them converted into a Parochial Church for such an adjoining
District, as they should think fit to appoint for a Parish to the same.

This proposal being accepted and an agreement made by the Commissioners
with Mr. Simon Michell, he and Mr. Hutton (his trustee) by bargain and
sale enrolled in Chancery, bearing date the 29th day of August 1723,
conveyed the Chapel, and the ground extending from the East end thereof
to St. John’s Street, (on the front part whereof next to St. John’s
Street, stood 2 houses,) to the said Commissioners, who by Deed bearing
date the 11th day of December 1723 and afterwards enrolled in Chancery,
did, pursuant to their Power, granted by the said Acts of Parliament,
declare and appoint the Chapel to be from and for ever after the
Enrollment of that Deed and the consecration of the Chapel, a Parish
Church by such Name as should be given thereto in the act of
Consecration; and by the same Deed the said Commissioners did pursuant
to the said Acts of Parliament set out and appoint a Parish for the said
Church, and ascertained the Bonds and Limits of such new parish to be as
followeth:--

The entry in the vestry-book, hitherto given verbatim, proceeds to set
out the parish bounds in words, and a copy of the act of consecration.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is interesting to go a little farther into the history of this
ancient church.

While Henry VIII. reigned, “the rebels of Essex and Kent,” in 1381, set
fire to the house, causing it to burn for the space of seven days
together, and not suffering any to quench it: afterwards the church, and
houses thereto appertaining, were new built, and the church finished by
Thomas Docwray, lord prior there about the year 1504, as appears by the
inscription over the gate-house, mentioned by Stow as remaining in his
time, and which still remains. The church was employed as a storehouse
for the king’s “toyles and tents for hunting and for the wars,” &c.
Stow, who says this, speaking of its destruction in the third year of
king Edward VI., adds, that the church for the most part, to wit, the
body and side isles with the great bell tower was undermined and blown
up with gunpowder, and the stone thereof employed in building the lord
protector’s (Somerset) house in the Strand. The great bell tower he
calls “a most curious piece of workmanship, graven, gilt, and inameled
to the great beautifying of the city, and passing all other that I have
sceene.” He adds that the part of the quire which remained, with some
side chapels, was closed up at the west end by cardinal Pole, in the
reign of queen Mary, and the other was repaired, and sir Thomas Tresham
Knight, made the lord prior there with the restitution of some lands. At
the suppression, the priory was valued “to dispend in lands, 3385_l._
19_s._ 8_d._ yearly; sir William Weston being then lord prior, died on
the 7th of May, 1540.” The king granted “great yeerely pensions” to the
knights; and to the lord prior, during his life, 1000_l._ “but he never
received a penny.” He died of a broken heart on Ascension-day in the
same year, the very day the house was suppressed. An account of the
exhumation of his body on the 27th of April, 1788, on taking down the
old church of St. James, Clerkenwell, with interesting particulars
respecting him, may be seen in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for that year.
Mr. Bartholomew of Red Lion-street, Clerkenwell, a lover, and as far as
he is permitted by the other inhabitants, a preserver of the antiquities
of his parish of St. John, is in possession of a portion of prior
Weston’s cere-cloth.

       *       *       *       *       *

The only vestiges of the antiquity and extent of this church are in
Jerusalem-court, which runs from St. John’s-square into St.
John’s-street, and is bounded on the left by houses or dwellings
constructed within the remaining part of the south wall: they are now,
(in November, 1825,) undergoing reparation by new facing, but portions
of the old church buttresses remain, though they are much mutilated, and
their shafts buried to the extent of many feet below the pavement. There
is not a single inscription or monument of any age remaining. The only
remarkable stone in the churchyard is a memoritur of the late “Mrs.
Sarah Newman of No. 63, Cow-cross-street, St. Sepulchre,” who died a few
years ago, and is rendered “remarkable” by an amplification of the
ever-recurring epitaph, “Affliction sore” &c. She is made to say--

    Pain was my portion,
    Physic was my food,
    Groans was my devotion,
    Drugs did me no good;
    Christ was my physician,
    Knew what way was best,
    To ease me of my pain,
    He took my soul to rest.

       *       *       *       *       *

A mural inscription in the church, represents “Simon Michell Esq. a
member of the Middle Temple and Lincoln’s Inn, descended from a family
of that name in Somersetshire. He died August 30, 1750, aged 74.” He was
a barrister, and member of parliament for Boston. Red Lion-street, built
by him, is the best class of houses erected in his time in Clerkenwell,
which, among the “lower orders,” is called “Jack Adams’s parish,” for a
reason that, if it can be authentically communicated, will be hereafter
inserted.

The old gateway of St. John’s priory remains in the state wherein it is
seen monthly on the title-page of the “Gentleman’s Magazine.” The east
turret and the great rooms over the gateway, are used as a tavern called
“The old St. John of Jerusalem,” occupied and kept by Mr. William Flint,
who formerly carried on the business of a printer in the Old Bailey. The
lower part of the west turret is the watchhouse of St. John’s parish. On
entering the gateway from the south, the fixed iron shaft of the top
hinge, whereon the ancient gate swung, is about level with the elbow of
a person of ordinary stature: from this, the height to which the ground
has been raised above the old level may be imagined. The gateway itself
has been lately repaired at the parish expense, chiefly at the instance
of Mr. Bartholomew, who took great pains to ascertain and properly
colour the arms of Prior Docwray on the crown of the arch, and the
remaining ornaments, some of which had been hidden in the watchhouse. An
ancient door in the watchhouse bricked up, and boarded over by the
wainscotting, retains an old carved oak-facing at the top; through Mr.
Bartholomew’s persistance it was not destroyed, and he has caused a
small flap with hinges to be inserted in the wainscot for the purpose of
disclosing this carving, from time to time, to curious inquirers. He is
one of the few inhabitants of Clerkenwell, who take an interest in
maintaining the reputation of this suburb for its former grandeur.

The rental of St. John’s parish in the year 1782, was 12,658_l._ In
1825, it amounted to 21,724_l._, not so much from additional building,
as from increase in the value of property.

St. John’s-gate will be always remembered in connection with the
“Gentleman’s Magazine,” which was first printed there by Edmund Cave.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Bay. _Laurus poetica._
  Dedicated to _St. Homobonus_.


~November 14.~

  _St. Lawrence_, Abp. of Dublin, A. D. 1180. _St. Dubricius_, A. D.
  522.


STAMFORD BULL RUNNING.

This annual custom in the county of Lincoln is fixed for the 13th of
November; which, in 1825, being Sunday, it was postponed to the next
day, Monday the 14th. A correspondent’s communication sets forth ample
and curious particulars of the usage.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

As your very respectable and highly entertaining publication, the
_Every-Day Book_, is a receptacle for local usages and customs,
doubtless the _Stamford bull-running_, which takes place annually on the
13th of November, will be acceptable. It is conducted with a most
determined spirit, and unlike most other customs, seems to increase in
notoriety yearly.

Butcher says, “the bull-running is a sport of no pleasure, except to
such as take a pleasure in beastliness and mischief. It is performed
just the day six weeks before Christmas. The butchers of the town at
their own charge, against the time, purchase a wild bull; this bull over
night is had into some stable or barn belonging to the alderman; the
next morning proclamation is made by the common bellman of the town,
round about the same, that each one shut up his shop-doors and gates,
and none, under pain of imprisonment, do any violence to strangers; for
the preventing whereof (the town being a great thoroughfare, and then
being in term time,) a guard is appointed for the passing of travellers
through the same, without hurt. None [to] have any iron upon their
bull-clubs, or other staff which they pursue the bull with: which
proclamation made, and the gates all shut up, the bull is turned out of
the alderman’s house, and then, hivie, skivy, tag-rag, men, women, and
children, of all sorts and sizes, with all the dogs in the town,
promiscuously running after him with their bull-clubs, spattering dirt
in each other’s faces, that one would think them to be so many furies
started out of hell for the punishment of _Cerberus_, as when _Theseus_
and _Perillus_ conquered the place, as Ovid describes it--

    “‘A ragged troop of boys and girls,
      Do pellow him with stones,
    With clubs, with whips, and many nips,
      They part his skin from bones.’

“And (which is the greater shame) I have seen both _Senatores majorum
gentium et matrone de euodem gradu_, following this bulling business.

“I can say no more of it, but only to set forth the antiquity thereof,
(as the tradition goes,) William, earl of Warren, in the time of king
John, standing upon his castle-wall under the same, saw two bulls
fighting for one cow. A butcher of the town, the owner of one of the
bulls, with a great mastiff dog, accidentally coming by set his dog upon
his own bull, who forced the same bull up into the town, which no sooner
was come within the same, but all the butcher’s dogs, great and small,
followed in pursuit of the bull, which by this time made stark mad with
the noise of the people, and the fierceness of the dogs, ran over man,
woman, and child, that stood in his way. This caused all the butchers
and others in the town to rise up as it were in a tumult, making such a
hideous noise that the sound thereof came into the castle into the ears
of earl Warren, who presently mounted on horseback, and rid into the
town to see the business; which then appearing (to his humour) very
delightful, he gave all the meadows in which the bulls were at first
found fighting, (which we now call the castle meadows,) perpetually as a
common to the butchers of the town, to keep their cattle in till the
time of slaughter, upon this condition, that upon the day on which this
sport first began, the butchers of the town should from time to time
yearly for ever, find a mad bull for the continuance of that sport.”

Mr. Lowe speaks more favourably of the “bull-running” than Butcher. He
calls it “a good old custom,” and says, “there is nothing similar to it
in his majesty’s dominions, nor I believe in the dominions of any other
potentate on the globe: no, it stands without a rival.” “If,” says Lowe,
“the doctrine of transmigration be true, nothing can be more certain
than that the soul of earl Warren animated the body of Mr. Robert
Ridlington, once a tanner, alderman, and mayor, of this corporation, who
to perpetuate this gallant diversion as much as in him lay, left
half-a-crown to be paid annually to each of the five parishes (of
Stamford,) for the trouble of stopping the gates and avenues of the
town, which is received on St. Thomas’s-day. I therefore hold it
incumbent on me to record this spirited bequest, and to let this _par
nobile fratrum_ go hand in hand to posterity, for which legacy every
bullard in gratitude ought to drink on that day to the joint memory of
both. Since this account may chance to fall into the hands of some who
are strangers to the town, I would have such know that when this
gala-day falls either on a market-day or on a Sunday, that neither the
market nor even the sabbath is put off on its account; but, on the
contrary, it is itself postponed till the morrow, which must be
acknowledged to be an instance of great forbearance!”

So much for the accounts of Butcher and Lowe. I shall now proceed to
state the manner in which the sport is conducted in the present day.

The bull being duly procured, is shut up the night previous to the
appointed morn, in a place provided for the purpose, and, long ere dawn
of day, no peaceable person lying on his bed, can enjoy the pleasing and
renovating stupor which, if unmolested by the cry of “bull for ever,”
the leaden key of Somnus would afford him. At eleven o’clock, Taurus is
loosed from his prison-house generally into a street stopped at each
end, which he parades in majesty sublime. At this dangerous juncture
every post, pump, and the like is in requisition, and those who are
fortunate enough to get sheltered behind one sit in conscious security,

    “grinning with a ghastly smile”

at those who less fortunate than themselves must, for protection, have
recourse to flight. The carts and waggons which form the stoppage at the
ends of the street, are crowded with individuals, as well as the roofs
of houses; in short, every place tenable is occupied. Some years back it
was customary to irritate the bull by goading him with pointed sticks,
but this is now wholly done away with, it being declared unnecessarily
cruel, and different means are resorted to to enrage him. Frequently, a
hogshead with both ends knocked out is brought, wherein a man places
himself, and by rolling it to the bull, provokes him to toss it. He
tosses, but tosses in vain; its inmate is trained too well to the sport
to be easily dislodged; so that by this and other means equally harmless
and teazing, he is rendered sufficiently infuriated to afford “prime
sport.” The street is then unstopped, when, all agog, men, boys, and
bull, tumble one over the other to get free.

_Bridging the bull_ is next thought of; this, if he be much enraged, is
the most dangerous part of the ceremony; it consists in driving him upon
the bridge, which is a great height from the water, and crowds of people
press to him on three sides.

    “Shouts rend the air and onward goes the throng,
    Arms locked in arms, and man drives man along,”

Regardless of the danger to which the van is exposed, they press closer
and closer; at length, in spite of his amazing powers he yields to the
combined strength of his numerous opponents, and is tumbled into the
water. On again rising to the surface, his first care generally is to
land, which, in most cases, he effects in the meadows; these are very
swampy, full of rivers, and spacious. November being a month invariably
attended with rain, the stay-laced sportful dandy, alas! too frequently
finds that the slippery ground is no respecter of persons, and in spite
of all his efforts to maintain his equilibrium, in submissive, prostrate
attitude, he embraces his mother earth.

The sport is attended regularly by a patroness,--

    “A bold virago stout and tall,
    Like Joan of France, or English Mall,”

clad in blue, with a rare display of ribbons, and other insignia of her
high office, who by close of day generally imbibes so much of the
inspiring spirit of sir John Barleycorn, as to make her fully verify the
words of Hamlet, viz.--

    “Frailty, thy name is woman.”

Thus the amusement continues, until night puts a stop to the
proceedings; the baited animal is then slaughtered, and his carcass sold
at a reduced price to the lower classes, who to “top the day,” regale
themselves with a supper of bull beef.

So ends this jovial sport, which, as Mr. Lowe says, “stands without a
rival.” In conclusion, it only remains for me to state, that I have been
more than once present at this “bull-running,” and am far from forming
the idea that it is so cruel as some represent it to be; fatigue is the
greatest pain the bull is subjected to; and, on the other hand, the men
who so courageously cope with him are in imminent danger of loss of
life, or broken limbs, whilst they possess not the most distant idea of
doing any thing more injurious to the animal than irritating him.

  I am, Sir, &c.

  JOSEPH JIBB.

  _Sleaford_,

  _October_ 17, 1825.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Portugal Laurel. _Cerasus Lusitanica._
  Dedicated to _St. Lawrence_.


~November 15.~

  _St. Gertrude_, Abbess, A. D. 1292. _St. Leopold_, Marquis of Austria,
  A. D. 1136. _St. Eugenius_, A. D. 275. _St. Malo_, or _Maclou_, A. D.
  565.


~St. Machutus.~

This saint is in the church of England calendar and almanacs. He is the
“St. Malo, or Maclou,” of Alban Butler; according to whom he was born in
England, and sent to Ireland for his education, where he was offered a
bishopric but declined it. Going to Brittany he became disciple to a
recluse named Aron, near Aleth, of which city he was the first bishop,
and died November 15, 565. St. Malo derives its name from him. The
ground whereon he stands in the church of England calendar is unknown.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet Coltsfoot. _Tussilago fragrans._
  Dedicated to _St. Gertrude_.


~November 16.~

  _St. Edmund_, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 1242. _St. Eucherius_, Bp. of
  Lyons, A. D. 460.


_Stourbridge Fair._

A correspondent in the subjoined note mentions a singular character,
which should be taken into the particulars concerning this fair related
at page 1300.

  (_For the Every-Day Book._)

  Mr. Editor,

In addition to your account of Stourbridge fair I send you the
following, related to me by an individual of great veracity, who
attended the fairs in 1766 and 1767.

Exclusive of the servants in red coats there was also another person
dressed in similar clothing, with a string over his shoulders, from
whence were suspended quantities of spigots and fossetts, and also round
each arm many more were fastened. He was called “_Lord of the Tap_,” and
his duty consisted in visiting all the booths in which ale was sold, to
determine whether it was fit and proper beverage, for the persons
attending the fairs.

In the account published at Cambridge in 1806, as given in your
excellent miscellany, no notice is taken of this personage, and it may
therefore be presumed the office had been discontinued.

  J. N.

  _November_ 16, 1825.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  African Hemp. _Sansciviera Guineam._
  Dedicated to _St. Edmund_.


~November 17.~

  _St. Gregory Thaumaturgus_, Bp. A. D. 270. _St. Dionysius_, Abp. of
  Alexandria, A. D. 265. _St. Gregory_, Bp. of Tours, A. D. 596. _St.
  Hugh_, Bp. of Lincoln, A. D. 1200. _St. Anian_, or _Agnan_, Bp. A. D.
  453.


_Queen Elizabeth’s Accession._

This day was formerly noted in the almanacs as the anniversary of queen
Elizabeth’s accession to the throne, in the year 1558. In 1679, while
the bill for excluding the duke of York, afterwards James II., from the
throne of England, was in agitation, there was a remarkable cavalcade
in London on this day. The following account of it was drawn up at the
time:--

“The bells generally about the town began to ring at three o’clock in
the morning. At the approach of evening, all things being in readiness,
the solemn procession began, setting forth from Moor-gate, and so passed
first to Aldgate, and from thence through Leadenhall-street, by the
Royal Exchange, through Cheapside, and so to Temple-bar, in the ensuing
order, viz.

“1. Six whifflers, to clear the way, in pioneers’ caps, and red
waistcoats.

“2. A bellman ringing, and with a loud but dolesome voice, crying out
all the way, ‘remember justice Godfrey.’

“3. A dead body, representing justice Godfrey, in a decent black habit,
carried before a jesuit in black, on horseback, in like manner as he was
carried by the assassins to Primrose-hill.

“4. A priest, in a surplice, with a cope embroidered with dead bones,
skeletons, sculls, and the like, giving pardons very plentifully to all
those that should murder protestants, and proclaiming it meritorious.

“5. A priest in black, alone, with a great silver cross.

“6. Four carmelites, in white and black habits.

“7. Four grey-fryars, in the proper habits of their order.

“8. Six jesuits, with bloody daggers.

“9. A concert of wind music.

“10. Four bishops, in purple, and lawn sleeves, with a golden cross on
their breast, and crosier staves in their hands.

“11. Four other bishops, in pontificalibus, with surplices and rich
embroidered copes, and golden mitres on their heads.

“12. Six cardinals, in scarlet robes and caps.

“13. The pope’s doctor, (sir George Wakeman, the queen’s physician,)
with jesuit’s powder in one hand, and an urinal in the other.

“14. Two priests in surplices, with two golden crosses.

“Lastly, the pope, in a lofty glorious pageant, representing a chair of
state, covered with scarlet, richly embroidered and fringed, and
bedecked with golden balls and crosses. At his feet a cushion of slate,
and two boys in surplices, with white silk banners, and bloody
crucifixes and daggers, with an incense pot before them, censing his
holiness, who was arrayed in a splendid scarlet gown, lined through with
ermine, and richly daubed with gold and silver lace; on his head a
triple crown of gold, and a glorious collar of gold and precious stones,
St. Peter’s keys, a number of beads, _agnus deis_, and other catholic
trumpery. At his back, his holiness’s privy councillor, (the degraded
seraphim, _anglice_, the devil,) frequently caressing, hugging, and
whispering him, and ofttimes instructing him aloud, ‘to destroy his
majesty, to forge a protestant plot, and to fire the city again;’ to
which purpose he held an infernal torch in his hand.

“The whole procession was attended with 150 flambeaux and lights, by
order; but so many more came in voluntarily that there was some
thousands.

“Never were the balconies, windows, and houses more numerously lined, or
the streets closer thronged with multitudes of people, all expressing
their abhorrence of popery, with continual shouts and exclamations, so
that it is modestly computed that, in the whole progress, there could
not be fewer than 200,000 spectators.

“Thus, with a slow and solemn state they proceeded to Temple-bar; where,
with innumerable swarms, the houses seemed to be converted into heaps of
men, and women, and children; for whose diversion there were provided
great variety of excellent fireworks.

“Temple-bar being, since its rebuilding, adorned with four stately
statues, viz. those of queen Elizabeth and king James on the inward, or
eastern side, fronting the city, and those of king Charles I. and king
Charles II. on the outside, facing towards Westminster; and the statue
of queen Elizabeth, in regard to the day, having on a crown of gilded
laurel, and in her hand a golden shield, with this motto
inscribed,--‘The Protestant Religion and Magna Charta,’ and flambeauxs
placed before it; the pope being brought up near thereunto, the
following song (alluding to the posture of those statues) was sung in
parts, between one representing the English cardinal, (Howard,) and
others acting the people.

    _Cardinal._

    “From York to London town we came,
      To talk of popish ire,
    To reconcile you all to Rome,
      And prevent Smithfield fire

    _People._

    “Cease, cease, thou Norfolk cardinal,
      See yonder stands queen Bess,
    Who sav’d our souls from popish thrall,
      O! queen Bess, queen Bess, queen Bess.

    “Your popish plot and Smithfield threat
      We do not fear at all;
    For lo! beneath queen Bess’s feet
      You fall, you fall, you fall!

    “’Tis true, our king’s on t’other side,
      Looking tow’rds Whitehall,
    But could we bring him round about,
      He’d counterplot you all.

    “Then down with James and set up Charles
      On good queen Bess’s side,
    That all true commons, lords, and earls,
      May wish him a fruitful bride.

    “Now God preserve great Charles our king
      And eke all honest men;
    And traitors all to justice bring,
      Amen, amen, amen.

“Then having entertained the thronging spectators for some time with the
ingenious fireworks, a vast bonfire being prepared just over against the
Inner Temple Gate, his holiness, after some compliments and reluctances,
was decently toppled from all his grandeur into the impartial flames;
the crafty devil leaving his infallibilityship in the lurch, and
laughing as heartily at his deserved ignominious end as subtle jesuits
do at the ruin of bigotted lay-catholics whom themselves have drawn in;
or as credulous Coleman’s abettors did, when, with pretences of a
reprieve at the last gasp, they made him vomit up his soul with a lie,
and sealed up his dangerous chops with a flatter. This justice was
attended with a prodigious shout, that might be heard far beyond
Somerset-house, (where the queen resided,) and it was believed the echo,
by continual reverberations, before it ceased, reached Scotland, [the
duke was then there,] France, and even Rome itself, damping them withal
with a dreadful astonishment.”

These particulars, from a tract in lord Somers’s collection, are related
in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” for 1740; and the writer adds, that “the
place of prompter-general, Mr. North insinuates, was filled by lord
Shaftesbury.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Tree Stramony. _Datura arborea._
  Dedicated to _St. Gregory_.


~November 18.~

  _The Dedication of the Churches of Sts. Peter_, and _Paul_, at Rome.
  _Sts. Alphæus_, and _Zachæus_; also _Romanus_, and _Barulas_. _St.
  Odo_, Abbot of Cluni, A. D. 942. _St. Hilda_, or _Hild_, Abbess, _A.
  D._ 680.

The “_Mirror of the Months_,” a pleasing volume published in the autumn
of 1825, and devoted to the service of the year, points to the
appearance of nature at this time:--“The last storm of autumn, or the
first of winter, (call it which you will) has strewed the bosom of the
all-receiving earth with the few leaves that were still clinging, though
dead, to the already sapless branches; and now all stand bare once more,
spreading out their innumerable ramifications against the cold grey sky,
as if sketched there for a study by the pencil of your only successful
drawing-mistress--nature.

“Of all the numerous changes that are perpetually taking place in the
general appearance of rural scenery during the year, there is none so
striking as this which is attendant on the falling of the leaves; and
there is none in which the unpleasing effects so greatly predominate
over the pleasing ones. To say truth, a grove denuded of its late
gorgeous attire, and instead of bowing majestically before the winds,
standing erect and motionless while they are blowing through it, is ‘a
sorry sight,’ and one upon which we will not dwell. But even this sad
consequence of the coming on of winter (sad in most of its mere visible
effects,) is not entirely without redeeming accompaniments; for in most
cases it lays open to our view objects that we are glad to see again, if
it be but in virtue of their association with past years; and in many
cases it opens vistas into sweet distances that we had almost forgotten,
and brings into view objects that we may have been sighing for the sight
of all the summer long. Suppose, for example, that the summer view from
the windows of a favourite sleeping-room is bounded by a screen of
shrubs, shelving upwards from the turf, and terminating in a little
copse of limes, beeches, and sycamores; the prettiest boundary that can
greet the morning glance when the shutters are opened, and the sun
slants gaily in at them, as if glad to be again admitted. How pleasant
is it, when (as now) the winds of winter have stripped the branches
that thus bound our view in, to spy beyond them, as if through network,
the sky-pointing spire of the distant village church, rising from behind
the old yew-tree that darkens its portal; and the trim parsonage beside
it, its ivy-grown windows glittering perhaps in the early sun! Oh, none
but those who _will_ see the good that is in every thing, know how very
few evils there are without some of it attendant on them, and yet how
much of good there is unmixed with any evil.

“But though the least pleasant sight connected with the coming on of
winter in this month is to see the leaves that have so gladdened the
groves all the summer long, falling every where around us, withered and
dead,--that sight is accompanied by another which is too often
overlooked. Though most of the leaves fall in winter, and the stems and
branches which they beautified stand bare, many of them remain all the
year round, and look brighter and fresher now than they did in spring,
in virtue of the contrasts that are every where about them. Indeed the
cultivation of evergreens has become so general with us of late years,
that the home enclosures about our country dwellings, from the proudest
down to even the poorest, are seldom to be seen without a plentiful
supply, which we now, in this month, first begin to observe, and
acknowledge the value of. It must be a poor plot of garden-ground indeed
that does not now boast its clumps of winter-blowing laurestinus; its
trim holly bushes, bright with their scarlet berries; or its tall spruce
firs, shooting up their pyramid of feathery branches beside the low
ivy-grown porch. Of this last-named profuse ornamentor of whatever is
permitted to afford it support, (the ivy) we now too every where
perceive the beautifully picturesque effects: though there is one effect
of it also perceived about this time, which I cannot persuade myself to
be reconciled to: I mean where the trunk of a tall tree is bound about
with ivy almost to its top, which during the summer has scarcely been
distinguished as a separate growth, but which now, when the other leaves
are fallen, and the outspread branches stand bare, offers to the eye,
not a contrast, but a contradiction. But let us not dwell on any thing
in disfavour of ivy, which is one of the prime boasts of the village
scenery of our island, and which even at this season of the year offers
pictures to the eye that cannot be paralleled elsewhere. Perhaps as a
single object of sight, there is nothing which gives so much innocent
pleasure to so many persons as an English village church, when the ivy
has held undisputed possession of it for many years, and has hung its
fantastic banners all around it. There is a charm about an object of
this kind, which it is as difficult to resist as to explain.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Curly Passion-flower. _Passiflora serrata._
  Dedicated to _the Churches of Sts. Peter and Paul_.


~November 19.~

  _St. Elizabeth, of Hungary_, A. D. 1231. _St. Pontian_, Pope, A. D.
  230. _St. Barlaam._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Apple-fruited Passion-flower. _Passiflora maliformis._
  Dedicated to _St. Elizabeth_.


~November 20.~

  _St. Edmund_, King and Martyr, A. D. 870. _St. Humbert_, Bp. of the
  East Angles, A. D. 855. _St. Felix_, of Valois, A. D. 1212. _St.
  Bernward_, Bp., A. D. 1021. _St. Masentia_, 7th Cent.


  ~St. Edmund,~
  _King and Martyr._

This English king and saint is in the church of England calendar and
almanacs. St. Edmund was king of East Anglia, which took its name from a
people called the Angles, who landed on the eastern coast of Britain,
under twelve chiefs, the survivor of whom, Uffa, assumed the title of
king of the East Angles. This kingdom contained Norfolk and Suffolk,
with part of Cambridgeshire. The chief towns were Norwich, Thetford,
Ely, and Cambridge. In 867, the Danes landed in East Anglia, and after
ravaging different parts of the island, and continuing some time in
Northumberland, returned into East Anglia, committing, in their route,
the most horrid barbarities. Edmund the king opposed them; but his army
was defeated at Thetford, and the king being taken prisoner, fell a
miserable victim to their barbarity, for they tied him to a tree, as a
butt, or mark, and then shot him to death with arrows. The place where
Edmund was interred had the name of St. Edmund’s Bury, but is now
generally called Bury. Canute the Great built a stately church over his
grave, and greatly enlarged the town.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Red Stapelia. _Stapelia rufa._
  Dedicated to _St. Edmund, King_.


~November 21.~

  _The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary._ _St. Columban_, Abbot,
  A. D. 615. _St. Gelasius_, Pope, A. D. 496.


_Ghost of an Arm Chair._

A lady assured the editor of the “Perennial Calendar,” of the truth of
the following story. She had ordered an armed chair which stood in her
room to be sent to a sick friend, and thought it had been sent
conformably to her orders. Waking, however, in the night, and looking by
the light of the night-lamp at the furniture in her room, she cast her
eyes on the place where the said chair used to stand, and saw it, as she
thought, in its place. She at first expressed herself to her husband as
being vexed that the chair had not been sent; but, as he protested that
it was actually gone, she got out of bed to convince herself, and
distinctly saw the chair, even on a nearer approach to it. What now
became very remarkable was, that the spotted chair-cover which was over
it, assumed an unusual clearness, and the pattern assumed the appearance
of being studded with bright stars. She got close to it, and putting her
hand out to touch it, found her fingers go through the spectrum
unresisted. Astonished, she now viewed it as an illusion, and presently
saw it vanish, by becoming fainter till it disappeared. Dr. Forster
considers this apparition as affording a clue to one mode by which
spectra are introduced, namely, by local association. The lady had
anticipated seeing the chair in its place, from its always being
associated with the rest of the furniture; and this anticipation of an
image of perception was the basis of a corresponding image of spectral
illusion.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Largeflowered Wood Sorrel. _Oxalis grandiflora._
  Dedicated to _the Presentation of the V. Mary_.

[Illustration: ~St. Cecilia.~]

        ------ Divine Cecilia came,
        Inventress of the vocal frame;
    The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
        Enlarg’d the former narrow bounds,
        And added length to solemn sounds,
    With nature’s mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
        Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
        Or both divide the crown;
        He rais’d a mortal to the skies,
        She drew an angel down.

  _Dryden._


~November 22.~

  _St. Cecily_, A. D. 230. _St. Theodorus_, A. D. 821. _Sts. Philemon_,
  and _Appia_.


_St. Cecilia._

This saint is in the church of England Calendar, and in the almanacs.
Her having existed has been doubted, but she is a saint of the Romish
church, and Butler gives her life, wherein he calls her “the patroness
of church music.” He says, that she was married to a nobleman named
Valerian, whom, with her brother Tibertius, she converted, and with them
she was martyred. Various legends, and many pictures and prints,
represent her as engaged in music, or listening to it from celestial
performers. Hence the ode for St. Cecilia’s day by Dryden, who was a
catholic, concludes by saying,

    “She drew an angel down.”

Formerly, concerts on her festival-day were fashionable, and Pope
honoured her in numbers, though “the numbers came” not to him, as to
Dryden. The preceding engraving is from a design by M. de Vos, engraved
by J. Sadler. Her husband is represented, allured by the harmony,
entering a room, wherein she sits. According to catholic story, he found
a young man playing on the organ, Cecilia described him to Valerian as
an angel, and from that time she received “angels’ visits.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Trumpet-flowered Wood Sorrel. _Oxalis ubiflora._
  Dedicated to _St. Cecilia_.


~November 23.~

  _St. Clement_, Pope, A. D. 100. _St. Amphilochius_, Bp. of Iconium, A.
  D. 394. _St. Tron_, A. D. 693. _St. Daniel_, Bp. A. D. 545.


~St. Clement.~

This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs.

Clement was a follower and coadjutor of the apostle Paul, who, writing
to the _Philippians_, (iv. 3.) requires them to be mindful of the flock
and their teachers, and distinguishes Clement by name--“help those women
which laboured with me in the gospel, and with Clement also, and with
other my fellow-labourers.” The Romish writers contend for the direct
papal succession from the apostles, and call Clement a pope; but in the
uninterrupted succession they claim for the pontiffs of their hierarchy,
they fail in establishing as indisputable whether he was the first,
second, or third pope; the name itself was not devised until centuries
afterwards. Some of them say he was martyred, others contend that he
died a natural death. The advocates for his martyrdom assign him an
anchor as a symbol of distinction, because they allege that he was
thrown into the sea with an anchor about his neck. It is further alleged
that two of his disciples desirous of recovering his remains, assembled
a multitude and prayed for the discovery, and, as usual, there was a
miracle. “Immediately the sea retired for the space of three miles, or a
league, in such sort that they could go into it for all that space as
upon the dry land; and they found in it a chapel, or little church, made
by the hands of angels; and within the church a chest of stone, in which
was the body of St. Clement, and by it the anchor with which he had been
cast into the sea. This miracle did not happen only that year in which
the holy pope died, but it happened also every year, and the sea retired
itself three miles, as was said, leaving the way dry for seven days,
namely, the day of his martyrdom, and the other six following
days.”[389] Though “travellers see strange sights,” no modern tourist
has related this annual miracle, which is still performed by the sea in
the neighbourhood of Rome, on the days aforesaid, as duly and truly as
the annual liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius at Naples--“_or_,
if not, why not?”

Protestants, in London, are reminded of St. Clement’s apocryphal death
by his anchor being the weathercock that “turns and turns,” to every
wind, on the steeple of the parish church of St. Clement Danes in the
Strand. It denotes the efflux of time as a minute-hand upon the clock;
it denotes the limits of the parish as a mark upon the boundary stones;
it graces the beadles’ staves; and on the breasts of the charity
children is, in the eyes of the parishioners, “a badge of honour.”

       *       *       *       *       *

It appears from a state proclamation, dated July 22, 1540, that children
were accustomed to be decked, and go about on St. Clement’s day in
procession. From an ancient custom of going about on the night of this
festival to beg drink to make merry with, a pot was formerly marked
against the 23d of November upon the old clog-almanacs.[390]

St. Clement is the patron of _blacksmiths_. His quality in this respect
is not noticed by Brand, or other observers of our ancient customs, nor
do they mention any observances by that trade in commemoration of his
festival. But the following communications will show the estimation
wherein he is held among the “cunning workmen in iron.”

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  _Chancery-lane, Nov. 19, 1825._

  Sir,

As secretary of the “Benevolent Institution of Smiths,” I take the
liberty of jogging your memory. I hope you will not forget our _St.
Clement_, (Nov. 23,) in your interesting _Every-Day Book_. When I was a
child, an old man went about in the trade, reciting the following ode on
smithery, which, I believe, is very old. If you think it worthy a place
in your work, it will much oblige me and our trade; for it is now quite
forgot, with many good customs of hospitality of the olden days which
are no more. I hope you will cull your flowers of antiquity, and collect
all you can for our trade; there is a story of St. Dunstan, the smith,
with his tongs, pinching the devil by the nose, &c.

_An Ode on Smithery, 1610._

    “By reading of old authors we do find
    The smiths have been a trade time out of mind;
    And it’s believed they may be bold to say,
    There’s not the like to them now at this day.
    For was it not for smiths what could we do,
    We soon should loose our lives and money too;
    The miser would be stript of all his store,
    And lose the golden god he doth adore:
    No tradesman could be safe, or take his rest
    But thieves and rogues would nightly him molest;
    It’s by our cunning art, and ancient skill,
    That we are saved from those who would work ill.
      The smith at night, and soon as he doth rise,
    Doth always cleanse and wash his face and eyes;
    Kindles his fire, and the bellows blows,
    Tucks up his shirt sleeves, and to work he goes:
    Then makes the hammer and the anvil ring,
    And thus he lives as merry as a king.
      A working smith all other trades excels,
    In useful labour wheresoe’er he dwells;
    Toss up your caps ye sons of Vulcan then,
    For there are none of all the sons of men,
    That can with the brave working smiths compare,
    Their work is hard, and jolly lads they are.
    What though a smith looks sometimes very black,
    And sometimes gets but one shirt to his back
    And that is out at elbows, and so thin
    That you through twenty holes may see his skin;
    Yet when he’s drest and clean, you all will say,
    That smiths are men not made of common clay.
    They serve the living, and they serve the dead,
    They serve the mitre, and the crowned head;
    They all are men of honour and renown,
    Honest, and just, and loyal to the crown.
    The many worthy deeds that they have done,
    Have spread their fame beyond the rising sun
    So if we have offended rich or poor,
    We will be good boys, and do so no more.”

I hope you will polish up for insertion. I will call for the old copy at
your office: I should have sent it sooner, but could not find it, and
the trouble it has cost me has made it valuable.

  I remain, &c.

  J. JOHNSON.

  _7, Hill-street,_

  _Southwark._

       *       *       *       *       *

The editor has given the “ode” without Mr. Johnson’s alterations and
additions, because its original state is better suited to convey a
notion of his predecessors’ manners; for the same reason, his
suggestion to “polish up” has been declined. The homeliness of those who
preceded him is not discreditable to him, or any of the brethren of his
trade. They are daily increasing in respectability, and ought to be a
thriving branch. Compared with those who lived before them, they have
extraordinary means of becoming acquainted with the _principles_ of
their varied manufacture, by becoming members of the _Mechanics’
Institution_. Many blacksmiths have already joined that society. A
diligent and good hand who knows more than his fellows, will be the
best workman, and get the most money; and frugality abroad, and economy
at home, will secure his independence. Attendance at the _Mechanics’
Institution_ will teach these things: and St. Clement cannot be better
honoured than by observing them.


ST. CLEMENT, _at Woolwich_.

R. R. obligingly communicates with his name, the following account of an
annual ceremony on the evening of St. Clement’s day, by the blacksmiths’
apprentices of the dockyard there.

(_For the Every-Day Book._)

One of the senior apprentices being chosen to serve as _old Clem_, (so
called by them,) is attired in a great coat, having his head covered
with an oakham wig, face masked, and a long white beard flowing
therefrom; thus attired, he seats himself in a _large wooden chair_,
chiefly covered with a sort of stuff called buntin, with a crown and
anchor, made of wood, on the top, and around it, four transparencies,
representing “the blacksmiths’ arms,” “anchor smiths at work,”
“Britannia with her anchor,” and “Mount Etna.” He has before him a
wooden anvil, and in his hands a pair of tongs and wooden hammer which,
in general, he makes good use of whilst reciting his speech. A mate,
also masked, attends him with a wooden sledge-hammer; he is also
surrounded by a number of other attendants, some of whom carry torches,
banners, flags, &c.; others battle-axes, tomahawkes, and other
accoutrements of war. This procession, headed by a drum and fife, and
six men with old Clem mounted on their shoulders, proceed round the
town, stopping and refreshing at nearly every public house, (which, by
the by, are pretty numerous,) not forgetting to call on the blacksmiths
and officers of the dockyard: there the money-box is pretty freely
handed, after old Clem and his mate have recited their speeches, which
commence by the mate calling for order, with

    “Gentlemen all, attention give,
    And wish St. Clem, long, long to live.”

Old Clem then recites the following speech:--

  “I am the real St. Clement, the first founder of brass, iron, and
  steel, from the ore. I have been to Mount Etna, where the god Vulcan
  first built his forge, and forged the armour and thunderbolts for the
  god Jupiter. I have been through the deserts of Arabia; through Asia,
  Africa, and America; through the city of Pongrove; through the town of
  Tipmingo; and all the northern parts of Scotland. I arrived in London
  on the twenty-third of November, and came down to his majesty’s
  dockyard, at Woolwich, to see how all the gentlemen Vulcans came on
  there. I found them all hard at work, and wish to leave them well on
  the twenty-fourth.”

The mate then subjoins:--

    “Come all you Vulcans stout and strong,
    Unto St. Clem we do belong,
    I know this house is well prepared
    With plenty of money and good strong beer,
    And we must drink before we part,
    All for to cheer each merry heart.
    Come all you Vulcans, strong and stout,
    Unto St. Clem I pray turn out;
    For now St. Clem’s going round the town,
    His coach and six goes merrily round.
                         Huzza,--a,--a.”

After having gone round the town and collected a pretty decent sum, they
retire to some public house, where they enjoy as good a supper as the
money collected will allow.

  R. R.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Convex Wood Sorrel. _Oxalis convexula._
  Dedicated to _St. Clement_.

  [389] Ribadeneira.

  [390] Plot’s Staffordshire.


~November 24.~

  _St. John of the Cross_, A. D. 1591. _St. Chrysogonus._ _Sts. Flora_
  and _Mary_, A. D. 851. _St. Cianan_, or _Kenan_, Bp. of Duleek, in
  Ireland, A. D. 489.


_London in November._

In the already cited “_Mirror of the Months_,” there is a feeling
account of certain days in the metropolis, at this season, which every
one who has sojourned in “that overgrown place” will immediately
recognize to be “quite correct.”

“Now the atmosphere of London begins to thicken over head, and assume
its _natural_ appearance, preparatory to its becoming, about Christmas
time, that ‘palpable obscure,’ which is one of its proudest boasts; and
which, among its other merits, may reckon that of engendering those
far-famed fogs, of which every body has heard, but to which no one has
ever done justice. A London fog, in November, is a thing for which I
have a sort of natural affection--to say nothing of an acquired one--the
result of a hackney-coach adventure, in which the fair part of the fare
threw herself into my arms for protection, amidst the pleasing horrors
of an overthrow.

“As an affair of mere breath, there is something tangible in a London
fog. In the evanescent air of Italy, a man might as well not breathe at
all, for any thing he knows of the matter. But in a well-mixed
metropolitan fog, there is something substantial and satisfying. You can
feel what you breathe, and see it too. It is like breathing water,--as
we may suppose the fishes to do. And then the taste of it, when dashed
with a due seasoning of seacoal smoke, is far from insipid. It is also
meat and drink at the same time: something between egg-flip and
_omelétte soufflée_, but much more digestible than either. Not that I
would recommend it medicinally, especially to persons of queasy
stomachs, delicate nerves, and afflicted with bile. But for persons of a
good robust habit of body, and not dainty withal, (which such, by the
by, never are,) there is nothing better in its way. And it wraps you all
round like a cloak, too--a patent water-proof one, which no rain ever
penetrated. No--I maintain that a real London fog is a thing not to be
sneezed at--if you help it. _Mem._ As many spurious imitations of the
above are abroad,--such as Scotch mists, and the like,--which are no
less deleterious than disagreeable,--please to ask for the ‘true London
particular,’--as manufactured by Thames, Coalgas, Smoke, Steam, & Co. No
others are genuine.”


_Water-proof Boots and Shoes._

Take one pound of drying (boiled linseed) oil, two ounces of yellow wax,
two ounces of spirits of turpentine, and one of Burgundy pitch, melted
carefully over a slow fire. With this composition new shoes and boots
are to be rubbed in the sun, or at a distance from the fire, with a
small bit of sponge, as often as they become dry, until they are fully
saturated; the leather then is impervious to wet, the shoes and boots
last much longer, acquire softness and pliability, and thus prepared,
are the most effectual preservatives against cold.


_A Notable Woman._

On the 24th of November, 1735, a butcher near Rumford, in Essex, was
rode up to by a woman well mounted on a side saddle, who, to his
astonishment, presented a pistol, and demanded his money. In amazement
he asked her what she meant, and received his answer from a genteel
looking man, who coming to him on horseback, said he was a brute to deny
the lady’s request, and enforced this conviction by telling him that if
he did not gratify her desire immediately he would shoot him through the
head. The butcher could not resist an invitation to be gallant, when
supported by such arguments, and he placed six guineas and his watch in
her hands.[391]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Starry Stapelia. _Stapelia radiata._
  Dedicated to _St. John of the Cross_.

  [391] Gentleman’s Magazine.


~November 25.~

  _St. Catharine_, 3d Cent. _St. Erasmus_, or _Elme_.


~St. Catharine.~

This saint is in the church of England calendar, and the almanacs. It is
doubtful whether she ever existed; yet in mass-books and breviaries, we
find her prayed to and honoured by hymns, with stories of her miracles
so wonderfully apocryphal that even cardinal Baronius blushes for the
threadbare legends. In Alban Butler’s memoirs of this saint, it may be
discovered by a scrutinizing eye, that while her popularity seems to
force him to relate particulars concerning her, he leaves himself room
to disavow them; but this is hardly fair, for the great body of readers
of his “Lives of the Saints,” are too confiding to criticise hidden
meanings. “From this martyr’s uncommon erudition,” he says, “and the
extraordinary spirit of piety by which she sanctified her learning, and
the use she made of it, she is chosen, in the schools, the patroness and
model of christian philosophers.” According to his authorities she was
beheaded under the emperor Maxentius, or Maximinus II. He adds, “She is
said first to have been put upon an engine made of four wheels joined
together, and stuck with sharp pointed spikes, that when the wheels were
moved her body might be torn to pieces.” The acts add, that at the first
stirring of the terrible engine, the cords with which the martyr was
tied, were broke asunder by the invisible power of an angel, and, the
engine falling to pieces by the wheels being separated from one another,
she was delivered from that death. Hence, the name of “St. Catharine’s
wheel.”

[Illustration: ~St. Catharine and the Emperor Maxentius.~

FROM A STAINED GLASS WINDOW IN WEST WICKHAM CHURCH, KENT, 1825.]

The Catharine-wheel, a sign in the Borough, and at other inns and public
houses, and the Catharine-wheel in fireworks, testify this saint’s
notoriety in England. Besides pictures and engravings representing her
pretended marriage with Christ, others, which are more numerous,
represent her with her wheel. She was, in common with other papal
saints, also painted in churches, and there is still a very fine, though
somewhat mutilated, painting of her, on the glass window in the chancel
of the church of West Wickham, a village delightfully situated in Kent,
between Bromley and Croydon. The editor of the _Every-Day Book_ went
thither, and took a tracing from the window itself, and now presents an
engraving from that tracing, under the expectation that, as an ornament,
it may be acceptable to all, and, as perpetuating a relic of antiquity,
be still more acceptable to a few. The figure under St. Catharine’s feet
is the tyrant Maxentius. In this church there are other fine and perfect
remains of the beautifully painted glass which anciently adorned it. A
coach leaves the Ship, at Charing-cross, every afternoon for the Swan,
at West Wickham, which is kept by Mr. Crittel, who can give a visiter a
good bed, good cheer, and good information, and if need be, put a good
horse into a good stable. A short and pleasant walk of a mile to the
church the next morning will be gratifying in many ways. The village is
one of the most retired and agreeable spots in the vicinity of the
metropolis. It is not yet deformed by building speculations.


_St. Catharine’s Day._

Old Barnaby Googe, from Naogeorgus, says--

    “What should I tell what sophisters on Cathrins day devise?
    Or else the superstitious toyes that maisters exercise.”

Anciently women and girls in Ireland kept a fast every Wednesday and
Saturday throughout the year, and some of them also on _St. Catharine’s_
day; nor would they omit it though it happened on their birthday, or
they were ever so ill. The reason given for it was that the girls might
get good husbands, and the women better ones, either by the death,
desertion, or reformation of their living ones.[392]

       *       *       *       *       *

St. Catharine was esteemed the saint and patroness of spinsters, and her
holiday observed by young women meeting on this day, and making merry
together, which they call “Cathar’ning.”[393] Something of this still
remains in remote parts of England.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our correspondent R. R. (in November, 1825,) says, “On the 25th of
November, St. Catharine’s day, a man dressed in woman’s clothes, with a
large wheel by his side, to represent St. Catharine, was brought out of
the royal arsenal at Woolwich, (by the workmen of that place,) about six
o’clock in the evening, seated in a large wooden chair, and carried by
men round the town, with attendants, &c. similar to St. Clement’s. They
stopped at different houses, where they used to recite a speech; but
this ceremony has been discontinued these last eight or nine years.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Much might be said and contemplated in addition to the notice already
taken of the demolition of the church of St. Catharine’s, near the
Tower. Its destruction has commenced, is proceeding, and will be
completed in a short time. The surrender of this edifice will, in the
end, become a precedent for a spoliation imagined by very few on the day
when he utters this foreboding.

_25th of November, 1825._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sweet Butter-bur. _Tussilago fragrans._
  Dedicated to _St. Catharine_.

  [392] Camden Brit.

  [393] La Motte on Poetry and Painting, 1790, 12mo.


~November 26.~

  _St. Peter_, Martyr, Bp. of Alexandria, A. D. 311. _St. Nicon_,
  surnamed _Metanoite_, A. D. 998. _St. Sylvester Gozzolini_, A. D.
  1267. _St. Conrad_, Bp. of Constance, A. D. 976.


  A NEW MOON CUSTOM,
  _and “more last words” respecting_
  CAPTAIN STARKEY.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

I do not remember to have seen in your book, “where _every-day_ we turn
the leaf to read,” any notice of a custom, which is not only very
prevalent, but which is, also, most harmless in its nature and endearing
in its tendency--promotes in its practice goodwill and good humour--and,
not unfrequently, with those who view the “future i’ th’ instant,” love
itself. Among the many new moon customs, such as looking through a new
silk handkerchief to ascertain the number of your lovers, feeling for
money in your pocket, to see if you will have a lucky month, &c.; I know
of none so pleasant, or, to my thinking, so rational, as that of
claiming the FIRST KISS FOR A PAIR OF NEW GLOVES! The person, in a
company, male or female, who first gets a glimpse of the new moon,
immediately kisses some member of the company, and pronounces with a
triumphant chuckle, “Aha! Jane, (or as the name may be,) there’s a pair
of gloves for _me_!” By this means a pleasant interruption is often
given to a tedious tale, or uninteresting debate, and a new subject
starts, in which all may join with greater or less avidity. How happy is
some modest youth, should the blushing and ingenuous girl, whom he has
secretly “singled from the world,” have laid him under the penalty of a
pair of new gloves, by that soft phrase and that first delicious
kiss--how fruitful are his sweet anticipations of that golden time--

    “When life is all one dream of love and flowers.”

How joyful is an amiable sister, if, by this species of initiation, she
has been enabled to re-conciliate the vagrant affections of some
estranged brother: and even where love and sisterly feelings are out of
the question, viewed as an interchange of common (_common!_) friendship,
between the sexes, how felicitous is it in effect and operation! Should
you, Mr. Editor, be of opinion with me, respecting this no longer
“tyrant custom,” you may, possibly, by printing this letter be
productive of much good humour, and a pair of new gloves.

  I am,

  Your constant and approving reader,

  W. G. T.

  _Newcastle-on-Tyne._

P. S. I cannot write the name of the town where I reside, without
feeling a strong inducement to say one word of him, who has been so
pleasantly immortalized by yourself, and the inimitable being who wrote
so affectingly of “Rosamund Gray,” and the “Old Familiar Faces”--I mean
poor Starkey. I was born, and have lived all my life (not a long one),
in the town where he terminated his humble career, and gave another name
to the neglected and unpitied list of those, who seem chiefly to have
entered the world for the purpose of swelling

    “The short and simple annals of the poor,”

and my earliest recollections are haunted by his meagre care-worn
form;--many a time have I shrunk from the shaking of his stick, and the
imperious “_dem your bluds_,” which he bestowed with uncommon celerity
on the defenceless heads of his young and unthinking sources of
annoyance, as they assailed him from the corners which he was accustomed
to pass. But the captain was a humble man, and these “moods of the mind”
were seldom indulged in, save when he was returning, brim-full of brief
and intemperate importance, from the Black Horse, in Pilgrim-street, the
tap-room of which was the scene of many a learned disputation with the
“unwashed artificers” of the evening, and in which the captain was
always proportionably brilliant to the number of _gills_ he had drank.
On these occasions, in his efforts to silence the sons of toil, he did
not scruple to use his Latin--and, in such instances, appeal was
impossible, and victory sure. Among several anecdotes, I am in
possession of two, which you, his most celebrious biographer, may not
think unworthy of recording. On one evening, when he was returning from
a carousal, furnished by the generosity of friends, or his own
indiscretion--for the captain despised to-morrow as much as any man,
and was fully convinced of the propriety of the apophthegm, “sufficient
unto the day is its own evil”--he found the gate of the Freemen’s
Hospital, where he resided, closed, and no one in a better condition for
exclaiming with Dr. Beattie,

    “Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb!”

than himself. What was to be done? To fly over was impossible--and he
was much too deep in the scale of intoxication to dream of scaling the
wall. A party of young bucks, “ripe for fun,” fresh from their
sacrifices at the shrine of “the reeling goddess with the zoneless
waist,” came up the street; to these, hat in hand, did the captain
prefer his petition to be assisted over, and they, with a
thoughtlessness hardly to be excused by their condition, took him up,
and threw him completely on to the grass plot on the other side. The
veteran scrambled to his legs, and, for the wall was not _very_ high on
the inside, returned them thanks in his best manner for their timely
assistance, utterly forgetful that it might have proved most disastrous
both to himself and them. The second, and with which I must conclude a
postscript which has already far outgrown the letter, was less harmless
and equally illustrative of the man. He had gone, with another
eleemosynary worthy, on some gratulatory occasion, to the hall of one of
the members for the town, and the butler who was well aware of the
object of his guests, treated them handsomely in his refectory to cold
beef and good ale. He was accidentally called away, and the two friends
were left alone. Alas! for the temptations which continually beset us!
The “expedition of” the captain’s “violent love outran the pauser,
reason:” he suggested, and both adopted, the expedient of secreting a
slice or two of the member’s beef, to make more substantial the repast
of the evening. Starkey’s share was deposited in his hat. The man in
office returned, pressed his visiters afresh, “and still the circling
cup was drained,” until the home-brewed had made considerable
innovations, and the travellers thought it fitting to depart. The
captain’s habitual politeness was an overmatch for his cunning: whilst
he was yet at the door, casting his “last lingering looks behind,” he
must needs take off his hat to give more effect to the fervour of his
farewell--when--“out upon ’t”--the beef fell as flat on his oration, as
did the hat of corporal Trim on the floor in the scene of his eloquence.
Starkey was dumb-founded, his associate was in agonies, and the butler
was convulsed with the most “side-splitting” laughter. The captain, like
other great men, has not fallen “unsung.” Hearken to Gilchrist, one of
the “bards of the Tyne,” who thus sings in his apotheosis of Benjamin
Starkey:--

    “His game is up, his pipe is out, an’ fairly laid his craw,
    His fame ’ill blaw about just like coal dust at Shiney-Raw.
    He surely was a joker rare--what times there’d been for a’ the
         nation,
    Had he but lived to be a mayor, the glory o’ wor corporation!
                                                  “Whack, &c.”

  W. G. T.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Linear Wood Sorrel. _Oxalis linearis._
  Dedicated to _St. Conrad_.


~November 27.~

  _St. Maximus_, Bp. of Riez, A. D. 460. _St. James_, surnamed
  _Intercisus_, A. D. 421. _St. Maharsapor_, A. D. 421. _St. Virgil_,
  Bp. of Saltzburg, A. D. 784. _St. Secundin_, or _Seachnal_, Bp. of
  Dunsaghlin, in Meath, A. D. 447.


  ANNIVERSARY OF
  ~The Great Storm~
  IN ENGLAND.

In _Little Wild-street_ chapel, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, a sermon is
annually preached on this day in commemoration of the “GREAT STORM” in
1703.

This fearful tempest was preceded by a strong west wind, which set in
about the middle of the month; and every day, and almost every hour,
increased in force until the 24th, when it blew furiously, occasioned
much alarm, and some damage was sustained. On the 25th, and through the
night following, it continued with unusual violence. On the morning of
Friday, the 26th, it raged so fearfully that only few people had courage
to venture abroad. Towards evening it rose still higher; the night
setting in with excessive darkness added general horror to the scene,
and prevented any from seeking security abroad from their homes, had
that been possible. The extraordinary power of the wind created a noise,
hoarse and dreadful, like thunder, which carried terror to every ear,
and appalled every heart. There were also appearances in the heavens
that resembled lightning. “The air,” says a writer at the time, “was
full of meteors and fiery vapours; yet,” he adds, “I am of opinion, that
there was really no lightning, in the common acceptation of the term;
for the clouds, that flew with such violence through the air, were not
to my observation such as are usually freighted with thunder and
lightning; the hurries nature was then in do not consist with the system
of thunder.” Some imagined the tempest was accompanied with an
earthquake. “Horror and confusion seized upon all, whether on shore or
at sea; no pen can describe it, no tongue can express it, no thought can
conceive it, unless theirs who were in the extremity of it; and who
being touched with a due sense of the sparing mercy of their Maker,
retain the deep impressions of his goodness upon their minds though the
danger be past. To venture abroad was to rush into instant death, and to
stay within afforded no other prospect than that of being buried under
the ruins of a falling habitation. Some in their distraction did the
former, and met death in the streets; others the latter, and in their
own houses received their final doom.” One hundred and twenty-three
persons were killed by the falling of dwellings; amongst these were the
bishop of Bath and Wells (Dr. Richard Kidder) and his lady, by the fall
of part of the episcopal palace of Wells; and lady Penelope Nicholas,
sister to the bishop of London, at Horsley, in Sussex. Those who
perished in the waters, in the floods of the Severn and the Thames, on
the coast of Holland, and in ships blown away and never heard of
afterwards, are computed to have amounted to eight thousand.

All ranks and degrees were affected by this amazing tempest, for every
family that had any thing to lose lost something: land, houses,
churches, corn, trees, rivers, all were disturbed or damaged by its
fury; small buildings were for the most part wholly swept away, “as
chaff before the wind.” Above eight hundred dwelling-houses were laid in
ruins. Few of those that resisted escaped from being unroofed, which is
clear from the prodigious increase in the price of tiles, which rose
from twenty-one shillings to six pounds the thousand. About two thousand
stacks of chimnies were blown down in and about London. When the day
broke the houses were mostly stripped, and appeared like so many
skeletons. The consternation was so great that trade and business were
suspended, for the first occupation of the mind was so to repair the
houses that families might be preserved from the inclemency of the
weather in the rigorous season. The streets were covered with brickbats,
broken tiles, signs, bulks, and penthouses.

The lead which covered one hundred churches, and many public buildings,
was rolled up, and hurled in prodigious quantities to distances almost
incredible; spires and turrets of many others were thrown down.
Innumerable stacks of corn and hay were blown away, or so torn and
scattered as to receive great damage.

Multitudes of cattle were lost. In one level in Gloucestershire, on the
banks of the Severn, fifteen thousand sheep were drowned. Innumerable
trees were torn up by the roots; one writer says, that he himself
numbered seventeen thousand in part of the county of Kent alone, and
that, tired with counting, he left off reckoning.

The damage in the city of London, only, was computed at near two
millions sterling. At Bristol, it was about two hundred thousand pounds.
In the whole, it was supposed that the loss was greater than that
produced by the great fire of London, 1666, which was estimated at four
millions.

The greater part of the navy was at sea, and if the storm had not been
at its height at full flood, and in a spring-tide, the loss might have
been nearly fatal to the nation. It was so considerable, that fifteen or
sixteen men of war were cast away, and more than two thousand seamen
perished. Few merchantmen were lost; for most of those that were driven
to sea were safe. Rear-admiral Beaumont with a squadron then lying in
the Downs, perished with his own and several other ships on the Goodwin
Sands.

The ships lost by the storm were estimated at three hundred. In the
river Thames, only four ships remained between London-bridge and
Limehouse, the rest being driven below, and lying there miserably
beating against one another. Five hundred wherries, three hundred
ship-boats, and one hundred lighters and barges were entirely lost; and
a much greater number received considerable damage. The wind blew from
the western seas, which preventing many ships from putting to sea, and
driving others into harbour, occasioned great numbers to escape
destruction.

The Eddystone lighthouse near Plymouth was precipitated in the
surrounding ocean, and with it Mr. Winstanley, the ingenious architect,
by whom it was contrived, and the people who were with him.--“Having
been frequently told that the edifice was too slight to withstand the
fury of the winds and waves, he was accustomed to reply contemptuously,
that he only wished to be in it when a storm should happen.
Unfortunately his desire was gratified. Signals of distress were made,
but in so tremendous a sea no vessel could live, or would venture to put
off for their relief.”[394]

The amazing strength and rapidity of the wind, are evidenced by the
following well authenticated circumstances. Near Shaftesbury a stone of
near four hundred pounds weight, which had lain for some years fixed in
the ground, fenced by a bank with a low stone wall upon it, was lifted
up by the wind, and carried into a hollow way, distant at least seven
yards from the place. This is mentioned in a sermon preached by Dr.
Samuel Stennett, in 1788. Dr. Andrew Gifford in a sermon preached at
Little Wylde-street, on the 27th of November, 1734, says that “in a
country town, a large stable was at once removed off its foundation and
instantly carried quite across the highway, over the heads of five
horses and the man that was then feeding them, without hurting any one
of them, or removing the rack and manger, both of which remained for a
considerable time to the admiration of every beholder.” Dr. Gifford in
the same sermon, gives an account of “several remarkable deliverances.”
One of the most remarkable instances of this kind occurred at a house in
the Strand, in which were no less than fourteen persons: “Four of them
fell with a great part of the house, &c. three stories, and several two;
and though buried in the ruins, were taken out unhurt: of these, three
were children; one that lay by itself, in a little bed near its nurse;
another in a cradle; and the third was found hanging (as it were wrap’d
up) in some curtains that hitch’d by the way; neither of whom received
the least damage. In another place, as a minister was crossing a court
near his house, a stone from the top of a chimney upwards of one hundred
and forty pounds weight, fell close to his heels, and cut between his
footsteps four inches deep into the ground. Soon after, upon drawing in
his arm, which he had held out on some occasion, another stone of near
the same weight and size, brush’d by his elbow, and fell close to his
foot, which must necessarily, in the eye of reason, have killed him, had
it fallen while it was extended.” In the Poultry, where two boys were
lying in a garret, a huge stack of chimnies fell in, which making its
way through that and all the other floors to the cellar, it was followed
by the bed with the boys asleep in it, who first awaked in that gloomy
place of confusion without the least hurt.

So awful a visitation produced serious impressions on the government,
and a day of fasting and humiliation was appointed by authority. The
introductory part of the proclamation, issued by queen Anne for that
purpose, claims attention from its solemn import.

“WHEREAS, by the late most terrible and dreadful Storms of Wind, with
which it hath pleased Almighty God to afflict the greatest part of this
our Kingdom, on Friday and Saturday, the Twenty-Sixth and Twenty-Seventh
days of November last, some of our Ships of War, and many Ships of our
loving Subjects have been destroyed and lost at Sea, and great numbers
of our subjects, serving on board the same have perished, and many
houses and other buildings of our good Subjects have been either wholly
thrown down and demolished, or very much damnified and defaced, and
thereby several persons have been killed, and many Stacks of Corn and
Hay thrown down and scattered abroad, to the great damage and
impoverishment of many others, especially the poorer sort, and great
numbers of Timber and other Trees have by the said Storm been torn up by
the roots in many parts of this our Kingdom: a Calamity of this sort so
dreadful and astonishing, that the like hath not been seen or felt in
the memory of any person living in this our Kingdom, and which loudly
calls for the deepest and most solemn humiliation of us and our people:
therefore out of a deep and pious sense of what we and all our people
have suffered by the said dreadful Wind and Storms, (which we most
humbly acknowledge to be a token of the divine displeasure, and that it
was the infinite Mercy of God that we and our people were not thereby
wholly destroyed,) We have Resolved, and do hereby command, that a
General Public Fast be observed,” &c.

This public fast was accordingly observed, throughout England, on the
nineteenth of January following, with great seriousness and devotion by
all orders and denominations. The protestant dissenters, notwithstanding
their objections to the interference of the civil magistrate in matters
of religion, deeming this to be an occasion wherein they might unite
with their countrymen in openly bewailing the general calamity, rendered
the supplication universal, by opening their places of worship, and
every church and meeting-house was crowded.


ADVERTISEMENT.

“It may not be generally known, that a Mr. JOSEPH TAYLOR, having
experienced a merciful preservation, during the ‘Great Storm,’ in 1703;
and, being at that period, a member of the (Baptist) church, meeting in
Little Wild-street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, instituted an annual sermon,
to perpetuate the recollection of that affecting occurrence; leaving, in
trust, a small sum to be thus annually expended.”

The above announcement is prefixed to a sermon preached in the
before-mentioned chapel, in the year 1821, by the rev. George Pritchard.
The annual sermon at that place has been regularly preached, but Mr.
Pritchard’s is the last printed one. It has an appendix of “remarkable
facts, which could not so conveniently be introduced into the
discourse.” The rev. Robert Winter, A. M. (now D.D.) preached the
sermon of 1798, which was the last published one preceding Mr.
Pritchard’s.

Mr. Joseph Taylor was a bookseller in Paternoster-row. He left 40_l._
for the purpose mentioned, to which the church added 5_l._, and
purchased 50_l._ three per cent. consols, which is now standing in the
name of three trustees, who pay the minister.

                                     £. _s._ _d._
  For the sermon                     1    0    0
  Distributing of Notices            0    2    6
  Clerk                              0    2    6
  Two Pew-openers 2_s._ 6_d._ each   0    5    0
                                    ------------
                                    £1   10    0
                                    ------------

The following is a copy of the notice, printed and distributed in the
year 1825.

  “GREAT STORM.

  _On Sunday Evening, November 27, 1825_,

  THE

  ~Annual Sermon~

  In commemoration of the Great Storm in 1703,

  WILL BE PREACHED

  =_In Little Wild Street Chapel,_=

  LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS,

  By the REV. THOMAS GRIFFIN,

  _Of Prescot Street_

  “A collection will be made after the service for the support of the
  Evening Lecture, which was commenced at the beginning of the present
  year, and will be continued every Sunday evening, to which the
  inhabitants of Wild-street, and its vicinity, are earnestly solicited
  to attend.

  “_Service commences at half-past six o’clock._”


_Etymology of the Seasons._

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Mr Editor,

I am, no doubt, with many others, obliged by the information contained
in your _Every-Day Book_, especially in giving the etymology and origin
of things of old and present practices.

But being a dabbler in etymology myself, I was disappointed in finding
none for the present season of the year, autumn; and as many of our
names of places were, no doubt, given by our Saxon ancestors, we in the
north retain more of that language, and consequently more familiar with
the names of places than you in England.

Perhaps there is not one hundred persons in Langbourn ward know any
meaning to the two words by which the ward is called; but to any child
in Scotland the words are significant.

Will you then allow me to give you my etymology of the seasons?

Spring makes itself familiar to almost every one; but summer, or as we
would say in Scotland, means an addition, or “sum-more,” or “some-mere;”
viz. if a person was not satisfied with his portion of victuals, he
would say “I want sum-mere.”

And does not this correspond with the season, which in all the plants
and fruits of the field and garden, is getting “sum-mere” every day,
until the months of August and September, when according to the order
and appointment of the great Lawgiver, they are brought to perfection,
and gathered in?

Then comes the present season, autumn, or as we would in the north say,
“ae-tum,” or “all-empty,” which is the present state of the gardens,
trees, and fields; they are “ae-tum.”

The last season brings with it its own name by its _effects_,
“wind-tere.”

If these observations will add any thing to your fund of information, it
will not diminish that of

  Your humble servant,

  A NORTH BRITAIN.

PS.--Observe, they pronounce the A in Scotland as in France, Aa.

  _November_ 16, 1825.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lupinleaved Wood Sorrel. _Oxalis lupinifolia._
  Dedicated to _St. Virgil_.

  [394] Belsham’s Hist. of G. Britain.


~November 28.~

  _St. Stephen the Younger_, A. D. 764. _St. James of La Marea_, of
  Ancona, A. D. 476.

  [Michaelmas Term ends.]


  BURMESE STATE CARRIAGE.
  _Exhibited in November_, 1825.

An invitation to a private view of the “Rath,” or state carriage of the
king of Ava, or emperor of the Burmans, at the Egyptian-hall,
Piccadilly, gave the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ an opportunity of
inspecting it, on Friday, the 18th of November, previous to its public
exhibition; and having been accompanied by an artist, for whom he
obtained permission to make a drawing of the splendid vehicle, he is
enabled to present the accompanying engraving.

The _Times_, in speaking of it, remarks, that “The Burmese artists have
produced a very formidable rival to that gorgeous piece of lumber, the
lord mayor’s coach. It is not indeed quite so heavy, nor quite so glassy
as that moving monument of metropolitan magnificence; but it is not
inferior to it in glitter and in gilding, and is far superior in the
splendour of the gems and rubies which adorn it. It differs from the
metropolitan carriage in having no seats in the interior, and no place
for either sword-bearer, chaplain, or any other inferior officer. The
reason of this is, that whenever the ‘golden monarch’ vouchsafes to show
himself to his subjects, who with true legitimate loyalty worship him as
an emanation from the deity, he orders his throne to be removed into it,
and sits thereon, the sole object of their awe and admiration.”

The _British Press_ well observes, that “Independent of the splendour of
this magnificent vehicle, its appearance in this country at the present
moment is attended with much additional and extrinsic interest. It is
the first specimen of the progress of the arts in a country of the very
existence of which we appeared to be oblivious, till recent and
extraordinary events recalled it to our notice. The map of Asia alone
reminded us that an immense portion of the vast tract of country lying
between China and our Indian possessions, and constituting the eastern
peninsula of India, was designated by the name of the Burmah empire. But
so little did we know of the people, or the country they inhabited, that
geographers were not agreed upon the orthography of the name. The attack
upon Chittagong at length aroused our attention to the concerns of this
warlike people, when one of the first intimations we received of their
existence was the threat, after they had expelled us from India, to
invade England. Our soldiers found themselves engaged in a contest
different from any they had before experienced in that part of the
world, and with a people who, to the impetuous bravery of savages, added
all the artifices of civilized warfare. We had to do with an enemy of
whose history and resources we knew absolutely nothing. On those heads
our information is still but scanty. It is the information which ‘the
Rath,’ or imperial carriage, affords respecting the state of the
mechanical arts among the Burmese, that we consider particularly curious
and interesting.”

[Illustration: ~The Rath, or Burmese Imperial State Carriage;~

_Captured, in September, 1825, at Tavoy, a sea-port in the Burmese
Empire_]

Before more minute description it may be remarked, that the eye is
chiefly struck by the fretted golden roof, rising step by step from the
square oblong body of the carriage, like an ascending pile of rich
shrine-work. “It consists of seven stages, diminishing in the most
skilful and beautiful proportions towards the top. The carving is highly
beautiful, and the whole structure is set thick with stones and gems of
considerable value. These add little to the effect when seen from below,
but ascending the gallery of the hall, the spectator observes them,
relieved by the yellow ground of the gilding, and sparkling beneath him
like dew-drops in a field of cowslips. Their presence in so elevated a
situation well serve to explain the accuracy of finish preserved
throughout, even in the nicest and most minute portions of the work.
Gilt metal bells, with large heart-shaped chrystal drops attached to
them, surround the lower stages of the pagoda, and, when the carriage is
put in motion, emit a soft and pleasing sound.”[395] The apex of the
roof is a pinnacle, called the _tee_, elevated on a pedestal. The _tee_
is an emblem of royalty. It is formed of movable belts, or coronals, of
gold, wherein are set large amethysts of a greenish or purple colour:
its summit is a small banner, or vane, of crystal.

The length of the carriage itself is thirteen feet seven inches; or, if
taken from the extremity of the pole, twenty-eight feet five inches. Its
width is six feet nine inches, and its height, to the summit of the
_tee_, is nineteen feet two inches. The carriage body is five feet seven
inches in length, by four feet six inches in width, and its height,
taken from the interior, is five feet eight inches. The four wheels are
of uniform height, are remarkable for their lightness and elegance, and
the peculiar mode by which the spokes are secured, and measure only four
feet two inches: the spokes richly silvered, are of a very hard wood,
called in the east, _iron wood_: the felloes are cased in brass, and the
caps to the naves elegantly designed of bell metal. The pole, also of
iron wood, is heavy and massive; it was destined to be attached to
elephants by which the vehicle was intended to be drawn upon all grand
or state occasions. The extremity of the pole is surmounted by the head
and fore part of a dragon, a figure of idolatrous worship in the east;
this ornament is boldly executed, and richly gilt and ornamented; the
scales being composed of a curiously  _talc_. The other parts of
the carriage are the wood of the oriental _sassafras_ tree, which
combines strength with lightness, and emits a grateful odour; and being
hard and elastic, is easily worked, and peculiarly fitted for carving.
The body of the carriage is composed of twelve panels, three on each
face or front, and these are subdivided into small squares of the clear
and nearly transparent horn of the rhinoceros and buffalo, and other
animals of eastern idolatry. These squares are set in broad gilt frames,
studded at every angle with raised silvered glass mirrors: the higher
part of these panels has a range of rich small looking-glasses, intended
to reflect the gilding of the upper, or pagoda stages.

The whole body is set in, or supported by four wreathed dragon-like
figures, fantastically entwined to answer the purposes of pillars to the
pagoda roof, and carved and ornamented in a style of vigour and
correctness that would do credit to a European designer: the scaly or
body part are of _talc_, and the eyes of pale ruby stones.

The interior roof is latticed with small looking-glasses studded with
mirrors as on the outside panels: the bottom or flooring of the body is
of matted cane, covered with crimson cloth, edged with gold lace, and
the under or frame part of the carriage is of matted cane in panels.

The upper part of each face of the body is composed of sash glasses, set
in broad gilt frames, to draw up and let down after the European
fashion, but without case or lining to protect the glass from fracture
when down; the catches to secure them when up are simple and curious,
and the strings of these glasses are wove crimson cotton. On the frames
of the glasses is much writing in the Burmese character, but the
language being utterly unknown in this country, cannot be deciphered; it
is supposed to be adulatory sentences to the “golden monarch” seated
within.

The body is staid by braces of leather; the springs, which are of iron,
richly gilt, differ not from the present fashionable C spring, and allow
the carriage an easy and agreeable motion. The steps merely hook on to
the outside: it is presumed they were destined to be carried by an
attendant; they are light and elegantly formed of gilt metal, with cane
threads.

A few years previous to the rupture which placed this carriage in the
possession of the British, the governor-general of India, having heard
that his Burmese majesty was rather _curious in his carriages_, one was
sent to him some few years since, by our governor-general, but it failed
in exciting his admiration--he said it was not so handsome as his own.
Its having lamps rather pleased him, but he ridiculed other parts of it,
particularly, that a portion so exposed to being soiled as the steps,
should be folded _and put up within side_.

The Burmese are yet ignorant of that useful formation of the fore part
of the carriage, which enables those of European manufacture to be
turned and directed with such facility: the fore part of that now under
description, does not admit of a lateral movement of more than four
inches, it therefore requires a very extended space in order to bring it
completely round.

On a gilt bar before the front of the body, with their heads towards the
carriage, stand two Japanese peacocks, a bird which is held sacred by
this superstitious people; their figure and plumage are so perfectly
represented, as to convey the natural appearance of life; two others to
correspond are perched on a bar behind. On the fore part of the frame of
the carriage, mounted on a silvered pedestal, in a kneeling position, is
the _tee_-bearer, a small carved image with a lofty golden wand in his
hands, surmounted with a small tee, the emblem of sovereignty: he is
richly dressed in green velvet, the front laced with jargoon diamonds,
with a triple belt round the body, of blue sapphires, emeralds, and
jargoon diamonds; his leggings are also embroidered with sapphires. In
the front of his cap is a rich cluster of white sapphires encircled with
a double star of rubies and emeralds: the cap is likewise thickly
studded with the carbuncle, a stone little known to us, but in high
estimation with the ancients. Behind the carriage are two figures; their
lower limbs are tattooed, as is the custom with the Burmese: from their
position, being on one knee, their hands raised and open, and their eyes
directed as in the act of firing, they are supposed to have borne a
representation of the carbine, or some such fire-arm weapon of defence,
indicative of protection.

The pagoda roof constitutes the most beautiful, and is, in short, the
only _imposing_ ornament of the carriage. The gilding is resplendent,
and the design and carving of the rich borders which adorn each stage
are no less admirable. These borders are studded with amethysts,
emeralds, jargoon diamonds, garnets, hyacinths, rubies, tourmalines, and
other precious gems, drops of amber and crystal being also interspersed.
From every angle ascends a light spiral gilt ornament, enriched with
crystals and emeralds.

This pagoda roofing, as well as that of the great imperial palace, and
of the state war-boat or barge, bears an exact similitude to the chief
sacred temple at Shoemadro. The Burman sovereign, the king of Ava, with
every eastern Bhuddish monarch, considers himself sacred, and claims to
be worshipped in common with deity itself; so that when enthroned in his
palace, or journeying on warlike or pleasurable excursions in his
carriage, he becomes an object of idolatry.

The seat or throne for the inside is movable, for the purpose of being
taken out and used in council or audience on a journey. It is a low seat
of cane-work, richly gilt, folding in the centre, and covered by a
velvet cushion. The front is studded with almost every variety of
precious stone, disposed and contrasted with the greatest taste and
skill. The centre belt is particularly rich in gems, and the rose-like
clusters or circles are uniformly composed of what is termed the stones
of the orient: viz. pearl, coral, sapphire, cornelian, cat’s-eye,
emerald, and ruby. A range of buffalo-horn panels ornament the front and
sides of the throne, at each end of which is a recess, for the body of a
lion like jos-god figure, called Sing, a mythological lion, very richly
carved and gilt; the feet and teeth are of pearl; the bodies are covered
with sapphires, hyacinths, emeralds, tourmalines, carbuncles, jargoon
diamonds, and rubies; the eyes are of a tri- sapphire. Six small
carved and gilt figures in a praying or supplicatory attitude, are
fixed on each side of the seat of the throne, they may be supposed to be
interceding for the mercy or safety of the monarch: their eyes are
rubies, their drop ear-rings cornelian, and their hair the light feather
of the peacock.

The _chattah_, or umbrella, which overshadows the throne, is an emblem
or representation of regal authority and power.

It is not to be doubted, that the caparisons of the elephants would
equal in splendour the richness of the carriage, but one only of the
elephants belonging to the carriage was captured; the caparisons for
both are presumed to have escaped with the other animal. It is imagined
that the necks of these ponderous beings bore their drivers, with small
hooked spears to guide them, and that the _cortêge_ combined all the
great officers of state, priests, and attendants, male and female,
besides the imperial body-guard mounted on eighty white elephants.

Among his innumerable titles, the emperor of the Burmans styles himself
“king of the white elephant.” Xacca, the founder of Indian idolatry, is
affirmed by the Brahmins to have gone through a metampsychosis eighty
thousand times, his soul having passed into that number of brutes; that
the last was in a white elephant, and that after these changes he was
received into the company of the gods, and is now a pagod.

       *       *       *       *       *

This carriage was taken with the workmen who built it, and all their
accounts. From these it appeared, that it had been three years in
building, that the gems were supplied from the king’s treasury, or by
contribution from the various states, and that the workmen were
remunerated by the government. Independent of these items, the expenses
were stated in the accounts to have been twenty-five thousand rupees,
(three thousand one hundred and twenty-five pounds.) The stones are not
less in number than twenty thousand, which its reputed value at Tavoy
was a lac of rupees, twelve thousand five hundred pounds.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN ENLARGED VIEW OF

~The Tee,~

_The ornament surmounting the roof of the Burmese State Carriage._]

It was in August, 1824, that the expedition was placed under the command
of lieutenant-colonel Miles, C. B., a distinguished officer in his
majesty’s service. It comprised his majesty’s 89th regiment, 7th Madras
infantry, some artillery, and other native troops, amounting in the
whole to about one thousand men. The naval force, under the command of
captain Hardy, consisted of the Teignmouth, Mercury, Thetis, Panang
cruiser Jesse, with three gun boats, three Malay prows, and two row
boats. The expedition sailed from Rangoon on the 26th of August, and
proceeded up the Tavoy river, which is full of shoals and natural
difficulties. On the 9th of September, Tavoy, a place of considerable
strength, with ten thousand fighting men, and many mounted guns,
surrendered to the expedition. The viceroy of the province, his son, and
other persons of consequence, were among the prisoners, and colonel
Miles states in his despatch, that, with the spoil, he took “a new state
carriage for the king of Ava, with one elephant only.” This is the
carriage now described. After subsequent successes the expedition
returned to Rangoon, whither the carriage was also conveyed; from
thence, it was forwarded to Calcutta, and there sold for the benefit of
the captors. The purchaser, judging that it would prove an attractive
object of curiosity in Europe, forwarded it to London, by the Cornwall,
captain Brooks, and it was immediately conveyed to the Egyptian-hall for
exhibition. It is not too much to say that it _is_ a curiosity. A people
emerging from the bosom of a remote region, wherein they had been
concealed until captain Symes’s embassy, and struggling in full
confidence against British tactics, must, in every point of view, be
interesting subjects of inquiry. The Burmese state carriage, setting
aside its attractions as a novelty, is a remarkable object for a
contemplative eye.

       *       *       *       *       *

Unlike Asiatics in general, the Burmese are a powerful, athletic, and
intelligent men. They inhabit a fine country, rich in rivers and
harbours. It unites the British possessions in India with the immense
Chinese empire. By incessant encroachments on surrounding petty states,
they have swallowed them up in one vast empire. Their jealousy, at the
preponderance of our eastern power, has been manifested on many
occasions. They aided the Mahratta confederacy; and if the promptness of
the marquis of Hastings had not deprived them of their allies before
they were prepared for action, a diversion would doubtless have then
been made by them on our eastern frontier.

Burmah is the designation of an active and vigorous race, originally
inhabiting the line of mountains, separating the great peninsula,
stretching from the confines of Tartary to the Indian Ocean, and
considered, by many, the _Golden Chersonesus_ of the ancients. From
their heights and native fastnesses, this people have successively fixed
their yoke upon the entire peninsula of Aracan, and after seizing
successively the separate states and kingdoms of Ava, Pegue, &c., have
condensed their conquests into one powerful state, called the Burmah
empire, from their own original name. This great Hindoo-Chinese country,
has gone on extending itself on every possible occasion. They subdued
Assam, a fertile province of such extent, as to include an area of sixty
thousand square miles, inhabited by a warlike people who had stood many
powerful contests with neighbouring states. On one occasion, Mohammed
Shar, emperor of Hindostan, attempted to conquer Assam with one hundred
thousand cavalry; the Assamese annihilated them. The subjugation of such
a nation, and constant aggressions, have perfected the Burmese in every
species of attack and defence: their stockade system, in a mountainous
country, closely intersected with nullahs, or thick reedy jungles,
sometimes thirty feet in height, has attained the highest perfection.
Besides Aracan, they have conquered part of Siam, so that on all sides
the Burmese territory appears to rest upon natural barriers, which might
seem to prescribe limits to its progress, and ensure repose and security
to its grandeur. Towards the east, immense deserts divide its boundaries
from China; on the south, it has extended itself to the ocean; on the
north, it rests upon the high mountains of Tartary, dividing it from
Tibet; on the west, a great and almost impassable tract of jungle wood,
marshes, and alluvial swamps of the great river Houghly, or the Ganges,
has, till now, interposed boundaries between itself and the British
possessions. Beyond this latter boundary and skirting of Assam is the
district of Chittagong, the point whence originated the contest between
the Burmese and the British.

The Burmese population is estimated at from seventeen to nineteen
millions of people, lively, industrious, energetic, further advanced in
civilization than most of the eastern nations, frank and candid, and
destitute of that pusillanimity which characterises the Hindoos, and of
that revengeful malignity which is a leading trait in the Malay
character. Some are even powerful logicians, and take delight in
investigating new subjects, be they ever so abstruse. Their learning is
confined to the male sex, and the boys are taught by the priests.
Females are denied education, except in the higher classes. Their books
are numerous, and written in a flowing and elegant style, and much
ingenuity is manifested in the construction of their stories.

The monarch is arbitrary. He is the sole lord and proprietor of life and
property in his dominions; his word is absolute law. Every male above a
certain age is a soldier, the property of the sovereign, and liable to
be called into service at any moment.

The country presents a rich and beautiful appearance, and, if
cultivated, would be one of the finest in the world. Captain Cox says,
“wherever I have landed, I have met with security and abundance, the
houses and farmyards put me in mind of the habitations of our little
farmers in England.”

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a variety of other information concerning this extraordinary
race, in the interesting memoir which may be obtained at the rooms in
Piccadilly. These were formerly occupied by “Bullock’s Museum.” Mr.
Bullock, however, retired to Mexico, to form a museum in that country
for the instruction of its native population; and Mr. George Lackington
purchased the premises in order to let such portions as individuals may
require, from time to time, for purposes of exhibition, or as rooms for
the display and sale of works in the fine arts, and other articles of
refinement. Mr. Day’s “Exhibition of the Moses of the Vatican,” and
other casts from Michael Angelo, with numerous subjects in sculpture and
painting, of eminent talent, remains under the same roof with the
Burmese carriage, to charm every eye that can be delighted by
magnificent objects.


~Advent.~

This term denotes the _coming_ of the Saviour. In ecclesiastical
language it is the denomination of the four weeks preceding the
celebration of his birthday. In the Romish church this season of
preparation for Christmas is a time of penance and devotion. It consists
of four weeks, or at least four Sundays, which commence from the Sunday
_nearest_ to St. Andrew’s day, whether before or after it: anciently it
was kept as a rigorous fast.[396]

In the church of England it commences at the same period. In 1825, St.
Andrew’s day being a fixed festival on the 30th of November, and
happening on a Wednesday, the _nearest_ Sunday to it, being the 27th of
November, was the first Sunday in Advent; in 1826, St. Andrew’s day
happening on a Thursday, the _nearest_ Sunday to it is on the 3d of
December, and, therefore, the first Sunday in Advent.


~New Annual Literature.~


THE AMULET.

The literary character and high embellishment of the German almanacs,
have occasioned an annual publication of beautifully printed works for
presents at this season. The _Amulet_, for 1826, is of this order. Its
purpose is to blend religious instruction with literary amusement.
Messrs. W. L. Bowles, Milman, Bowring, Montgomery, Bernard Barton,
Conder, Clare, T. C. Croker, Dr. Anster, Mrs. Hofland, &c.; and, indeed,
individuals of various denominations, are contributors of sixty original
essays and poems to this elegant volume, which is embellished by highly
finished engravings from designs by Martin, Westall, Brooke, and other
painters of talent. Mr. Martin’s two subjects are engraved by himself in
his own peculiarly effective manner. Hence, while the _Amulet_ aims to
inculcate the fitness of Christian precepts, and the beauty of the
Christian character, it is a specimen of the progress of elegant
literature and fine art.

       *       *       *       *       *

The _Amulet_ contains a descriptive poem, wherein the meaning of the
word _advent_ is exemplified; it commences on the next page.

THE RUSTIC FUNERAL.

_A Poetical Sketch._

BY JOHN HOLLAND.

    ’Twas _Christmas_--and the morning of that day,
    When holy men agree to celebrate
    The glorious _advent_ of their common Lord,
    The Christ of God, the Saviour of mankind!
    I, as my wont, sped forth, at early dawn,
    To join in that triumphant natal hymn,
    By Christians offer’d in the house of prayer.
    Full of these thoughts, and musing of the theme,
    The high, the glorious theme of man’s redemption,
    As I pass’d onward through the village lane,
    My eye was greeted, and my mind was struck,
    By the approach of a strange cavalcade,--
    If cavalcade that might be called, which here
    Six folks composed--the living and the dead.
    It was a rustic funeral, off betimes
    To some remoter village. I have seen
    The fair or sumptuous, yea, the gorgeous rites,
    The ceremonial, and the trappings proud,
    With which the rich man goeth to the dust;
    And I have seen the pauper’s coffin borne
    With quick and hurried step, without a friend
    To follow--one to stand on the grave’s brink,
    To weep, to sigh, to steal one last sad look,
    Then turn away for ever from the sight.
    But ne’er did pompous funeral of the proud,
    Nor pauper’s coffin unattended borne,
    Impress me like this picturesque array.
    Upright and tall, the coffin-bearer, first
    Rode, mounted on an old gray, shaggy ass;
    A cloak of black hung from his shoulders down
    And to the hinder fetlocks of the beast
    Depended, not unseemly: from his hat
    A long crape streamer did the old man wear,
    Which ever and anon play’d with the wind:
    The wind, too, frequently blew back his cloak,
    And then I saw the plain neat oaken coffin,
    Which held, perchance, a child of ten years old.
    Around the coffin, from beneath the lid,
    Appear’d the margin of a milk-white shroud,
    All cut, and crimp’d, and pounc’d with eyelet-holes
    As well became the last, last earthly robe
    In which maternal love its object sees.
    A couple follow’d, in whose looks I read
    The recent traces of parental grief,
    Which grief and agony had written there.
    A junior train--a little boy and girl,
    Next follow’d, in habiliments of black;
    And yet with faces, which methought bespoke
    Somewhat of pride in being marshall’d thus,
    No less than decorous and demure respect.
    The train pass’d by: but onward as I sped,
    I could not raze the picture from my mind;
    Nor could I keep the unavailing wish
    That I had own’d albeit but an hour,
    Thy gifted pencil, Stothard!--rather still,
    That mine had match’d thy more than graphic pen,
    Descriptive Wordsworth! This at least I claim,
    Feebly, full feebly to have sketch’d a scene,
    Which, ’midst a thousand recollections stor’d
    Of village sights, impress’d my pensive mind
    With some emotions ne’er to be forgot.[397]

  _Sheffield Park._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Variegated Stapelia. _Stapelia variegata._
  Dedicated to _St. Stephen, the younger_.

  [395] The British Press.

  [396] Butler on the Fasts.

  [397] _The Amulet._


~November 29.~

  _St. Saturninus_, Bp. A. D. 257. _St. Radbod_, Bp. A. D. 918.


CHRONOLOGY.


_Invention of Printing by Steam._

_The Times_ journal of Tuesday, November the 29th, 1814, was the first
newspaper printed by steam. To the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ the
application of machinery, through this power, to the production of a
newspaper seemed so pregnant with advantages to the world, that he
purchased _The Times_ of that morning, within an hour of its appearance,
“as a curiosity,” and here transcribes from it the words wherein it
announced and described the mode by which its fitness for publication
was on that day effected.

_The Times_ introduces the subject, through its “leading article,”
thus:--

“LONDON, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1814.

“Our journal of this day presents to the public the practical result of
the greatest improvement connected with printing, since the discovery of
the art itself. The reader of this paragraph now holds in his hand, one
of the many thousand impressions of _The Times_ newspaper, which were
taken off last night by a mechanical apparatus. A system of machinery
almost organic has been devised and arranged, which, while it relieves
the human frame of its most laborious efforts in printing, far exceeds
all human powers in rapidity and despatch. That the magnitude of the
invention may be justly appreciated by its effects, we shall inform the
public, that after the letters are placed by the compositors, and
enclosed in what is called the form, little more remains for man to do,
than to attend upon, and watch this unconscious agent in its operations.
The machine is then merely supplied with paper: itself places the form,
inks it, adjusts the paper to the form newly inked, stamps the sheet,
and gives it forth to the hands of the attendant, at the same time
withdrawing the form for a fresh coat of ink, which itself again
distributes, to meet the ensuing sheet now advancing for impression; and
the whole of these complicated acts is performed with such a velocity
and simultaneousness of movement, that no less than eleven hundred
sheets are impressed in one hour.

“That the completion of an invention of this kind, not the effect of
chance, but the result of mechanical combinations methodically arranged
in the mind of the artist, should be attended with many obstructions and
much delay, may be readily admitted. Our share in this event has,
indeed, only been the application of the discovery, under an agreement
with the Patentees, to our own particular business; yet few can
conceive,--even with this limited interest,--the various disappointments
and deep anxiety to which we have for a long course of time been
subjected.

“Of the person who made this discovery we have but little to add. Sir
CHRISTOPHER WREN’S noblest monument is to be found in the building which
he erected; so is the best tribute of praise, which we are capable of
offering to the inventor of the Printing Machine, comprised in the
preceding description, which we have feebly sketched, of the powers and
utility of his invention. It must suffice to say farther, that he is a
Saxon by birth; that his name is KŒNIG; and that the invention has been
executed under the direction of his friend and countryman BAUER.”

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 3d of December, 1824, _The Times_ commences a series of remarks,
entitled, “Invention of Printing by Steam,” by observing thus. “Ten
years elapsed on the 29th of last month, since this journal appeared for
the first time printed by a mechanical apparatus; and it has continued
to be printed by the same method to the present day.” It speaks of
consequent advantages to the public, from earlier publication, and
better presswork, and says, “This journal is undoubtedly the first work
ever printed by a mechanical apparatus: we attempted on its introduction
to do justice to the claims of the inventor Mr. Kœnig, who some years
afterwards returned to his native country, Germany, not benefited, we
fear, up to the full extent of his merits, by his wonderful invention
and his exertions in England.” In refuting some pretensions which
infringed on Mr. Kœnig’s claim to consideration as the author of the
invention, _The Times_ states, that “before Mr. Kœnig left this country,
he accomplished the last great improvement,--namely, the printing of the
sheet on both sides. In consequence of successive improvements,
suggested and planned by Mr. Kœnig the inventor, our machines now print
2,000 with more ease than 1,100 in their original state.” Hence, as in
1814, 1,100 is represented to have been the number then thrown off
within the hour, it follows that the number now printed every hour is
2,000. _The Times_ adds, “we cannot close this account without giving
our testimony not only to the enlightened mind and ardent spirit of Mr.
Kœnig, but also to his strict honour and pure integrity. Our intercourse
with him was constant, during the very critical and trying period when
he was bringing his invention into practice at our office; so that we
had no slight knowledge of his manners and character: and the
consequence has been, sincere friendship and high regard for him ever
since.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sphenogyne. _Sphenogyne piliflora._
  Dedicated to _St. Saturninus_.


~November 30.~

  _St. Andrew_, Apostle. _St. Narses_, Bp. and _Companions_. _Sts.
  Sapor_ and _Isaac_. Bps. _Mahanes_, _Abraham_, and _Simeon_, A. D.
  339.


  ~St. Andrew.~
  PATRON SAINT OF SCOTLAND.

This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. He was
one of the apostles. It is affirmed that he was put to death in the year
69, at Patræ, in Achaia, by having been scourged, and then fastened with
cords to a cross, in which position he remained “teaching and
instructing the people all the time,” until his death, at the end of two
days. It is the common opinion that the cross of St. Andrew was in the
form of the letter X, styled a cross decussate, composed of two pieces
of timber crossing each other obliquely in the middle. That such crosses
were sometimes used is certain, yet no clear proofs are produced as to
the form of St. Andrew’s cross. A part of what was said to have been
this cross was carried to Brussels, by Philip the Good, duke of
Burgundy, and Brabant, who in honour of it, instituted the knights of
the golden fleece, who, for the badge of their order, wear a figure of
this cross, called St. Andrew’s cross, or the cross of Burgundy. The
Scots honour St. Andrew as principal patron of their country, and their
historians tell us, that a certain abbot called Regulus, brought thither
from Constantinople in 369, certain relics of this apostle, which he
deposited in a church that he built in his honour, with a monastery
called Abernethy, where now the city of St. Andrew stands. Many pilgrims
resorted thither from foreign countries, and the Scottish monks of that
place were the first who were _culdees_. The Muscovites say, he preached
among them, and claim him as the principal titular saint of their
empire. Peter the Great instituted the first order of knighthood under
his name. This is the order of the blue ribbon; the order of the _red_
ribbon, or of St. Alexander Newski, was instituted by his widow and
successor to the throne, the empress Catherine.[398]

       *       *       *       *       *

Naogeorgus, in the words of his translator Barnaby Googe, says,

    To Andrew all the lovers and
        the lustie wooers come,
    Beleeving through his ayde, and
        certaine ceremonies done,
    (While as to him they presentes bring,
        and conjure all the night,)
    To have good lucke, and to obtaine
        their chiefe and sweete delight.

       *       *       *       *       *

In an account of the parish of Easling, in Kent, it is related that, “On
St. Andrew’s day, November 30, there is yearly a diversion called
squirrel-hunting in this and the neighbouring parishes, when the
labourers and lower kind of people, assembling together, form a lawless
rabble, and being accoutred with guns, poles, clubs, and other such
weapons, spend the greatest part of the day in parading through the
woods and grounds, with loud shoutings; and, under the pretence of
demolishing the squirrels, some few of which they kill, they destroy
numbers of hares, pheasants, partridges, and in short whatever comes in
their way, breaking down the hedges, and doing much other mischief, and
in the evening betaking themselves to the alehouses.”[399]

       *       *       *       *       *

At Dudingston, distant from Edinburgh a little more than a mile, many
opulent citizens resort in the summer months to solace themselves over
one of the ancient homely dishes of Scotland, for which the place has
been long celebrated, singed sheep’s heads boiled or baked. The frequent
use of this solace in that village, is supposed to have arisen from the
practice of slaughtering the sheep fed on the neighbouring hill for the
market, removing the carcases to town, and leaving the head, &c. to be
consumed in the place.[400] Brand adds, that “singed sheep’s heads are
borne in the procession before the Scots in London, on St. Andrew’s
day.”

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a marvellous pleasant story in the “Golden Legend,” of a bishop
that loved St. Andrew, and worshipped him above all other saints, and
remembered him every day, and said prayers in honour of God and St.
Andrew, insomuch that the devil spitefully determined to do him
mischief. Wherefore, on a certain day, the devil transformed himself “in
to the fourme of a ryght fayre woman,” and came to the bishop’s palace,
and desired in that “fourme” to confess, as women do. When the bishop
was informed of the message, he answered that she should go and confess
herself to his “penytauncer,” who had power from him to hear
confessions. Thereupon she sent the bishop word, that she would not
reveal the secrets of her confession to any but himself; therefore the
bishop commanded her to be brought to him. Whereupon, being in his
presence, she told him, that her father was a mighty king, who had
purposed to give her to a prince in marriage, but that having devoted
herself to piety, she refused, and that her father had constrained her
so much, that she must either have consented to his will, or suffered
divers torments; wherefore she chose to live in exile, and had fled
secretly away to the bishop, of whose holy life she had heard, and with
whom she now prayed to live in secret contemplation, “and eschewe the
evyll perylles of this present lyfe.” Then the bishop marvelled greatly,
as well for the nobility of her descent, as for the beauty of her
person, and said choose thee an house, “and I wyll that thou dyne with
me this daye;” and she answered that evil suspicion might come thereof,
and the splendour of his renown be thereby impaired. To this the bishop
replied, that there would be many others present, therefore there could
be no such suspicion. Then the devil dined with the bishop, who did not
know him, but admired him as a fair lady, to whom therefore the bishop
paid so much attention, that the devil perceived his advantage, and
began to increase in beauty more and more; and more and more the bishop
marvelled at the exceeding loveliness before him, and did homage
thereto, and conceived greater affection than a bishop should. Then a
pilgrim smote at the bishop’s gate, and though he knocked hard they
would not open the door; then the pilgrim at the gate knocked louder,
and the bishop grew less charitable and more polite, and asked the
beautiful creature before him, whether it was her pleasure that the
pilgrim should enter; and she desired that a question should be put to
the pilgrim, which, if he could answer, he should be received, and if he
could not, he should abide without as not worthy to come in. And the
company assented thereto, and the bishop said, none of them were so able
to propose the question as the lady, because in fair speaking and
wisdom, she surpassed them all. Then she required that it should be
demanded of the pilgrim, which is the greatest marvel in the smallest
space that ever God made? And then the bishop’s messenger propounded the
question to the pilgrim, who answered that it was the diversity and
excellence of the faces of men, because from the beginning of the world
there are not two men whose faces “were lyke, and semblanle in all
thynges:” and the company declared that this was a very good answer to
the question. Then she said, that to prove the further knowledge of the
pilgrim, he ought to be asked what thing of the earth is higher than all
the heaven; and the pilgrim answered, the body of Jesus Christ, which is
in the imperial heaven, is of earthly flesh, and is more high than all
the heaven; and by this answer they were again surprised, and
marvellously praised the pilgrim’s wisdom. Then she desired that a third
question might be asked of the pilgrim, which if he could answer, then
he would be worthy to be received at the bishop’s table; and by her
order, the messenger demanded this question of the pilgrim, “What is the
distance from the bottomless pit unto the imperial heaven?” and the
pilgrim answered, “Go to him that sent thee to me, and ask the question
of _him_, for _he_ can better answer it, because he measured this
distance when he fell from heaven into the bottomless pit, and _I_ never
measured it:” and when the messenger heard this, he was sore afraid, and
fearfully told the pilgrim’s message to the bishop and all the others,
who when they heard the same, were also sore afraid. Then forthwith the
devil vanished away from before their eyes; and the bishop repented, and
sent the messenger to bring in the pilgrim, but he could not be found.
So the bishop assembled the people and told them what had happened, and
required them to pray that it might be revealed who this pilgrim was,
that had delivered him from so great peril: and the same night it was
revealed to the bishop, that it was St. Andrew who had put himself into
the habit of a pilgrim for the bishop’s deliverance. “Than began the
bisshop more and more to have devocyon and remembraunce of saynt Andrewe
than he hadde tofore.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Three- Wood Sorrel. _Oxalis tricolor._
  Dedicated to _St. Sapor_.


~Belzoni.~

The celebrated Belzoni died at the close of the year 1823, and at the
same period of the year 1825, the newspapers contain advertisements and
appeals, in behalf of his widow, to a British public, whose national
character Belzoni has elevated, by introducing into England many
splendid remains of ancient grandeur. The journals of another year will
record whether these representations were sufficient to rouse national
feeling to a sense of national honour, and the necessity of relieving a
lady whose husband perished in an enterprise to enrich her country, by
making it the deposit of his further discoveries. Belzoni had penetrated
and examined distant regions, and after disclosing the results of his
investigations, and all the curious monuments of art he collected on his
travels, he left London for the deserts of Africa, where he fell while
labouring towards Timbuctoo, for other specimens of human ingenuity, and
endeavouring to explore and point out channels of enterprise to our
manufacturers and merchants. It is from these classes especially that
his fate claims commiseration; and from them, and the public in general,
Mrs. Belzoni should derive aid. Removal of her embarrassment, is only a
suspension of the misfortunes that await a bereaved female, if she is
not afforded the means of future support. This is said by one who never
saw her or her late husband, and who only volunteers the plain thoughts
of a plain man, who knows the advantages which England derives from
Belzoni’s ardour and perseverance, and is somewhat qualified, perhaps,
to compassionate Mrs. Belzoni’s helplessness. During a season of festal
enjoyment, when friends and neighbours “make wassail,” any individual of
right feeling might thaw indifference into regard for her situation, and
“make the widow’s heart sing for joy.”

  Subscriptions are advertised to be received by the following bankers,
  Messrs. Coutts and Co; Esdaile and Co.; Goslings and Co.; Hammersley
  and Co.; Hopkinson and Co.; Hoare, Barnett, and Co.; Jones, Lloyd, and
  Co.; Masterman and Co.; Smith, Payne, and Co.; Snow and Paul; Willis,
  Percival, and Co.; Wright and Co.

  [398] Butler.

  [399] Hasted’s Kent.

  [400] Sir J. Sinclair’s Statist. Acc. of Scotland.




[Illustration: DECEMBER.]


        And after him came next the chill December;
        Yet he, through merry feasting which he made
        And great bonfires, did not the cold remember;
        His Saviour’s birth so much his mind did glad.
        Upon a shaggy bearded goat he rode,
        The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender years,
        They say was nourisht by the Idæan mayd;
        And in his hand a broad deepe bowle he beares,
    Of which he freely drinks an health to all his peers.

  _Spenser._

This is the twelfth and last month of the year. By our ancestors
“December hath his due appellation given him in the name of
_winter-monat_, to wit, _winter-cometh_; but after the Saxons received
Christianity, they then, of devotion to the birth-time of Christ, termed
it by the name of _heligh-monat_, that is to say, holy-cometh.”[401]
They also called it _midwinter-monath_ and _guil erra_, which means the
former or first _giul_. The feast of Thor, which was celebrated at the
winter solstice, was called _giul_ from _iol_, or _ol_, which signified
_ale_, and is now corrupted into _yule_. This festival appears to have
been continued through part of January.[402]

Our pleasant guide to “The Months,” Mr. Leigh Hunt, says of December
thus:--

It is now complete winter. The vapourish and cloudy atmosphere wraps us
about with dimness and chilliness; the reptiles and other creatures that
sleep or hide during the cold weather, have all retired to their winter
quarters; the farmer does little or nothing out of doors; the fields are
too damp and miry to pass, except in sudden frosts, which begin to occur
at the end of the month; and the trees look but like skeletons of what
they were--

    Bare ruined choirs in which the sweet birds sang.

  _Shakspeare._

The evergreen trees with their beautiful cones, such as firs and pines,
are now particularly observed and valued. In the warmer countries, where
shade is more desirable, their worth and beauty are more regularly
appreciated. Virgil talks of the pine as being handsomest in gardens;
and it is a great favourite with Theocritus, especially for the fine
sound of the air under its kind of vaulted roof.

But we have flowers as well as leaves in winter-time; besides a few of
last month, there are the aconite and hellebore, two names of very
different celebrity; and in addition to some of the flourishing shrubs,
there is the Glastonbury thorn, which puts forth its beauty at
Christmas. It is so called, we believe, because the abbots of the famous
monastery at that place first had it in their garden from abroad, and
turned its seasonable efflorescence into a miracle.

The evergreens and winter flowers are like real friends, who, whatever
be their peculiar disposition, whether serious or gay, will never
forsake us. Even roses, with which we are so apt to associate summer
weather, flourish from May to December inclusive; and during the winter
months will live and prosper in apartments. We need never be without
them from the first day of the year to the last; and thus, to the
numerous comparisons made between roses and the fair sex, may be added
this new one, as complimentary to their friendship as it is true.

We have anticipated our general observations on winter-time in our
remarks at the beginning of the year. December is in general too early
a month for the fine manly exercise of skating, which indeed can be
taken but rarely, on account of our changeful weather and the short
continuance of frost. Like swimming, all the difficulty of it is in the
commencement, at least for the purposes of enjoyment. The graces of
outside strokes, and spread eagles, are the work of time and ambition.

But December has one circumstance in it, which turns it into the
merriest month of the year,--Christmas. This is the holiday, which, for
obvious reasons, may be said to have survived all the others; but still
it is not kept with any thing like the vigour, perseverance, and
elegance of our ancestors. They not only ran Christmas-day,
new-year’s-day, and twelfth-night, all into one, but kept the
wassail-bowl floating the whole time, and earned their right to enjoy it
by all sorts of active pastimes. The wassail-bowl, (as some of our
readers may know by experience, for it has been a little revived of
late,) is a composition of spiced wine or ale, with roasted apples put
into it, and sometimes eggs. They also adorned their houses with green
boughs, which it appears, from Herrick, was a practice with many
throughout the year,--box succeeding at Candlemas to the holly, bay,
rosemary, and misletoe of Christmas,--yew at Easter to box,--birch and
flowers at Whitsuntide to yew,--and then bents and oaken boughs. The
whole nation were in as happy a ferment at Christmas, with the warmth of
exercise and their firesides, as they were in May with the new sunshine.
The peasants wrestled and sported on the town-green, and told tales of
an evening; the gentry feasted then, or had music and other elegant
pastimes; the court had the poetical and princely entertainment of
masques; and all sung, danced, revelled, and enjoyed themselves, and so
welcomed the new year like happy and grateful subjects of nature.

This is the way to turn winter to summer, and make the world what heaven
has enabled it to be; but as people in general manage it, they might as
well turn summer itself to winter. Hear what a poet says, who carries
his own sunshine about with him:--

    As for those chilly orbs, on the verge of creation
      Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare
    Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station,
      Heaven knows we have plenty on earth we could spare.

    Oh, think what a world we should have of it here,
      If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee,
    Were to fly up to Saturn’s comfortless sphere,
      And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me.

  _Moore._

Nor is it only on holidays that nature tells us to enjoy ourselves. If
we were wise, we should earn a reasonable portion of leisure and
enjoyment day by day, instead of resolving to do it some day or other,
and seldom doing it at all. Company is not necessary for it, at
intervals, except that best and most necessary company of one’s
family-partners in life, or some one or two especial friends, truly so
called, who are friends for every sort of weather, winter as well as
summer. A warm carpet and curtains, a sparkling fire, a book, a little
music, a happy sympathy of talk or a kind of discussion, may then call
to mind with unenvying placidity the very rarest luxuries of the
summer-time; and instead of being eternally and foolishly told, that
pleasures produce pains, by those who really make them do so with their
profligacy or bigotry, we shall learn the finer and manlier
knowledge--how to turn pain to the production of pleasure.

    Lawrence, of virtuous father, virtuous son,
        Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire,
        Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
    Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
    From the hard season gaining? Time will run
        On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
        The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
    The lily and rose, which neither sowed nor spun.
    What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
    Of Attick taste, with wine, whence we may rise
    To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
    Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
    He who of these delights can judge, and spare
    To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

  _Milton._

  [401] Verstegan.

  [402] Dr. F. Sayers


~December 1.~

  _St. Eligius_, or _Eloy_, Bp. of Noyon. A. D. 659.


THE SEASON.

It is observed by Dr. Forster in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the
weather at this time is usually mild, and wet, with fogs; we have an
occasional interchange of frosts. On some occasions a kind of weather
occurs now which occasionally happens during all the winter months. The
air becomes perfectly calm, the sky clouded and dark, without much mist
below, the ground gets dry, and not a leaf stirs on the trees, and the
sounds of distant bells, and other sounds and noises are heard at a
great distance, just as they are on other occasions before rain. The
thermometer is often from 45° to 52°. The barometer rises to “set fair”
and remains steady, and the current of smoke from the chimnies either
goes straight upright into the air in a vertical column, or inclines so
little with the breath of air as to indicate sometimes one wind and
sometimes another. At this time the crowing of the cocks, the noise of
busy rooks and daws, which feed in flocks in the meadows, and fly at
morning and eventide in flocks to and from their nests, the music of
distant singing, and the strokes of the church clocks and chimes are
heard for miles, as if carried along under the apparent sounding board
of the clouds above. Even the voices of persons are heard at a vast
distance, all being hushed around.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Dark Stapelia. _Stapelia pulla._
  Dedicated to _St. Eligius_.


~December 2.~

  _St. Bibiania_, A. D. 363.


CHRONOLOGY.

On the 2d of December, 1823, the London Mechanics’ Institution was
formed, and on the anniversary of the day, in 1824, the first stone of
its theatre for the delivery of the lectures, in Southampton Buildings,
Chancery-lane, was laid by Dr. Birkbeck. In a cavity of the stone was
placed a bottle, wherein were sealed up a book of the laws of the
institution--the tenth number of the “Mechanics’ Magazine,” which
contained an account of the first meeting of the members--a vellum roll,
on which was inscribed the names of the officers of the
institution,--and a portrait of Dr. Birkbeck, the president. The bottle
having been deposited, the president proceeded to lay the stone, which
bears the following inscription, with the names of all the officers of
the institution:--

  This Stone, the first of the Lecture Room,

  was laid on the 2d of December, 1824,

  Being the First Anniversary of the Establishment

  of the

  LONDON MECHANICS’ INSTITUTION,

  by

  GEORGE BIRKBECK, M. D. PRESIDENT,

  In the presence of the following Officers of the Institution,

  Vice-Presidents, Trustees, Auditors,

  John Martineau, Esq.,

  Professor Millington,

  John Borthwick Gilchrist, LL. D.

  Robert M‘William, Esq.

After the stone was laid, Dr. Birkbeck addressed the meeting in nearly
the following words:--“Now have we founded our edifice for the diffusion
and advancement of human knowledge. Now have we begun to erect a temple,
wherein man shall extend his acquaintance with the universe of mind, and
shall acquire the means of enlarging his dominion over the universe of
matter. In this spot, hereafter, the charms of literature shall be
displayed, and the powers of science shall be unfolded to the most
humble inquirers; for to ‘the feast of reason’ which will be here
prepared, the invitation shall be as unbounded as the region of
intellect. For an undertaking so vast in its design, and so magnificent
in its objects (nothing short, indeed, of the moral and intellectual
amelioration and aggrandizement of the human race), the blessing of
heaven, I humbly trust, will not be implored in vain. If, in this
institution, we seek to obey the mandate which has gone forth, that
knowledge shall be increased; if we act in obedience to the injunction,
that in all our gettings we should get understanding; if we succeed in
proving, that for the existence of the mental wilderness, the
continuance of which we all deeply deplore, we ought ‘to blame the
culture, not the soil;’ if by rendering man more percipient of the
order, harmony, and benevolence, which pervade the universe, we more
effectually ‘assert eternal Providence, and justify the ways of God to
man;’ and if thus we shall be the happy means of rendering it palpable,
that the immortal essence within us, when freed from the deformity of
ignorance and vice, has been created in the express image of God--then
may we confidently hope that Omniscience will favourably behold our
rising structure; and that in its future progress, Omnipotence, without
whose assistance all human endeavours are vain, will confer upon us a
portion of his powers. Whilst I remind you that the illustrious Bacon,
long ago, maintained that ‘knowledge is power,’ I may apprize you that
it has, since his time, been established that knowledge is wealth--is
comfort--is security--is enjoyment--is happiness. It has been found so
completely to mingle with human affairs, that it renders social life
more endearing; has given to morality more sprightliness; and,
politically, has produced more consistent obedience--it takes from
adversity some of its bitterness, and enlarges the sphere, as well as
augments the sweetness of every laudable gratification; and lastly,
unquestionably one of its brightest influences, it becomes at once an
avenue and a guide to that ‘temple which is not made with hands, eternal
in the heavens.’”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Lemon Geodorum. _Geodorum citrinum._
  Dedicated to _St. Bibiania_.


~December 3.~

  _St. Francis Xavier_, A. D. 1552. _St. Birinus_, first Bp. of
  Dorchester, A. D. 650. _St. Sola_, A. D. 790. _St. Lucius_, King, A.
  D. 182.


_Royal Dance of Torches._

_Berlin, December 3, 1821._--Of all the entertainments which took place
in this capital, on the occasion of the marriage of the prince royal
with the princess of Bavaria, none appeared so extraordinary to
foreigners, as the _dance of torches_, (_Fakeltanz_.) It was executed
after the grand marriage feast, in the following manner:--“The royal
family, followed by all the personages who had partook of the feast at
separate tables, proceeded to the white saloon. The dance was
immediately opened by the privy councillor, marshal of the court, the
baron de Maltzahn, bearing his baton of order. After him followed two
and two, according to seniority of rank, the privy councillors and the
ministers of state, bearing _wax torches_. The august bride and
bridegroom preceded the above dancers, and walked round the saloon. The
princess royal stopped before the king, and making him a profound
reverence, invited him to dance. After having danced one turn with his
majesty, she danced with all the princes. The prince royal, in like
manner, danced with all the princesses. After the ball, the royal family
passed into the apartment of Frederick I., where the grand mistress,
countess of Norde, distributed the garter of the bride.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Indian Tree. _Euphorbia Tirucalli._
  Dedicated to _St. Francis Xavier_.


~December 4.~

  _St. Peter Chrysologus_, A. D. 450. _St. Barbara_, A. D. 306. _St.
  Anno_, Abp. of Cologne, A. D. 1075. _St. Osmund_, Bp. A. D. 1099 _St.
  Maruthas_, Bp. 5th Cent. _St. Siran_, or _Sigirannus_, A. D. 655. _St.
  Clement_, of Alexandria, A. D. 189.


_Ancient Divinations in Advent._

From the following lines of Barnaby Googe, it appears that rustic young
girls in ancient times, indulged at this season in attempting to divine
the name of the man they were to marry, from forcing the growth of
onions in the chimney-corner, and that they ascertained the temper of
the good man, from the straitness or crookedness of a <DW19>-stick drawn
from a woodstack. Advent seems likewise to have been a time wherein the
young ones went about and levied contributions

    Three weekes before the day whereon was borne the Lorde of Grace,
    And on the Thursday boyes and girles do runne in every place,
    And bounce and beate at every doore, with blowes and lustie snaps,
    And crie, the _advent_ of the Lord not borne as yet perhaps.
    And wishing to the neighbours all, that in the houses dwell,
    A happie yeare, and every thing to spring and prosper well:
    Here have they peares, and plumbs, and pence, ech man gives
         willinglee,
    For these three nightes are always thought unfortunate to bee:
    Wherein they are afrayde of sprites, and cankred witches spight,
    And dreadfull devils blacke and grim, that then have chiefest might.
    In these same dayes yong wanton gyrles that meete for marriage bee,
    Doe search to know the names of them that shall their husbands bee.
    Foure onyons, five, or eight, they take and make in every one,
    Such names as they do fansie most, and best do thinke upon.
    Thus neere the chimney them they set, and that same onyon than,
    That first doth sproute, doth surely beare the name of their good
         man.
    Their husbandes nature eke they seeke to know, and all his guise,
    When as the sunne hath hid himselfe, and left the starrie skies,
    Unto some woodstacke do they go, and while they there do stande
    Eche one drawes out a <DW19> sticke, the next that commes to hande,
    Which if it streight and even be, and have no knots at all,
    A gentle husband then they thinke shall surely to them fall.
    But if it fowle and crooked be, and knottie here and theare,
    A crabbed churlish husband then, they earnestly do feare.
    These thinges the wicked papistes beare, and suffer willingly,
    Because they neyther do the ende, nor fruites of faith espie:
    And rather had the people should obey their foolish lust,
    Than truely God to know; and in him here alone to trust.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Barbados Gooseberry. _Cactus Pereskia._
  Dedicated to _St. Peter Chrysologus_.


~December 5.~

  _St. Sabas_, Abbot, A. D. 532. _St. Crispina_, A. D. 304. _St.
  Nicetius_, Bp. of Triers, A. D. 566.


_Foot Ball in Scotland._

On Tuesday the 5th of December, 1815, a great foot-ball match took place
at Carterhaugh, Ettrick Forest (a spot classical in minstrelsy), betwixt
the Ettrick men and the men of Yarrow; the one party backed by the earl
of Home, and the other by sir Walter Scott, sheriff of the forest, who
wrote two songs for the occasion, one whereof follows:--

_Lifting the Banner of the House of Buccleugh, at the great Foot-ball
match, on Carterhaugh._

    From the brown crest of Newark its summons extending,
      Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame;
    And each forester blithe from his mountain descending,
      Bounds light o’er the heather to join in the game.

    _Chorus._

      Then up with the banner, let forest winds fan her,
      She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more;
      In sport we’ll attend her, in battle defend her,
      With heart and with hand, like our fathers’ before.

    When the southern invader spread waste and disorder,
      At the glance of her crescents he paus’d and withdrew
    For around them were marshal’d the pride of the border,
      The flowers of the forest, the bands of Buccleuch.
            Then up with the banner, &c.

    A stripling’s weak hand to our revel has borne her,
      No mail glove has grasp’d her, no spearmen around;
    But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should scorn her,
      A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground.
            Then up with the banner, &c.

    We forget each contention of civil dissension,
      And hail, like our brethren, Home, Douglas, and Car;
    And Elliot and Pringle in pastime shall mingle,
      As welcome in peace as their fathers in war.
            Then up with the banner, &c.

    Then strip lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather,
      And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall,
    There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather,
      And life is itself but a game at foot-ball!
            Then up with the banner, &c.

    And when it is over, we’ll drink a blythe measure
      To each laird and each lady that witness’d our fun,
    And to every blythe heart that took part in our pleasure,
      To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won.
            Then up with the banner, &c.

    May the forest still flourish, both borough and landward
      From the hall of the peer to the herd’s ingle nook;
    And huzza! my brave hearts, for Buccleuch and his standard
      For the king and the country, the clan and the duke!
            Then up with the banner, &c.

                               QUOTH THE SHERIFF OF THE FOREST

  _Abbotsford_, _Dec._ 1, 1815.

Something has been said concerning _ball-play_, at p. 863, and more
remains to be observed, with which foot-ball will be mentioned
hereafter. At present the year hastens the volume to a close, and we
must put by many things to make ready for the “great festival:”--

    _Christmas_ is a coming,
      We’ll have flowing bowls,
    Laughing, piping, drumming,
      We’ll be jovial souls.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Longstalked Hibiscus. _Hibiscus pedunculatus._
  Dedicated to _St. Crispina_.


~December 6.~

  _St. Nicholas_, Abp. of Myra, A. D. 342. _Sts. Dionysia_, _Dativa_,
  _Æmilianus_, _Boniface_, _Leontia_, _Tertius_, and _Majoricus_,
  Martyrs. _St. Peter Paschal_, A. D. 1300. _St. Theophilus_, Bp. of
  Antioch, A. D. 190.


~St. Nicholas.~

He is in the almanacs, and church of England calendar. He is patron or
titular saint of virgins, boys, sailors, and the worshipful company of
parish clerks of the city of London. Mr. Audley briefly observes of him,
that he was remarkable in his infancy for piety, and the knowledge of
the scriptures; that he was made bishop of Myra, in Lycia, by
Constantine the Great, and that “he was present in the council of Nice,
where, it is said, he gave Arius a box on the ear.”[403]

According to catholic story, St. Nicholas was a saint of great virtue,
and disposed so early in life to conform to ecclesiastical rule, that
when an infant at the breast he fasted on Wednesday and Friday, and
sucked but once on each of those days, and that towards night.[404] A
story is related to his credit which is of considerable curiosity. It is
told, that “an Asiatic gentleman” sent his two sons to “Athens” for
education, and ordered them to wait on the bishop for his benediction.
On arriving at Myra with their baggage they took up their lodging at an
inn, purposing, as it was late in the day, to defer their visit till the
morrow; but in the mean time the innkeeper, to secure their effects to
himself, wickedly killed the young gentlemen, cut them into pieces,
salted them, and intended to sell them for pickled pork. Happily St.
Nicholas was favoured with a sight of these proceedings in a vision, and
in the morning went to the inn, and reproached the cruel landlord with
his crime, who immediately confessed it, and entreated the saint to pray
to heaven for his pardon. Then the bishop, being moved by his confession
and contrition, besought forgiveness for him, and supplicated
restoration of life to the children; whereupon the pickled pieces
reunited, and the reanimated youths stepping from the brine-tub threw
themselves at the feet of St. Nicholas, who raised them up, exhorted
them to return thanks to God alone, gave them good advice for the
future, bestowed his blessing on them, and sent them to Athens with
great joy to prosecute their studies.[405]

[Illustration]

The Salisbury missal of 1534, fol. xxvii. contains a prayer to St.
Nicholas, before which is an engraving on wood of the bishop with the
children rising from the tub; but better than all, by a licence that
artists formerly assumed of representing successive scenes in the same
print, the landlord himself is shown in the act of reducing a limb into
sizes suitable for his mercenary purpose. There are only two children in
the story, and there are three in the tub of the engraving; but it is
fairly to be conjectured, that the story was thought so good as to be
worth making a little better. It is deemed seemly to introduce this
narration by a fac-simile of the missal cut. Ribadeneira says of St.
Nicholas, that “being present at the council of Nice, among three
hundred and eighteen bishops, who were there assembled together to
condemn the heresy of Arius, he shone among them all with so great
clarity, and opinion of sanctity, that he appeared like a sun amongst so
many stars.” It will be remembered that he is affirmed to have given
Arius a clarifying “box on the ear.”


~The Boy Bishop.~

If there were no other, the miracle of the pickled children would be
sufficient to establish Nicholas’s fame as the patron of youth, and we
find his festival day was selected by scholars, and the children of the
church, for a remarkable exhibition about to be described.

Anciently on the 6th of December, it being St. Nicholas’s day, the choir
boys in cathedral churches, chose one of their number to maintain the
state and authority of a bishop, for which purpose the boy was habited
in rich episcopal robes, wore a mitre on his head, and bore a crosier in
his hand; and his fellows, for the time being, assumed the character and
dress of priests, yielded him canonical obedience, took possession of
the church, and except mass, performed all the ecclesiastical ceremonies
and offices. Though the boy bishop’s election was on the 6th of
December, yet his office and authority lasted till the 28th, being
Innocents’ day.

It appears from a printed church book containing the service of the boy
bishop set to music, that at Sarum,[406] on the eve of Innocents’ day,
the boy bishop and his youthful clergy, in their copes, and with burning
tapers in their hands, went in solemn procession, chanting and singing
versicles as they walked into the choir by the west door, in such order
that the dean and canons went foremost, the chaplains next, and the boy
bishop with his priests in the last and highest place. He then took his
seat, and the rest of the children disposed themselves on each side of
the choir upon the uppermost ascent, the canons resident bore the
incense and the book, and the petit-canons the tapers according to the
Romish rubric. Afterwards the boy bishop proceeded to the altar of the
Holy Trinity, and All Saints, which he first censed, and next the image
of the Holy Trinity, while his priests were singing. Then they all
chanted a service with prayers and responses, and the boy bishop taking
his seat, repeated salutations, prayers, and versicles, and in
conclusion gave his benediction to the people, the chorus answering,
_Deo gratias_. Having received his crosier from the cross-bearer other
ceremonies were performed; he chanted the complyn; turning towards the
quire delivered an exhortation; and last of all said, “_Benedicat Vos
omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus._”

By the statutes of the church of Sarum, for the regulation of this
extraordinary scene, no one was to interrupt or press upon the boy
bishop and the other children, during their procession or service in the
cathedral, upon pain of anathema. It farther appears that at this
cathedral the boy bishop held a kind of visitation, and maintained a
corresponding state and prerogative; and he is supposed to have had
power to dispose of prebends that fell vacant during his episcopacy. If
he died within the month he was buried like other bishops in his
episcopal ornaments, his obsequies were solemnized with great pomp, and
a monument was erected to his memory, with his episcopal effigy.

About a hundred and fifty years ago a stone monument to one of these boy
bishops was discovered in Salisbury cathedral, under the seats near the
pulpit, from whence it was removed to the north part of the nave between
the pillars, and covered over with a box of wood, to the great
admiration of those, who, unacquainted with the anomalous character it
designed to commemorate, thought it “almost impossible that a bishop
should be so small in person, or a child so great in clothes.”

Mr. Gregorie found the processional of the boy bishop. He notices the
same custom at _York_; and cites Molanus as saying, “that this bishop in
some places did _reditat census, et capones annuo accipere_, receive
rents, capons, &c. during his year,” &c. He relates that a boy bishop in
the church of Cambray disposed of a prebend, which fell void during his
episcopal assumption to his master; and he refers to the denunciation of
the boy bishop by the council of Basil which, at the time of the holding
of that council, was a well-known custom. Mr. Gregorie, who was a
prebendary of Salisbury, describes the finding of the boy bishop’s
monument at that place, and inserts a representation of it in his
treatise, from which the annexed engraving is taken.

[Illustration: ~Monument to a Boy Bishop~

IN SALISBURY CATHEDRAL.]

The ceremony of the boy bishop is supposed to have existed not only in
collegiate churches, but in almost every parish in England. He and his
companions walked the streets in public procession. A statute of the
collegiate church of St. Mary Overy, in 1337, restrained one of them to
the limits of his own parish. On December 7, 1229, the day after St.
Nicholas’s day, a boy bishop in the chapel at Heton, near
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, said vespers before Edward I. on his way to
Scotland, who made a considerable present to him and the other boys who
sang with him. In the reign of king Edward III., a boy bishop received a
present of nineteen shillings and sixpence for singing before the king
in his private chamber on Innocents’ day. Dean Colet in the statutes of
St. Paul’s school which he founded in 1512, expressly ordains that his
scholars should every Childermas (Innocents) day, “come to Paulis
Churche and hear the Chylde-Bishop’s sermon: and after be at the hygh
masse, and each of them offer a penny to the Chylde-Bishop: and with
them the maisters and surveyors of the scole.”

By a proclamation of Henry VIII. dated July 22, 1542, the show of the
boy bishop was abrogated, but in the reign of Mary it was revived with
other Romish ceremonials. A flattering song was sung before that queen
by a boy bishop, and printed. It was a panegyric on her devotion, and
compared her to Judith, Esther, the queen of Sheba, and the Virgin Mary.

The accounts of St. Mary at Hill, London, in the 10th Henry VI., and for
1549, and 1550, contain charges for the boy bishops of those years. At
that period his estimation in the church seems to have been
undiminished; for on November 13, 1554, the bishop of London, issued an
order to all the clergy of his diocese to have boy bishops and their
processions; and in the same year these young sons of the old church
paraded St. Andrew’s, Holborn, and St. Nicholas Olaves, in Bread-street,
and other parishes. In 1556, Strype says that the boy bishops again went
abroad singing in the old fashion, and were received by many ignorant
but well-disposed persons into their houses, and had much good
cheer.[407]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Nestflowered Heath. _Erica nidiflora._
  Dedicated to _St. Nicholas_.

[Illustration: WINTER.]

    Hoary, and dim, and bare, and shivering,
    Like a poor almsman comes the aged Year,
    With kind “God save you all, good gentlefolks!”
    Heap on fresh fuel, make a blazing fire,
    Bring out the cup of kindness, spread the board,
    And gladden Winter with our cheerfulness!
    Wassail!--To you, and yours, and all!--All health!

  *

  [403] Audley’s Companion to the Almanac.

  [404] Ribadeneira.

  [405] Rev. Mr. Cole; see Gentleman’s Magazine.

  [406] Processionale ad usum insignit et preclare Ecclesie Sarum,
  Rothomagi, 1556, 4to.

  [407] Hone on Ancient Mysteries.


~December 7.~

  _St. Ambrose_, A. D. 397. _St. Fara_, Abbess, A. D. 655.


WINTER.

The natural commencement of the winter season, according to Mr.
Howard’s “Tables,” is on the 7th of December. This quarter of the year
comprehend eighty-nine days, except in leap-year when it has ninety
days. Winter exhibits as large a proportion of the cold, as summer did
of the heat. In spring the cold gradually goes off, to be replaced in
the middle of the season by warmth; the respective proportions being
like those which obtain in autumn, while their positions are reversed.

“The mean temperature of the season in the country is 37.76 degrees. The
medium temperature of the twenty-four hours, descends from about 40 to
34½ degrees, and returns again to the former point.

“The mean height of the _barometer_ is 29.802 inches, being .021 inches
above that of autumn. The range of the column is greatest in this
season; and in the course of twenty winters it visits nearly the two
extremities of the scale of three inches. The mean winter range is
however 2.25 inches.

“The predominating _winds_ at the beginning of winter are the
south-west: in the middle these give place to northerly winds, after
which the southerly winds prevail again to the close: they are at this
season often boisterous at night.

“The mean _evaporation_, taken in situations which give more than the
natural quantity from the surface of the earth, (being 30.467 inches on
the year,) is 3.587 inches. This is a third _less_ than the proportion
indicated by the mean temperature; showing the _dampness_ of the air at
this season.

“De Luc’s hygrometer averages about 78 degrees.

“The average _rain_ is 5.868 inches. The rain is greatest at the
commencement, and it diminishes in rapid proportion to the end. In this
there appears a salutary provision of divine intelligence: for had it
increased, or even continued as heavy as in the autumnal months, the
water instead of answering the purpose of irrigation, for which it is
evidently designed, would have descended from the saturated surface of
the higher ground in perpetual floods, and wasted for the season the
plains and valleys.

“Notwithstanding the sensible indications of moisture, which in the
intervals of our short frosts attend this season, the actual quantity of
vapour in the atmosphere is now, probably, at its lowest proportion, or
rather it is so at the commencement of the season; after which it
gradually increases with the temperature and evaporation.”[408]

_Winter._

    This is the eldest of the seasons: he
      Moves not like spring with gradual step, nor grows
      From bud to beauty, but with all his snows
    Comes down at once in hoar antiquity.
    No rains nor loud proclaiming tempests flee
      Before him, nor unto his time belong
      The suns of summer, nor the charms of song,
    That with May’s gentle smiles so well agree.
    But he, made perfect in his birth-day cloud,
      Starts into sudden life with scarce a sound,
      And with a tender footstep prints the ground,
        As tho’ to cheat man’s ear: yet while he stays
        He seems as ’twere to prompt our merriest days,
    And bid the dance and joke be long and loud.

  _Literary P. Book._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Hairy Achania. _Achania pilosa._
  Dedicated to _St. Ambrose_.

  [408] Howard’s Climate of London.


~December 8.~

  _The Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary._ _St. Romaric_, Abbot, A.
  D. 653.

The winter season of the year 1818, was extraordinarily mild. On the 8th
of December, the gardens in the neighbourhood of Plymouth showed the
following flowers in full bloom, viz.:--Jonquils, narcissus, hyacinths,
anemonies, pinks, stocks, African and French marigolds, the passion
flowers, and monthly roses, in great perfection, ripe strawberries and
raspberries. In the fields and hedges were the sweet-scented violets,
heart’s-ease, purple vetch, red robin, wild strawberry blossom, and many
others. The oak and the elm retained much of their foliage, and the
birds were sometimes heard as in spring.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Arbor vitæ. _Thuja occidentalis._
  Dedicated to _the Conception of the B. V. Mary_.


~December 9.~

  _St. Leocadia_, A. D. 304. _The Seven Martyrs at Samosata_, A. D. 297.
  _St. Wulfhilde_, A. D. 990.


BURIED ALIVE.

A remarkable instance of premature interment, is related in the case of
the rev. Mr. Richards, parson of the Hay, in Herefordshire, who, in
December, 1751, was supposed to have died suddenly. His friends seeing
his body and limbs did not stiffen, after twenty-four hours, sent for a
surgeon, who, upon bleeding him, and not being able to stop the blood,
told them that he was not dead, but in a sort of trance, and ordered
them not to bury him. They paid no attention to the injunction, but
committed the body to the grave the next day. A person walking along the
churchyard, hearing a noise in the grave, ran and prevailed with the
clerk to have the grave opened, where they found a great bleeding at the
nose, and the body in a profuse sweat; whence it was conjectured that he
was buried alive. They were now, however, obliged to let him remain, as
all appearance of further recovery had been precluded by his
interment.[409]

A writer in the “Gentleman’s Magazine” some years before, observes, “I
have undoubted authority for saying, a man was lately (and I believe is
still) living at Hustley, near Winchester, December, 1747, who, after
lying for dead two days and two nights, was committed to the grave, and
rescued from it by some boys luckily playing in the churchyard!”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Corsican Spruce. _Pinus Laricio._
  Dedicated to _St. Leocadia_.

  [409] Gentleman’s Magazine, 1751.


~December 10.~

  _St. Melchiades_, Pope, A. D. 314. _St. Eulalia_.


BIG MAN.

On the 10th of December, 1741, died Mr. Henry Wanyford, late steward to
the earl of Essex. He was of so large a size, that the top of the hearse
was obliged to be taken off before the coffin could be admitted, and it
was so heavy, that the attendants were forced to move it along the
churchyard upon rollers.[410]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Portugal Cyprus. _Cupressus Lusitanica._
  Dedicated to _St. Eulalia_.

  [410] Gentleman’s Magazine.


~December 11.~

  _St. Damasus_, Pope, A. D. 384. _Sts. Fuscian_, _Victoricus_, and
  _Gentian_, A. D. 287. _St. Daniel_, the Stylite, A. D. 494.


ST. NICHOLAS IN RUSSIA.

A gentleman obligingly contributes the subjoined account of a northern
usage on the 5th of December, the vigil of St. Nicholas. He communicates
his name to the editor, and vouches for the authenticity of his
relation, “having _himself_ been an _actor_ in the scene he describes.”

(_For the Every-Day Book._)

In the fine old city of Leewvarden, the capital of West Friezland, there
are some curious customs preserved, connected with the celebration of
the anniversary of this saint. From time immemorial, in this province,
St. Nicholas has been hailed as the tutelary patron of children and
confections; no very inappropriate association, perhaps. On the eve, or
_Avond_, as it is there termed, of this festival, the good saint
condescends, (as currently asserted, and religiously believed, by the
_younger fry_,) to visit these sublunar spheres, and to irradiate by his
majestic presence, the winter fireside of his infant votaries.

During a residence in the above town, some twenty years agone, in the
brief days of happy boyhood, (that green spot in our existence,) it was
my fortune to be present at one of these annual visitations. Imagine a
group of happy youngsters sporting around the domestic hearth, in all
the buoyancy of riotous health and spirits, brim-full of joyful
expectation, but yet in an occasional pause, casting frequent glances
towards the door, with a comical expression of impatience, mixed up with
something like dread of the impending event. At last a loud knock is
heard, in an instant the games are suspended, and the door slowly
unfolding, reveals to sight the venerated saint himself, arrayed in his
pontificals, with pastoral staff and jewelled mitre. Methinks I see him
now! yet he did “_his spiriting gently_,” and his tone of reproof, “_was
more in sorrow than in anger!_”

In fine, the family _peccadillos_ being tenderly passed over, and the
more favourable reports made the subject of due encomiums, good father
Nicholas gave his parting benediction, together with the promise, (never
known to fail,) of more substantial benefits, to be realized on the next
auspicious morning. So ends the first act of the farce, which it will be
readily anticipated is got up with the special connivance of _papa_ and
_mamma_, by the assistance of some family friend, who is quite _au fait_
to the domestic politics of the establishment. The concluding scene,
however, is one of unalloyed pleasure to the delighted children, and is
thus arranged.

Before retiring to rest, each member of the family deposits a _shoe_ on
a table in a particular room, which is _carefully_ locked, and the next
morning is opened in the presence of the assembled household; when lo!
by the mysterious agency (doubtless) of the munificent saint, the board
is found covered with _bons bons_, toys, and trinkets.

It may not be deemed irrelevant to add, that on the anniversary, the
confectioners’ shops display their daintiest inventions, and are gaily
lighted up and ornamented for public exhibition, much in the same way as
at Paris on the first day of the new year.

These reminiscences may not prove unacceptable to many, who contemplate
with satisfaction the relics of ancient observances, belonging to a more
primitive state of manners, the memory of which is rapidly passing into
oblivion; and who, perhaps, think with the writer, in one sense at
least, that modern refinements, if they tend to render us wiser, hardly
make us happier!

  H. H.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Aleppo Pine. _Pinus Halipensis._
  Dedicated to _St. Damasus_.


~December 12.~

  _Sts. Epimachus_ and _Alexander_, &c. A. D. 250. _St. Finian_, or
  _Finan_, Bp. in Ireland, A. D. 552. _St. Columba_, son of _Crimthain_,
  A. D. 548. _St. Cormac._ _St. Colman_, Abbot, A. D. 659. _St.
  Eadburge_, A. D. 751. _St. Valery_, Abbot, A. D. 622. _St. Corentin_,
  1st. Bp. of Quimper, 5th Cent. Another _St. Corentin_, or _Cury_, A.
  D. 401.


_An intoxicated Servant._

In _Lloyd’s Evening Post_ of December 12-14, 1781, there is the
following advertisement:--

A YOUNG MAN having yesterday left his master’s service in Smithfield, on
a presumption of his pocket being picked of one hundred pounds, his
master’s property, when he was in liquor; this is to inform him, that he
left it in the shop of his master, who has found it; and if he will
return to his master’s service he will be kindly received.

       *       *       *       *       *

Such was the state of society, in the year 1781, that a drunken servant
would be “kindly received” by his employer. We are so far better, in the
year 1825, that if such a servant were kindly received, he would not be
permitted to enter on his duties till he was admonished not to repeat
the vice. Drunkenness is now so properly reprobated, that no one but a
thorough reprobate dares to practise it, and the character of sot or
drunkard invariably attaches to him.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the subjoined extract taken from an old author, without recollection
of his name, there is something apt to the occasion.


  THE TRADE OF BREWING.
  _By a writer, in the year 1621._

Of all the trades in the world, a brewer is the loadstone which draws
the customes of all functions unto it. It is the mark or upshot of every
man’s ayme, and the bottomlesse whirlepoole that swallowes up the
profits of rich and poore. The brewer’s art (like a wilde kestrell or
lemand hawke,) flies at all games; or like a butler’s boxe at
Christmasse, it is sure to winne, whosoever loses. In a word, it rules
and raignes, (in some sort,) as Augustus Cæsar did, for it taxeth the
whole earth. Your innes and alehouses are brookes and rivers, and their
clients are small rills and springs, who all, (very dutifully) doe pay
their tributes to the boundless ocean of the brewhouse. For, all the
world knowes, that if men and women did drinke no more than sufficed
nature, or if it were but a little extraordinary now and then upon
occasion, or by chance as you may terme it; if drinking were used in any
reason, or any reason used in drinking, I pray ye what would become of
the brewer then? Surely we doe live in an age,[411] wherein the seven
deadly sins are every man’s trade and living.

Pride is the maintainer of thousands, which would else perish; as
mercers, taylors, embroydrers, silkmen, cutters, drawers, sempsters,
laundresses, of which functions there are millions which would starve
but for Madam Pride, with her changeable fashions. Letchery, what a
continual crop of profits it yeelds, appears by the gallant thriving and
gawdy outsides of many he and she, private and publicke sinners, both in
citie and suburbs. Covetousnesse is embroydered with extortion, and
warmly lined and furred with oppression; and though it be a divell, yet
is it most idolatrously adored, honoured, and worshipped by those simple
sheep-headed fooles, whom it hath undone and beggared. I could speake of
other vices, how profitable they are to a commonwealth; but my invention
is thirsty, and must have one carouse more at the brewhouse, who (as I
take it) hath a greater share than any, in the gaines which spring from
the world’s abuses.

If any man hang, drowne, stabbe, or by any violent meanes make away his
life, the goods and lands of any such person are forfeit to the use of
the king; and I see no reason but those which kill themselves with
drinking, should be in the same estate, and be buried in the highways,
with a stake drove thorow them; and if I had but a grant of this suite,
I would not doubt but that in seven yeeres (if my charity would but
agree with my wealth,) I might erect almes-houses, free-schooles, mend
highways, and make bridges; for I dare sweare, that a number (almost
numberlesse) have confessed upon their death-beds, that at such and such
a time, in such and such a place, they dranke so much, which made them
surfeite, of which surfeite they languished and dyed. The maine benefit
of these superfluous and manslaughtering expenses, comes to the brewer,
so that if a brewer be in any office, I hold him to be a very ingrateful
man, if he punish a drunkard; for every stiffe, potvaliant drunkard is
a post, beam, or pillar, which holds up the brewhouse; for as the barke
is to the tree, so is a good drinker to the brewer.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Crowded Heath. _Erica conferta._
  Dedicated to _St. Eadburge_.

  [411] Some make a profit of quarreling; some pick their livings out of
  contentions and debate; some thrive and grow fat by gluttony; many are
  bravely maintained by bribery, theft, cheating, roguery, and villainy;
  but put all these together, and joine to them all sorts of people
  else, and they all in general are drinkers, and consequently the
  brewer’s clients and customers.


~December 13.~

  _St. Lucy_, A. D. 304. _St. Jodoc_, or _Josse_, A. D. 669. _St.
  Kenelm_, King, A. D. 820. _St. Aubert_, Bp. of Cambray and Arras, A.
  D. 669. _B. John Marinoni_, A. D. 1562. _St. Othilla_, A. D. 772.


~St. Lucy.~

This saint is in the church of England calendar and the almanacs. She
was a young lady of Syracuse, who preferring a religious single life to
marriage, gave away all her fortune to the poor. Having been accused to
Peschasius, a heathen judge, for professing christianity, she was soon
after barbarously murdered by his officers.[412]


TRANSATLANTIC VERSES.

The following effusions are from America. The first, by Mr. R. H. Wilde,
a distinguished advocate of Georgia; the second, by a lady of Baltimore,
who moots in the court of the muses, with as much ingenuity as the
barrister in his own court.

STANZAS.

    My life is like the summer rose
      That opens to the morning sky,
    But, ere the shades of evening close,
      Is scattered on the ground to die.
    Yet on that rose’s humble bed
    The sweetest dews of night are shed,
    As if she wept such waste to see;
    But none shall _weep a tear_ for me.

    My life is like the _autumn_ leaf
      That trembles in the moon’s pale ray,
    Its hold is frail, its date is brief,
      Restless, and soon to pass away.
    Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,
    The parent tree shall mourn its shade,
    The winds bewail the leafless tree,
    But none shall _breath a sigh_ for me.

    My life is like the prints which feet
      Have left on Tempe’s desert strand,
    Soon as the rising tide shall beat
      All trace will vanish from the sand.
    Yet, as if grieving to efface
    All vestige of the human race,
    On that lone shore loud moans the sea;
    But none, alas! shall _mourn_ for me.

ANSWER.

    The dews of night may fall from heaven,
      Upon the wither’d _rose’s_ bed,
    And tears of fond regret be given,
      To mourn the virtues of the dead.
    Yet morning’s sun the dews will dry,
    And tears will fade from sorrow’s eye,
    Affection’s pangs be lull’d to sleep,
    And even love forget to _weep_.

    The _tree_ may mourn its fallen _leaf_,
      And autumn winds bewail its bloom,
    And friends may heave the sigh of grief,
      O’er those who sleep within the tomb.
    Yet soon will spring renew the flowers,
    And time will bring more smiling hours;
    In friendship’s heart all grief will die.
    And even love forget to _sigh_.

    The _sea_ may on the desert _shore_,
      Lament each _trace_ it bears away;
    The lonely heart its grief may pour
      O’er cherish’d friendship’s fast decay:
    Yet when all trace is lost and gone,
    The waves dance bright and daily on;
    Thus soon affection’s bonds are torn,
    And even love forgets to _mourn_.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cypress arbor vitæ. _Thuja cupressioides._
  Dedicated to _St. Lucy_.

  [412] Audley’s Companion to the Almanac.


~December 14.~

  _St. Spiridion_, Abp. A. D. 348. _Sts. Nicasius_, 9th Abp. of Rheims,
  _and his Companions_, 5th Cent.


~Ember Week.~

This is an ancient fast, wherein monks were enjoined to great abstinence
preparatory to the festival of Christmas.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Swamp Pine. _Pinus palustris._
  Dedicated to _St. Spiridion_.


~December 15.~

  _St. Eusebius_, Bp. of Vercelli, A. D. 371. _St. Florence_, or
  _Flann_, Abbot.


SEASONABLE.

There is a class of those who are said to “dearly love the lasses, oh?”
by whom the verses below may be read without danger of their becoming
worse.

_A Winter Piece._

    It was a winter’s evening, and fast came down the snow,
    And keenly o’er the wide heath the bitter blast did blow;
    When a damsel all forlorn, quite bewilder’d in her way,
    Press’d her baby to her bosom, and sadly thus did say:

    “Oh! cruel was my father, that shut his door on me,
    And cruel was my mother, that such a sight could see;
    And cruel is the wintry wind, that chills my heart with cold;
    But crueller than all, the lad that left my love for gold!

    “Hush, hush, my lovely baby, and warm thee in my breast;
    Ah, little thinks thy father how sadly we’re distrest!
    For, cruel as he is, did he know but how we fare,
    He’d shield us in his arms from this bitter piercing air.

    “Cold, cold, my dearest jewel! thy little life is gone.
    Oh! let my tears revive thee, so warm that trickle down;
    My tears that gush so warm, oh! they freeze before they fall:
    Ah! wretched, wretched mother! thou ’rt now bereft of all.”

    Then down she sunk despairing upon the drifted snow,
    And, wrung with killing anguish, lamented loud her woe:
    She kiss’d her babe’s pale lips, and laid it by her side;
    Then cast her eyes to heaven, then bow’d her head, and died.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Pitch Pine. _Pinus resinosa._
  Dedicated to _St. Florence_.


~December 16.~

  _St. Ado_, Abp. of Vienne, A. D. 875. _St. Alice_, or _Adelaide_,
  Empress, A. D. 999. _St. Beanus_, Bp. in Leinster.

  [Cambridge Term ends.]


“_O Sapientia._”

This day is so marked in the church of England calendar and the
almanacs. Many have been puzzled by this distinction, and some have
imagined that “O SAPIENTIA” was a saint and martyr, one of the
celebrated eleven thousand virgins of St. Ursula. Mr. Audley, however,
has rightly observed that, “This day is so called from the beginning of
an anthem in the service of the Latin church, which used to be sung for
the honour of Christ’s advent, from this day till Christmas eve.”--The
anthem commenced with these words, “O SAPIENTIA quæ ex ore altissimi
prodidisti,” &c.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Chinese arbor vitæ. _Thuja orientalis._
  Dedicated to _St. Alice_.


~December 17.~

  _St. Olympias_, A. D. 410. _St. Begga_, Abbess, A. D. 698.

  [Oxford Term ends.]


_The Season._

By this time all good housewives, with an eye to Christmas, have laid in
their stores for the coming festivities. Their mincemeat has been made
long ago, and they begin to inquire, with some anxiety, concerning the
state of the poultry market, and especially the price of prime roasting
beef.

    “O the roast beef of old England,
    And O the old English roast beef!”

       *       *       *       *       *


_Manner of Roasting Beef anciently._

A correspondent, who was somewhat ruffled in the dog-days by suggestions
for preventing hydrophobia, let his wrath go down before the dog-star;
and in calm good nature he communicates a pleasant anecdote or two,
which, at this time, may be deemed acceptable.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Dear Sir,

As an owner of that useful class of animals, dogs, I could not but a
little startle at the severity you cast on their owners in your
“Sirius,” or dog-star of July 3d. In enumerating their different
qualities and prescribing substitutes, you forgot one of the most
laborious employments formerly assigned to a species of dogs with long
backs and short legs, called “Turnspits.”

The mode of teaching them their business was more summary than humane:
the dog was put in a wheel, and a burning coal with him; he could not
stop without burning his legs, and so was kept upon the full gallop.
These dogs were by no means fond of their profession; it was indeed hard
work to run in a wheel for two or three hours, turning a piece of meat
which was twice their own weight. As the season for roasting meat is
fast approaching, perhaps you can find a corner in your _Every-Day Book_
for the insertion of a most extraordinary circumstance, relative to
these curs, which took place many years ago at Bath.

It is recorded, that a party of young wags hired the chairmen on
Saturday night to steal all the turnspits in the town, and lock them up
till the following evening. Accordingly on Sunday, when every body
desires roast meat for dinner, all the cooks were to be seen in the
streets,--“Pray have you seen our Chloe?” says one. “Why,” replies the
other, “I was coming to ask you if you had seen our Pompey;” up came a
third while they were talking, to inquire for her Toby,--and there was
no roast meat in Bath that day. It is recorded, also, of these dogs in
this city, that one Sunday, when they had as usual followed their
mistresses to church, the lesson for the day happened to be that chapter
in Ezekiel, wherein the self-moving chariots are described. When first
the word “wheel” was pronounced, all the curs pricked up their ears in
alarm; at the second wheel they set up a doleful howl; and when the
dreaded word was uttered a third time, every one of them scampered out
of church, as fast as he could, with his tail between his legs.

  _Nov._ 25, 1825.

  JOHN FOSTER.

       *       *       *       *       *


_A real_ EVERY-DAY _English Dialogue_.

(From the Examiner.)

_A._ (Advancing) “How d’ye do, Brooks?”

_B._ “Very well, thank’ee; how do _you_ do?”

_A._ “Very well, thank’ee; is Mrs. Brooks well?”

_B._ “Very well, I’m much obliged t’ye. Mrs. Adams and the children are
well, I hope?”

_A._ “Quite well, thank’ee.”

(A pause.)

_B._ “Rather pleasant weather to-day.”

_A._ “Yes, but it was cold in the morning.”

_B._ “Yes, but we must expect that at this time o’year.”

(Another pause,--neckcloth twisted and switch twirled.)

_A._ “Seen Smith lately?”

_B._ “No,--I can’t say I have--but I have seen Thompson.”

_A._ “Indeed--how is he?”

_B._ “Very well, thank’ee.”

_A._ “I’m glad of it.--Well,--good morning.”

_B._ “Good morning.”

Here it is always observed that the speakers, having taken leave, walk
faster than usual for some hundred yards.


[Illustration: ~Wild Fowl Shooting in France.~]

    Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirls
    Boils round the naked melancholy isles
    Of farthest Thulé, and th’ Atlantic surge
    Pours in among the stormy Hebrides;
    Who can recount what transmigrations there
    Are annual made? what nations come and go?
    And how the living clouds on clouds arise?
    Infinite wings till all the plume-dark air
    And rude, resounding shore, are one wild cry.

  _Thomson._

To a sporting friend, the editor is indebted for the seasonable
information in the accompanying letter, and the drawings of the present
engravings.

  _Abbeville_, _Nov._ 14, 1825.

  Dear Sir,

It is of all things in the world the most unpleasant to write about
nothing, when one knows a letter with something is expected. It is true
I promised to look out for pious _chansons_, miraculous stories, and
other whims and wonders of the French vulgar; and though I do not send
you a budget of these gallimaufry odds and ends, whereon I know you have
set your heart, yet I hope you will believe that I thoroughly determined
to keep my word. To be frank, I had no sooner landed, than desire came
over me to reach my domicile at this place as fast as possible, and get
at my old field-sports. I therefore posted hither without delay, and,
having my gun once more in my hand, have been up every morning with the
lark, lark shooting, and letting fly at all that flies--my conscience
flying and flapping in my face at every recollection of my engagement
to you. I well remember your telling me I should forget you, and my
answering, that it was “impossible!” Birds were never more plentiful,
and till a frost sets them off to a milder atmosphere, I cannot be off
for England. I am spell-bound to the fields and waters. Do not, however,
be disheartened; I hope yet to do something handsome for your “hobby,”
but I have one of my own, and I must ride him while I can.

It strikes me, however, that I can communicate something in _my_ way,
that will interest _some_ readers of the _Every-Day Book_, if you think
proper to lay it before them.

Every labouring man in France has a right to sport, and keeps a gun. The
consequence of this is, that from the middle of October, or the
beginning of this month, vast quantities of wild-fowl are annually shot
in and about the fens of Picardy, whither they resort principally in the
night, to feed along the different ditches and small ponds, many of
which are artificially contrived with one, two, and sometimes three
little huts, according to the dimensions of the pond. These huts are so
ingeniously manufactured, and so well adapted to the purpose that I send
you two drawings to convey an idea of their construction.

All wild-fowl are timorous, and easily deceived. The sportsman’s huts,
to the number of eight or ten, are placed in such a situation, that not
until too late do the birds discover the deception, and the destruction
which, under cover, the fowlers deal among them. To allure them from
their heights, two or three tame ducks, properly secured to stones near
the huts, keep up an incessant quacking during the greater part of the
night. The huts are sufficiently large to admit two men and a dog; one
man keeps watch while his companion sleeps half the night, when, for the
remainder, it becomes his turn to watch and relieve the other. They have
blankets, a mattress, and suitable conveniences, for passing night after
night obscured in their artificial caverns, and exposed to unwholesome
damps and fogs. The huts are formed in the following manner:--A piece of
ground is raised sufficiently high to protect the fowler from the wet
ground, upon which is placed the frame of the temporary edifice. This is
mostly made of ozier, firmly interwoven, as in this sketch.

[Illustration]

This frame is covered with dry reeds, and well plastered with mud or
clay, to the thickness of about four inches, upon which is placed, very
neatly, layers of turf, so that the whole, at a little distance, looks
like a mound of verdant earth. Three holes, about four inches in
diameter, for the men inside to see and fire through, are neatly cut;
one is in the front, and one on each side. Very frequently there is a
fourth at the top. This is for the purpose of firing from at the
wild-fowl as they pass over. The fowlers, lying upon their backs,
discharge guess shots at the birds, who are only heard by the noise of
their wings in their flight. Fowlers, with quick ears, attain
considerable expertness in this guess-firing.

The numbers that are shot in this way are incredible. They are usually
therefore sold at a cheap rate. At forty sous a couple, (1_s._ 8_d._
English) they are dear, but the price varies according to their
condition.

In the larger drawing, I have given the appearance of the country and of
the atmosphere at this season, and a duck-shooter with his gun near his
hut, on the look out for coming flocks; but I fear wood engraving,
excellent as it is for most purposes, will fall very short of the
capability of engraving on copper to convey a correct idea of the
romantic effect of the commingling cloud, mist, and sunshine, I have
endeavoured to represent in this delightful part of France. Such as it
is, it is at your service to do with as you please.

For myself, though for the sake of variety, I have now and then crept
into a fowler’s hut, and shot in ambuscade, I prefer open warfare, and
I assure you I have had capital sport. That you may be acquainted with
some of these wild-fowl, I will just mention the birds I have shot here
within the last three weeks, beginning with the godwit; their names in
French are from my recollection of Buffon.

  _The Godwit._

  Common Godwit, _la grand barge_.
  Red Godwit, _la barge rousse_.
  Cinereous Godwit, (_Bewick_).
  Cambridge Godwit, (_Latham_).
  Green-shanked Godwit, _la barge variée_.
  Red-legged Godwit, _le chevalier rouge_.
  Redshank, _le chevalier aux pieds rouges_.

  _Sandpipers._

  Ruffs and Reeves, _le combattant_.
  Green Sandpiper, _le bécasseau, ou cul-blanc_.
  Common Sandpiper, _la guignette_.
  Brown Sandpiper, (_Bewick_.)
  Dunlin, _la brunette_.
  Ox-eye, _l’alouette de mer_.
  Little Stint, _la petite alouette de mer_, (_Brisson_) &c. &c.

  _Curlews._

  Curlew, _la courles_.
  Whimbiel, _le petite courles_.

  _Heron._

  Common, _le heron hupe_.
  Bittern, _le butor_.
  Little Bittern, _le blongois_.

  _Ducks._

  The common Wild Duck, _le canard sauvage_.
  Gadwell, or Gray, _le chipeau_.
  Widgeon, _le canard siffleur_.
  Pochard, _penelope_, _le millovin_.
  Pintail, _le canard à longue queue_.
  Golden-eye, _le garrot_.
  Morillon, _le morillon_.
  Tufted Duck, _le petit morillon_. (_Brisson._)
  Gargany, _la sarcelle_.
  Teal, _la petite sarcelle_.

If you were here you should have a “gentleman’s recreation,” of the most
delightful kind. Your propensity to look for “old masters,” would turn
into looking out for prime birds. The spotted red-shanks, or barkers, as
they are sometimes called, would be fine fellows for _you_, who are fond
of achieving difficulties. They come in small flocks, skimming about the
different ponds into which they run to the height of the body, picking
up insects from the bottom, and looking as if they had no legs. They are
excessively wary, and above all, the most difficult to get near.
Confound all “black letter” say I, if it keeps a man from such
delightful scenes as I have enjoyed every hour since I came here; as to
picture-loving--come and see _these_ pictures which never tire by
looking at. I like a good picture though myself, and shall pick up some
prints at Paris to put with my others. You may be certain therefore of
my collecting something for you, after the birds have left, especially
wood cuts. I shall accomplish what I can in the scrap and story-book
way, which is not quite in my line, yet I think I know what you mean. In
my next you shall have something about lark-shooting, which, in England,
is nothing compared with what the north of France affords.

  I am, &c.

  J. J. H.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  White Cedar. _Cupressus thyoides._
  Dedicated to _St. Olympias_.


~December 18.~

  _Sts. Rufus_ and _Zozimus_, A. D. 116. _St. Gatian_, 1st. Bp. of
  Tours, 3d. Cent. _St. Winebald_, A. D. 760.


THE ASS AND THE CAMEL.

Fault was found because a newspaper commenced a police-office report of
one of the humane endeavours of the warm-hearted member for Galway, in
behalf of the proverbially most patient of all quadrupeds, by saying,
“Mr. Martin came to this office with another ass.” Ridicule, however,
never injures a just man with the just-minded; Mr. Martin has been
properly supported in every judicious effort by public opinion.

The notice of the all-enduring ass, in former pages, occasions a letter
from a gentleman, (with his name) whose researches have been directed to
the geographical and natural history of foreign countries. In this
communication he refers to a work of considerable interest relative to
Africa, which it may be important for inquirers regarding the interior
of that region to be acquainted with.

  _To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._

  Sir,

  _November_ 29, 1825.

The facetious TIM TIMS, in your _Every-Day Book_, of the 19th of
September, (p. 1309.) cites the amusing and accurate Leo Africanus, as
asserting “that asses may be taught to dance to music.” This is an
error. Leo, in his description of Africa, (Elzevir edition, 1632. p.
749.) says, “I saw in Cairo a _camel_ dance to the sound of a drum, and
as the master told me, this is the mode of teaching: a young camel is
selected and placed for half an hour in a place prepared for him of
about the size of a stove, the pavement of which is heated by fire. Some
one then, outside the door, beats the drum, and the camel, not on
account of the music, but of the fire by which his feet are hurt, lifts
first one leg then another, after the manner of a dancer, and after
having been thus trained for ten or twelve months, he is led into
public, when, on hearing the drum, and remembering the burning of his
feet, he immediately begins to jump, and thinking himself to be on the
same floor, he raises himself on his hind legs, and appears to dance;
and so, use becoming second nature, he continues to do.”

The only ass described by Leo, is the ass of the woods, found only in
the desert or its borders. It yields to the Barb, or Arabian, (Leo says
they are the same,) in swiftness, and is caught with the greatest
difficulty. When feeding, or drinking, he is always moving.

A word more about the camel. He is of a most kind and mild nature, and
partakes in a manner of the sense of man. If, at any time, between
Ethiopia and Barbary (in the great desert) the day’s journey is longer
than ordinary, he is not to be driven on by stripes (or beating,) but
the driver sings certain short songs, by which the camel being allured,
he goes on with such swiftness, that no one is able to keep up with him.

When I open this highly valued book, I never know when to close it; and,
indeed, the less at this time, when we are all on tip-toe with respect
to Africa.

Now it does appear strange to me, that not one word has been said,
either by the travellers, or those who have traced them, about this
little work. One reason may be, that it has never been wholly translated
into English. It is called by Hartman, (who has been deemed the ablest
editor of these oriental authors,) a golden book, which had he wanted,
he should as frequently have wanted light. The author, who was a man of
a noble family and great acquirements, had been at Tombuto twice at
least. Once he accompanied his father on his embassy from the king of
Fez to that city, and afterwards as a merchant. This must have been at
the very beginning of the sixteenth century, for he finished this work
at Rome, the 5th of March, 1526. He describes Tombuto, as well as
Bornou, and Cano, and many other of the <DW64> kingdoms with great
minuteness, and with respect to the Niger, (which, like the Nile, rises,
falls, and fertilizes the country,) he says, that its course is from the
kingdom of Tombuto towards the west as far as Ginea or Jinnea, and even
Melli, which joins the ocean at the same place where the Niger empties
itself into the sea. He also says, that at Cabra, which is situate on
the Niger, about twelve miles from Tombuto, the merchants sailing to
Ginea or Melli, go on board their vessels.

Moore, who resided as a writer and factor under the African company, at
the mouth of the Gambia, about five years, and in 1738, published his
travels, describing the several nations for the space of six hundred
miles up that river, concludes that river and the Niger to be the same.
In this work will be found an English translation from the Italian, of
parts of Leo’s work.

Jackson is a coxcomb, who copies without acknowledgment. He fancies the
Niger runs backwards, and joins the Nile, after which they most
fraternally run into the Mediterranean.

  I am, &c.

  T. O.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  New Holland Cyprus. _Cupressus Australis._
  Dedicated to _St. Winebald_.


~December 19.~

  _St. Nemesion_, &c., A. D. 250. _St. Samthana_, Abbess, A. D. 738.


CELESTIAL SCENERY.

By the contemplation of the “shining heavens” at this season, the mind
is induced to the solemn thinking, beautifully imagined by the greatest
and most wayward poet of our age.

_A Starlight Winter Night._

    The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
    Of the snow-shining mountains.--Beautiful!
    I linger yet with Nature, for the night
    Hath been to me a more familiar face
    Than that of man; and in her starry shade
    Of dim and solitary loveliness,
    I learn’d the language of another world.
    I do remember me, that in my youth,
    When I was wandering,--upon such a night
    I stood within the Coloseum’s wall,
    ’Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome;
    The trees which grew along the broken arches
    Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars
    Shone through the rents of ruin: from afar
    The watchdog bayed beyond the Tiber; and
    More near from out the Cæsars’ palace came
    The owl’s long cry, and, interruptedly,
    Of distant sentinels the fitful song
    Begun and died upon the gentle wind.
    Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach
    Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood
    Within a bowshot--where the Cæsars dwelt,
    And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
    A grove which springs through levell’d battlements,
    And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,
    Ivy usurps the laurel’s place of growth;--
    But the gladiators’ bloody Circus stands,
    A noble wreck in ruinous perfection!
    While Cæsar’s chambers, and the Augustan halls,
    Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.--
    And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
    All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
    Which softened down the hoar austerity
    Of rugged desolation, and fill’d up,
    As ’twere, anew, the gaps of centuries;
    Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
    And making that which was not, till the place
    Became religion, and the heart ran o’er
    With silent worship.

  _Byron._

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Two- Heath. _Erica bicolor._
  Dedicated to _St. Samthana_.


~December 20.~

  _St. Philogonius_, Bp. of Antioch, A. D. 322. _St. Paul_, of Latrus,
  or Latra, A. D. 956.


THE BATH SEASON.

Mr. Foster’s letter, inserted on the 17th instant, occasions the
seasonable recollection, that this is the time when, in fashionable
language, “every body” goes to Bath.

According to fabulous history, the virtues of the hot springs at Bath,
were discovered long before the christian era, by Bladud, a British
prince, who having been driven from his father’s house because he was
leprous, was reduced like the prodigal son to keep swine. His pigs, says
the story, had the same disease as himself; in their wanderings they
came to this valley, and rolled in the mud where these waters stagnated;
and healed them. Whereupon prince Bladud, attaining “to the height of
this great argument,” tried the same remedy with the same success, and
when he became king, built a city upon the spot--the famous city of
Bath.


_Nash._

Beau Nash, the founder of the theatre at Bath, made laws to regulate
when and where the company should assemble, and when they should
separate; arranged the tactics of the dance; enacted the dress in which
ladies should appear; and, if they ventured to disobey, whatever was
their rank, turned them back. His strong sense and sarcastic humour,
being supported by a prevailing sense of propriety, kept offenders of
this sort in awe. It has been said that such a man in old times, would
have been selected for the king’s fool; he seems to have considered
himself in that relation to the Bath visiters, and made use of the
privilege the character allowed him. He lived on the follies of mankind,
and cultivated them. He gambled, and his profits and his office required
and enabled him to live expensively, sport a gay equipage, and keep a
large retinue. Yet he became old and helpless, and lived to need that
charity which he had never withheld from the needy, but which none
extended to him. He died poor, neglected, and miserable; and the
inhabitants of Bath rewarded his services and genius, in the usual
manner; they erected a statue to the honour of the man whom they had
suffered almost to starve.

His loss, to the assemblies was exemplified in a very remarkable manner.
Two ladies of quality quarrelled in the ball-room. The company took
part, some on one side, some on the other: Nash was gone, and his
successor in office did not inherit his authority: the partizans as well
as the combatants became outrageous, a real battle-royal took place, and
caps, lappets, curls, cushions, diamond pins, and pearls, strewed the
floor of those rooms, wherein during Nash’s time order was supreme.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Stone Pine. _Pinus Pinea._
  Dedicated to _St. Philogonius_.


~December 21.~

  _St. Thomas_, the Apostle. _St. Edburge._


~St. Thomas.~

This apostle is in the church of England calendar and almanacs. He is
affirmed to have travelled and promulgated christianity among the
Parthians, Medes, Persians, and Carmenians, and to have been the apostle
of the Indies; where he effected numerous conversions, and by his
preaching raised the indignation of the Bramins, who instigated the
people against him till they threw stones and darts at him, and ended
his life by running him through the body with a lance.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is said that the body of the apostle was carried to the city of
Edessa. On the discovery of Malabar, by the Portuguese, they found there
the Nestorian christians of St. Thomas, whom they treated as heretics,
and held a council, which passed decrees for their purgation. Yet many
of the Malabarians still maintain the Nestorian doctrines and
ceremonies, and refuse to acknowledge the authority of the pope.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ribadeneira pretends that on the eve of Christmas, in the church of St.
Thomas at Malabar, a stone cross commences to shed blood as soon as the
Jesuits begin to say mass, “and not before.” He says, “The holy cross
also begins, by little and little, to change its natural colour, which
is white, turning into yellow, and afterwards into black, and from black
into azure colour, until the sacrifice of the mass being ended, it
returns to its natural colour: and that which augments both admiration
and devotion is, that, as the holy cross changes its colours, it distils
certain little drops of blood, and by little and little they grow
thicker, until they fall in so great abundance that the clothes with
which they wipe it are dyed with the same blood: and if any year this
miracle fail, it is held as a certain sign of great calamity that is to
come upon them, as experience has shown them.” Perhaps it is further
miraculous, that in a country where there is liberty of thought and
speech, and a free press, no stone cross will do the like.


ST. THOMAS’S DAY.

Going a _gooding_ on St. Thomas’s day formerly prevailed in England.
Women begged money, and in return presented the donors with sprigs of
palm and branches of primroses.[413] Mr. Ellis says, “this practice is
still kept up in Kent, in the neighbourhood of Maidstone.” Mr. Brand
adds, “My servant B. Jelkes, who is from Warwickshire, informs me that
there is a custom in that county for the poor on St. Thomas’s day to go
with a bag to beg corn of the farmers, which they call going _a
corning_.”


LONDON ELECTIONS.

In London, on St. Thomas’s day, wardmotes are held for the election of
the inquest and common councilmen, and other officers, who are annually
chosen for the service and representation of the respective wards.

It is a remarkable fact that the majority of the inhabitants, in many
wards, are indifferent to these elections, and suffer their ample
franchise to run to waste, like housewives who are careless of their
serviceable water; hence important offices are frequently filled by
persons either ignorant of the duties they should discharge, or
indifferent to them, or unqualified to understand them.


_The Ward Inquests._

From “An Inquiry into the Nature and Duties of the Office of Inquest
Jurymen,” by Mr. Thomas Newell, of Cripplegate Ward, published in 1825,
it appears that the ward inquest should be elected on St. Thomas’s day,
_before_ the common councilmen are elected, inasmuch as “the alderman is
commanded by his precept from the lord mayor, to give all the articles
of the precept in charge to the inquest; which they cannot take charge
of unless they are elected first.” It is now the common practice of
wardmotes, to elect the inquest _last_. This has arisen, perhaps, from
what may be called, in the ordinary sense of the word, the “political”
importance usually attached to the election of the common councilmen,
and by this means the inquest, though foremost in power, has been
degraded in rank, and sunk into comparative insignificance. Withal it is
to be observed, that the inquest, with the aldermen, are the returning
officers of the election of the common councilmen; so that where the
practice prevails of electing the inquest last, such inquests are in
fact constituted too late to take cognizance, as an inquest, of the
election of the common council, and such inquests are consequently
incompetent upon their oaths, as inquest men, to return the common
councilmen as having been truly and duly elected.

It appears further, that another extraordinary inroad has been made in
London, upon the right of the wardmote inquests to return the jurors to
serve in the mayor’s and sheriffs’ courts of the city. By some by-law or
order of the court of aldermen, that court claims to exercise this most
important and ancient right of the wardmote inquests; and issues a
precept to the alderman of each ward, requiring him to acquaint the
inquest “that they are not hereafter to intermeddle or concern
themselves in the making of the said returns.” This mandate is said to
be conformed to at this time by all the inquests; so that the court of
aldermen seems to have obtained the inquests to surrender their right to
nominate the juries in the city courts, without a struggle. If the
proceedings of the court of aldermen were illegal, it is clear that each
alderman, in his own ward, illegally dispossessed each inquest of its
right, and then, exercised their usurped power when they met together as
a court of aldermen.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the elections in each ward on this day, the citizens are all in a
hurry, and there is much discussion at the few remaining clubs and
tavern parlours in the different parishes, concerning the qualifications
of the respective candidates. All freemen, being householders, are
entitled to vote.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Sparrowwort. _Erica passerina._
  Dedicated to _St. Thomas_, Apostle.

  [413] Gentleman’s Magazine, April, 1794.


~December 22.~

  _St. Ischyrion_, A. D. 253. _Sts. Cyril_ and _Methodius_, A. D. 881.


_Clark, the Miser of Dundee._

On the 22d of December, 1817, died, at Dundee, aged sixty-six, Thomas
Clark, a labouring man, who, by dint of parsimony and saving, had
accumulated property to the amount of from 800_l._ to 1000_l._ before
his death. There are perhaps few authenticated instances of endurance
which this person did not voluntarily submit to, in order to gratify
his ruling passion. He lived by himself, in a small garret, in a filthy
lane, called Tyndal’s Wynd. His diet consisted of a little oatmeal,
stirred into hot water, which he begged from some one or other of the
neighbours every morning, to save the expense of fuel. For many years he
had laboured under a painful disorder, but would not put himself under
the care of a surgeon, fearful of the cost. Driven at last to
desperation by the intenseness of his sufferings, about twelve months
previous to his decease, he sent for Mr. Crichton, who found him lying,
in the most inclement season of the year, barely covered by an old
tattered blanket. The furniture of the apartment consisted of about a
dozen pair of old shoes, some old tattered clothes, a plough-share, a
wooden dish, and horn spoon, a pair of scales and weights, a tub for
holding meal, and an old crazy chair. Clark’s disorder having been
ascertained to be stone in the bladder, he was told that a surgical
operation would be necessary for his relief. This he expressed the
utmost willingness to undergo; but when informed it would also be
necessary to have him removed to a comfortable room, &c. his heart died
within him, and he said he must continue as he was, until death relieved
him. In vain was he told that every thing needful would be provided. He
still persevered in his determination. Leaving a trifle with him to
procure necessaries, Mr. Crichton descended from the garret, and made
inquiry of the neighbours concerning this miserable object; from whom he
received the account narrated. Possessed of this information he returned
and rated the wretch for his miserable disposition; but all that could
be obtained, was a promise to procure some bed-clothes, and to allow the
operation to be performed in a room belonging to one of the neighbours,
and immediately to be hoisted back to his own roost. The first morning
after the operation he was found quarrelling and abusing the old woman
left in charge of him, for her extravagance in making use of soap to
wash the cloths that were occasionally taken from under him; and he
expressed great exultation when she was given to understand that soap
was not absolutely necessary for the purpose. A dose of castor oil that
had been prescribed for him, he would not allow to be sent for; but in
its place swallowed a piece of soap, which, he said, would equally
answer the purpose, and at much less cost. The cure going on well, he
was ordered some beef tea. The parting with threepence every morning to
purchase half a pound of meat, was perfect torture, and recollecting a
piece of old rusty bacon, which he had formerly picked up somewhere in
his travels, he tried the expedient of converting part of it into beef
tea, and drank it with seeming relish. Next morning, however, the old
woman, alarmed for the consequences, insisted peremptorily for money to
purchase fresh meat, at the same time acquainting him that a supply of
coals was necessary. “The coals consumed already! Impossible! They
should have served him for the winter! She must have carried off some of
them! Threepence for meat and eighteen-pence for coals! It’s ruination!
She must pack off immediately! But before she goes she must account for
the two shillings received on the day of the operation!” The poor woman
being somewhat confused could not bring to her recollection the disposal
of more than 1_s._ 10_d._ It was then perfectly plain she was robbing
his room, and ruining him by her extravagance, and she must go to
prison! The garret was filled with the neighbours, alarmed by his noisy
vociferation; and nothing they could say having pacified him, they sent
for Mr. Crichton, who thought it might be a wise plan to leave him
alone, and let him manage and feed himself in his own way. By the help
of a good constitution, he soon recovered his health, but never could
forget the expenses he had been put to during his confinement. The
failure also of some people holding money of his in their hands, tended
much to embitter the remainder of his life: and he was often observed
lamenting his misfortunes; frequently saying aloud, “all bankrupts
should be hanged!” There would be no end to the detail of this miserable
creature’s miserable eccentricities. On a bitter cold day, he went into
one of the neighbour’s rooms to warm himself, before ascending to his
comfortless loft. The next morning he was found almost stiff with cold,
and unable to move--the bed clothes, which he had been made to provide
himself with the year before, were lying folded up in a corner; he had
not the heart to use them. On Sunday he lost the use of his faculties;
and on Monday he breathed his last. His only surviving sister, a poor
old woman, living somewhere in Strathmore, inherited his property.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Pellucid Heath. _Erica pellucida._
  Dedicated to _St. Cyril_.


~December 23.~

  _St. Servuius_, A. D. 590. _Ten Martyrs of Crete._ _St. Victoria_, A.
  D. 250.


_A Trifling Mistake._

In December, 1822, the _Morning Chronicle_ states the following
whimsical circumstance to have taken place at the Black Swan inn, at
York:--

An honest son of Neptune travelling northwards, having put up there for
the night, desired the chambermaid to call him early the next morning,
as he wished to proceed on his journey by the coach; and added, “as I am
a very sound sleeper, you will most likely be obliged to come in and
shake me.” Accordingly he left his door unfastened, and soon fell
asleep. The next morning when he awoke, he found the sun was high, and
the coach must have left him some hours behind. Vexation was his first
feeling, the next was that of vengeance against the faithless Molly.
Accordingly he proceeded to inform himself of the time of day, that he
might tax her accurately with her omission, which was aggravated, in his
mind, by every additional hour that he had lost; but after groping for
some time under his pillow for his watch, it was not to be found! This
effectually roused him, and he launched at once out of bed, but no
sooner found himself on his feet, than he discovered that his clothes
had likewise vanished. It was now evident to him that he had been
robbed; however a little more rubbing of the eyes convinced him that he
must have been also _stolen himself_, as the room, bed, and furniture,
were all strange to him! Indeed, he was positive in his own mind, that
he had never beheld them before. It was equally clear to him that he had
gone to bed sober; so being completely puzzled, Jack sate himself down
on the bed to “make a calculation,” as he often had done at sea, in
order to discover, if possible, in what precise part of the globe he
just then happened to be, and how he came there. He had read of the
enchanted carpet, by which persons could be transported to the remotest
parts of the world in the twinkling of an eye; but he never had heard
that these fairy tricks had been played at or near York, to which place
he had now distinctly traced himself by his “_log_.” His next thought
was to “_take an observation_,” by looking out of the window, but he
could observe nothing but tops of houses. This view, however, rejoiced
his sight, for, thought he, I am still in a civilized country; this
place _may be York_, where, if my senses do not deceive me, I went to
bed last night, at all events I shall have justice done me. But the
enigma still remained unexplained, and poor Jack had no clothes to go in
quest of a solution. At last he spied a bell-rope, and giving it a
hearty tug, leaped into bed again to wait the issue, come who might. It
was no enchanter who answered this summons, but only poor Molly. “So
_you_ are there, are you? Pray why did you not call me at seven o’clock,
as I desired you?” “I did, sir, but you did not answer me.” “Then, why
did you not come in and shake me?” “I did come in, sir, but you were
gone.” “I tell you I have not been out of bed all night; you must have
gone to the wrong room.” “No, sir, I went to No. 22, the room that I put
you in last night; besides, there was your watch under the pillow, your
impression in the bed, and your clothes placed ready for putting on.”
“Then, where the devil _am_ I? and how came I here?” “You are a story
higher, sir; just over your own room.” Our hero was now satisfied that
he had been rambling over the house in his sleep, and had mistaken a
story in returning to his own room. He then recollected that this was a
trick to which he had been addicted when a boy, and he devised that the
fatigue of a long journey had probably chiefly contributed to revive his
old habit. The whole affair was now accounted for, and Molly proceeded
to fetch the clothes of the disenchanted knight, resolving within
herself never to trust her own door open again, lest it should be
entered accidentally by some sleep-walking traveller.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Cedar of Lebanon. _Pinus cedrus._
  Dedicated to _St. Victoria_.


~To the Reader.~

I am encouraged, by the approbation of my labours, to persevere in the
completion of my plan, and to continue this little work next year as
usual.

Not a sentence that has appeared in the preceding sheets will be
repeated, and the Engravings will be entirely new.

  _December_, 1825.

  W. HONE.


~December 24.~

  _Sts. Thrasilla_ and _Emiliana_. _St. Gregory_, of Spoleto, A. D. 304.


~Christmas Eve.~

This is the vigil of that solemn festival which commemorates the day
that gave

    “To man a saviour--freedom to the slave.”


[Illustration: ~Calabrian Shepherds playing in Rome at Christmas.~]

In the last days of Advent the Calabrian minstrels enter Rome, and are
to be seen in every street saluting the shrines of the virgin mother
with their wild music, under the traditional notion of soothing her
until the birth-time of her infant at the approaching Christmas. This
circumstance is related by lady Morgan, who observed them frequently
stopping at the shop of a carpenter. To questions concerning this
practice, the workmen, who stood at the door, said it was done out of
respect to St. Joseph. The preceding engraving, representing this
custom, is from a clever etching by D. Allan, a Scottish artist of great
merit. In Mr. Burford’s excellent panorama of the ruins of Pompeii,
exhibited in the Strand, groups of these peasantry are celebrating the
festival of the patron saint of the master of a vineyard. The printed
“Description” of the panorama says, these mountaineers are called
_Pifferari_, and “play a pipe very similar in form and sound to the
bagpipes of the Highlanders.” It is added, as lady Morgan before
observed, that “just before Christmas they descend from the mountains to
Naples and Rome, in order to play before the pictures of the Virgin and
Child, which are placed in various parts of every Italian town.” In a
picture of the Nativity by Raphael, he has introduced a shepherd at the
door playing on the bagpipes.


_Christmas Carols._

Carol is said to be derived from _cantare_, to sing, and _rola_, an
interjection of joy.[414] It is rightly observed by Jeremy Taylor, that
“Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, and good-will towards
men,” the song of the angels on the birth of the Saviour, is the first
Christmas carol.

Anciently, bishops carolled at Christmas among their clergy; but it
would be diverging into a wide field to exemplify ecclesiastical
practices on this festival; and to keep close to the domestic usages of
the season, church customs of that kind will not now be noticed.

In Mr. Brand’s “Popular Antiquities,” he gives the subjoined
Anglo-Norman carol, from a MS. in the British Museum,[415] with the
accompanying translation by his “very learned and communicative friend,
Mr. Douce; in which it will easily be observed that the translator has
necessarily been obliged to amplify, but endeavours every where to
preserve the sense of the original.”

_Anglo-Norman Carol._

    Seignors ore entendez a nus,
    De loinz sumes venuz a wous,
      Pur quere NOEL;
    Car lem nus dit que en cest hostel
    Soleit tenir sa feste anuel
      Ahi cest iur.
        Deu doint a tuz icels joie d’amurs
        Qi a DANZ NOEL ferunt honors.

    Seignors io vus di por veir
    KE DANZ NOEL ne uelt aveir
      Si joie non;
    E repleni sa maison,
    De payn, de char, & de peison,
      Por faire honor.
        Deu doint a tuz ces joie damur.

    Seignors il est crie en lost,
    Qe cil qui despent bien & tost,
      E largement;
    E fet les granz honors sovent
    Deu li duble quanque il despent
      Por faire honor.
        Deu doint a.

    Seignors escriez les malveis,
    Car vus nel les troverez jameis
      De bone part:
    Botun, batun, ferun groinard,
    Car tot dis a le quer cuuard
      Por faire honor.
        Deu doint.

    NOEL beyt bein li vin Engleis
    E li Gascoin & li Franceys
      E l’Angeuin.
    NOEL fait beivre son veisin,
    Si quil se dort, le chief en clin,
      Sovent le ior.
        Deu doint a tuz cels.

    Seignors io vus di par NOEL,
    E par li sires de cest hostel,
      Car beuez ben:
    E io primes beurai le men,
    E pois apres chescon le soen,
      Par mon conseil,
    Si io vus di trestoz Wesseyl
    Dehaiz eit qui ne dirra Drincheyl.

_Translation._

    Now, lordings, listen to our ditty,
      Strangers coming from afar;
    Let poor minstrels move your pity,
      Give us welcome, soothe our care
    In this mansion, as they tell us,
      Christmas wassell keeps to day;
    And, as the king of all good fellows,
      Reigns with uncontrouled sway.

    Lordings, in these realms of pleasure,
      Father Christmas yearly dwells;
    Deals out joy with liberal measure,
      Gloomy sorrow soon dispels:
    Numerous guests, and viands dainty,
      Fill the hall and grace the board;
    Mirth and beauty, peace and plenty,
      Solid pleasures here afford.

    Lordings, ’tis said the liberal mind,
      That on the needy much bestows,
    From Heav’n a sure reward shall find;
      From Heav’n, whence ev’ry blessing flows.
    Who largely gives with willing hand,
      Or quickly gives with willing heart,
    His fame shall spread throughout the land,
      His memory thence shall ne’er depart.

    Lordings, grant not your protection
      To a base, unworthy crew,
    But cherish, with a kind affection,
      Men that are loyal, good, and true.
    Chace from your hospitable dwelling
      Swinish souls, that ever crave;
    Virtue they can ne’er excel in,
      Gluttons never can be brave.

    Lordings, Christmas loves good drinking,
      Wines of Gascoigne, France, Anjou,[416]
    English ale, that drives out thinking,
      Prince of liquors old or new.
    Every neighbour shares the bowl,
      Drinks of the spicy liquor deep,
    Drinks his fill without controul,
      Till he drowns his care in sleep.

    And now--by Christmas, jolly soul!
      By this mansion’s generous sire!
    By the wine, and by the bowl,
      And all the joys they both inspire!
    Here I’ll drink a health to all.
      The glorious task shall first be mine:
    And ever may foul luck befal
      Him that to pledge me shall decline!

    THE CHORUS.

    Hail, father Christmas! hail to thee!
    Honour’d ever shalt thou be!
    All the sweets that love bestows,
    Endless pleasures, wait on those
    Who, like vassals brave and true,
    Give to Christmas homage due.

       *       *       *       *       *

From what has been observed of Christmas carols in another work, by the
editor, a few notices will be subjoined with this remark, that the
custom of singing carols at Christmas is very ancient; and though most
of those that exist at the present day are deficient of interest to a
refined ear, yet they are calculated to awaken tender feelings. For
instance, one of them represents the virgin contemplating the birth of
the infant, and saying,

    “He neither shall be clothed
      in purple nor in pall,
    But all in fair linen,
      as were babies all:
    He neither shall be rock’d
      in silver nor in gold,
    But in a wooden cradle,
      that rocks on the mould.”

Not to multiply instances at present, let it suffice that in a MS. at
the British Museum[417] there is “A song on the holly and the ivy,”
beginning,

    “Nay, my nay, hyt shal not be I wys,
    Let holy hafe the maystry, as the maner ys:

    “Holy stond in the hall, fayre to behold,
    Ivy stond without the dore, she ys ful sore acold.

    “_Nay my nay_,” &c.

    “Holy, & hys mery men, they dawnsyn and they syng,
    Ivy and hur maydyns, they wepyn & they wryng.

    “_Nay my nay_,” &c.

The popularity of carol-singing occasioned the publication of a
duodecimo volume in 1642, intituled, “Psalmes or Songs of Sion, turned
into the language, and set to the tunes of a strange land. By W(illiam)
S(latyer), _intended for Christmas carols_, and fitted to divers of the
most noted and common but solemne tunes, every where in this land
familiarly used and knowne.” Upon the copy of this book in the British
Museum, a former possessor has written the names of some of the tunes to
which the author designed them to be sung: for instance, Psalm 6, to the
tune of _Jane Shore_; Psalm 19, to _Bar. Forster’s Dreame_; Psalm 43, to
_Crimson Velvet_; Psalm 47, to _Garden Greene_; Psalm 84, to _The
fairest Nymph of the Valleys_; &c.

In a carol, still sung, called “Dives and Lazarus,” there is this
amusing account:

    “As it fell it out, upon a day,
      Rich Dives sicken’d and died,
    There came two serpents out of hell,
      His soul therein to guide.

    “Rise up, rise up, brother Dives,
      And come along with me,
    For you’ve a place provided in hell,
      To sit upon _a serpent’s_ knee.”

However whimsical this may appear to the reader, he can scarcely
conceive its ludicrous effect, when the “serpent’s knee” is solemnly
drawn out to its utmost length by a Warwickshire chanter, and as
solemnly listened to by the well-disposed crowd, who seem, without
difficulty, to believe that Dives sits on a serpent’s _knee_. The idea
of sitting on this knee was, perhaps, conveyed to the poet’s mind by old
wood-cut representations of Lazarus seated in Abraham’s lap. More
anciently, Abraham was frequently drawn holding him up by the sides, to
be seen by Dives in hell. In an old book now before me, they are so
represented, with the addition of a devil blowing the fire under Dives
with a pair of bellows.

       *       *       *       *       *

Carols begin to be spoken of as not belonging to this century, and few,
perhaps, are aware of the number of these compositions now printed. The
editor of the _Every-Day Book_ has upwards of ninety, all at this time,
published annually.

This collection he has had little opportunity of increasing, except when
in the country he has heard an old woman singing an old carol, and
brought back the carol in his pocket with less chance of its escape,
than the tune in his head.

Mr. Southey, describing the fight “upon the plain of Patay,” tells of
one who fell, as having

    “In his lord’s castle dwelt, for many a year,
    A well-beloved servant: he could sing
    Carols for Shrove-tide, or for Candlemas,
    Songs for the wassel, and when the boar’s head
    Crown’d with gay garlands, and with rosemary,
    Smoak’d on the Christmas board.”

  _Joan of Arc_, b. x. l. 466.

These ditties, which now exclusively enliven the industrious
servant-maid, and the humble labourer, gladdened the festivity of
royalty in ancient times. Henry VII., in the third year of his reign,
kept his Christmas at Greenwich: on the twelfth night, after high mass,
the king went to the hall, and kept his estate at the table; in the
middle sat the dean, and those of the king’s chapel, who, immediately
after the king’s first course, “sang a _carall_.”[418]--Granger
innocently observes, that “they that fill the highest and the lowest
classes of human life, seem in many respects to be more nearly allied
than even themselves imagine. A skilful anatomist would find little or
no difference in dissecting the body of a king, and that of the meanest
of his subjects; and a judicious philosopher would discover a
surprising conformity in discussing the nature and qualities of their
minds.”[419]

       *       *       *       *       *

The earliest collection of Christmas carols supposed to have been
published, is only known from the last leaf of a volume printed by Wynkn
de Worde, in the year 1521. This precious scrap was picked up by Tom
Hearne; Dr. Rawlinson purchased it at his decease in a volume of tracts,
and bequeathed it to the Bodleian library. There are two carols upon it:
one, “a caroll of huntynge,” is reprinted in the last edition of Juliana
Berners’ “Boke of St. Alban’s;” the other, “a caroll, bringing in the
bore’s head,” is in Mr. Dibdin’s “Ames,” with a copy of it as it is now
sung in Queen’s-college, Oxford, every Christmas-day. Dr. Bliss, of
Oxford, also printed on a sheet for private distribution, a few copies
of this and Ant. à Wood’s version of it, with notices concerning the
custom, from the hand-writings of Wood and Dr. Rawlinson, in the
Bodleian library. Ritson, in his ill-tempered “Observations on Warton’s
History of English Poetry,” (1782, 4to. p. 37,) has a Christmas carol
upon bringing up the boar’s head, from an ancient MS. in his possession,
wholly different from Dr. Bliss’s. The “Bibliographical Miscellanies,”
(Oxford, 1813, 4to.) contains seven carols from a collection in one
volume in the possession of Dr. Cotton, of Christchurch-college, Oxford,
“imprynted at London, in the Powltry, by Richard Kele, dwellyng at the
longe shop vnder saynt Myldrede’s Chyrche,” probably “between 1546 and
1552.” I had an opportunity of perusing this exceedingly curious volume,
which is supposed to be unique, and has since passed into the hands of
Mr. Freeling. There are carols among the _Godly and Spiritual Songs and
Balates_, in “Scottish Poems of the sixteenth century,” (1801, 8vo.);
and one by Dunbar, from the Bannatyne MS. in “Ancient Scottish Poems.”
Others are in Mr. Ellis’s edition of Brand’s “Popular Antiquities,” with
several useful notices. Warton’s “History of English Poetry” contains
much concerning _old_ carols. Mr. Douce, in his “Illustrations of
Shakspeare,” gives a specimen of the carol sung by the shepherds, on the
birth of Christ, in one of the Coventry plays. There is a sheet of
carols headed thus: “CHRISTUS NATUS EST: _Christ is born_;” with a
wood-cut, 10 inches high, by 8½ inches wide, representing the stable at
Bethlehem; Christ in the crib, watched by the virgin and Joseph;
shepherds kneeling; angels attending; a man playing on the bagpipes; a
woman with a basket of fruit on her head; a sheep bleating, and an ox
lowing on the ground; a raven croaking, and a crow cawing on the
hay-rack; a cock crowing above them; and angels singing in the sky. The
animals have labels from their mouths, bearing Latin inscriptions. Down
the side of the wood-cut is the following account and explanation: “A
religious man, inventing the conceits of both birds and beasts, drawn in
the picture of our Saviour’s birth, doth thus express them: the cock
croweth, _Christus natus est_, Christ is born. The raven asked,
_Quando?_ When? The crow replied, _Hac nocte_, This night. The ox cryeth
out, _Ubi? Ubi?_ Where? where? The sheep bleated out, _Bethlehem_,
Bethlehem. A voice from heaven sounded, _Gloria in Excelsis_, Glory be
on high.--London: printed and sold by J. Bradford, in Little Britain,
the corner house over against the Pump, 1701. Price One Penny.” This
carol is in the possession of Mr. Upcott.

The custom of singing carols at Christmas prevails in Ireland to the
present time. In Scotland, where no church feasts have been kept since
the days of John Knox, the custom is unknown. In Wales it is still
preserved to a greater extent, perhaps, than in England; at a former
period, the Welsh had carols adapted to most of the ecclesiastical
festivals, and the four seasons of the year, but in our times they are
limited to that of Christmas. After the turn of midnight at
Christmas-eve, service is performed in the churches, followed by the
singing of carols to the harp. Whilst the Christmas holidays continue,
they are sung in like manner in the houses, and there are carols
especially adapted to be sung at the doors of the houses by visiters
before they enter. _Lffyr Carolan_, or the book of carols, contains
sixty-six for Christmas, and five summer carols; _Blodeugerdd Cymrii_,
or the “Anthology of Wales,” contains forty-eight Christmas carols, nine
summer carols, three May carols, one winter carol, one nightingale
carol, and a carol to Cupid. The following verse of a carol for
Christmas is literally translated from the first mentioned volume. The
poem was written by Hugh Morris, a celebrated song-writer during the
commonwealth, and until the early part of the reign of William III:--

    “To a saint let us not pray, to a pope let us not kneel;
    On Jesu let us depend, and let us discreetly watch
    To preserve our souls from Satan with his snares;
    Let us not in morning invoke any one else.”

With the succeeding translation of a _Welsh wassail song_, the observer
of manners will, perhaps, be pleased. In Welsh, the lines of each
couplet, repeated inversely, still keep the same sense.

_A Carol for the Eve of St. Mary’s Day._

    This is the season when, agreeably to custom,
    That it was an honour to send _wassail_
    By the old people who were happy
    In their time, and loved pleasure;
    And we are now purposing
    To be like them, every one merry:
    Merry and foolish, youths are wont to be,
    Being reproached for squandering abroad.
    I know that every mirth will end
    Too soon of itself;
    Before it is ended, here comes
    The _wassail_ of Mary, for the sake of the time:
    N---- [420] place the maid immediately
    In the chair before us;

    And let every body in the house be content that we
    May drink _wassail_ to virginity,
    To remember the time, in faithfulness,
    When fair Mary was at the sacrifice,
    After the birth to her of a son,
    Who delivered every one, through his good will
    From their sins, without doubt.
      Should there be an inquiry who made the carol,
      He is a man whose trust is fully on God,
      That he shall go to heaven to the effulgent Mary,
      Towards filling the orders where she also is.

  THOMAS EVANS.

In the rage for “collecting” almost every thing, it is surprising that
“collectors” have almost overlooked carols as a class of popular poetry.
To me they have been objects of interest from circumstances which
occasionally determine the direction of pursuit. The wood-cuts round the
annual sheets, and the melody of “_God rest you merry gentlemen_,”
delighted my childhood; and I still listen with pleasure to the
shivering carolist’s evening chant towards the clean kitchen window
decked with holly, the flaring fire showing the whitened hearth, and
reflecting gleams of light from the surfaces of the dresser utensils.

Davies Gilbert, Esq. F.R.S. F.A.S. &c. has published “Ancient Christmas
carols, with the _tunes_ to which they were formerly sung in the west of
England.” Mr. Gilbert says, that “on Christmas-day these carols took the
place of psalms in all the churches, especially at afternoon service,
the whole congregation joining: and at the end it was usual for the
parish clerk, to declare in a loud voice, his wishes for a merry
Christmas and a happy new year.”

In “Poor Robin’s Almanac,” for 1695, there is a Christmas carol, which
is there called, “_A Christmas Song_,” beginning thus:--

    Now thrice welcome, Christmas,
      Which brings us good cheer,
    Minced-pies and plumb-porridge,
      Good ale and strong beer;
    With pig, goose, and capon,
      The best that may be,
    So well doth the weather
      And our stomachs agree.

    Observe how the chimneys
      Do smoak all about,
    The cooks are providing
      For dinner, no doubt;
    But those on whose tables
      No victuals appear,
    O, may they keep Lent
      All the rest of the year!

    With holly and ivy
      So green and so gay;
    We deck up our houses
      As fresh as the day.
    With bays and rosemary
      And laurel compleat,
    And every one now
      Is a king in conceit.

       *       *       *       *       *

So much only concerning carols for the present. But more shall be said
hereon in the year 1826, if the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ live, and
retain his faculties to that time. He now, however, earnestly requests
of every one of its readers in every part of England, to collect every
carol that may be singing at Christmas time in the year 1825, and convey
these carols to him at their earliest convenience, with accounts of
manners and customs peculiar to their neighbourhood, which are not
already noticed in this work. He urges and solicits this most earnestly
and anxiously, and prays his readers not to forget that he is a serious
and needy suitor. They see the nature of the work, and he hopes that any
thing and every thing that they think pleasant or remarkable, they will
find some means of communicating to him without delay. The most
agreeable presents he can receive at any season, will be contributions
and hints that may enable him to blend useful information with easy and
cheerful amusement.


  CUSTOMS ON
  ~Christmas Eve.~

Mr. Coleridge writing his “_Friend_,” from Ratzeburg, in the north of
Germany, mentions a practice on Christmas-eve very similar to some on
December the 6th, St. Nicholas’-day. Mr. Coleridge says, “There is a
Christmas custom here which pleased and interested me. The children make
little presents to their parents, and to each other, and the parents to
their children. For three or four months before Christmas the girls are
all busy, and the boys save up their pocket-money to buy these presents.
What the present is to be is cautiously kept secret; and the girls have
a world of contrivances to conceal it--such as working when they are out
on visits, and the others are not with them--getting up in the morning
before day-light, &c. Then, on the evening before Christmas-day, one of
the parlours is lighted up by the children, into which the parents must
not go; a great yew bough is fastened on the table at a little distance
from the wall, a multitude of little tapers are fixed in the bough, but
not so as to burn it till they are nearly consumed, and  paper,
&c. hangs and flutters from the twigs. Under this bough the children lay
out in great order the presents they mean for their parents, still
concealing in their pockets what they intend for each other. Then the
parents are introduced, and each presents his little gift; they then
bring out the remainder one by one, from their pockets, and present them
with kisses and embraces. Where I witnessed this scene, there were eight
or nine children, and the eldest daughter and the mother wept aloud for
joy and tenderness; and the tears ran down the face of the father, and
he clasped all his children so tight to his breast, it seemed as if he
did it to stifle the sob that was rising within it. I was very much
affected. The shadow of the bough and its appendages on the wall, and
arching over on the ceiling, made a pretty picture; and then the
raptures of the _very_ little ones, when at last the twigs and their
needles began to take fire and _snap_--O it was a delight to them!--On
the next day, (_Christmas-day_) in the great parlour, the parents lay
out on the table the presents for the children; a scene of more sober
joy succeeds; as on this day, after an old custom, the mother says
privately to each of her daughters, and the father to his sons, that
which he has observed most praiseworthy and that which was most faulty
in their conduct. Formerly, and still in all the smaller towns and
villages throughout North Germany, these presents were sent by all the
parents to some one fellow, who, in high buskins, a white robe, a mask,
and an enormous flax wig, personates _Knecht Rupert_, _i. e._ the
servant Rupert. On Christmas-night he goes round to every house, and
says, that Jesus Christ, his master, sent him thither. The parents and
elder children receive him with great pomp and reverence, while the
little ones are most terribly frightened. He then inquires for the
children, and, according to the character which he hears from the
parents, he gives them the intended present, as if they came out of
heaven from Jesus Christ. Or, if they should have been bad children, he
gives the parents a rod, and, in the name of his master, recommends them
to use it frequently. About seven or eight years old the children are
let into the secret, and it is curious how faithfully they keep it.”

       *       *       *       *       *

A correspondent to the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” says, that when he was a
school-boy, it was a practice on Christmas-eve to roast apples on a
string till they dropt into a large bowl of spiced ale, which is the
whole composition of _lamb’s wool_. Brand thinks, that this popular
beverage obtained its name from the softness of the composition, and he
quotes from Shakspeare’s “Midsummer-Night’s Dream,”

    ------------“Sometimes lurk I in a gossip’s bowl,
    In very likeness of a roasted crab;
    And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
    And on her wither’d dew-lap pour the ale.”

It was formerly a custom in England on Christmas-eve to _wassail_, or
wish health to the apple-tree. Herrick enjoins to--

    “Wassaile the trees, that they may beare
    You many a plum, and many a peare;
    For more or lesse fruits they will bring,
    And you do give them wassailing.”

In 1790, it was related to Mr. Brand, by sir Thomas Acland, at
Werington, that in his neighbourhood on Christmas-eve it was then
customary for the country people to sing a wassail or drinking-song, and
throw the toast from the wassail-bowl to the apple-trees in order to
have a fruitful year.

       *       *       *       *       *

“Pray remember,” says T. N. of Cambridge, to the editor of the
_Every-Day Book_, “that it is a Christmas custom from time immemorial to
send and receive presents and congratulations from one friend to
another; and, could the number of _baskets_ that enter London at this
season be ascertained, it would be astonishing; exclusive of those for
sale, the number and weight of turkeys only, would surpass belief. From
a historical account of Norwich it appears, that between Saturday
morning and the night of Sunday, December 22, 1793, one thousand seven
hundred turkeys, weighing 9 tons, 2 cwt. 2 lbs. value 680_l._ were sent
from Norwich to London; and two days after half as many more.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“Now,” says Stevenson, in his _Twelve Months_, 1661, “capons and hens,
besides turkeys, geese, ducks, with beef and mutton, must all die; for
in twelve days a multitude of people will not be fed with a little. Now
plums and spice, sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth. Now a
journeyman cares not a rush for his master, though he begs his
plum-porridge all the twelve days. Now or never must the music be in
tune, for the youth must dance and sing to get them a heat, while the
aged sit by the fire. The country-maid leaves half her market, and must
be sent again if she forgets a pack of cards on Christmas-eve. Great is
the contention of holly and ivy, whether master or dame wears the
breeches; and if the cook do not lack wit, he will sweetly lick his
fingers.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Leigh Hunt’s _Indicator_ presents this Christmas picture to our
contemplation--full of life and beauty:--


HOLIDAY CHILDREN.

One of the most pleasing sights at this festive season is the group of
boys and girls returned from school. Go where you will, a cluster of
their joyous chubby faces present themselves to our notice. In the
streets, at the panorama, or playhouse, our elbows are constantly
assailed by some eager urchin whose eyes just peep beneath to get a
nearer view.

I am more delighted in watching the vivacious workings of their
ingenuous countenances at these Christmas shows, than at the sights
themselves.

From the first joyous huzzas, and loud blown horns which announce their
arrival, to the faint attempts at similar mirth on their return, I am
interested in these youngsters.

Observe the line of chaises with their swarm-like loads hurrying to
tender and exulting parents, the sickly to be cherished, the strong to
be amused; in a few mornings you shall see them, new clothes, warm
gloves, gathering around their mother at every toy-shop, claiming the
promised bat, hoop, top, or marbles; mark her kind smile at their
ecstacies; her prudent shake of the head at their multitudinous demands;
her gradual yielding as they coaxingly drag her in; her patience with
their whims and clamour while they turn and toss over the play-things,
as now a sword, and now a hoop is their choice, and like their elders
the possession of _one_ bauble does but make them sigh for another.

View the fond father, his pet little girl by the hand, his boys walking
before on whom his proud eye rests, while ambitious views float o’er his
mind for them, and make him but half attentive to their repeated
inquiries; while at the Museum or Picture-gallery, his explanations are
interrupted by the rapture of discovering that his children are already
well acquainted with the different subjects exhibited.

Stretching half over the boxes at the theatre, adorned by maternal love,
see their enraptured faces now turned to the galleries wondering at
their height and at the number of regular placed heads contained in
them, now directed towards the green cloud which is so lingeringly kept
between them and their promised bliss. The half-peeled orange laid aside
when the play begins; their anxiety for that which they understand;
their honest laughter which runs through the house like a merry peal of
sweet bells; the fear of the little girl lest they should discover the
person hid behind the screen; the exultation of the boy when the hero
conquers.

But, oh, the rapture when the pantomime commences! Ready to leap out of
the box, they joy in the mischief of the clown, laugh at the thwacks he
gets for his meddling, and feel no small portion of contempt for his
ignorance in not knowing that hot water will scald and gunpowder
explode; while with head aside to give fresh energy to the strokes, they
ring their little palms against each other in testimony of exuberant
delight.

Who can behold them without reflecting on the many passions that now lie
dormant in their bosoms, to be in a few years agitating themselves and
the world. Here the coquet begins to appear in the attention paid to a
lace frock or kid gloves for the first time displayed, or the domestic
tyrant in the selfish boy, who snatches the largest cake, or thrusts his
younger brother and sister from the best place.

At no season of the year are their holidays so replete with pleasures;
the expected Christmas-box from grand-papa and grand-mamma; plum-pudding
and snap-dragon, with blindman’s-buff and forfeits; perhaps to witness a
juvenile play rehearsed and ranted; galantée-show and drawing for
twelfth-cake; besides Christmas gambols in abundance, new and old.

Even the poor charity-boy at this season feels a transient glow of
cheerfulness, as with pale blue face, frost-nipped hands and
ungreatcoated, from door to door, he timidly displays the unblotted
scutcheon of his graphic talents, and feels that the pence bestowed are
his _own_, and that for once in his life he may taste the often desired
tart, or spin a top which no one can snatch from him in capricious
tyranny.

[Illustration: ~Ancient Representation of the Nativity.~]


THE OX AND THE ASS.

According to Mr. Brand, “a superstitious notion prevails in the western
parts of Devonshire, that at twelve o’clock at night on Christmas-eve,
the oxen in their stalls are always found on their knees, as in an
attitude of devotion; and that (which is still more singular) since the
alteration of the style, they continue to do this only on the eve of old
Christmas-day. An honest countryman, living on the edge of St. Stephen’s
Down, near Launceston, Cornwall, informed me, October 28, 1790, that he
once, with some others, made a trial of the truth of the above, and
watching several oxen in their stalls at the above time, at twelve
o’clock at night, they observed the two oldest oxen only fall upon their
knees, and, as he expressed it in the idiom of the country, make ‘a
cruel moan like christian creatures.’ I could not but with great
difficulty keep my countenance: he saw, and seemed angry that I gave so
little credit to his tale, and, walking off in a pettish humour, seemed
to ‘marvel at my unbelief.’ There is an old print of the Nativity, in
which the oxen in the stable, near the virgin and the child, are
represented upon their knees, as in a suppliant posture. This graphic
representation has probably given rise to the above superstitious notion
on this head.” Mr. Brand refers to “an old print,” as if he had only
observed _one_ with this representation; whereas, they abound, and to
the present day the ox and the ass are in the wood-cuts of the nativity
on our common Christmas carols. Sannazarius, a Latin poet of the
fifteenth century, in his poem _De Partu Virginis_, which he was several
years in composing, and twenty years in revising, and which chiefly
contributed to the celebrity of his name among the Italians, represents
that the virgin wrapped up the new-born infant, and put him into her
bosom; that the cattle cherished him with their breath, an ox fell on
his knees, and an ass did the same. He declares them both happy,
promises they shall be honoured at all the altars in Rome, and
apostrophizes the virgin on occasion of the respect the ox and ass have
shown her. To a quarto edition of this Latin poem, with an Italian
translation by Gori, printed at Florence in 1740, there is a print
inscribed “Sacrum monumentum in antiquo vitro Romæ in Museo Victorio,”
from whence the preceding engraving is presented, as a curious
illustration of the obviously ancient mode of delineating the subject.

In the edition just mentioned of Sannazarius’s exceedingly curious poem,
which is described in the editor’s often cited volume on “Ancient
Mysteries,” there are other engravings of the nativity with the ox and
the ass, from sculptures on ancient sarcophagi at Rome. This
introduction of the ox and the ass warming the infant in the crib with
their breath, is a fanciful construction by catholic writers on Isaiah
i. 3; “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Sannazarius was a distinguished statesman in the kingdom of Naples. His
superb tomb in the church of St. Mark is decorated with two figures
originally executed for and meant to represent Apollo and Minerva; but
as it appeared indecorous to admit heathen divinities into a christian
church, and the figures were thought too excellent to be removed, the
person who shows the church is instructed to call them David and Judith:
“You mistake,” said a sly rogue who was one of a party surveying the
curiosities, “the figures are St. George, and the queen of Egypt’s
daughter.” The demonstrator made a low bow, and thanked him.[421]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Frankincense. _Pinus Tæda._
  Dedicated to _Sts. Thrasilla_ and _Emiliana_.

  [414] Bourne in Brand’s Antiquities.

  [415] Bib. Reg. 16. E. VIII.

  [416] Gascoigne and Anjou, being at this time under the dominion of
  the English sovereigns, were not regarded as part of France.

  [417] Harl. Coll. 5346.

  [418] Leland, Collect. vol. iv. p. 237.

  [419] Biog. Hist. Engl. ed. 1804, vol. iv. p. 356.

  [420] Here the master or mistress of the house was called on by name.

  [421] Lounger’s Com. Place Book.


~December 25.~

  _The Nativity of Christ_, or _Christmas-day_. _St. Anastasia_, A. D.
  304. Another _St. Anastasia_. _St. Eugenia_, A. D. 257.


~Christmas-day.~

The festival of the nativity was anciently kept by different churches in
April, May, and in this month. It is now kept on this day by every
established church of christian denomination; and is a holiday all over
England, observed by the suspension of all public and private business,
and the congregating of friends and relations for “comfort and joy.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Our countryman, Barnaby Googe, from the Latin of Naogeorgus, gives us
some lines descriptive of the old festival:--

    Then comes the day wherein the Lorde did bring his birth to passe;
    Whereas at midnight up they rise, and every man to Masse.
    This time so holy counted is, that divers earnestly
    Do thinke the waters all to wine are chaunged sodainly;
    In that same houre that Christ himselfe was borne, and came to
         light,
    And unto water streight againe transformde and altred quight.
    There are beside that mindfully the money still do watch,
    That first to aultar commes, which then they privily do snatch.
    The priestes, least other should it have, takes oft the same away,
    Whereby they thinke throughout the yeare to have good lucke in play,
    And not to lose: then straight at game till day-light do they
         strive,
    To make some present proofe how well their hallowde pence wil
         thrive.
    Three Masses every priest doth sing, upon that solemne day,
    With offrings unto every one, that so the more may play.
    This done, a woodden child in clowtes is on the aultar set,
    About the which both boyes and gyrles do daunce and trymly jet,
    And Carrols sing in prayse of Christ, and, for to helpe them heare,
    The organs aunswere every verse with sweete and solemne cheare.
    The priestes doe rore aloude; and round about the parentes stande
    To see the sport, and with their voyce do helpe them and their
         hande.

The commemorations in our own times vary from the account in these
versifyings. An accurate observer, with a hand powerful to seize, and a
hand skilled in preserving manners, offers us a beautiful sketch of
Christmas-tide in the “New Monthly Magazine,” of December 1, 1825.
Foremost in his picture is the most estimable, because the most useful
and ornamental character in society,--a good parish priest.

“Our pastor was told one day, in argument, that the interests of
christianity were opposed to universal enlightenment. I shall not easily
forget his answer. ‘The interests of christianity,’ said he, ‘are the
same as the interests of society. It has no other meaning. Christianity
is that very enlightenment you speak of. Let any man find out that
thing, whatever it be, which is to perform the very greatest good to
society, even to its own apparent detriment, and I say _that_ is
christianity, or I know not the spirit of its founder. What?’ continued
he, ‘shall we take christianity for an arithmetical puzzle, or a
contradiction in terms, or the bitterness of a bad argument, or the
interests, real or supposed, of any particular set of men? God forbid.
I wish to speak with reverence (this conclusion struck me very much)--I
wish to speak with reverence of whatever has taken place in the order of
Providence. I wish to think the best of the very evils that have
happened; that a good has been got out of them; perhaps that they were
even necessary to the good. But when once we have attained better means,
and the others are dreaded by the benevolent, and scorned by the wise,
then is the time come for throwing open the doors to all kindliness and
to all knowledge, and the end of christianity is attained in the reign
of beneficence.’

“In this spirit our pastor preaches to us always, but most particularly
on _Christmas-day_; when he takes occasion to enlarge on the character
and views of the divine person who is supposed then to have been born,
and sends us home more than usually rejoicing. On the north side of the
church at M. are a great many holly-trees. It is from these that our
dining and bed-rooms are furnished with boughs. Families take it by
turns to entertain their friends. They meet early; the beef and pudding
are noble; the mince-pies--peculiar; the nuts half play-things and
half-eatables; the oranges as cold and acid as they ought to be,
furnishing us with a superfluity which we can afford to laugh at; the
cakes indestructible; the wassail bowls generous, old English, huge,
demanding ladles, threatening overflow as they come in, solid with
roasted apples when set down. Towards bed-time you hear of elder-wine,
and not seldom of punch. At the manor-house it is pretty much the same
as elsewhere. Girls, although they be ladies, are kissed under the
misletoe. If any family among us happen to have hit upon an exquisite
brewing, they send some of it round about, the squire’s house included;
and he does the same by the rest. Riddles, hot-cockles, forfeits, music,
dances sudden and not to be suppressed, prevail among great and small;
and from two o’clock in the day to midnight, M. looks like a deserted
place out of doors, but is full of life and merriment within. Playing at
knights and ladies last year, a jade of a charming creature must needs
send me out for a piece of ice to put in her wine. It was evening and a
hard frost. I shall never forget the cold, cutting, dreary, dead look of
every thing out of doors, with a wind through the wiry trees, and the
snow on the ground, contrasted with the sudden return to warmth, light,
and joviality.

“I remember we had a discussion that time, as to what was the great
point and crowning glory of Christmas. Many were for mince-pie; some for
the beef and plum-pudding; more for the wassail-bowl; a maiden lady
timidly said, the misletoe; but we agreed at last, that although all
these were prodigious, and some of them exclusively belonging to the
season, the _fire_ was the great indispensable. Upon which we all turned
our faces towards it, and began warming our already scorched hands. A
great blazing fire, too big, is the visible heart and soul of Christmas.
You may do without beef and plum-pudding; even the absence of mince-pie
may be tolerated; there must be a bowl, poetically speaking, but it need
not be absolutely wassail. The bowl may give place to the bottle. But a
huge, heaped-up, _over_ heaped-up, all-attracting fire, with a
semicircle of faces about it, is not to be denied us. It is the _lar_
and genius of the meeting; the proof positive of the season; the
representative of all our warm emotions and bright thoughts; the
glorious eye of the room; the inciter to mirth, yet the retainer of
order; the amalgamater of the age and sex; the universal relish. Tastes
may differ even on a mince-pie; but who gainsays a fire? The absence of
other luxuries still leaves you in possession of that; but

    ‘Who can hold a fire in his hand
    With thinking on the frostiest twelfth-cake?’

“Let me have a dinner of some sort, no matter what, and then give me my
fire, and my friends, the humblest glass of wine, and a few penn’orths
of chesnuts, and I will still make out my Christmas. What! Have we not
Burgundy in our blood? Have we not joke, laughter, repartee, bright
eyes, comedies of other people, and comedies of our own; songs,
memories, hopes? [An organ strikes up in the street at this word, as if
to answer me in the affirmative. Right, thou old spirit of harmony,
wandering about in that ark of thine, and touching the public ear with
sweetness and an abstraction! Let the multitude bustle on, but not
unarrested by thee and by others, and not unreminded of the happiness of
renewing a wise childhood.] As to our old friends the chesnuts, if any
body wants an excuse to his dignity for roasting them, let him take the
authority of Milton. ‘Who now,’ says he, lamenting the loss of his
friend Deodati,--‘who now will help to soothe my cares for me, and make
the long night seem short with his conversation; while the roasting pear
hisses tenderly on the fire, and the nuts burst away with a noise,--

    ‘And out of doors a washing storm o’erwhelms
    Nature pitch-dark, and rides the thundering elms?’”


_Christmas in France._

From a newspaper of 1823, (the name unfortunately not noted at the time,
and not immediately ascertainable), it appears that Christmas in France
is another thing from Christmas in England.

“The habits and customs of the Parisians vary much from those of our own
metropolis at all times, but at no time more than at this festive
season. An Englishman in Paris, who had been for some time without
referring to his almanac, would not know Christmas-day from another by
the appearance of the capital. It is, indeed, set down as a _jour de
fete_ in the calendar, but all the ordinary business of life is
transacted; the streets are, as usual, crowded with waggons and coaches;
the shops, with few exceptions, are open, although on other _fête_ days
the order for closing them is rigorously enforced, and if not attended
to, a fine levied; and at the churches nothing extraordinary is going
forward. All this is surprising in a catholic country, which professes
to pay such attention to the outward rites of religion.

“On _Christmas-eve_ indeed, there is some bustle for a midnight mass, to
which immense numbers flock, as the priests, on this occasion, get up a
showy spectacle which rivals the theatres. The altars are dressed with
flowers, and the churches decorated profusely; but there is little in
all this to please men who have been accustomed to the John Bull mode of
spending the evening. The good English habit of meeting together to
forgive offences and injuries, and to cement reconciliations, is here
unknown. The French listen to the church music, and to the singing of
their choirs, which is generally excellent, but they know nothing of the
origin of the day and of the duties which it imposes. The English
residents in Paris, however, do not forget our mode of celebrating this
day. Acts of charity from the rich to the needy, religious attendance at
church, and a full observance of hospitable rites, are there witnessed.
Paris furnishes all the requisites for a good pudding, and the turkeys
are excellent, though the beef is not to be displayed as prize
production.

“On _Christmas-day_ all the English cooks in Paris are in full business.
The queen of cooks, however, is Harriet Dunn, of the Boulevard.--As sir
Astley Cooper among the cutters of limbs, and d’Egville among the
cutters of capers, so is Harriet Dunn among the professors of one of the
most necessary, and in its results, most gratifying professions of
existence; her services are secured beforehand by special retainers; and
happy is the peer who can point to his pudding, and declare that it is
of the true “Dunn” composition. Her fame has even extended to the
provinces. For some time previous to Christmas-day, she forwards
puddings in cases to all parts of the country, ready cooked and fit for
the table, after the necessary warming. All this is, of course, for the
English. No prejudice can be stronger than that of the French against
plum-pudding--a Frenchman will dress like an Englishman, swear like an
Englishman, and get drunk like an Englishman; but if you would offend
him for ever, compel him to eat plum-pudding. A few of the leading
restaurateurs, wishing to appear extraordinary, have _plomb-pooding_
upon their cartes, but in no instance is it ever ordered by a Frenchman.
Every body has heard the story of St. Louis--Henri Quatre, or whoever
else it might be, who, wishing to regale the English ambassador on
Christmas-day with a plum-pudding, procured an excellent recipe for
making one, which he gave to his cook, with strict injunctions that it
should be prepared with due attention to all the particulars. The weight
of the ingredients, the size of the copper, the quantity of water, the
duration of time, every thing was attended to except one trifle--the
king forgot the cloth, and the pudding was served up like so much soup,
in immense tureens, to the surprise of the ambassador, who was, however,
too well bred to express his astonishment. Louis XVIII., either to show
his contempt of the prejudices of his countrymen, or to keep up a custom
which suits his palate, has always an enormous pudding on
Christmas-day, the remains of which, when it leaves the table, he
requires to be eaten by the servants, _bon gré, mauvais gré_; but in
this instance even the commands of sovereignty are disregarded, except
by the numerous English in his service, consisting of several valets,
grooms, coachmen, &c., besides a great number of ladies’ maids, in the
service of the duchesses of Angouleme and Berri, who very frequently
partake of the dainties of the king’s table.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The following verses from the original in old Norman French, are said to
be the first drinking song composed in England. They seem to be an
abridged version of the Christmas carol in Anglo-Norman French,
translated by Mr Douce:--

    Lordlings, from a distant home,
    To seek old Christmas are we come,
      Who loves our minstrelsy--
    And here, unless report mis-say,
    The greybeard dwells; and on this day
    Keeps yearly wassel, ever gay
      With festive mirth and glee.

    Lordlings, list, for we tell you true,
    Christmas loves the jolly crew,
      That cloudy care defy:
    His liberal board is deftly spread,
    With manchet loaves and wastel bread,
    His guests with fish and flesh are led,
      Nor lack the stately pye.

    Lordlings, it is our host’s command,
    And Christmas joins him hand in hand,
      To drain the brimming bowl;
    And I’ll be foremost to obey--
    Then pledge me, sirs, and drink away
    For Christmas revels here to-day
      And sways without controul.
    Now _wassel_ to you all! and merry may you be,
    And foul that wight befall, who _drinks_ not _health_ to me.

       *       *       *       *       *

There were anciently great doings in the halls of the inns of court at
Christmas time. At the Inner-Temple early in the morning, the gentlemen
of the inn went to church, and after the service they did then
“presently repair into the hall to breakfast with brawn, mustard, and
malmsey.” At the first course at dinner, was “served in, a fair and
large _Bore’s head_ upon a silver platter with minstralsye.”[422]


_The Boar’s Head._

With our forefathers a soused boar’s head was borne to the principal
table in the hall with great state and solemnity, as the first dish on
Christmas-day.

In the book of “Christmasse Carolles” printed by Wynkyn de Worde in
1521, are the words sung at this “chefe servyce,” or on bringing in this
the boar’s head, with great ceremony, as the first dish: it is in the
next column.

_A_ CAROL _bryngyng in the Boar’s Head_

            _Caput Apri defero
            Reddens laudes Domino._

    The bore’s head in hande bring I,
    With garlandes gay and rosemary,
    I pray you all synge merely,
          _Qui estis in convivio_.

    The bore’s head, I understande,
    Is the chefe servyce in this lande
    Loke wherever it be fande
          _Servite cum Cantico_.

    Be gladde, lords, both more and lasse,
      For this hath ordayned our stewarde
    To chere you all this Christmasse,
      The bore’s head with mustard.

[Illustration: ~The Boar’s Head at Christmas.~]

    “With garlandes gay and rosemary.”

Warton says, “This carol, yet with many innovations, is retained at
Queen’s-college, in Oxford.” It is still sung in that college, somewhat
altered, “to the common chant of the prose version of the psalms in
cathedrals;” so, however, the rev. Mr. Dibdin says, as mentioned before.

Mr. Brand thinks it probable that Chaucer alluded to the custom of
bearing the boar’s head, in the following passage of the “Franklein’s
Tale:”--

    “Janus sitteth by the fire with double berd,
    And he drinketh of his bugle-horne the wine,
    Before him standeth the _brawne of the tusked swine_.”

In “The Wonderful Yeare, 1603,” Dekker speaks of persons apprehensive of
catching the plague, and says, “they went (most bitterly) miching and
muffled up and down, with rue and wormwood stuft into their eares and
nosthrils, looking like so many _bores heads_ stuck with branches of
rosemary, to be served in for brawne at Christmas.”

Holinshed says, that in 1170, upon the young prince’s coronation, king
Henry II. “served his son at the table as sewer, bringing up the _bore’s
head_, with trumpets before it, according to the manner.”[423]

An engraving from a clever drawing by Rowlandson, in the possession of
the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, may gracefully close this article.

[Illustration: ~A Boor’s Head.~]

    “Civil as an orange.”

  _Shakspeare._

There are some just observations on the old mode of passing this season,
in “The World,” a periodical paper of literary pleasantries. “Our
ancestors considered Christmas in the double light of a holy
commemoration, and a cheerful festival, and accordingly distinguished it
by devotion, by vacation from business, by merriment, and hospitality.
They seemed eagerly bent to make themselves, and every one about them
happy; with what punctual zeal did they wish one another a _merry
Christmas!_ and what an omission would it have been thought, to have
concluded a letter without the _compliments of the season_! The great
hall resounded with the tumultuous joys of servants and tenants, and the
gambols they played served as amusement to the lord of the manor, and
his family, who, by encouraging every art conducive to mirth and
entertainment, endeavoured to soften the rigour of the season, and
mitigate the influence of winter.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The country squire of three hundred a year, an independent gentleman in
the reign of queen Anne, is described as having “never played at cards
but at Christmas, when the family pack was produced from the
mantle-piece.” “His chief drink the year round was generally ale, except
at this season, the 5th of November, or some other gala days, when he
would make a bowl of strong brandy punch, garnished with a toast and
nutmeg. In the corner of his hall, by the fire-side, stood a large
wooden two-armed chair, with a cushion, and within the chimney corner
were a couple of seats. Here, at Christmas, he entertained his tenants,
assembled round a glowing fire, made of the roots of trees, and other
great logs, and told and heard the traditionary tales of the village,
respecting ghosts and witches, till fear made them afraid to move. In
the meantime the jorum of ale was in continual circulation.”[424]

It is remarked, in the “Literary Pocket Book,” that now, Christmas-day
only, or at most a day or two, are kept by people in general; the rest
are school holidays; “But, formerly, there was nothing but a run of
merry days from Christmas-eve to Candlemas, and the first twelve in
particular were full of triumph and hospitality. We have seen but too
well the cause of this degeneracy. What has saddened our summer-time has
saddened our winter. What has taken us from our fields and May-flowers,
and suffered them to smile and die alone, as if they were made for
nothing else, has contradicted our flowing cups at Christmas. The middle
classes make it a sorry business of a pudding or so extra, and a game at
cards. The rich invite their friends to their country houses, but do
little there but gossip and gamble; and the poor are either left out
entirely, or presented with a few clothes and eatables that make up a
wretched substitute for the long and hospitable intercourse of old. All
this is so much the worse, inasmuch as christianity had a special eye to
those feelings which should remind us of the equal rights of all; and
the greatest beauty in it is not merely its charity, which we contrive
to swallow up in faith, but its being alive to the _sentiment_ of
charity, which is still more opposed to these proud distances and formal
dolings out.--The same spirit that vindicated the pouring of rich
ointment on his feet, (because it was a homage paid to sentiment in his
person,) knew how to bless the gift of a cup of water. Every face which
you contribute to set sparkling at Christmas is a reflection of that
goodness of nature which generosity helps to uncloud, as the windows
reflect the lustre of the sunny heavens. Every holly bough and lump of
berries with which you adorn your houses is a piece of natural piety as
well as beauty, and will enable you to relish the green world of which
you show yourselves not forgetful. Every wassail bowl which you set
flowing without drunkenness, every harmless pleasure, every innocent
mirth however mirthful, every forgetfulness even of serious things, when
they are only swallowed up in the kindness and joy with which it is the
end of wisdom to produce, is

    ‘Wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best;’

and Milton’s Eve, who suggested those epithets to her husband, would
have thought so too, if we are to judge by the poet’s account of her
hospitality.”

ANCIENT CHRISTMAS.

      And well our christian sires of old
    Loved, when the year its course had roll’d
    And brought blithe Christmas back again,
    With all its hospitable train.
    Domestic and religious rite
    Gave honour to the holy night:
    On Christmas-eve the bells were rung;
    On Christmas-eve the mass was sung;
    That only night, in all the year,
    Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
    The damsel donn’d her kirtle sheen;
    The hall was dress’d with holly green;
    Forth to the wood did merry men go,
    To gather in the misletoe.
    Then open wide the baron’s hall,
    To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
    Power laid his rod of rule aside,
    And ceremony doff’d his pride.
    The heir, with roses in his shoes,
    That night might village partner choose:
    The lord, underogating, share
    The vulgar game of “post and pair.”
    All hailed, with uncontrouled delight,
    And general voice, the happy night,
    That to the cottage, as the crown,
    Brought tidings of salvation down.

      The fire, with well-dried logs supply’d,
    Went, roaring, up the chimney wide;
    The huge hall table’s oaken face,
    Scrubb’d till it shone, the day to grace,
    Bore then upon its massive board
    No mark to part the squire and lord.
    Then was brought in the lusty brawn,
    By old blue-coated serving man;
    Then the grim boar’s-head frown’d on high,
    Crested with bays and rosemary.
    Well can the green-garb’d ranger tell,
    How, when, and where the monster fell,
    What dogs before his death he tore,
    And all the baiting of the boar;
    While round the merry wassel bowl,
    Garnish’d with ribbons, blithe did trowl.
    There the huge sirloin reek’d; hard by
    Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;
    Nor fail’d old Scotland to produce,
    At such high tide her savoury goose.
    Then came the merry maskers in,
    And carols roar’d with blithsome din;
    If unmelodious was the song,
    It was a hearty note and strong.
    Who lists may in their mumming see
    Traces of ancient mystery;
    White shirts supply the masquerade,
    And smutted cheeks the visor made;
    But, oh! what masquers, richly dight,
    Can boast of bosoms half so light!
    England was merry England when
    Old Christmas brought his sports again.
    ’Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale;
    ’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
    A Christmas gambol oft would cheer
    A poor man’s heart through half the year.

  _Sir Walter Scott._


WAITS.

The musicians who play by night in the streets at Christmas are called
_waits_. It has been presumed, that _waits_ in very ancient times meant
watchmen; they were minstrels at first attached to the king’s court, who
sounded the watch every night, and paraded the streets during winter to
prevent depredations.

In London, the _waits_ are remains of the musicians attached to the
corporation of the city under that denomination. They cheer the hours of
the long nights before Christmas with instrumental music. To denote that
they were “the lord mayor’s music,” they anciently wore a _cognizance_,
or badge on the arm, similar to that represented in the engraving below,
from a picture by A. Bloemart.

[Illustration: ~The Piper.~]

    He blows his bagpipe soft or strong,
    Or high or low, to hymn or song,
    Or shrill lament, or solemn groan,
    Or dance, or reel, or sad o-hone!
    Or ballad gay, or well-a-day--
    To all he gives due melody.

Preparatory to Christmas, the bellman of every parish in London rings
his bell at dead midnight, that his “worthy masters and mistresses” may
listen, and be assured by his vocal intonation that he is reciting “a
copy of verses” in praise of their several virtues, especially their
liberality; and, when the festival is over, he calls with his bell, and
hopes he shall be “remembered.”

       *       *       *       *       *

At the good town of Bungay, in Suffolk, the “watch” of the year 1823
circulated the following, headed by a representation of a moiety of
their dual body:--

[Illustration: A COPY OF CHRISTMAS VERSES,

PRESENTED TO THE

_INHABITANTS OF BUNGAY_,

BY THEIR HUMBLE SERVANTS,

THE LATE WATCHMEN

~John Pye and John Tye.~]

    YOUR pardon, Gentles, while we thus implore,
    In strains not less _awakening_ than of yore,
    Those smiles we deem our best reward to catch,
    And for the which we’ve long been on the _Watch_;
    Well pleas’d if we that recompence obtain,
    Which we have ta’en so many _steps_ to gain.
    Think of the perils in our _calling past_,
    The chilling coldness of the midnight blast,
    The beating rain, the swiftly-driving snow,
    The various ills that we must undergo,
    Who roam, the glow-worms of the human race,
    The living Jack-a-lanthorns of the place.
      ’Tis said by some, perchance, to mock our toil,
    That we are prone to “_waste the midnight oil_!”
    And that, a task thus idle to pursue,
    Would be an idle _waste of money_ too!
    How hard, that we the _dark_ designs should rue
    Of those who’d fain make _light_ of all we do!
    But such the fate which oft doth merit greet,
    And which now drives us fairly off our beat!
    Thus it appears from this our dismal plight,
    That _some_ love _darkness_, rather than the _light_.
      Henceforth let riot and disorder reign,
    With all the ills that follow in their train;
    Let TOMS and JERRYS unmolested brawl,
    (No _Charlies_ have they now to _floor_ withal,)
    And “rogues and vagabonds” infest the Town,
    For cheaper ’tis to _save_ than _crack_ a _crown_!
      To brighter scenes we now direct our view--
    And first, fair Ladies, let us turn to you.

    May each NEW YEAR new joys, new pleasures bring,
    And Life for you be one delightful spring!
    No summer’s sun annoy with fev’rish rays,
    No winter chill the evening of your days!
      To you, kind Sirs, we next our tribute pay:
    May smiles and sunshine greet you on your way!
    If married, calm and peaceful be your lives;
    If single, may you forthwith get you wives!
    Thus, whether Male or Female, Old or Young,
    Or Wed or Single, be this burden sung:
    Long may you live to hear, and we to call,
    _A Happy Christmas and New Year to all!_

  J. and R. Childs, Printers, Bungay.

       *       *       *       *       *

Previous to Christmas 1825, a trio of foreign minstrels appeared in
London, ushering the season with melody from instruments seldom
performed on in the streets. These were Genoese with their guitars.
Musicians of this order are common in Naples and all over Italy; at the
carnival time they are fully employed, and at other periods are hired to
assist in those serenades whereof English ladies hear nothing, unless
they travel, save by the reports of those who publish accounts of their
adventures. The three now spoken of took up their abode in London, at
the King’s-head public-house, in Leather-lane, from whence ever and
anon, to wit, daily, they sallied forth to “discourse most excellent
music.” They are represented in the engraving below, from a sketch
hastily taken by a gentleman who was of a dinner party, by whom they
were called into the house of a street in the suburbs.

[Illustration: ~Italian Minstrels in London,~

AT CHRISTMAS, 1825.]

    Ranged in a row, with guitars slung
    Before them thus, they played and sung:
    Their instruments and choral voice
    Did each glad guest still more rejoice;
    And each guest wish’d again to hear
    Their wild guitars and voices clear.

There was much of character in the men themselves. One was tall, and had
that kind of face which distinguishes the Italian character; his
complexion a clear pale cream colour, with dark eyes, black hair, and a
manner peculiarly solemn: the second was likewise tall, and of more
cheerful feature; but the third was a short thick-set man, with an
Oxberry countenance of rich waggery, heightened by large whiskers: this
was the humorist. With a bit of cherry-tree held between the finger and
thumb, they rapidly twirled the wires in accompaniment of various airs,
which they sung with unusual feeling and skill. They were acquainted
with every foreign tune that was called for. That Italian minstrels of
this class should venture here for the purpose of perambulating our
streets, is evidence that the refinement in our popular manners is known
in the “land of song,” and they will bear testimony to it from the fact
that their performances are chiefly in the public-houses of the
metropolis, from whence thirty years ago such aspirants to entertain
John Bull would have been expelled with expressions of abhorrence.

       *       *       *       *       *

To the accounts of Christmas keeping in old times, old George Wither
adds amusing particulars in rhime.

_Christmas._

    So now is come our joyfulst feast;
      Let every man be jolly;
    Each room with ivy leaves is drest,
      And every post with holly.
    Though some churls at our mirth repine,
    Round your foreheads garlands twine;
    Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,
      And let us all be merry.

    Now all our neighbours’ chimnies smoke,
      And Christmas blocks are burning;
    Their ovens they with baked meat choke,
      And all their spits are turning.
    Without the door let sorrow lye;
    And if for cold it hap to die,
    We’ll bury’t in a Christmas pie,
      And evermore be merry.

    Now every lad is wond’rous trim,
      And no man minds his labour;
    Our lasses have provided them
      A bagpipe and a tabor;
    Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
    Give life to one another’s joys;
    And you anon shall by their noise
      Perceive that they are merry.

    Rank misers now do sparing shun;
      Their hall of music soundeth;
    And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,
      So all things there aboundeth.
    The country folks, themselves advance,
    With crowdy-muttons out of France;
    And Jack shall pipe and Jyll shall dance,
      And all the town be merry.

    Ned Squash hath fetcht his bands from pawn,
      And all his best apparel;
    Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn
      With dropping of the barrel.
    And those that hardly all the year
    Had bread to eat, or rags to wear,
    Will have both clothes and dainty fare,
      And all the day be merry.

    Now poor men to the justices
      With capons make their errants;
    And if they hap to fail of these,
      They plague them with their warrants:
    But now they feed them with good cheer,
    And what they want, they take in beer,
    For Christmas comes but once a year,
      And then they shall be merry.

    Good farmers in the country nurse
      The poor, that else were undone;
    Some landlords spend their money worse,
      On lust and pride at London.
    There the roysters they do play,
    Drab and dice their lands away,
    Which may be ours another day,
      And therefore let’s be merry.

    The client now his suit forbears,
      The prisoner’s heart is eased;
    The debtor drinks away his cares,
      And for the time is pleased.
    Though others’ purses be more fat,
    Why should we pine, or grieve at that?
    Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,
      And therefore let’s be merry.

    Hark! now the wags abroad do call,
      Each other forth to rambling;
    Anon you’ll see them in the hall,
      For nuts and apples scrambling.
    Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound,
    Anon they’ll think the house goes round,
    For they the cellar’s depth have found,
      And there they will be merry.

    The wenches with their wassel bowls
      About the streets are singing;
    The boys are come to catch the owls,
      The wild mare in it bringing.
    Our kitchen boy hath broke his box,
    And to the dealing of the ox,
    Our honest neighbours come by flocks,
      And here they will be merry.

    Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes have
      And mute with every body;
    The honest now may play the knave,
      And wise men play the noddy.
    Some youths will now a mumming go,
    Some others play at Rowland-bo,
    And twenty other game boys mo,
      Because they will be merry.

    Then, wherefore, in these merry daies,
      Should we, I pray, be duller?
    No, let us sing some roundelayes,
      To make our mirth the fuller.
    And, while we thus inspired sing,
    Let all the streets with echoes ring;
    Woods and hills, and every thing,
      Bear witness we are merry.

       *       *       *       *       *

From Mr. Grant’s “Popular Superstitions of the Highlands,” we gather the
following account:--


_Highland Christmas._

As soon as the brightening glow of the eastern sky warns the anxious
housemaid of the approach of Christmas-day, she rises full of anxiety at
the prospect of her morning labours. The meal, which was steeped in the
_sowans-bowie_ a fortnight ago, to make the _Prechdachdan sour_, or
_sour scones_, is the first object of her attention. The gridiron is put
on the fire, and the sour scones are soon followed by hard cakes, soft
cakes, buttered cakes, brandered bannocks, and pannich perm. The baking
being once over, the sowans pot succeeds the gridiron, full of new
sowans, which are to be given to the family, agreeably to custom, this
day in their beds. The sowans are boiled into the consistence of
molasses, when the _Lagan-le-vrich_, or yeast-bread, to distinguish it
from boiled sowans, is ready. It is then poured into as many bickers as
there are individuals to partake of it, and presently served to the
whole, old and young. It would suit well the pen of a Burns, or the
pencil of a Hogarth, to paint the scene which follows. The ambrosial
food is despatched in aspiring draughts by the family, who soon give
evident proofs of the enlivening effects of the _Lagan-le-vrich_. As
soon as each despatches his bicker, he jumps out of bed--the elder
branches to examine the ominous signs of the day,[425] and the younger
to enter on its amusements. Flocking to the swing, a favourite amusement
on this occasion, the youngest of the family get the first “_shouder_,”
and the next oldest to him in regular succession. In order to add the
more to the spirit of the exercise, it is a common practice with the
person in the _swing_, and the person appointed to swing him, to enter
into a very warm and humorous altercation. As the swinged person
approaches the swinger, he exclaims, _Ei mi tu chal_, “I’ll eat your
kail.” To this the swinger replies, with a violent shove, _Cha ni u mu
chal_, “You shan’t eat my kail.” These threats and repulses are
sometimes carried to such a height, as to break down or capsize the
threatener, which generally puts an end to the quarrel.

As the day advances, those minor amusements are terminated at the report
of the gun, or the rattle of the ball-clubs--the gun inviting the
marksman to the “_Kiavamuchd_,” or prize-shooting, and the latter to
“_Luchd-vouil_,” or the ball combatants--both the principal sports of
the day. Tired at length of the active amusements of the field, they
exchange them for the substantial entertainments of the table. Groaning
under the “_sonsy haggis_,”[426] and many other savoury dainties, unseen
for twelve months before, the relish communicated to the company, by the
appearance of the festive board, is more easily conceived than
described. The dinner once despatched, the flowing bowl succeeds, and
the sparkling glass flies to and fro like a weaver’s shuttle. As it
continues its rounds, the spirits of the company become the more jovial
and happy. Animated by its cheering influence, even old decrepitude no
longer feels his habitual pains--the fire of youth is in his eye, as he
details to the company the exploits which distinguished him in the days
of “_auld langsyne_;” while the young, with hearts inflamed with “_love
and glory_,” long to mingle in the more lively scenes of mirth, to
display their prowess and agility. Leaving the patriarchs to finish
those professions of friendship for each other, in which they are so
devoutly engaged, the younger part of the company will shape their
course to the ball-room, or the card-table, as their individual
inclinations suggest; and the remainder of the evening is spent with the
greatest pleasure of which human nature is susceptible.

EVERGREENS AT CHRISTMAS.

    When _Rosemary_ and _Bays_, the poet’s crown,
    Are bawl’d in frequent cries through all the town;
    Then judge the festival of Christmass near,
    Christmass, the joyous period of the year!
    Now with bright _Holly_ all the temples strow,
    With _Lawrel_ green, and sacred _Misletoe_.

           *       *       *       *       *

    From ev’ry hedge is pluck’d by eager hands
    The _Holly branch_ with prickly leaves replete,
    And fraught with berries of a crimson hue;
    Which, torn asunder from its parent trunk,
    Is straightway taken to the neighb’ring towns,
    Where windows, mantels, candlesticks, and shelves,
    Quarts, pints, decanters, pipkins, basins, jugs,
    And other articles of household ware,
    The verdant garb confess.

  _R. J. Thorn._

The old and pleasant custom of decking our houses and churches at
Christmas with evergreens is derived from ancient heathen practices.
Councils of the church forbad christians to deck their houses with bay
leaves and green boughs at the same time with the pagans; but this was
after the church had permitted such doings in order to accommodate its
ceremonies to those of the old mythology. Where druidism had existed,
“the houses were decked with evergreens in December, that the sylvan
spirits might repair to them, and remain unnipped with frost and cold
winds, until a milder season had renewed the foliage of their darling
abodes.”[427]

Polydore Vergil says that, “Trimmyng of the Temples, with hangynges,
floures, boughes, and garlondes, was taken of the heathen people, whiche
decked their idols and houses with suche array.” In old church calendars
Christmas-eve is marked “Templa exornantur.” _Churches are decked._

       *       *       *       *       *

The holly and the ivy still maintain some mastery at this season. At the
two universities, the windows of the college chapels are decked with
laurel. The old Christmas carol in MS. at the British Museum, quoted at
p. 1598, continues in the following words:--

    Ivy hath a lybe; she laghtit with the cold,
    So mot they all hafe that wyth Ivy hold.
                                  Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt, &c.
    Holy hat berys as red as any Rose,
    The foster the hunters, kepe hem from the doo.
                                  Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt, &c.
    Ivy hath berys as black as any slo;
    Ther com the oule and ete hym as she goo.
                                  Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt, &c.
    Holy hath byrdys, aful fayre flok,
    The Nyghtyngale, the Poppyngy, the gayntyl Lavyrok.
                                  Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt, &c.
    Good Ivy! what byrdys ast thou!
    Non but the howlet that kreye ‘How! How!’
                                  Nay, Ivy! Nay, hyt shall not, &c.

Mr. Brand infers from this, “that _holly_ was used only to deck the
inside of houses at Christmas: while ivy was used not only as a
vintner’s sign, but also among the evergreens at funerals.” He also
cites from the old tract, “Round about our Coal-fire, or Christmas
Entertainments,” that formerly “the rooms were embowered with holly,
ivy, _cyprus_, bays, laurel, and misletoe, and a burning Christmas log
in the chimney;” but he remarks, that “in this account the _cyprus_ is
quite a new article. Indeed I should as soon have expected to have seen
the _yew_ as the cypress used on this joyful occasion.”

Mr. Brand is of opinion that “although Gay mentions the _misletoe_ among
those evergreens that were put up in _churches_, it never entered those
sacred edifices but by mistake, or ignorance of the sextons; for it was
the heathenish and profane plant, as having been of such distinction in
the pagan rites of druidism, and it therefore had its place assigned it
in kitchens, where it was hung up in great state with its white berries,
and whatever female chanced to stand under it, the young man present
either had a right or claimed one of saluting her, and of plucking off a
berry at each kiss.” He adds “I have made many diligent inquiries after
the truth of this. I learnt at Bath that it never came into _churches_
there. An old sexton at Teddington, in Middlesex, informed me that some
misletoe was once put up in the church there, but was by the clergyman
immediately ordered to be taken away.” He quotes from the “Medallic
History of Carausius,” by Stukeley, who speaking of the winter solstice,
our Christmas, says: “This was the most respectable festival of our
druids called yule-tide; when _misletoe_, which they called _all-heal_,
was carried in their hands and laid on their altars, as an emblem of the
salutiferous advent of Messiah. The misletoe they cut off the trees with
their upright hatchets of brass, called celts, put upon the ends of
their staffs, which they carried in their hands. Innumerable are these
instruments found all over the British Isles. The custom is still
preserved in the north, and was lately at _York_. On the eve of
Christmas-day _they carry misletoe to the high altar of the cathedral
and proclaim a public and universal liberty, pardon, and freedom to all
sorts of inferior and even wicked people at the gates of the city
towards the four quarters of heaven_.” This is only a century ago.

In an “Inquiry into the ancient Greek Game, supposed to have been
invented by Palamedes,” Mr. Christie speaks of the respect the northern
nations entertained for the _mistletoe_, and of the _Celts_ and _Goths_
being distinct in the instance of their equally venerating the misletoe
about the time of the year when the sun approached the winter solstice.
He adds, “we find by the allusion of Virgil, who compared _the golden
bough in infernis_, to the _misletoe_, that the _use of this plant was
not unknown in the religious ceremonies of the ancients, particularly
the Greeks_, of whose poets he was the acknowledged imitator.”

The cutting of the _misletoe_ was a ceremony of great solemnity with our
ancient ancestors. The people went in procession. The bards walked
first singing canticles and hymns, a herald preceded three druids with
implements for the purpose. Then followed the prince of the druids
accompanied by all the people. He mounted the oak, and cutting the
misletoe with a golden sickle, presented it to the other druids, who
received it with great respect, and on the first day of the year
distributed it among the people as a sacred and holy plant, crying, “The
misletoe for the new year.” Mr. Archdeacon Nares mentions, “the custom
longest preserved was the hanging up of a bush of misletoe in the
kitchen or servant’s hall, with the _charm_ attached to it, that the
maid, who was not kissed under it at Christmas, would not be married in
that year.” This _natural_ superstition still prevails.


_Christmas Doughs, Pies, and Porridge._

The season offers its

      ---------- customary treat,
    A mixture strange of suet, currants, meat,
    Where various tastes combine.

  _Oxford Sausage._

_Yule-dough_, or _dow_, a kind of baby, or little image of paste, was
formerly baked at Christmas, and presented by bakers to their customers,
“in the same manner as the chandlers gave Christmas candles.” They are
called _yule cakes_ in the county of Durham. Anciently, “at Rome, on the
vigil of the nativity, _sweetmeats_ were presented to the fathers in the
Vatican, and all kinds of _little images_ (no doubt of _paste_) were to
be found at the confectioners’ shops.” Mr. Brand, who mentions these
usages, thinks, “there is the greatest probability that we have had from
hence both our yule-doughs, plum-porridge, and mince-pies, the latter of
which are still in common use at this season. The _yule-dough_ has
perhaps been intended for an image of the child Jesus, with the Virgin
Mary:” he adds, “it is now, if I mistake not, pretty generally laid
aside, or at most retained only by children.”

It is inquired by a writer in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” 1783, “may not
the _minced pye_, a compound of the choicest productions of the east,
have in view the offerings made by the wise men, who came from afar to
worship, bringing _spices_,” &c. These were also called _shrid_-pies.

_Christmasse Day._

    No matter for plomb-porridge, or _shrid_-pie
    Or a whole oxe offered in sacrifice
    To Comus, not to Christ, &c.

  _Sheppard’s Epigrams_, 1651.

Mr. Brand, from a tract in his library printed about the time of queen
Elizabeth or James I. observes, that they were likewise called
“_minched_ pies.”

According to Selden’s “Table Talk,” the coffin shape of our Christmas
pies, is in imitation of the _cratch_, or manger wherein the infant
Jesus was laid. The ingredients and shape of the Christmas pie is
mentioned in a satire of 1656, against the puritans:--

    Christ-mass? give me my beads: the word implies
    A plot, by its ingredients, beef and pyes.
    The cloyster’d steaks with salt and pepper lye
    Like Nunnes with patches in a monastrie.
    Prophaneness in a conclave? Nay, much more,
    Idolatrie in crust!----------
    ---------- and bak’d by hanches, then
    Serv’d up in _coffins_ to unholy men;
    Defil’d, with superstition, like the Gentiles
    Of old, that worship’d onions, roots, and lentiles!

  _R. Fletcher._

There is a further account in Misson’s “Travels in England.” He says,
“Every family against Christmass makes a famous pye, which they call
Christmas pye. It is a great nostrum; the composition of this pasty is a
most learned mixture of neat’s-tongues, chicken, eggs, sugar, raisins,
lemon and orange peel, various kinds of spicery,” &c. The most notably
familiar poet of our seasonable customs interests himself for its
safety:--

    Come guard this night the Christmas-pie
    That the thiefe, though ne’r so slie,
    With his flesh hooks don’t come nie
                                  To catch it;

    From him, who all alone sits there,
    Having his eyes still in his eare,
    And a deale of nightly feare
                                  To watch it.

  _Herrick._

Mr. Brand observes, of his own knowledge, that “in the north of England,
_a goose_ is always the chief ingredient in the composition of a
Christmas pye;” and to illustrate the usage, “further north,” he quotes,
that the Scottish poet Allan Ramsay, in his “Elegy on lucky Wood,” tells
us, that among other baits by which the good ale-wife drew customers to
her house, she never failed to tempt them at _Yule_ (Christmas,) with

    “_A bra’ Goose Pye._”

Further, from “Round about our Coal-fire,” we likewise find that “An
English gentleman at the opening of the great day, _i. e._ on Christmass
day in the morning, had all his tenants and neighbours enter his hall by
day-break. The strong beer was broached, and the black jacks went
plentifully about with toast, sugar, nutmegg, and good Cheshire cheese.
The hackin (the great sausage) must be boiled by day-break, or else two
young men must take the maiden (_i. e._) the cook, by the arms and run
her round the market-place till she is ashamed of her laziness.

“In Christmas holidays, the tables were all spread from the first to the
last; the sirloins of beef, the minced pies, the _plumb porridge_, the
capons, turkeys, geese, and plum-puddings, were all brought upon the
board: every one eat heartily, and was welcome, which gave rise to the
proverb, ‘merry in the hall when beards wag all.’”

Misson adds of our predecessors in his time, that besides the “famous
pye” at Christmas, “they also make a sort of soup with plums which is
not at all inferior to the pye, which is in their language called
plum-porridge.”

Lastly, Mr. Brand makes this important note from personal regard.
“Memorandum. I dined at the chaplain’s table at St. James’s on
Christmas-day, 1801, and partook of the first thing served and eaten on
that festival at that table, _i. e._ a tureen full of rich luscious
plum-porridge. I do not know that the custom is any where else
retained.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus has been brought together so much as, for the present, seems
sufficient to describe the ancient and present estimation and mode of
keeping Christmas.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Holly. _Ilex bacciflora._
  Dedicated to _the Nativity of Jesus Christ_.

       *       *       *       *       *

It ought not, however, to be forgotten, that a scene of awful grandeur,
hitherto misrepresented on the stage by the meanest of “his majesty’s
servants,” opens the tragedy of Hamlet, wherein our everlasting bard
refers to ancient and still existing tradition, that at the time of
cock-crowing, the midnight spirits forsake these lower regions, and go
to their proper places; and that the cocks crow throughout the live-long
nights of Christmas--a circumstance observable at no other time of the
year. Horatio, the friend of Hamlet, discourses at midnight with
Francisco, a sentry on the platform before the Danish palace, and
Bernardo and Marcellus, two officers of the guard, respecting the ghost
of the deceased monarch of Denmark, which had appeared to the military
on watch.

      _Mar._ Horatio says, ’tis but our fantasy,
    And will not let belief take hold of him,
    Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us;
    Therefore I have entreated him, along
    With us, to watch the minutes of this night;
    That, if again this apparition come,
    He may approve our eyes, and speak to it.

      _Hor._ Tush! tush! ’twill not appear.

      _Ber._ Sit down awhile;
    And let us once again assail your ears,
    That are so fortified against our story,
    What we two nights have seen.
    ------- Last night of all,
    When yon same star, that’s westward from the pole,
    Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
    Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
    The bell then beating one,-----

      _Mar._ Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

The ghost enters. Horatio is harrowed with fear and wonder. His
companions urge him to address it; and somewhat recovered from
astonishment, he urges “the majesty of bury’d Denmark” to speak. It is
offended, and stalks away.

      _Mar._ Thus, twice before, and just at this dead hour,
    With martial stalk he hath gone by our watch.

Horatio discourses with his companions on the disturbed state of the
kingdom, and the appearance they have just witnessed; whereof he says,
“a mote it is, to trouble the mind’s eye.” He is interrupted by its
re-entry, and invokes it, but the apparition remains speechless; the
“_cock crows_,” and the ghost is about to disappear, when Horatio says,

    ----Stay, and speak.--Stop it, Marcellus.

      _Mar._ Shall I strike at it with my partizan?

      _Hor._ Do, if it will not stand.

      _Ber._ ’Tis here!

      _Hor._ ’Tis here!

      _Mar._ ’Tis gone!                   [_Exit Ghost._
    We do it wrong, being so majestical,
    To offer it the show of violence;
    For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
    And our vain blows malicious mockery.

      _Ber._ It was about to speak, when the _cock crew._

      _Hor._ And _then_ it started, like a guilty thing
    Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
    The _cock_, that is the trumpet of the morn,
    Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
    Awake the god of day; and, at _this_ warning,
    Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
    The extravagant and erring spirit hies
    To his confine: and of the truth herein
    This present object makes probation.

Marcellus answers, “It faded on the crowing of the cock,” and concludes
on the vigilance of this bird, previous to the solemn festival, in a
strain of superlative beauty:--

    Some say, that ever ’gainst that season comes
    Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,
    This bird of dawning singeth all night long:
    And then, they say, no spirit stirs abroad;
    The nights are wholesome; then no planet strikes;
    No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
    So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.

  [422] Dugdale’s Orig. Jurid.

  [423] Grose.

  [424] Ibid.

  [425] “A black Christmas makes a fat kirk-yard.” A windy Christmas and
  a calm Candlemas are signs of a good year.

  [426] The “savoury haggis” (from _hag_ to chop) is a dish commonly
  made in a sheep’s maw, of its lungs, heart, and liver, mixed with
  suet, onions, salt and pepper; or of oatmeal mixed with the latter,
  without any animal food.

  [427] Brand.


~December 26.~

  _St. Stephen_, the first Martyr. _St. Dionysius_, Pope, A. D. 269.
  _St. Jarlath_, 1st Bp. of Tuam, 6th Cent.


~St. Stephen.~

The church of England observes this festival, and the name of the
apostle is in the almanacs accordingly. The circumstances that led to
his death, and the particulars of it by stoning, are related in the
seventh chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. He is deemed the first
martyr for the christian faith.

       *       *       *       *       *

The notice of this festival by Naogeorgus is thus translated by Barnaby
Googe:--

    Then followeth Saint Stephens day, whereon doth every man
    His horses jaunt and course abrode, as swiftly as he can,
    Until they doe extreemely sweate, and than they let them blood,
    For this being done upon this day, they say doth do them good,
    And keepes them from all maladies and sicknesse through the yeare,
    As if that Steven any time took charge of horses heare.


_Horses._

Whether Stephen was the patron of horses does not appear; but our
ancestors used his festival for calling in the horse-leech. Tusser, in
his “Five Hundred Points of Husbandry,” says,

    Yer Christmas be passed, _let Horsse be lett blood_,
    For many a purpose it doth him much good:
    The day of St. Steven, old fathers did use,
    If that do mislike thee, some other day chuse.

An annotator on Tusser subjoins, “About Christmas is a very proper time
to bleed horses in, for then they are commonly at house, then spring
comes on, the sun being now coming back from the winter solstice, and
there are three or four days of rest, and if it be upon St. Stephen’s
day it is not the worse, seeing there are with it three days of rest, or
at least two.” In the “Receipts and Disbursements of the Canons of St.
Mary in Huntingdon,” is the following entry: “Item, for letting our
horses blede in Chrystmasse weke iiij_d._”[428] According to one of Mr.
Douce’s manuscript notes, he thinks the practice of bleeding horses on
this day is extremely ancient, and that it was brought into this country
by the Danes. It is noticed in “Wits Fits and Fancies,” an old and rare
book, that on “S. Stevens-day it is the custome for all horses to be let
bloud and drench’d. A gentleman being (that morning) demaunded whether
it pleased him to have his horse let bloud and drencht, according to the
fashion? He answered, no, sirra, my horse is not diseas’d of the
_fashions_.” Mr. Ellis in a note on Mr. Brand quotes, that Aubrey says,
“On St. Stephen’s-day the farrier came constantly and blouded all our
cart-horses.”[429]

The Finns upon St. Stephen’s-day, throw a piece of money, or a bit of
silver, into the trough out of which the horses drink, under the notion
that it prospers those who do it.[430]

       *       *       *       *       *


_Heit! Heck! Whoohe! and Geho!_

The well-known interjection used by country people to their horses, when
yoked to a cart, &c. _Heit!_ or _Heck!_ is noticed by Mr. Brand to have
been used in the days of Chaucer:--

    “They saw a cart, that charged was with hay,
    The which a carter drove forth on his way:
    Depe was the way, for which the carte stode;
    The carter smote and cryde as he were wode,
    _Heit Scot! Heit Brok!_ what spare ye for the stones?
    The Fend quoth he, you fetch, body and bones.”[431]

_Brok_ is still in frequent use amongst farmer’s draught oxen.[432]

_Whoohe!_ a well-known exclamation to stop a team of horses, is derived
by a writer in the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” 1799, from the Latin. “The
exclamation used by our waggoners when they wish for any purpose to stop
their team (an exclamation which it is less difficult to speak than to
write, although neither is a task of great facility,) is probably a
legacy bequeathed us by our Roman ancestors: precisely a translation of
the ancient _Ohe!_ an interjection strictly confined to bespeaking a
pause--rendered by our lexicographers, _Enough! Oh, Enough!_

    “Ohe, jam satis est--Ohe, Libelle.”

A learned friend of Mr. Brand’s says, “The exclamation ‘_Geho, Geho_,’
which carmen use to their horses is probably of great antiquity. It is
not peculiar to this country, as I have heard it used in France. In the
story of the milkmaid who kicked down her pail, and with it all her
hopes of getting rich, as related in a very ancient ‘Collection of
Apologues,’ entitled ‘Dialogus Creaturarum,’ printed at Gouda, in 1480,
is the following passage: ‘Et cum sic gloriaretur, et cogitaret cum
quanta gloria duceretur ad illum virum super equum dicendo _gio gio_,
cepit pede percutere terram quasi pungeret equum calcaribus.’”

       *       *       *       *       *

It appears from a memoir on the manner in which the inhabitants of the
north riding of Yorkshire celebrate Christmas, in the “Gentleman’s
Magazine,” 1811, that “On the feast of St. Stephen large goose pies are
made, all of which they distribute among their needy neighbours, except
one which is carefully laid up, and not tasted till the purification of
the virgin, called Candlemas.”


~Boxing Day.~

On the day after Christmas, tradespeople are visited by persons in the
employment of their customers for a “_Christmas-box_,” and every man and
boy who thinks he is qualified to ask, solicits from those on whom he
calculates as likely to bestow. A writer, in 1731, describes
_Boxing-day_ at that time from his own experience. “By that time I was
up, my servants could do nothing but run to the door. Inquiring the
meaning, I was answered, the people were come for their _Christmas-box_:
this was logic to me; but I found at last, that, because I had laid out
a great deal of ready-money with my brewer, baker, and other tradesmen,
they kindly thought it my duty to present their servants with some money
for the favour of having their goods. This provoked me a little; but
being told it was ‘the custom,’ I complied. These were followed by the
watch, beadles, dustmen, and an innumerable tribe; but what vexed me the
most was the clerk, who has an extraordinary place, and makes as good an
appearance as most tradesmen in the parish; to see him come a boxing,
alias begging, I thought was intolerable: however, I found it was ‘the
custom’ too, so I gave him half-a-crown; as I was likewise obliged to do
to the bellman, for breaking my rest for many nights together.

“Having talked this matter over with a friend, he promised to carry me
where I might see the good effects of this giving _box-money_. In the
evening, away we went to a neighbouring alehouse, where abundance of
these gentry were assembled round a stately piece of roast beef, and as
large a plum-pudding. When the drink and brandy began to work, they fell
to reckoning of their several gains that day: one was called a stingy
dog for giving but sixpence; another called an extravagant fool for
giving half-a-crown, which perhaps he might want before the year was
out; so I found these good people were never to be pleased. Some of them
were got to cards by themselves, which soon produced a quarrel and
broken heads. In the interim came in some of their wives, who roundly
abused the people for having given them money; adding, that instead of
doing good, it ruined their families, and set them in a road of drinking
and gaming, which never ceased till not only their gifts, but their
wages, were gone. One good woman said, if people had a mind to give
charity, they should send it home to their families: I was very much of
her opinion; but, being tired with the noise, we left them to agree as
they could.

“My friend next carried me to the upper end of Piccadilly, where, one
pair of stairs over a stable, we found near a hundred people of both
sexes, _some masked_, others not, a great part of which were dancing to
the music of two sorry fiddles. It is impossible to describe this medley
of mortals fully; however, I will do it as well as I can. There were
footmen, servant-maids, butchers, apprentices, oyster and orange-women,
and sharpers, which appeared to be the best of the company. This horrid
place seemed to be a complete nursery for the gallows. My friend
informed me, it was called a ‘threepenny hop;’ and while we were
talking, to my great satisfaction, by order of the Westminster justices,
_to their immortal honour_, entered the constables and their assistants,
who carried off all the company that was left; and, had not my friend
been known to them, we might have paid dear for our curiosity.”[433]

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Purple Heath. _Erica purpurea._
  Dedicated to _St. Stephen_.

  [428] Mr. Nichols’s Illustration of Anc. Times.

  [429] In Lansdowne MS. 226. British Museum.

  [430] Tooke’s Russia.

  [431] Frere’s T. ed. Tyrwh. Chaucer.

  [432] Brand.

  [433] Cited in Malcolm’s London, 18th Cent.


~December 27.~

  _St. John_ the Apostle and Evangelist. _St. Theodorus Grapt_, A. D.
  822.


~St. John.~

This festival of St. John is observed by the church of England, and
consequently his name is in the church calendar and the almanacs. The
church of Rome, from whence the celebration is derived, also keeps
another festival to St. John on the 6th of May, concerning which, and
the evangelist, there are particulars at p. 617. Mr. Audley says of him,
“Tradition reports, that when he was a very old man, he used to be
carried into the church at Ephesus, and say, ‘little children, love one
another.’ He returned from his banishment, and lived till the third or
fourth year of Trajan; so that he must have been nearly a hundred years
of age when he died. The appellation of _divine_ given to St. John is
not canonical; but was first applied to him by Eusebius, on account of
those mysterious and sublime points of divinity, with the knowledge of
which he seems to have been favoured above his fellow apostles. Perhaps
this may explain the etymology of the word _divine_, as applied to
christian ministers.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Barnaby Googe, from the Latin of Naogeorgus, thus introduces the day:--

    Nexte John the sonne of Zebedee hath his appoynted day,
    Who once by cruell tyraunts will, constrayned was they say
    Strong poyson up to drinke, therefore the papistes doe beleeve
    That whoso puts their trust in him, no poyson them can greeve.
    The wine beside that halowed is in worship of his name,
    The priestes doe give the people that bring money for the same.
    And after with the selfe same wine are little manchets made,
    Agaynst the boystrous winter stormes, and sundrie such like trade.
    The men upon this solemne day, do take this holy wine
    To make them strong, so do the maydes to make them faire and fine.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Flame Heath. _Erica flammea._
  Dedicated to _St. John_.


~December 28.~

  _The Holy Innocents._ _St. Theodorus_, Abbot of Tabenna, A. D. 367.


~Innocents.~

This is another Romish celebration preserved in the church of England
calendar and the almanacs. It has another name--


~Childermas-Day.~

This is conjectured to have been derived from the _masses_ said for the
souls of the _Innocents_ who suffered from Herod’s cruelty. It is to
commemorate their slaughter that _Innocents_ or _Childermas_-day is
appropriated, and hence the name it bears.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was formerly a custom to whip up the children on Innocent’s day
morning, in order “that the memorial of Herod’s murder of the Innocents
might stick the closer, and so, in a moderate proportion, to act over
the crueltie again in kinde.”[434] The day itself was deemed of especial
ill omen, and hence the superstitious never married on Childermas-day.
Neither upon this day was it “lucky” to put on new clothes, or pare the
nails, or begin any thing of moment. In the play of “Sir John Oldcastle”
the prevalence of this belief is instanced by an objection urged to an
expedition proposed on a Friday,--“Friday, quoth’a, a dismal day;
Candlemas-day this year was Friday.” This vulgar superstition reached
the throne; the coronation of king Edward IV. was put off till the
Monday, because the preceding Sunday was Childermas-day.[435] Lastly, a
mother in the “Spectator” is made to say, at that time, “No, child, if
it please God, you shall not go into join-hand on Childermas-day.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Yet this was a day of disport among the sages of the law. In 1517, king
Henry VIII., by an order, enjoined, “that the _king of cockneys_, on
_Childermas-day_, should sit and have due service; and that he and all
his officers should use honest manner and good order, without any waste
or destruction making in wine, brawn, chely, or other vitails: and also
that he, and his marshal, butler, and constable marshal, should have
their lawful and honest commandments by delivery of the officers of
Christmas, and that the said king of cockneys, ne none of his officers
medyl neither in the buttery, nor in the Stuard of Christmass his
office, upon pain of 40_s._ for every such medling: and lastly, that
Jack Straw, and all his adherents, should be thenceforth utterly banisht
and no more to be used in this house, upon pain to forfeit, for every
time, five pounds, to be levied on every fellow hapning to offend
against this rule.”[436]


[Illustration: ~The Flight of the Holy Family.~]

    From Herod’s cruel order they,
    By angel’s order, fled away,
    And painters add, an angel, too,
    Attended them the journey through.

The old artists often painted the flight of the holy family from Herod’s
cruel purpose:--“Behold the angel of the lord appeared to Joseph in a
dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee
into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will
seek the young child to destroy him. When he arose he took the young
child and his mother by night, and departed into Egypt, and was there
until the death of Herod.”[437] In some pictures an angel is painted
accompanying them on the way, although on no scriptural authority. In a
painting by “Lucca Giordano” they are represented in a boat with the
ass, whereon the virgin had rode, held by an angel, who is thus degraded
to the condition of a stable boy; while cherubs company them in the sky:
the picture being curious, an engraving from it is placed in this
article.


_Lucca Giordano._

The artist of the picture mentioned was born at Naples, about 1629: he
studied under Spagnoletto, and afterwards under Pietra da Cortona. He is
likewise called _Luca fa Presto_, from a phrase used by his father.
Though his son painted with amazing facility, from designs of the great
masters, while he pursued his studies, and the old man sold them for
high prices, yet he was accustomed to hurry his son at his meals as well
as his work, and say, “Luca _fa presto!_” Luca, make haste: hence,
Luca’s companions nicknamed him _Fa Presto_. His knowledge of the style
of artists belonging to different schools was amazing, and though his
attainments in judgment and execution were of high order, he seems to
have preferred the copying of other compositions to painting designs by
himself. Hence, there are more pictures by Luca fa Presto than some
connoisseurs would willingly acknowledge. They pervade every collection
under the reputation of being by Titian, Guido, Tintorette, and other
painters of greater celebrity than Giordano. He etched his own thoughts
freely and gracefully, and died loaded with honours from crowned heads,
and immensely rich, in 1704.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Bloody Heath. _Erica cruenta._
  Dedicated to _the Holy Innocents_.

  [434] Gregory on the Boy Bishop.

  [435] Fenn’s Letters, i.

  [436] Dugdale’s Orig. Jurid.

  [437] Acts ii. 13-15.


~December 29.~

  _St. Thomas_, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 1170. _St. Marcellus_, Abbot
  of the Acæmetes, A. D. 485. _St. Evroul_, Abbot, A. D. 596.


_Sculpture._

Much has been remarked in the course of these sheets respecting
painting, which, if our artists will labour, they may elevate to a
height that will honour their country, and amply reward themselves. It
is a mistake to suppose that _real_ talent is not appreciated. Precocity
is not talent till it has ripened; it usually withers and falls beneath
the only test of greatness, labour: patrons experience this, and sicken.
Whenever genius labours, it finds patrons.

Sculpture in the English school seems of late to have advanced further
than painting, in their simultaneous efforts, and in this department of
art, Ireland is likely to compete with England.

At the distribution of medals by sir Thomas Lawrence to students, at the
Royal Academy, in the month of December, 1825, Mr. John Gallagher and
Mr. Constantine Panormo, natives of the sister country, received the two
medals for sculpture. It is a happy augury for the Royal Dublin Society
that these young men were the first individuals sent hither by that
institution for the purpose of improvement; and it must be highly
gratifying to Mr. Behnes, with whom the Royal Dublin Society placed them
as pupils, that his tuition so qualified these youths, that they
excelled their numerous rivals, and carried both the prizes. So
extraordinary an instance is creditable to their native country, whose
national establishment fostered them, and whose protection they have
distinguished by their perseverance.

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Senista Heath. _Erica genistopha._
  Dedicated to _St. Thomas_.


~December 30.~

  _St. Sabinus_, Bp. of Assisium, and his Companions, A. D. 304. _St.
  Anysia_, A. D. 304. _St. Maximus_, A. D. 662.


THE SEASON.

The earth, as it appears in England at this period, is well represented
in the “Mirror of the Months,” the pleasant reflex of the year referred
to in November. “The meadows are still green--almost as green as in the
spring--with the late-sprouted grass that the last rains have called up
since it has been fed off, and the cattle called home to enjoy their
winter fodder. The corn-fields, too, are bright with their delicate
sprinkling of young autumn-sown wheat; the ground about the hedge-rows,
and in the young copses, is still pleasant to look upon, from the
sobered green of the hardy primrose and violet, whose clumps of unfading
leaves brave the utmost rigour of the season; and every here and there a
bush of holly darts up its pyramid of shining leaves and brilliant
berries, from amidst the late wild and wandering, but now faded and
forlorn company of woodbines and eglantines, which have all the rest of
the year been exulting over and almost hiding it with their
quick-growing branches, and flaunting flowers. The evergreens, too, that
assist in forming the home enclosures, have altogether lost that sombre
hue which they have until lately worn--sombre in comparison with the
bright freshness of spring, and the splendid variety of autumn; and now,
that not a leaf is left around them, they look as gay by the contrast as
they lately looked grave.”

       *       *       *       *       *


FLORAL DIRECTORY.

  Pontieva. _Ponthieva glandalom._
  Dedicated to _St. Anysia_.


~December 31.~

  _St. Sylvester_, Pope, A. D. 335. _St. Columba_, A. D. 258. _St.
  Melania_, the younger, A. D. 439.


_St. Sylvester._

This saint, whose name is in the church of England calendar and the
almanacs, was pope Sylvester I. “He is said to have been the author of
several rites and ceremonies of the Romish church, as asylums, unctions,
palls, corporals, &c. He died in 334.”[438]


~New Year’s Eve.~

To end the old year merrily, and begin the new one well, and in
friendship, were popular objects in the celebration of this festival. It
was spent among our labouring ancestors in festivity and frolic by the
men; and the young women of the village carried from door to door, a
bowl of spiced ale, the wassail bowl, which they offered to the
inhabitants of every house they stopped at, singing rude congratulatory
verses, and hoping for small presents. Young men and women also
exchanged clothes, which was termed Mumming, or Disguising; and when
thus dressed in each other’s garments, they went from one neighbour’s
cottage to another, singing, dancing, and partaking of good cheer.[439]

       *       *       *       *       *

The anticipated pleasure of the coming year, accompanied by regret at
parting with the present old year, is naturally expressed by a writer
already cited. “After Christmas-day comes the last day of the year; and
I confess I wish the bells would not ring so merrily on the next. I have
not become used enough to the loss of the old year to like so triumphant
a welcome to the new. I am certain of the pleasures I have had during
the twelvemonth: I have become used to the pains. In a few days,
especially by the help of Twelfth-night, I shall become reconciled to
the writing 6 instead of 5 in the date of the year. Then welcome new
hopes and new endeavours. But at the moment--at the _turn_--I hate to
bid adieu to my old acquaintance.”[440]

       *       *       *       *       *

ELIA, in a delightful paper on the “Eve of New Year’s-day,” 1821, among
the other delightful essays of his volume, entitled “ELIA”--a little
book, whereof to say that it is of more gracious feeling and truer
beauty than any of our century, is poor praise--Elia says, “while that
turncoat bell, that just now mournfully chanted the obsequies of the
year departed, with changed notes lustily rings in a successor, let us
attune to its peal the song made on a like occasion, by hearty, cheerful
Mr. Cotton.” Turn, gentle reader, to the first page of the first sheet,
which this hand presented to you, and you will find the first two and
twenty lines of ELIA’S “song.” They tell us, that, of the two faces of
Janus,

    ----_that_ which this way looks is clear,
    And smiles upon the New-born year.

These are the remaining verses.

    He[441] looks too from a place so high,
    The year lies open to his eye;
    And all the moments open are
    To the exact discoverer;
    Yet more and more he smiles upon
    The happy revolution.
    Why should we then suspect or fear
    The influences of a year,
    So smiles upon us the first morn,
    And speaks us good so soon as born?
    Plague on’t! the last was ill enough,
    This cannot but make better proof;
    Or, at the worst, as we brush’d through
    The last, why so we may this too;
    And then the next in reason shou’d
    Be superexcellently good;
    For the worst ills (we daily see)
    Have no more perpetuity,
    Than the best fortunes that do fall;
    Which also bring us wherewithal
    Longer their being to support,
    Than those do of the other sort;
    And who has one good year in three,
    And yet repines at destiny,
    Appears ungrateful in the case,
    And merits not the good he has.
    Then let us welcome the new guest
    With lusty brimmers of the best;
    Mirth always should good fortune meet,
    And render e’en disaster sweet:
    And though the princess turn her back,
    Let us but line ourselves with sack,
    We better shall by far hold out,
    Till the next year she face about.

ELIA, having trolled this song to the sound of “the merry, merry
bells,” breaks out:--

“How say you reader--do not these verses smack of the rough magnanimity
of the old English vein? Do they not fortify like a cordial; enlarging
the heart, and productive of sweet blood and generous spirits in the
concoction?--Another cup of the generous! and a merry New Year, and many
of them, to you all, my masters!”

The same to you, ELIA,--and “to you _all_ my masters!”--_Ladies!_ think
not yourselves neglected, who are chief among “my masters”--you are the
kindest, and therefore the most masterful, and most worshipful of “my
masters!”

       *       *       *       *       *

Under the female form the ancients worshipped the Earth. They called her
“_Bona Dea_,” or the “Good Goddess,” by way of excellency, and that, for
the best reason in the world, because “there is no being that does men
more good.” In respect to her chastity, all men were forbidden to be
present at her worship; the high priest himself, in whose house it was
performed, and who was the chief minister in all others, not excepted.
Cicero imputed to Clodius as a crime that he had entered the sacred fane
in disguise, and by his presence polluted the mysteries of the Good
Goddess. The Roman ladies offered sacrifices to her through the wife of
the high priest, and virgins consecrated to the purpose.

The Earth, _Bona Dea_, or the “Good Goddess,” was represented under the
form of a matron with her right hand opened, as if tendering assistance
to the helpless, and holding a loaf in her left hand. She was also
venerated under the name of _Ops_, and other denominations, but with the
highest attributes; and when so designated, she was worshipped by men
and boys, as well as women and virgins; and priests ministered to her in
dances with brazen cymbals. These motions signified that the Earth only
imparted blessings upon being constantly moved; and as brass was
discovered before iron, the cymbals were composed of that metal to
indicate her antiquity. The worshippers seated themselves on the ground,
and the posture of devotion was bending forward, and touching the ground
with the right hand. On the head of the goddess was placed a crown of
towers, denoting strength, and that they were to be worn by those who
persevered.

       *       *       *       *       *

To all “of the earth” not wholly “earthy,” the Earth seemed a fit
subject to picture under its ancient symbol; and, in a robe of arable
and foliage, set in a goodly frame of the celestial signs, with the
seasons “as they roll,” it will be offered as a _frontispiece_ to the
present volume, and accompany the title-page with the _indexes_ in the
next sheet.

       *       *       *       *       *

It must have been obvious to every reader of the _Every-Day Book_, as it
has been to me, of which there have been several indications for some
time past, that the plan of the work could not be executed within the
year; and I am glad to find from numerous quarters that its continuance
is approved and even required. So far as it has proceeded I have done my
utmost to render it useful. My endeavours to render it agreeable may
occasion “close” readers to object, that it was more discursive than
they expected. I am afraid I can only answer that I cannot unmake my
making-up; and plead guilty to the fact, that, knowing the wants of
many, through my own deficiencies, I have tried to aid them in the way
that appeared most likely to effect the object, with the greater number
of those for whom the work was designed. Nor do I hesitate also to
acknowledge, that in gathering for others, I have in no small degree
been teaching myself. For it is of the nature of such an undertaking to
constrain him who executes it, to tasks of thought, and exercises of
judgment, unseen by those who are satisfied when they enjoy what is
before them, and care not by what ventures it was obtained. My chief
anxiety has been to provide a wholesome sufficiency for all, and not to
offer any thing that should be hurtful or objectionable. I hope I have
succeeded.

I respectfully desire to express my grateful sense of the extensive
favour wherein the conduct of the publication is held. And I part from
my readers on New Year’s-eve, with kind regards till we meet in the new
volume of the _Every-Day Book_ on New Year’s-day--to-morrow.

  45, _Ludgate-hill_, 1825.

  W. HONE.

  [438] Mr. Audley’s Companion to Almanac.

  [439] Dr. Drake’s Shakspeare and his Times.

  [440] New Monthly Magazine, Dec. 18.

  [441] Janus.


  END OF VOL. I




INDEXES.


  I.   GENERAL SUBJECTS.
  II.  ROMISH SAINTS.
  III. POETRY, ORIGINAL AND SELECTED.
  IV.  FLORAL DIRECTORY.
  V.   CORRESPONDENTS’ SIGNATURES.
  VI.  ENGRAVINGS IN THE VOLUME.


I. GENERAL INDEX.

  SUBJECTS CONTAINED OR NOTICED IN THIS VOLUME.

  _Festivals and other Holydays of observance, in the Church of England
  Calendar, are printed in_ CAPITALS.

  ABBEVILLE, sporting letter from, 1575.
  Abduction, case of, 767.
  Abelard, P., died, 494.
  Abercrombie, sir R., died, 397.
  Aboo, or Aber, Irish war-cry, 502.
  Abraham’s bosom, in old wood-cuts, 1599.
  Absalom, in a sign, 1262.
  Accomplishments without principle, 287.
  Actor, an itinerant, his duties, 1243.
  Acts of the Apostles, a mystery at Paris, 749.
  Adam, R. and J., account of, 326.
  Adams, Jack, his parish, 1481.
  Addison, at Button’s, 1007.
  Adelphi, the, 326.
  Advent, meaning of the term, 1531; customs of the season, 1552, 1595,
       1642.
  Ærial, the, account of, 1455.
  Ætna, its eruptions diverted by a lady’s veil, 213.
  Africa, travels in, 1580.
  After Yula, 3.
  AGATHA, _February 5_; miracles by her, 213.
  Agincourt, battle of, 1397.
  AGNES, _January 21_; her legend, 141; customs on St. Agnes’ eve, 136.
  Aguesseau, chanc. D’, his use of time, 310.
  Air, spiritually peopled, 1328.
  Aits, islands on the Thames, 604.
  ALBAN, _June 17_; account of this saint, 803.
  Alban’s, St., Herts, formerly Holmhurst, 804.
  Albert and Isabella, archdeacon and duchess, kiss St. Walburg’s
    jawbone, 303.
  Aldegraver, his engraving of the guillotine, 148.
  Ale, 1147, 1622; name derived, 1544; ale-drinkers in Holinshed’s time,
    1125.
  ----, Whitsun, 685; whence derived, 686.
  Alexander the Great, notice of, 493.
  ----, St., Newski, order of, 1538.
  All Fools’ day, 409.
  ---- hallow e’en, 1408.
  ---- heal, the mistletoe, 1637.
  ALL SAINTS, _November 1_; customs on, 1421.
  ---- SOULS, _November 2_; customs on, 1423.
  Allan, D., his etching of Italian street music, 1595.
  Alleluia, buried in the Romish church, 199.
  Almanacs, chronological error in, 1429; made of wood, 1471.
  Alphabet, in a bill of costs, 238.
  ALPHEGE, _April 19_; customs on his festival, 485.
  Amelia, princess, original letter from, 1071.
  American war commenced, 486; poetry, 1571.
  Amherst, lord, his portrait, 604.
  Amhurst, Nicholas, author, account of, 527.
  Amiens, peace of, signed, 392.
  Amulet, the, its literary character, 1532.
  Ancient Britons, their anniversary, 322.
  ANDREW, St., _November 30_; account of the saint and his festival,
    1538; order of, _ib._
  ----’s Holborn, boy bishop, 1561.
  ---- Undershaft, maypole, 555.
  Angelo, Michael; see Buonarroti.
  Angel, guardian, 630.
  Angels, archangels, and angels guardian, 1326; their orders and
    habits, 1349; for their visits, &c. to saints, see Index II.
  Angling, 697.
  Anglo-Norman carol, 1595.
  Animals, on cruelty to, 799, 1308.
  ANN, St., _July 25_; memoirs of her and St. Joachim, 1008.
  ANNUNCIATION, B. V. M., or LADY DAY, _March 25_; customs on the
    festival, 385.
  Anselm, St., archbishop of Canterbury, notice of, 493.
  Anson, commodore, lord, died, 767.
  Antiquaries, society of, their anniversary, 503.
  Antony, St., picture of, 118; his hospital, London, 119; its seal,
    120; school, _ib._; his pig, 119.
  Apis, the Egyptian deity, 491.
  Apocrypha, authority for reading it, 1343.
  Apollinarius, the elder and younger, play writers, 744.
  Apollo and Minerva, shown at Naples, for David and Judith, 1612.
  ----, an, of Cambridge, 1263.
  Apostle spoons, described, 176.
  Apothecaries, proposal for their canonization, 303.
  Apparition of an arm chair, 1494.
  Apparitions, &c. see Romish saints, in Index II.
  Apple, sports, 1408, 1421; diving, 1415.
  Apples, the finest, where grown, 908; blest, 978.
  Apple-tree, charm, 42; wassail, 1606.
  Apprentices, city, their former importance, and present condition,
    258.
  Aprilius, John, hanged for three days and kept alive, 46.
  Apron, the barbers’, 1254.
  Archee, his new-year’s gift, 9.
  Archers, decay of, 1236; their service at Agincourt, 1397.
  Architecture of the new churches, 945.
  Arius, indebted to St. Lucian, 61.
  Armitage, the racket-player, 868.
  Arnmonat, 1059.
  Arsedine, yellow arsenic, 1213.
  Art, eminence in it, how attained, 273.
  Arundel Castle, a sweep in the state bed, 588.
  ASCENSION-DAY, 651; its customs, 1379.
  Ascham, Roger, account of, 29.
  Ascot races, fraud at, 768.
  Ash, rev. J., philologist, died, 529.
  ASH WEDNESDAY, _movable_; customs, 261.
  Ass, the, citations respecting, 1309; his nobleness and voice, 1358;
    how mentioned by Leo Africanus, 1580; remarks on, 1610; drawn in
    procession, 393.
  ASSUMPTION, B. V. M., _August 15_; customs on the day, 1117.
  Astley’s troop at Bartholomew fair, 1246.
  Atkins, his menagerie, 1175.
  Attanasy, father, his Easter sermon, 446.
  Attorney, an, not to be compared to a bull, nor to a goose, but
    comparable, perhaps, to the man in the moon, 239.
  Attornies of the lord mayor’s court, 1333.
  Audrey’s, St., lace, 1383.
  August, the Twelfth of, petition from, 1099; answer to, 1101.
  AUGUSTINE, archbishop of Canterbury, _May 26_; his monastery at
    Canterbury, 301; notices and legendary anecdotes of him, 704.
  ----, St., _August 28_; an early father, Lardner’s character of him,
    1144.
  Aunty’s garden, a pastime, 109.
  Aurochos, an African animal, 1176.
  Autograph of St. Ignatius, 1056.
  Autumn quarter, 1283.

  Baal, Bal, Beal, Bel-tein, fires, 594, 847, 1412, 1422.
  Bacchus, his festival, 1471.
  Bachelors, in the lord mayor’s show, 1453.
  Bacon, lord, died, 452; cause of his death, 870; proof of his
    favoritism, 871.
  Bag-pipers, of Italy, 1595; a German one with a cognizance, 1626.
  Bailey, rev. R. R., his sermon at St. Katharine’s, 1406.
  Baker, Mrs., her company at Bartholomew fair, 1245.
  Bales, Peter, a writing-master, account of, 1085.
  Ball-play customs, 244, 259, 429, 1554, 1634; at Copenhagen-house,
    865.
  Ball’s itinerant theatre, 1175.
  Ballad-singers, formerly licensed, 1243.
  Ballard’s menagerie, 1191.
  Balloons, 442.
  Banks, sir Jos., his wine cellar, 21; died, 811.
  Bannockburn, battle of, 855.
  Bannocks, cakes, “sauty” and charmed ones, 260; of St. Michael, 1339.
  Baptism of infants, 1444.
  Bara, a Sicilian festival, 1118.
  Barbers, account of, 1254.
  Baretti, Jos., died, 616.
  Barley, beerlegh, berlegh, berleg, 1147.
  Barley-corn, sir John, his trial, 73; Burns’s ballad, 1391.
  Barme, beerheym, berham, 1147.
  BARNABAS, St., _June 11_; notice respecting him, 772.
  Barnes and Finley’s booth at Bartholomew fair, 1241.
  Barnet, battle of, 463.
  Barnmoneth, 1059.
  Baron, lord chief, to say he cannot ear of one ear actionable, 239.
  Barr, Ben, the seer of Helpstone, 525.
  Barrister’s first brief, 160.
  Barrow, Dr. Isaac, notice of, 613.
  Barrow-woman, of London, described, 903.
  Barthelemy, J. J., notice of, 614.
  BARTHOLOMEW, St., _August 24_; notice of him, 1131; custom at Croydon
    on his festival, 1132.
  ----, massacre at Paris, 1131.
  ----’s church-yard anciently contested in for school prizes, 119.
  ---- fair, its ancient and present state, 1165, 1252; form of the
    proclamation read, 1235.
  ---- hospital, origin of, 1231.
  ---- pig, 1201.
  ----, Mr., of St. John’s, Clerkenwell, 1480, 1481.
  Bassingborne, Camb., mystery at, 755.
  Bastile, account of its destruction, 935.
  Bath, anecdotes, 1574, 1583; season of visiting, 1583.
  Bathing, 893, 970.
  Batman, Stephen, his notice of printing, 1134.
  Batrich, Thomas, an ancient barber, 1244.
  Battersea, steeple and windmill, 603, 810.
  Battle, Sarah, at whist, 91.
  Bauer, assists Kœnig in the steam press, 1537.
  Baynes, John, account of, 159.
  Beacon, or standing lamp, 833.
  Bean-king, and queen, on twelfth-night, 44, 55, 57, 59.
  Bears, mode of taking in Russia, 180; carried in a cart with queen
    Elizabeth, 445; fight with lions, 1000; washed in the Thames, 1005.
  Beards, comely ones, 18; various, described, 1258; St. Anthony’s beard
    at Cologne, 117.
  Beasts preached to, and blessed, 117.
  Beaton, cardinal, notice of, 708.
  Beaus, comb their wigs in public, 1263.
  Beauclerc, Topham, a collector of mysteries, 746.
  Becket, the bookseller, and Garrick, 328.
  Beckwith, Mr., his account of twelfth-eve at Leeds, 43.
  Bed, love of it, 17; sleeping out of one’s own, 1591; beds at
    Stourbridge fair, 1308.
  BEDE, VENERABLE, _May 27_; notice of him, 706.
  Bees, swarming, 647, 682; on a man’s head, 963.
  Beggars, their patron, 1149.
  Behnes, Mr. W., sculptor, his bust of West, 346; of Mrs. Gent, 638; he
    calls a man “no conjuror,” 1458; his pupils gain the Royal Academy
    prize, 1651.
  Bell, death, its knell, why different, 724.
  ----, pancake, 242, 246.
  ----, the great, of Lincoln’s Inn, 811.
  Bells, on new-year’s day, 5, 6, 15; on All Souls’ day, 1415, 1425; on
    admiral Vernon’s birth-day, 1473; on new-year’s eve, 1653; rung by
    puppet angels, 1247; Whittington’s, 1271.
  Bell-flower, 901.
  Bellows, blown under Dives, 1599.
  Beltein, see Baal.
  Belzoni, death of, 1542.
  BENEDICT, _March 21_; miraculous anecdotes of him, 380; founder of the
    order of St. Benedict, 382.
  Benedictine nunnery, Clerkenwell, its site, 754.
  Bent, Independent, 603.
  Berkshire customs, 435.
  Berlin, royal marriage dance, 1551.
  Berners, lord, his Froissart, &c., 861.
  Berri, duchess de, her new-year’s gift to Louis XVIII., 14.
  Berwick, duke of, killed, 773.
  Bessy, on Plough Monday, 71.
  Beyntesh, Berks, hue and cry, 876.
  Bible, withheld from the laity, 751, 753; written to be comprised in a
    walnut shell, 1086.
  Bickham, George, writing-master, died, 614.
  Big Sam, notice of, 619.
  ----, man, 1565.
  Bill of costs, whimsical, 235.
  Billington, Mrs., noticed, 763.
  Bingley, Mrs., dress-maker to princess Amelia, 1073.
  Birch, Dr. Thomas, notice of, 79, 975.
  Bird, W., and his school in Fetter-lane described, 965.
  Birds, in winter, 24; their resistance to cold, 70; arrival, 466, 614;
    singing, 727; migration, 1390; fraudulently painted, 1253.
  Birdseller’s shop, described, 754.
  Birkbeck, Dr. George, founder of the London Mechanics’ Institution,
    1549.
  Bishop Valentine, 219.
  Blackbird, in a cage at Greenwich, 691.
  Blackheath hill, 687, 689.
  Blacksmiths, their patron, 1498.
  Blackstone, sir W., how he relieved his studies, 164; account of, 231.
  Blandford Forum, custom, 1414.
  BLASE, _February 3_; miracles attributed to this saint, 207; customs
    on his festival, 209.
  Bleeding image of Paris, 895; stone cross, 1586.
  Blessing of apples, 978; ashes, 261; beasts, 117; candles, 200; wax,
    201; a market, 758.
  Blight, in spring, 620.
  Bliss, Dr., his boar’s head carol, 1600.
  Bloemart, Abraham, his piper, 1626.
  Bloomfield, Robert, poet, account of, 1125.
  Blossoms, in spring, 621.
  Blotmonath, 1419.
  Bo! to a goose, 1088.
  Boadicea, site of her battle, 861.
  Boar’s head, and carol, at Christmas, 1618.
  Bo-bo and his father Ho-ti, 1218.
  Bochart, Samuel, orientalist, died, 619.
  Bodies, why they float after death, 130.
  Boetius, beheaded, and carries his head, 706.
  Bolton, Jenny, 1241.
  ----, prior of St. Bartholomew’s, 1232.
  Bombs, first used in war, 385.
  Bona Dea, the good goddess of the Romans, 1655.
  Bonaparte, Louis, anecdote of, 95.
  Bonasoni, his portrait of M. Angelo, 270.
  Bon-Bons, French, 13.
  Bonfires, on St. John’s eve, 823, 845; on 5th of November, 1433.
  BONIFACE, _June 5_; account of him, 766.
  ----, pope, VIII., throws blessed ashes in the eyes of an archbishop,
    262.
  ----, archbishop of Canterbury, anecdote of, 1231.
  Bonnets, 1437.
  Boot of St. Ignatius, 1050.
  Boots and Shoes, receipt for water proof, 1503.
  Boring, for water, 1041.
  Botanizers of London, 872.
  Botolph, St., Aldersgate, Register Book, 434.
  Bottle-devil, 27.
  Bourgeois Gallery, Dulwich, 1011.
  Bow Church, corporation sermon, 446.
  Bowings, marvellous number per day by a saint, 38.
  Bowling alleys, 1236.
  Bowring, John, tendency of his poetry, 1428.
  Bows and silver arrows, prizes, 1238.
  Bowyer, Robert, keeper of the lions, 1005.
  Boxing day, described, 1645.
  Boxley rood, 1292.
  Boy bishop, account of, 1557.
  Boyer, Jem, C. L.’s schoolmaster, 1361.
  Boyne, the, battle of, 894.
  Braddock, Fanny, singular memoir of, 1278.
  Bradford, Yorkshire, clothing festival, 209.
  Braeckmonath, 738.
  Bramanti, his disputes with M. Angelo, 267.
  Brandy punch, 1622.
  Breakfast, in cold weather, 288.
  Breitkopf, J. G. I., account of, 185.
  Breughel, his concert of cats, 1106.
  Brewer, the, and his trade, 1568.
  Brewster, Dr., invents the kaleidoscope, 474.
  Bride’s, St., church, Fleet-street, 86; spital sermon, 445; well, 325.
  Brindley, the editor of his classics hanged, 287.
  BRITIUS BRICE, _November 13_, notice of him, 1473.
  Broom girls, Buy a broom? 809.
  Brougham, Mr. Robert, his good humour on a humorous portrait of him,
    811.
  Brown’s troop of jugglers, dancers, &c. 1190.
  Bruce, James, traveller, died, 527.
  Brüd, his bed, 206.
  Bruno, bishop, eaten by rats, 1362.
  Bubbles, anecdotes of, 165, 172, 354, 1460.
  Buccleugh, banner of, 1554.
  Buchanan, George, his new-year’s gift to Mary queen of Scots, 10.
  Buckler of St. Michael, 1329.
  Buckley, Samuel, bookseller, account of, 281.
  Budgell, Eustace, his suicide, 614.
  Buds, their structure, 184.
  Building, improvements, 638, 642, 872, 878.
  Bull-running at Stamford, 1482.
  Bull, a,--the dead returns thanks, 372.
  Bullock, Mr., forms a museum at Mexico, 1531.
  Bumping, 1340, 1374.
  Bungay, Suffolk, storm at, 1065; watchmen there, their Christmas
    verses, 1628.
  Buns, Good Friday, 402.
  Buonarroti, Michael Angelo, account of, 263; design by him for a
    fountain, 1045.
  Burial of persons alive, 1565.
  Burleigh, lord, at Bernard Gilpin’s, 331.
  Burmese state carriage, described, 1519.
  Burney, Dr. C., a collector of mysteries, 746; his death, 461.
  Burning the old witch, 58.
  Burton, Devon, festival at, 741.
  Bushy, Middlesex, ball-play, 245.
  Butchers, French, their pageant, 1298; of Clare-market, their bonfire,
    1433.
  Bute, John, earl of, died, 346.
  Butler, rev. Alban, his “Lives of the Saints” used in this work, 3.
  ----, archdeacon, his opinion on card-playing, 89; funeral sermon, on
    Dr. Parr, 444.
  ----, Jacob, antiquary, account of, 1301.
  Button’s coffee-house, 1006.
  Byron, lord, died, 486.

  C’s bull, an attorney not to be compared to, 239.
  Cages of squirrels, 1385.
  Cairo, the Pacha refuses a diploma, 84.
  Cakes, 42; tossed from an ox’s horn, 43.
  Calabrian minstrels in Rome, at Christmas, 1595.
  Calf, superstitiously burnt, 854; walks up to a lion, 1005.
  Camberwell, church monuments, 382; fair, 1124; Grove, scenery, 1014.
  Cambray, boy bishop, 1558.
  Cambridge, names and professions, 699, oak, 1060; squib, on dog
    muzzling, 898; university examination, 461; Apollos, and wigs, 1263.
  Camden, earl, account of, 480.
  Camel, how taught to dance, 1581.
  Candle, an everlasting one, 28; piece of a celestial one, 203; sport,
    1408; superstition, 1415.
  Candles, blest, 200; annually given at Lyme Regis, 206; for the tooth
    ache, 208; lighted by miracle, 27, 78, 99; by the devil, 115; see
    also the saints in Index II.
  CANDLEMAS, _February 2_; customs of the festival, 199; derived from
    the ancient Romans, 202; bull, 11; bond, 12.
  Candler, his Fantoccini, 1114.
  Cannom, Cath., marries two husbands, 1122.
  Canonbury tower, Islington, described, 633; when built, 1232.
  Canterbury, St. Augustine’s monastery, 301.
  Caraccioli, prince, executed, 128; rises from the sea, 130.
  Cards, 89, 1607, 1622; origin of cards, 186.
  Care, Carle, or Carling Sunday, 378, 1069.
  Carlos, colonel, and Charles II., account of, 718.
  Carols, at Christmas, 1595, 1618.
  Carracioli, on the English climate, 309.
  Carte, Thomas, projects the English edition of Thuanus, 283.
  Carter, sir John, account of, 662.
  Carterhaugh, N. Britain, sport, 1554.
  Casimir III., fights after his death, 330.
  Castor and Pollux, 537.
  Cat-worship by the Romish clergy, 758; anecdotes of cats, 1104.
  Catalani, madame, noticed, 763.
  Catchpole, a barber, 1269.
  CATHARINE, _November 25_; account of her, 1504; customs on her
    festival, 1507; see Katharine.
  Cathedrals, ill adapted to protestant worship, 643.
  Cato, performed in Fetter-lane, 968.
  Cattle, superstitiously treated, 12; drinking in winter, 198.
  Cavanagh, the fives-player, account of, 865.
  Cave, Edward, printer, account of, 1482.
  Cave of the three kings of Cologne, 82.
  Caxton, William, his life of St. Roche, 1121.
  CECILIA, _November 22_; notice of her, 1495.
  Celts, for cutting the mistletoe, 1637.
  Censing, at Whitsuntide, 685.
  Centaur, a, seen by a saint, 104.
  Ceres, the planet, discovered, 17.
  Cervantes, his death, 503.
  CHAD, _March 2_; St. Chad’s Wells, Battle-bridge, 322.
  Chafing dish, on twelfth-night, 55.
  Chair, the barber’s, 1269.
  Chantry, Mr., a designation by, 1458.
  Chapel-royal, Maundy, 401; printers’ chapel, 1135.
  Chaplains, Romish, play-writers, 756.
  Chappell and Pike’s tumblers, &c., 1197.
  Chare Thursday, 402.
  Charity schools, of London, instituted, 389; children at church, 1407.
  CHARLES I. K. MARTYRDOM, _January 30_; his execution, 187; pasquinade
    on his statue at Charing-cross, 897.
  ---- II. K. RESTORATION, _May 29_; customs of the Restoration-day 711;
    his escape from Worcester, 712; statue in the Royal Exchange, 719;
    verses admired by him, 720; restores maypoles, 557; prohibits wigs
    at Cambridge, 1264; his weakness in childhood, 16.
  ---- V. emperor and cobbler, 1401.
  ---- VI. of France, licenses the English mysteries, 747.
  Charlton, village and fair described, 1386.
  Charms, apple-trees, 42; witchcraft, 55; mistletoe, 1638; various,
    1409.
  Chatham, the great earl, died, 651.
  Chatsworth, Derbyshire, sonnet at, 1355.
  Checketts, T., his seven-legged mare, 1118.
  Cherry season, 903.
  Cheshire customs, 430.
  Chester, maypole, 549; mysteries, 750, 757; pageants, 835.
  Chesterfield, lord, and his servants, 689.
  Cheyne, sir John, his answer to the archbishop of Canterbury, 752.
  Child desertion, 1119.
  Childebert, his key, a reliquary, 1062.
  Childermas-day, 1648.
  Children, flogged, 30; whipped on Innocent’s morning, 1648; how nursed
    formerly, 923; pickled, and come to life, 1555.
  Childs, Mr. Robert, of Bungay, 1354.
  Chimney corner, in old times, 1622.
  ---- sweepers’ May garland, 583; their festivities, 585, 591.
  Chinese characters, in movable types, 185.
  Christ’s hospital, boys bathing, 974; sermon on St. Matthew’s day,
    1314.
  ---- Passion, a mystery, by Gregory Nazianzen, 744; performed at Ely
    house, 756.
  Christchurch, cloisters, 1216, 1240.
  Christern, king of Denmark, at a London pageant, 830.
  Christianity, in England before Augustine, 301.
  CHRISTMAS-DAY, _December 25_; its celebration, 1612; eve, 1594;
    carols, 1595; ever-greens, order of their succession in decking,
    205; kings, in a pageant at Norwich, 256; log, 204; pie, 1639.
  Church, ball-play in it, 429, 864.
  ----, building, in saints’ times, 25, 1497.
  ----, a racket-player, 868.
  Churches, decked with greens, 1635; not with mistletoe, 1635; modern
    architecture of, 919, 945.
  Cider drinking, 42, 43.
  CIRCUMCISION, _January 1_; when instituted, 3.
  City, laureate, or poet, 1453.
  Civil wars, how commenced in England, 28.
  C. L’s sister, 965, 970.
  Clare-market, butchers’ bonfire, 1433.
  Clarges, sir Walter, his origin, 582.
  Clark, Thomas, miser of Dundee, 1588.
  Clarke’s horse-riding and tumbling, 1185.
  ----, posture master, 1248.
  ----, John, licenser of ballad singers, 1243.
  Classes, high and low assimilate, 1599.
  Clay, Mr., printseller, 1011.
  Clayen cup, in Devonshire, 41.
  Cleghorn, Mr. John, artist, sketching at the Pied Bull, 635; noticed
    again, 974.
  CLEMENT, St., _November 23_; notice of him, 1497; customs on his
    festival, 1498.
  Clergy, Romish, call themselves the cocks of the Almighty, 255.
  Clerkenwell, parish, Clerks’well, its site, 754; ducking-pond, 971;
    St. John’s church and parish, 1474.
  Clias, captain, his gymnastics, 19.
  Cliff, Kent, rectorial custom at, 978.
  Clipping the church, 430.
  Clock, dialogue, 819.
  Clogs, wooden almanacs, 1471.
  Cloth fair, lord Rich’s residence in, 1233.
  Clothiers, how they travelled anciently, 876; at Bartholomew fair,
    1232.
  Clouds, their gorgeous imagery, 888.
  Clouwet, his engraving of Rubens’s St. Antony, 120.
  Coach wheel, driven for a wager, 1315.
  Coalheavers going to Greenwich fair, 437.
  Cobbler and his stall, 857; cobblers take precedence of shoemakers,
    1402.
  Cock in pot, and cock to dunghill, 72.
  ---- and lion, disputants, 99.
  ---- fighting, and customs, 252, 255; leaden ones, 253.
  ---- crowing during the nights of Advent, 1642.
  Cockneys, king of, his court on Childermas-day, 1648.
  Cockpit-royal, Whitehall, 255.
  Coke, sir Edward, his reproof of Anne Turner, 1437.
  Colchester oysters, at Stourbridge, 1307.
  Cold, at the North Pole, 466.
  Colet, dean, his order for the boy bishop’s sermon, 1559.
  Collar days, at court, 100.
  Colley, Thomas, convicted of murder, 1045.
  Collop Monday customs, 241.
  Colnaghi and Son, printsellers, 1011.
  Cologne, three kings of, 45, 46.
  Colpoys, admiral, his life saved, 663.
  Common council, prayed for, 446.
  ---- crier’s office, 1333.
  ---- Hunt’s office, 1332.
  Conant, Mr., and the Ærial, 1461.
  Conduits, destroyed, 1042.
  Confectioners of Paris, 13.
  Congresbury custom, 837.
  Constantine, his church establishment, 744.
  Contented man, described, 1468.
  CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL, _January 25_; superstitions concerning the
    day, 175.
  Cook, how disgraced if idle at Christmas, 1640.
  Cooke, Mr., theatrical singer, 966.
  Copenhagen-house, account of, 857.
  Copy-writing, at school, 967.
  Corning, on St. Thomas’s day, 1587.
  Cornwall, Palm Sunday customs, 396; other customs and superstitions,
    561, 847, 849, 853, 1611; guary miracle plays, or mysteries, 757.
  Corpse, terrifically rises from the sea, 131.
  CORPUS CHRISTI, _movable_; makes Trinity term commence a day later,
    100; customs on the festival, 742.
  Cosin, John, bishop of Durham, lights his cathedral on Candlemas-day,
    205.
  Costermonger, described, 1213, 1308.
  Costume of the 13th century, 337.
  Cottager, a, and his family, 873.
  Coventry mysteries, 750, 756; parliament there, 753; sports, 477.
  Councils, forbid the decking with greens, 1635.
  Country, the, and a country life, 492, 525, 608, 659; country lasses,
    their finery formerly, 8; squire of queen Anne’s time, 1621.
  Cowper, William, poet, account of, 520.
  Cox, captain, the collector, 477.
  Cranmer, archbishop, burnt, 382; his widow, _ib._
  Cratch, the, in mince-pies, 1639.
  Crawley’s booth, Bartholomew fair, 1247.
  Creation of the world, a mystery, 754; represented by puppets at
    Bartholomew fair, 1239, 1247; at Bath, _ib._
  Creeping to the cross, 431.
  Cressets, account of, 831.
  Cressy, father S., his “Church History” used in this work, 3.
  Crickets on a winter hearth, 98.
  Cripplegate, and the <DW36>s’ patron, 1149.
  Crisp, Samuel, account of, 102.
  CRISPIN, _October 25_; account of the saint and his festival, 1394.
  Crittel, Mr., landlord at West Wickham, 1507.
  Croaker, Mrs., her new-year’s gift to the lord chancellor, 9.
  Croft, rev. Mr., collector of mysteries, 746.
  Cromwell, O., personated in a sport, 718; his supposed burial place,
    859.
  Cross, found by Helena, 611; seen in the sky by Constantine, 1292;
    bleeding one of stone, 1586.
  ---- of the south, described, 611.
  -----bill, a bird, described, 934.
  ---- week, 642.
  Crowdie, 260.
  Crowle, J. C., master of the revels, &c. 1243.
  Crown and Anchor booth, at fairs, 693, 724, 1388.
  Croyland abbey custom, 1132.
  Crucifixion, wounds, &c. in the passion flower, 770.
  Cruikshank, Mr. George, the artist, noticed, 907, 1113, 1320, 1429.
  Cuckold’s point, 1386.
  Cuckoo, the, 390, 411; cuckoo-day, 465; song, 739.
  Cumberland customs, 53, 423; funerals, 1077.
  ---- gardens, Vauxhall, 603.
  Cuper’s gardens, 603.
  Curfew bell, its origin, &c. 242.
  Curl-papers, 1267.
  Curses of the church, 262.
  Cuthbert, St., converted at ball-play, 864.
  Cutpurses, caveat against, 1206.
  CYPRIAN, St., _September 26_; notice of, 1324.
  Cyprus, a decking for rooms, 1635.

  Daffa-down-dilly, a lawyer may not be called one, 239.
  Dagon, a symbol of the sun in Pisces, 28.
  Dance, by moonlight, 11; of torches, 1551.
  Danes, massacre of, commemorated, 476; their honours to rural deities,
    42.
  Daniel O’Rourke, his story, 622.
  Darwin, Dr. Erasmus, death of, 481.
  Davies, John, a racket-player, 868.
  ---- Tom., bookseller, notice of, 615.
  DAVID, St., _March 1_; account of the saint, 314; customs of his
    festival, 317.
  ---- H., artist, engraving from, 1395.
  Day family, the, 1100.
  ----, 15th September, usually fine, 1294.
  ---- after lord-mayor’s day, 1469.
  ---- Mr., his exhibition of painting and sculpture, 263, 1531.
  ---- Mr. Thomas, a dwarf, 1194.
  Dead Sunday, 340.
  Death, contemplated, 1032.
  ---- of Good Living, 257.
  ---- of the Virgin, by old engravers, 1119.
  Deeping the Jews, 297.
  Deer, and a lion, 1001.
  Denham, sir J., poet, died, 373.
  DENYS, St., _October 9_. Account of his martyrdom, and walking two
    miles afterwards with his head between his hands, attended by
    angels, and other miracles, 1371.
  Deptford fair, on Trinity Monday, 724.
  Descent into Hell, a mystery, 750, 755.
  Devil in a dish, 112; very tall, 114, 115; his smell, _ib._; blessed
    by mistake, 118; visits Bungay church, 1065; represented in a
    pageant, 1490; for other adventures attributed to him, see accounts
    of the Romish saints, Index II.
  Devonshire customs and superstitions, 42, 718, 1609.
  Dictionary of musicians, characterised, 765.
  Dioclesian, the emperor, in his garden, 132.
  Discontented pendulum, 819.
  Dissent, origin and progress of, 752.
  Distaff’s, St., day, superstitions, 61.
  Dives and Lazarus, a carol, 1598.
  Divinations, various, 1409; in advent, 1552.
  Docwray, Thomas, prior of St. John’s Clerkenwell, 1479.
  Dog and goose, 1341.
  DOG DAYS BEGIN _July 3_; influence of the season on dogs, 897; no cure
    for the bite of a mad one, 900; a dog’s complaint, 944.
  ---- END _August 11_.
  ---- fights on Sunday, 870.
  ---- killer, an ancient office, 901.
  ---- star, its alleged power, 897.
  Dogs, bait lions, 978, 1006; a horse, _ib._
  Dogget’s booth at Bartholomew fair, 1239.
  Dorset, countess of, 16.
  Dorsetshire custom, 1414.
  Dort, milk-maids save the city, 605.
  Dotterel catching, in Cambridgeshire, 646.
  Doubts, burnt out, 745.
  Douce, Mr., his ancient Christmas carols, 1595, 1600.
  Dragon, a symbol, 500; of St. Michael, 1325; with a stake in his eye,
    38.
  Drama, ancient Greek, suppressed, 743; origin of the modern drama,
    744.
  Drinking custom, 373.
  ----, by miracle, 25; at both ends of the barrel, 654; before
    execution, 1132; excessive, 1568.
  Druids, customs, ceremonies, &c. 6, 58, 854, 1413, 1637.
  Drury-lane maypole, 581.
  Dublin royal society’s pupils, under Mr. Behnes, gain the London royal
    academy prizes, 1651.
  Duck-hunting at May-fair, 573.
  Dudingston, N. Britain, custom, 1539.
  Duel, R. B. Sheridan and Mathews, 911.
  Duelling, characterised, 451.
  Dulwich, visit to, 1011.
  Dunn, Harriet, English plum-pudding maker at Paris, 1617.
  DUNSTAN, _May 19_; adventures of the saint with the devil, 670.
  ----, sir Jeffery, 1245.
  Durham, cathedral, on Candlemas-day, 205; customs, 431.
  Dwarfs at Bartholomew fair, 1189, &c.
  Dyer, Mr. George, his “Privileges of the University of Cambridge,” and
    “History,” 1305.

  Earth, the, how worshipped, 1655.
  Earthquakes, England, 150, 341; Lisbon, 975; predicted by cats, 1109.
  Easling, Kent, custom, 1539.
  East winds, unwholesome, 134.
  Easter, Eastre, Easter-monath, 407.
  EASTER-DAY, _movable_; origin, and how to find, 416, 517, 518;
    customs, 421, 864; offerings, origin of, 359.
  Eckert, C. A. F., a musical prodigy, 1038.
  Eclipse, the first recorded, 373.
  Eddystone lighthouse destroyed, 1515.
  Edinburgh, coronation pageant, 647; cardinal Beaton’s house, 711; new
    Exchange founded, 1312.
  EDMUND, K. and MARTYR, _November 20_; account of him, 1493.
  Edulf, a strong Anglo-Saxon, 29.
  EDWARD, St., K. W. S. _March 18_; murdered, 372.
  ----’s TRANSLATION, _June 20_; removal of his remains, 813.
  ---- the confessor, his death, 619; translation, 1376.
  ---- II., sees a mystery at Paris, 746.
  ---- III., his gift to a boy bishop, 1559.
  Eel-pie house, near Hornsey, 697.
  Eggs, at Easter, 425.
  Egypt, conquered by the Turks, 461.
  Eldest son of the church, origin of the title, 1349.
  Elephant, of Henry III., 1005; Atkins’s, 1177, 1179.
  Elia, and Bridget Elia, 92.
  ---- and Jem White, their treat to the sweeps, 585.
  Elizabeth, queen, new-year’s gifts to, 7; studies with Roger Ascham,
    29; sees fives’ play, 865; goes to St. Mary Spital, 445; her
    accession celebrated, 1488.
  Elm leaves, used for fodder, 1403.
  Elmo, St., extraordinary circumstances relative to the capitulation of
    the fort, 126.
  Ely, Isle of, convent and church, 1382; willows, 1080.
  ---- house, mystery performed there, 756.
  EMBER WEEKS, _movable_; seasons of mortification, 1572.
  Enoch, the book of, 1326.
  ENURCHUS, _September 7_; his history of no authority, 1253.
  EPIPHANY, _January 6_; customs of the festival, 45, 59; name
    explained, 58.
  Epitaphs on a chimney board, 459; on captain Grose, 657; on a garret,
    790; at St. John’s, Clerkenwell, 1480.
  Equinox, vernal, 375.
  Erskine, lord, his dressing of his barber, 1265.
  Erysipelas, why called St. Antony’s fire, 119.
  Escurial, palace and monastery, 1085.
  Eskdale custom, 1379.
  ETHELDREDA, _October 17_; account of her, 1382.
  Eton-school customs, on Collop Monday, 242; Shrove Tuesday, 259;
    bonfires, 849; nutting, 1294.
  Ettrick forest, sport, 1554.
  Etymology of the seasons, 1518.
  Evelyn, John, with judge Jefferies at an entertainment, 478; his
    account of the fire of London, 1152.
  Evergreens at Christmas, 1635.
  Every-day dialogue, 1574; work, 1042.
  Evesham, John, keeper of the lions, 1005.
  Evil eye, on May eve, 593.
  ---- May-day, 555, 577.
  Ewis, inscription for St. David at, 316.
  Exaltation of the cross, 1291.
  Excise laws, originated, 360.
  Exercise, indispensable, 1316.
  Exeter city gates broken by a strong man, 29; mail coach horse, and
    lions, 1191.
  Eyes, the, receipt for, 353.

  FABIAN, _January 20_; notice of him, 135.
  Fagot-sticks, divination, 1552.
  Fairies on May eve, 593.
  FAITH, _October 6_; the existence of this saint doubted, 1362.
  Falconer, John, barber of Glasgow, 1272.
  Falling sickness, in rooks, 495.
  Fan handle, decorated, 8.
  Fantoccini, a street show described, 1113.
  Fardel, explained, 1215.
  Fashion-monger’s head, 1262.
  Fasten’s eve, 260.
  Favorite of lord Bacon’s, mentioned, 871.
  Faulkner, rev. W. E. L., 1474.
  Fawkes, the conjuror, 1225.
  ----, Guy, his day, London, 1429.
  Ferrers, earl, executed, 615.
  Ferule, school-masters’, described, 967.
  Festival of kings, 44.
  Fete de Sans-Culottes, 57.
  Fiddler, a, in Greenwich park, 692.
  Filthie worm, a Romish monument, lost, 294.
  Finger-snapping by barbers, 1268.
  Finland custom on St. Stephen’s day, 1644.
  Finsbury-fields, ball-play, 258.
  Fires in London, 389, 1098, 1150.
  ----, good ones, essential to Christmas, 1615.
  ----, on twelfth-day eve, 43, 58; see Baal.
  Fireworks, in London, prohibited, 1435.
  Fish, how preserved in ponds during frost, 82; preached to, 118; pond
    for cod, 82.
  Fishmongers’ almshouses, fiddler at, 692.
  Fives’, ball-play, 863; see Ball-play.
  -----court, St. Martin’s-st. 868.
  Fleet prison, ball-play, 869.
  Flamsteed, John, astronomer, his original memoirs of himself, and his
    dispute with sir Isaac Newton, 1089.
  Fleming, rev. Abraham, account of, 1066.
  Flight into Egypt, how represented by artists, 1650.
  Flint, William, printer, of the Old St. John of Jerusalem tavern,
    1481.
  Flockton, his puppet show at Bartholomew fair, 1246.
  Flogging of children, 30, 1648; of relics, to recover their virtues,
    816.
  Floral directory, commenced and explained, 131.
  Flowers, origin of their names, and when they blow, 104, 303, 464,
    667, 740, 963.
  Flying, by patent wings, 1462.
  Fog of London, in November, 1502.
  Fools, on Plough Monday, 71; hatching, in a pageant, 256.
  Foot-ball, in Scotland, 1554; see Ball-play.
  Foote, captain, signs the treaty of St Elmo, 127.
  Fornacalia, Fornax, the origin of pancakes, 250.
  Foscue, a farmer general, his self-burial alive, 101.
  Fountain, public-house, City-road, 975.
  Fountains, 1006, 1041.
  France, twelfth-day in, 57; Death of Good Living there, 257; all
    fools’ day, 413; bleeding image of Paris, 895; Christmas, 1616.
  Francis I. throws verses on Laura’s tomb, 451; licenses mysteries,
    749.
  Franking of newspapers, discontinued, 856.
  Frederick, emperor, his present to Cologne, 46.
  ----, prince of Wales, at Bartholomew fair, 1242; his death, 374.
  Freeling, Mr., possessor of Kele’s carols, 1600.
  Freezing shower, its effects on trees and animals, 134.
  Frenchmen, all sportsmen, 1577.
  Frontispiece to this volume, explained, 1655.
  Fruit-stalls, 907.
  Funerals in Cumberland, 1077; a rustic one, 1533.
  Fuseli, his compositions as an artist, 349.
  Fussell, Mr. Joseph, artist, noticed, 872.

  Gabriel, the archangel, 1326.
  Gahagan, Usher, a scholar, hanged, 287.
  Gallagher, Mr. John, gains a prize for sculpture, 1651.
  Game destroyers’ notice to House of Commons, 350.
  Gang-week, 642.
  Ganging, 1374.
  Ganging-day, 1340.
  Ganymede, changed to Aquarius, 141.
  Garden, its beauties, 133.
  Gardeners, perambulating, 616.
  Gardening, in old age, a renewal of our childhood, 113.
  Garlands, on Trinity Sunday, 723; mourning, 1080; see May-day.
  Garret, or Garrard, a grocer’s epitaph, 790.
  Garrick, David, his letter to Messrs. Adam, 328; goes to Bartholomew
    fair with Mrs. Garrick, 1244.
  Garter of the princess of Bavaria, at her wedding, 1551.
  Gaudy days, at the universities, 100.
  Gaunt, Mrs., burnt, 480.
  Geck, gowk, gull, 411.
  Ge-ho! to horses, its antiquity, 1645.
  Genealogy, precedence disputed, 797.
  Genius, what it is, 357.
  Gent, Mrs. Thomas, her bust by Behnes, 638.
  Gentleman’s Magazine title-page, 1481.
  Geoffry, abbot of St. Albans, first plays mysteries in England, 750.
  George-a-Green, and George Dyer, 1100, 1103.
  ----, III., king, notice of, 766.
  ----, IV., birth-day of, 1099.
  GEORGE, St., _April 23_; account of him, 496; legend of his adventures
    with the dragon, 498, 1101.
  ----’s, St., fields, lactarium, 103.
  Germany, twelfth-day in, 57; celebrations of Spring, 339; breeds the
    best cocks, 240; German diploma rejected, 84.
  Gerst-monat, 1147.
  Giants, at Bartholomew fair, 1172, &c.; represented in pageants at
    Chester, 835; in Guildhall, 1454.
  Gibbon, Edward, where he conceived his history, 268.
  Gilbert, Mr. Davies, his Christmas carols, 1603.
  GILES, _September 1_; miracles attributed to him, 1149.
  Giltspur-street, whence so called, 1166.
  Gilpin, rev. Bernard, account of, 330, 345.
  ----, rev. William, tourist, died, 421.
  Giordano, Lucca, painter, notice of, 1651.
  Gladman, John, pageant by him, 255.
  Glasscutters’ procession at Newcastle, 1286.
  Glastonbury, monastery, 315; miraculous walnut tree, 772.
  Gleeman, Anglo-Saxon, 1188.
  Glenfinnyn, vale of, monument there to the pretender, 32.
  Gloves, new-year’s gifts, 9; hung in the air by miracle, 78; kissing
    for, 1509; glove of defiance in a church, 345; glove money whence
    derived, 9.
  Gloucestershire customs, 58, 849.
  Glowworm, 1143.
  Gnat killed by a saint, 21.
  Go-to-bed-at-noon, flowers, 667.
  God of Death, druidical, 58.
  God rest you, merry gentlemen! Christmas carol, 1603.
  Godfrey, sir Edmundbury, in a pageant, 1488.
  Golden Legend, W. de Worde’s edition, used in this work, 3; formerly
    read instead of the New Testament, 386.
  Goldsmith, Oliver, resided at Canonbury, 638.
  Gondomar, on the English weather, 308.
  GOOD FRIDAY, _movable_; celebrations and customs of the day, 402.
  Gooding, on St. Thomas’s day, 1586.
  Goose, at Michaelmas, 1338; anecdote of one, 1341; whether lawful in
    Lent, 1472; in Christmas pie, 1639; goose pies on St. Stephen’s day,
    1645.
  Gooseberry fair, 437.
  Gordon, Jemmy, of Cambridge, 698; his death, 1294.
  Gothic church, depraved, 1474.
  Gout, miraculously cured, 472.
  Grammar school disputations in Smithfield, 1236.
  Grand days, in the law courts, 100.
  Granger, rev. J., punning note to Grose, 657.
  Grapes, grow on a saint’s bramble, 102.
  Grasshopper, its song, 98.
  Grass-week, 642.
  Great, the, when they sell themselves to the court, and the devil,
    1419.
  ---- seal, new, 17.
  Greatness of character, exemplified, 263, 280.
  Greeks, the, used the mistletoe, 1637.
  Greens, on St. John’s day, 837; in churches, 1635; see Evergreens.
  Greenwich church, dedication, 486; holidays and fairs at Easter, 436;
    Whitsuntide, 687; observatory founded, 1089; see Flamsteed.
  GREGORY, (called the Great,) _March 12_; account of this saint and his
    alleged miracles, 356.
  ---- Nazianzen, suppresses the Greek drama, and writes religious plays
    instead, 743, 744.
  Grey, lady Jane, severity of her parents, 31; inscription on her
    portrait, 32.
  ---- Friars, mystery performed at the, 756.
  Gridirons honoured, 1085.
  Griffin, rev. Thomas, his storm sermon, 1518.
  Groom porter at St. James’s, played for by the royal family, 59.
  Grose, Francis, antiquary, notice of, 656.
  Guil-erra, and guil, 1544.
  Guillotine, in France, 145; in England, &c. long before, 148;
    contemplated for lord Lovat, 149; an heraldic bearing, _ib._
  Gule, of August, 1062.
  Gunpowder, invented, 397.
  ---- Plot day, 1429.
  Guthlac, St., his whips, 1132.
  Gymnastics, account of, 19, 1315.

  Hackin, the, a sausage, 1640.
  Hackney coaches, at Stourbridge, 1301.
  Hagbush-lane, Islington, account of, 870; derivation of name, 875.
  Haggis, how made, 1634.
  Hail-storm saint, 326.
  Hair dress, 1260.
  ---- shirts; see saints, in Index II.
  Halifax gibbet, and gibbet law, 145.
  Hall, with his preserved birds and beasts at Bartholomew fair, 1245.
  Halley, Edmund, astronomer, 1093.
  Hallow e’en, 1408.
  Halter, in a repartee, 529.
  Hamilton, lady, at Caraccioli’s execution, 130.
  Hampton-Wick, Middlesex, ball-play, 245.
  Hand ball, hand tennis, 863; see Ball-play.
  Handsel Monday, 23.
  Hanging month, 1419.
  Harding, Jem, a racket-player, 868.
  Hardwick forest, custom, 145.
  Hardwicke, lord, resigns the seals to read Thuanus, 284.
  Hardy, captain, R. N., serves against the Burmese, 1529.
  Hare and tabor, 1210; hare and tortoise, 1377; hares, domesticated,
    1383.
  Hartman, his opinion of Leo Africanus, 1581.
  Harvest month, 1059; end of harvest, 1147.
  Hastings, Warren, account of, 1128; Sheridan’s conduct in his
    impeachment, 914.
  Hats, 1437.
  Hawkwood, sir John, in a pageant, 1449.
  Haydon, Mr., artist, an opinion by, 1458.
  Haymarket theatre, disputes with the master of the revels, 1244.
  Hazard, played by the royal family, 59.
  Hazlitt, Mr., on Cavanagh’s fives-play, 865.
  Head-ache, cured by a saint, 23.
  Health, in summer, to preserve, 921.
  ---- drinking, on Plough Monday, 1334.
  Heard, sir Isaac, herald, died, 530.
  Hearne, Thomas, antiquary, discovers an old leaf, 1600; at Bartholomew
    fair, 1228; died, 771.
  Hearts, in valentines, 219, 227.
  Heatley’s booth at Bartholomew fair, 1238.
  Heaven, represented in a pageant, 1118; heaven and hell, distance
    between, 1541; see saints in Index II.
  Heaving, at Easter, 422.
  Heemskerk, his barber, 1265.
  Heit! used to horses, its antiquity, 1644.
  Helena, empress, translates the three kings, 45.
  Heligh-monat, 1543.
  Hell, its Romish arrangement, 22; see saints in Index II.
  Hell-mouth, in a mystery, 747, 757.
  Heloise and Abelard, notice of, 494.
  Hempseed, charm, 1410, 1415.
  Hen, hey, hay-monath, 892.
  Henrietta Maria, queen, notice of, 773.
  ---- street, Covent-garden, duel there, 911.
  Henry II., acts as sewer to his son, 1622.
  ---- IV., holds a parliament at Coventry, 753.
  Henry V., at Agincourt, 1397.
  ---- VI., at a mystery at Winchester, 755; at another at Coventry,
    757.
  ---- VII., keeps Christmas at Greenwich, 1599.
  ---- VIII., Charles I. buried beside him, 190; a cock fighter, 255;
    goes a maying to Greenwich, 550; disguises himself to see the London
    watch, 830.
  ---- IX., king of England, 34.
  Hens, customs concerning, 245; one that spoke, 249.
  Herald, personated by the devil, 21.
  Herefordshire, custom on twelfth-night, 43; winter fodder, 1403.
  Heretics, St. Antony’s, hatred to, 111.
  Hermit, the first, 104.
  Hertfordshire customs, 565, 1375; witchcraft, 1045.
  Heton, near Newcastle, boy bishop, 1559.
  Higgins, a posture master, 1248.
  Highgate, lord Bacon died there, 870.
  Highway-woman, at Rumford, 1503.
  HILARY, _January 13_; account of him, 99.
  Hindoo festival, Huli, 412.
  Hipson, Miss, a gigantic girl, 1173.
  Hitchin, Herts, May-day, 565.
  Hlafmas, 1063.
  Hoare, Mr. S., his admonitory letter to Wombwell, 988.
  Hoax, in France, 960.
  Hoby, sir Philip, his papers, 871.
  Hock, Hoke, or Hox-day, 476.
  Hockley in the hole, its site, 754.
  Hoddesdon, Herts, Shrove Tuesday customs, 242.
  Hodges’s distillery, Lambeth, 603.
  Hogarth, painted scenes for Bartholomew fair, 1245.
  Holbetch, bishop of London, declares the gift of St. Bartholomew’s to
    the city, at Paul’s cross, 1234.
  Holborn-hill, “in my time,” 907.
  Holland’s, lady, mob, 1229.
  Hollar, Wenc., engraver, account of, 397.
  Holmhurst, St. Alban’s, 804.
  Holly, the, and the ivy, 60; a carol, 1598, 1635; an in-door decking,
    1635; holly-boy and ivy-girl, 226, 257.
  HOLY CROSS, _September 14_; derivation and usage of the day, 1291.
  ---- THURSDAY, _movable_; rogations and customs of the day, 651, 643.
  ---- gate, opened at Rome, 307.
  ---- water, 25.
  Holyday, at Dulwich, by S. R. 1011; rational holyday making, 438.
  ----, children, at Christmas, 1607.
  Home, a sailor’s, 690.
  Hop, a threepenny, 1646.
  Hopfer, D., engraving by, 1121.
  Horn fair, described, 1386.
  Horne, bishop, anecdote of, 836.
  Hornsey Wood house, notice of, 759.
  Horoscope of Greenwich observatory, 1090.
  Horses, overloaded one, 438; baited by dogs, 1000; bled on St.
    Stephen’s day, 1643.
  Hosts, miraculous, 351, 534.
  Hot letter from I. Fry to capt. Lyon, 950.
  ---- weather, 1041; effects of, 1111.
  Hour-glass, inscription, 1425.
  Howe, lord, his naval victory, 741.
  Huddy, Mr., his whimsical equipage, 78.
  Hunting, in the twelfth century, 1379.
  ----, rule for knowing when the scent lies, 1378.
  Husbandmen, should be meteorologists, 879.
  Hyde-park, sale of the toll-gate, 1355.
  Hydrophobia, incurable, 900.

  Icicles, poetically described, 184, 198.
  Iliad, in a nut-shell, 1086.
  Ill May-day; see Evil May-day.
  Illumination in London, 1814, 459; of St. Peter’s at Rome, 885.
  Image, divided by miracle, 99.
  Indulgence of Leo XII., 306.
  INNOCENTS, _December 28_; derivation and customs of the day, 1648.
  Inquests of London, 1587.
  Insects in summer, 1099.
  INVENTION OF THE CROSS, _May 3_; miraculous origin of the festival,
    611.
  Inverness, ball-play, 260.
  Iol, or ol, 1544.
  Ireland, its verdure and plants, 108; customs, 422, 592, 685, 847,
    1508; advancing in sculpture, 1651.
  Irving, Mr. Washington, his love of England, 635.
  Isle of Man customs, 59.
  Islington; see Canonbury, Copenhagen-house, Hagbush-lane, Pied Bull,
    &c.
  Italian minstrels, in London, 1630.
  Ivy, an outside decking, 1635; see Holly.

  Jack in the green, 585.
  ---- Snacker of Wytney, 1246.
  Jacob’s Well, Barbican, 972.
  Jahn’s gymnastics, 1317.
  James’s, St., palace, plum porridge there at Christmas, 1640.
  James I., new-year’s gifts to, 9; a cock-fighter, 255; goes to St.
    Mary Spital, 445; attends his queen’s coronation at Edinburgh, 647;
    his adventure with a clergyman who caught dotterels, 646.
  ---- II., lands in Ireland, 353.
  January, the first day, how pictured, 3.
  Janus, how pictured, 1, 6.
  Jefferies, Judge, account of, 478.
  Jennings, miser, account of him, 301.
  Jenyns, Soame, on cruelty to animals, 799.
  JEROME, _September 30_; authority for O. T. Apocrypha, 1343; his
    legend of the first hermit, 104.
  Jerusalem, golden gate of, 1008.
  Jessup, Samuel, the pill-taker, 661.
  Jesuit, the, a periodical work, 914.
  Jewellery of the Burmese carriage, 1520.
  Jews’ new-year’s day, 15.
  ----, their treatment and present state in England, 295, 385; Jewish
    stage play, 743.
  Joachim, St., and St. Anne, account of, 1008.
  Joan of Arc, account of, 726.
  John, king of France, died, 452.
  JOHN PORT LATIN, _May 6_; notice of him, 617.
  ----, St., baptist, customs on his festival, 836, 845.
  ----’s eve, celebrations, 823, 836.
  JOHN, St., apostle, _December 27_, account of him, and customs on his
    festival, 1647.
  ----’s lane, Clerkenwell, raised, 1481.
  ---- wort, a charm, 854.
  Johnson, David, writing-master, account of, 1086.
  ----, Mr. J., his “Typographia,” 1136.
  ----, Dr. Samuel, and Boswell’s liking to town, 646.
  Joint-stock companies, see Bubbles; a new one proposed, 1460.
  Joke, no, like a true joke, 505.
  Jones, rev. W., of Nayland, anecdote of, 836.
  ----, sir W., died, 527.
  Jonson, Ben, his description of Bartholomew fair, 1201.
  Joseph, St., Roman carpenters’ respect for him, 1595.
  Judas, the, 435.
  Judges’ breakfast on first of term, 722; sermon before them on Trinity
    Sunday, 722.
  Judith and Holofernes, at Bartholomew fair, 1227.
  Juggler, with balls, knives, &c. 1188.
  Julian, emperor, reviver of beards, 18; notice of him, 887.
  Juliet Capulet, and Petrarch, 1063.
  Julius II., pope, prefers the sword to books, 266.
  Junkets, 561.
  Justifying bail, humorously described, 158.
  Justs and tournaments on London-bridge, Smithfield, &c. 799, 1167,
    1234.

  Kale, whence derived, 196.
  Kaleidoscope invented, 473.
  Katharine, queen, goes a maying, 550.
  ----’s, St., church, by the tower, last service there, 1405; see
    Catharine.
  Keate, George, author, notice of, 880.
  Kele-wurt, 196.
  Kemp, W., of Peerless-pool, 971.
  Kenilworth, sports, 477.
  Kensington, lord, his interest in Bartholomew fair, 1233.
  Kent-road fountain, 1043.
  Kentish custom on Valentine’s day, 226; not on that day, 257.
  Kiavamuchd, 1634.
  Kidder, bishop, and his lady, killed, 1513.
  Kidderminster custom, 1337, 1343.
  Kilda, St., Isle of, custom, 1340.
  Killigrew, Charles, master of the revels, 1243.
  King, George IV., his birth-day kept, 1199.
  ----’s-bench, ball-play, 869.
  Kingston, Surrey, customs, 245, 959.
  Kiss in the ring, 692.
  Klopstock, Frederic, died, 361.
  Knacking of the hands, 1267.
  Knight, the, and the Virgin Mary, a mystery, 748.
  ----, R. P., his dissertation, 1324.
  Knight-riders-street, whence so called, 1166.
  Knights and ladies, a winter pastime, 1614.
  Knowledge, advantages of, 1549.
  Kœnig, Mr., inventor of the steam press, 1537.
  Kyrle, John, death of, 1438.

  Labour, inevitable in all ranks, 1315; essential to success in art,
    1651.
  Labre, Benedict Joseph, account of, 467.
  Lace of St. Audrey, 1383.
  Lackington, Mr. George, purchases the Egyptian-hall, 1531.
  Lady-day, 386.
  ----, old, 450.
  ---- of the May, 550.
  Ladies, wore friars’ girdles, 262.
  Lagan-le-vrich, 1633.
  Lalande, astronomer, died, 451.
  Lamb of St. Agnes, 141, 143; lamb-playing at Easter, 422; lamb and
    lion, 1005.
  ----, Mr. Charles, quatrains from him to the editor, 927; quatorzains
    from the editor to him, 929.
  Lamb’s wool, 44, 53, 1606; its derivation, 1416.
  LAMBERT, _September 17_; account of the saint, 1295.
  LAMMAS, _August 1_; its derivation, 1063; weather in Scotland, 342.
  Lamps, of old times, 831.
  Lanark, Palm Sunday custom, 396.
  Lane, a legerdemain player, 1248.
  Larks in spring, 534; Dunstaple, 952.
  Last Judgment of M. Angelo, 268.
  Latimer’s, bishop, new-year’s gift to Henry VIII., 7.
  Laura, Petrarch’s, died, 450.
  LAWRENCE, _August 10_; account of this saint, 1085.
  ----, St., Jewry church, 1085.
  ----, sir Thomas, a question by, 1458.
  Law suit, its forms and progress of, 233.
  ---- terms, 99; vacations, _ib._
  Laymen’s parliament, 752.
  Leadenhall-street maypole, 555.
  Leaf, a withered, 1111; fall of the leaf, 1438.
  Learned pig’s performance, 1194.
  Leather-lane, King’s-head public-house, 1630.
  Lee and Harper’s show, 1228.
  Leeds, twelfth-eve custom, 43.
  Leek, on St. David’s-day, 317.
  Leeming, Joseph, account of, 1455; his letter to the editor, 1467.
  Leeuwarden custom, 1566.
  Leg, a, adventures of, 1460, 1467.
  Legal glee--a catch, 164.
  ---- recreations, 239.
  Leicester, sir John, his gallery possesses Mr. Behnes’ bust of Mr.
    West, 346.
  Leisure, retired, 667.
  Lenct-monat, 312.
  Lent celebrations, 193; in a pageant, 256, 257; Lenten cross, 395.
  Leo, zodiacal sign, symbolized, 1006.
  ---- Africanus, on the ass, 1309; and camel, 1580; his travels, 1581.
  ----, pope, calls St. Hilary a cock, 99.
  ---- XII., his indulgence, 306.
  Leopold, prince, of Brunswick, drowned, 527.
  Letter to _March 25_, 389.
  ---- foundery of Breitkopf, 185.
  Leyden, explosion of gunpowder there, 93.
  Libra, zodiacal sign, 1147.
  Lida aftera, 892; erra, 738.
  Lifting at Easter, 422.
  Lincoln’s-inn-hall, breakfast on first of term, 155, 1436; fountain,
    1043.
  Lincolnshire customs, &c. 1482.
  Lindsey, dame, of Bath, 1280.
  Lions, anecdotes of, 104, 978 to 1006, 1184, 1176, 1177, 1191.
  ---- head at Button’s, 1006.
  Lisbon, earthquake at, affects Peerless-pool, 975.
  Liston, Mr., sees the living skeleton, 1029.
  Literary services, ungrateful reward of, 527; piracy, 1140.
  Literature, societies for encouraging, 354.
  Little Britain, Spectator published there, 283.
  Littleton, lexicographer, his inscription for the monument, 1165.
  Liverpool, earl of, master of the Trinity, ceremony of swearing, 724.
  Living skeleton, the, visit to, 1017; another, 1129.
  Livy and his books, 24.
  Loaf-mass, 1063.
  Lobscouse, 53.
  Logan, salt-water fish-pond, 82.
  London, new-year’s day, 15; Palm Sunday, 395; customs, 435; lord mayor
    and citizens going a maying, 552; pageant, 671; lord mayor &c. at a
    mystery, 756; ancient watch, 826; sheriffs proveditors for beasts,
    1005; corporation costume on St. Bartholomew’s day, eve, &c. 1235;
    customs at Michaelmas, 1330; lord mayor’s establishment, 1331;
    notice for 5th Nov.,1435; lord mayor’s day, 1439; election of ward
    officers, 1587; waits, 1626; ceremony of founding the new London-
    bridge, 775; account of the old one, 799; city wall repaired from
    ruins of Jews’ houses, 296.
  LONDON BURNT, 1666, _September 2_; accounts of the great fire, 1150.
  ---- Magazine, “Lion’s Head,” 1007.
  LONGEST DAY, _June 21_; a suitable apologue, 819; see BARNABAS, _June
    11_.
  Longevity of Petrarch, a Russian, 39.
  ---- Dennis Hampson, Irish bard, 40.
  LORD MAYOR’S DAY, _November 9_; account of lord mayor’s show, 671,
    1439, 1453.
  Lord of the tap, at Stourbridge fair, 1487.
  Lothbury, Jews’ synagogue plundered, 296.
  ---- how watered formerly, 971.
  Lovat, lord, executed, 452.
  Love account-keeping, 215; advertisement, 1070; see Spring.
  Loveday, Mr., his daughters become Catholics, 534.
  Loudon, J. C., his “Encyclopædia of Gardening,” 1043, note.
  Louis XVI., beheaded, 145.
  ---- XVIII., new-year’s gifts to him, 14; patron of plum-pudding,
    1617.
  LOW SUNDAY, _movable_; its derivation, 453.
  Luchd-vouil, 1634.
  LUCIAN, _January 8_; account of this saint, 78.
  LUCY, _December 13_; account of this saint, 1570.
  LUKE, _October 18_; horn fair on his festival, 1386; how he is
    painted, 1387.
  Lulle, Raym., alchemist, account of, 398.
  Lulli, J. B., composer, died, 383.
  Lute, the barber’s, 1268.
  Lyme Regis, custom on Candlemas-day, 206.

  M‘Creery, Mr. John, his “Press,” a poem, 1135; lines on his daughter’s
    hour-glass, 1425.
  Macdonald, Alexander, his monument to the pretender, 33.
  ----, sergeant Samuel, notice of, 619.
  M‘Dowal, colonel, his salt fish store, 82.
  MACHUTUS, _November 15_; who he was, 1486.
  Mackerel fishing, 961.
  Macnamara, captain, duellist, 451.
  Mad dogs, danger from, 900.
  ---- Moll, and her husband, at Hitchin, 566.
  Magdalen-college quadrangle, dressed with greens, 836.
  Magna Charta signed, 811.
  Magnus, St., church, custom at, 1349.
  Maia, a deity, 537.
  Maid Marian, 550, &c.
  Mail coach, annual procession, 503.
  Malabar Christians, 1586.
  Malt’s defence, 75.
  Man of Ross, Pope’s, 1438.
  ---- smugging, illegal, 1435.
  Mansfield, earl, C. J., died, 374.
  Manures and dressings, fanciful, 664.
  Mara, madam, notice of, 762.
  Marco, a Tower lion, 1006.
  Mare with seven legs, 1181.
  Margot, a French girl, a ball-player, 856.
  MARK, St., _April 25_; notice of him, 512; celebrations of his eve and
    festival, 521.
  Marlborough, duke of, notice of, 798.
  Marriage of a priest, whereby he remained a bachelor, 142; ill luck to
    marry on Childermas-day, 1648.
  Marseilles’ fete, 1298.
  MARTIN, St., _November 11_; account of him, 1469.
  ----’s church, near Canterbury, 301.
  ----, Mr., of Galway, noticed, 980.
  Martineau, Mrs., lines on her death, 796.
  Martinmas, 1470.
  Mary, the lady, a rope-dancer, her tragical fate, 1241.
  ----, queen, sung to by a boy bishop, 1560.
  ----, queen of Scots, new-year’s gift to, 10.
  ----, St., at hill, boy bishop, 1560.
  ----’s, eve carol, 1602.
  ---- Overy, boy bishop, 1559.
  ----, Spital, London, 445.
  Mason, rev. W., poet, died, 421.
  Maskers, at a common hop, 1646.
  Masking on twelfth-night, 54.
  Massacre of St. Bartholomew, 1131.
  Master of the revels, his office and seal, 1244.
  Matilda, queen of Denmark, dies in prison, 529.
  MATTHEW, St., _September 21_; account of him, 1314.
  Maughan, Nicholas, a showman, 1173.
  MAUNDY THURSDAY, _movable_; maund, maundy, &c. customs, 400.
  Maxentius II., emperor, his cruelty, 1504.
  May-day, maypoles, maygames and garlands, 541 to 598, 705; maypole in
    a screen, 761.
  Mayers’ song, 567.
  May-fair, Piccadilly, account of, 572.
  ---- hill, dangerous to invalids, 652.
  ---- month, 598.
  ---- morning, 644.
  Mechanics’ Institution recommended, 1500.
  ----, London, founded, 1549.
  Mechelen, Israel van, engraving by, 1119.
  Medal of Henry IX. king of England, 34; of Napoleon on his marriage,
    409; a French one on Martinmas, 1472.
  Medemonath, 738.
  Melmoth, Courtney, died, 361.
  Melodies of evening, 606.
  Memory Corner Thompson, account of, 81.
  Men, twelve, suspended in the air, 26.
  Mercery, its signification, 1337.
  Merchant Tailors’ song, 1452.
  Meredith, a fives-player, 867.
  Merriment within compass, 61.
  Merry-andrew, a superior one, 1245.
  Merry in the hall, when beards wag all! 1640.
  Meteor, a, in Britain, 373.
  MICHAEL, St., _September 29_; account of him, 629; his dragon, 500,
    1325.
  Michaelmas-day custom, 1325.
  ---- ----, old, 1374.
  ---- term, 1436.
  Michell, Simon, barrister, 1479, 1481.
  Middleton’s, Dr. Conyers, coach-horses blessed, 117.
  Mid-Lent Sunday, 358.
  Midnight and the Moon, 963.
  MIDSUMMER-DAY, _June 24_; celebrations, 837.
  ---- -eve, bonfires, watchsetting, &c. 823 to 836; divinations, 850.
  ---- -men, 850.
  Midsumormonath, 738.
  Midwinter, 59.
  ---- -monath, 1543.
  Milan, its great loss, 46.
  Mildred’s, St., church in the Poultry, 285.
  Mile, and half-mile stones, projected, 103.
  Miles, lieutenant colonel, serves against the Burmese, 1527.
  Milkmaids’ garlands, 570.
  Miller’s booth, Bartholomew fair, 1238.
  Mince pies, symbolical, 1638.
  Minch-pies, 1639.
  Minster, Isle of Thanet, first abbess of, 285.
  Minstrels, their ancient vocation, 1231.
  Miracles, &c. of Romish saints; see Index II.
  Mirror of the Months, a book, 1491.
  Missel-thrush, 535.
  Mistletoe cut by the Druids, 6; kissed under, 1614, 1615; proscribed
    in churches, 1636.
  Mitford, J., his account of lord Byron’s residence at Mitylene, 487.
  Monk, a, drowned, and afterwards relates his adventures, 1117.
  ----, duke of Albemarle, his wife, 582.
  Monmouth, countess of, 17.
  Montgomery, colonel, killed, 451.
  Months, the, in a Norwich pageant, 256; in a versified memorandum,
    310.
  Montmartre, its derivation, 1371.
  Monument, the, on Fish-street-hill, 1150, 1165.
  Moon, the, poetically addressed, 292; at midnight, 963; its influence
    on the weather, 1015; symbolized, 1110; new-moon customs, 1509.
  Moor, sir Jonas, astronomer died, 1093.
  Moore’s travels in Africa, 1582.
  ----, Mr. Thomas, lord Byron’s last lines to, 490.
  Moorgate, annual procession from, 1488.
  More, sir Thomas, lord chancellor, declines a new-year’s gift of
    money, 9; reproves his lady, 262; his head on London bridge, 799.
  Morrice dance, in the Strand, 559.
  Morton, Regent, his guillotine, 149.
  Moscow rebuilt, from Grays-inn-lane dust-heap, 323.
  Most Christian king, origin of the title, 1349.
  Mother, suckling her child, 905.
  Mothering Sunday, 358.
  Mother’s milk, an epigram, 1311.
  Motions, puppet shows, 1246.
  Movable fasts and feasts, 190; vigil or eve, morrow, octave or utas
    of, &c. 192; corrected, 415.
  Mummers and mumming, 592, 1653.
  Mushroom, an enormous one, 20.
  Music of cats, 1106, 1110; music in every thing, 1142; at Bartholomew
    fair, 1248; in the ass, 1360; musical ear of squirrels, 1365;
    musical prodigies, 1038.
  Mutton-pie, and loaf, annual gift, 978.
  Myddleton, sir Hugh, when he did not die, 343.
  Mysteries, and Romish church pageants, 742, 750, &c.

  Nailing, on twelfth-night, 50.
  NAME OF JESUS, _August 7_; why in the almanacs, 1071.
  Napoleon’s marriage and medal, 409; king of Rome, born, 374; Napoleon
    died, 616.
  Naseby, battle of, 773.
  Nash, Beau, notice of, 1585.
  NATIVITY OF JOHN, baptist, _June 24_; customs on the day and eve, 833,
    846.
  ----, B. V. M., _September 8_; when instituted as a festival, &c.,
    1274.
  Navigations, miraculous, 4, 26, 194.
  <DW64> woman’s pity of a climbing boy, 592.
  Nelson, lord, anecdotes of him, 126.
  Neptune of the Egyptians, 141.
  Nero, account of, 453.
  ---- and Wallace, lions, 978.
  Nettle whipping, on May eve, 594.
  New River nuisances, 951, 1042.
  ---- year’s day, celebrations of, 3; Nightingale on, 521.
  ---- ---- eve, celebrations and winds, 10, 11, 1653.
  ---- ---- gifts, 6, 30.
  Newcastle customs, 430; Corpus Christi play, 755; procession of glass-
    cutters, 1286; and shoemakers, 1401.
  ---- house bonfire, 1433.
  Newman, Sarah, epitaph on, 1480.
  Newnton, Wilts, Trinity Sunday custom, 723.
  Newspaper advertisement, to subscribers, 823.
  ---- office, letter-boxes, 103.
  Newton, sir Isaac, obtains the Strand maypole, 560; dispute between
    him and Flamsteed, 1091; died, 374.
  Nice, council of, 1557.
  NICHOLAS, _December 6_; account of St. Nicholas, and customs on his
    festival, 1555; in Holland, 1566.
  ----, lady Penelope, killed, 1513.
  Nicknackitarian law-suit, 1284.
  NICOMEDE, _June 1_; a martyr, 741.
  Niger, the, its course, 1582.
  Nightingales, on new-year’s day, 521; in April, 540; in May, 606; at
    Blackheath, 688; their jug-jug, 728.
  Nightless days, 772.
  Noah’s flood represented at Bartholomew fair, 1247.
  Norfolk, duke of, foiled at a sale, 1007.
  North-east wind fiend, 136; its effects, 622.
  North road to London, account of the most ancient, 870 to 878.
  ---- Walsham, Norfolk, throwing at an owl there, 252.
  Northumberland customs, 849.
  ---- household book, records, mysteries, 755.
  Norwich turkeys, sent to London at Christmas, 1606.
  Notice to quit, 1342.
  Nottingham park, foliage destroyed, 1111.
  Now--a hot day, 880.
  Nut-burning and cracking, 1408, 1415, 1421.
  Nutting on Holy-rood day, 1293.

  Oath, remarkably observed, 654.
  Octavia, empress, account of, 454.
  Ode on Smithery, 1499.
  O’Donoghue, legend of, 594.
  Offerings at the chapel-royal on twelfth-day, 59; at Easter, 359.
  Olave’s St., church in the Old Jewry formerly a synagogue, 296; boy
    bishop, 1561.
  ----, Silver-st., mystery performed at, 756.
  Old Clem at Woolwich, 1501.
  ---- Fogeys, 1454.
  ---- HOLY ROOD, _September 26_; noticed, 1324.
  ---- May-day, 683.
  ---- MICHAELMAS DAY, _October 11_; customs, 1375.
  Onagra, the, 1178.
  Onions, divination, 1552.
  O. P. row, 603.
  Opie, John, artist, died, 453.
  Optical illusion, 122.
  Oram, Edward, and Hogarth, 1245.
  Orange, stuck with cloves, 7.
  Oratorio, its origin, 703.
  Oratory, fathers of the, 702.
  Organ, of St. Catharine’s church, 1407; in the street at Christmas,
    1615.
  Orleans, duchess d’, her new-year’s gift to Louis XVIII., 14.
  O SAPIENTIA, _December 16_; why in the almanacs, 1572.
  Oster-monath, 407.
  Ovens, origin of, 259.
  Overbury, sir Thomas, murder of, 1437.
  Ovid, character of, 23.
  Our lady of Bolton’s image, 431.
  Owling and purling on Valentine’s day, &c. 227, 252.
  Ox and Ass, why represented in prints of the nativity, 1610.
  Oxen pledged in cider, &c., 43.
  Oxford, curfew at Carfax, 242.
  Oyster-tub used for a carriage, 78.
  Oysters on St. James’s-day, 978.

  Packhorse travelling, 876.
  Packington’s pound, a tune, 1214.
  Pageants in London, 671, 1443, 1473, 1487; at Edinburgh, 647; on St.
    John’s eve, 825; of the seasons, fasts, and feasts, 255.
  Palace-yard porter shops, 603.
  Pallas, the planet, discovered, 397.
  PALM SUNDAY, _movable_; celebrations and customs of the day, 391;
    palm, 1081.
  ---- play, with a ball, 864.
  Palmer, Garrick’s bill-sticker, 1244.
  Pamela, imagined at cards, 93.
  Pancake-day, 246.
  ---- month, 197.
  Panchaud, M., defrauded, 770.
  Panormo, Mr. C., gains a prize for sculpture, 1651.
  Paper folding man, the, 692.
  ---- windows at Bartholomew tide, 1133.
  Paques, pascha, paschal, pace, paste, 416.
  Paradise, a Jesuit’s account of, 1350.
  Paris, new-year’s day, 13; blessing of a market there, 758.
  Parish clerks of London, the, mysteries of, 753.
  ---- priest, a good, 1613.
  Parr, Dr. Samuel, his Spital sermon, and character, 444; and death,
    339.
  Pascal, the, 393, 436, 959.
  Passion, the, symbolized, 405.
  ---- flower, 770.
  ---- Sunday, 392.
  Pastry-cooks’ shops on twelfth-night, 47.
  Paternoster backwards, a charm, 1415.
  PATRICK, St., _March 17_; legend of the saint’s miracles, 363; customs
    on his festival, 369; his chair, 825.
  Paul, St., the apostle, notice of, 889; his and Seneca’s epistles,
    453.
  ----’s day, superstitions, 175; his chain, 601.
  Paul’s cathedral, London, 301; its pigeon, 1246.
  ---- cross, sermon against maypoles, 753; rood, 1292.
  ---- school, boys play mysteries, 753.
  Pea-queen on twelfth-night, 56.
  Peckham fair, 1125.
  Pedlar, described, 1215.
  Peerless-pool, described, 970.
  Pendrill, Will., in the royal oak, 718.
  Penn, William, his account of Mrs. Gaunt’s death, 480.
  Penny, in twelfth-cake, 55.
  Pens, his engraving of a guillotine, 148.
  Pentecost, 685.
  Pentonville, deficient of water, 1042.
  Penzance, May custom, 561.
  Perambulation of parishes, 652.
  Perceval, Robert, killed in the Strand, 561.
  PERPETUA, _March 7_; noticed, 340.
  Perriwigs, 1259.
  Peru, a fives-player, 867.
  Perukes, 1450; for four angels, 435.
  PETER, St., _June 29_; celebration of his festival at Rome, 885.
  ----’s chains, 1061.
  ---- chair at Rome, 121.
  ---- church, occasioned the Reformation, 264.
  ----, Czar, visits Greenwich, 1095.
  Petrarch, crowned in public, 452; his birth-day, the same as Juliet
    Capulet’s, 1063.
  Phials, with devil’s drink, 21.
  PHILIP and JAMES, Sts., _May 1_; noticed, 541.
  ---- the fair, entertains Edward II., 746.
  Phillips, W., a Welsh dwarf, 1188.
  Philosopher’s stone, a patent for it, 240.
  Piazzi’s discovery of the planet Ceres, 17.
  Picture of St. Ignatius, miraculous, 1055.
  Pictures at Dulwich, 1011.
  Pidcock and Polito’s menagerie, 1246.
  Pie-powder-court, 1214.
  Pied Bull, Islington, 634.
  Pifferari of Calabria, 1595.
  Pigeons of Paul’s, 120, 1246.
  Pigs, 119; annually consumed in London, 1217.
  Pillow made of a dead man, 21.
  Pills, one pill not a dose, 661.
  Pinning on twelfth-night, 47.
  Pin-sticking customs, 136.
  Pins and Pin-money, 9.
  Pio, Albert, prince of Carpi, buried, 529.
  Pipe of the Roman eucharist, 185.
  Piran’s, St., day, 334.
  Pitt, rev. Charles, poet, died, 461.
  Pizarro, notice of, 857.
  Plague, the, notice of, 363; in London, 383.
  Plough-light money, 73.
  PLOUGH MONDAY, _movable_; processions and other customs, 71.
  ---- ---- and Sunday, London festivals, 1334.
  Plum-porridge at Christmas, 1640.
  ---- pudding, an eccentric vender of it, 1250; made in France, 1617.
  Plutarch, read to Louis XIV., 1231.
  Plymouth, mild winter at, 1563.
  Poaching notice, 350.
  Poetry, English, its first cultivator, 701.
  Pole, the barber’s, 1269.
  Pompeii, panorama of, 1595.
  Pompey’s complaint in the dog-days, 945.
  Ponsondie, 53.
  Pope, the, and cardinals’ jubilee for the massacre on St.
    Bartholomew’s day, 1131.
  ----, annual burning of, 1487.
  ---- Joan, card party, 91.
  Pope’s willow tree, 1081.
  Popery, No, 1433.
  Porter and his knot, 1215.
  Porto-Bello, rejoicings on taking, 1473.
  Post office business increased, 215.
  POWDER PLOT, _November 5_; celebrations, 1429.
  Powell’s, Mr., pedigree, 797.
  Powell of the fives-court, 868.
  Prayer, directory for, 202; M. Angelo’s, 280.
  Praying for the dead, 1424.
  Prechdachdan sour, 1633.
  Pressing of seamen, when commenced, 373.
  Pretender, monument to him, 33.
  Price, Dr. Richard, died, 486.
  Pricking in the belt, 437.
  Printer’s customs, and printing terms, 1133;
  ---- devil, 1139.
  Printing, 185; improvement in, 1535; a simile, 30.
  PRISCA, _January 18_; noticed, 22.
  Prisoners on trial, why uncovered, 1437.
  Pritchard, rev. George, his storm sermon, 1517.
  Procession-week, 642.
  Proclamation of Bartholomew fair, form of, 1165; for a fast in the
    storm year, 1515.
  Proger’s, Mr., pedigree, 797.
  Pulpits, 838; stone pulpit at Oxford, 837.
  Pumps, 1041.
  Puppet shows, 1246; in Ben Jonson’s time, 1202; at May-fair, 574; at
    Pentonville, 1114.
  Purgatory eased, in 1825, 307; see Romish saints, Index II.
  PURIFICATION, _February 2_; see Candlemas.
  Puxton custom, 837.
  Pye-corner, Smithfield, 1217, 1238.
  ----, John, watchman of Bungay, 1628.

  Quadragesima, 193.
  Quarter-day, situations and feelings on, 841.
  Quarto-die-post, explained, 100.
  Queen’s college Oxford, Boar’s head carol, 1619.

  R. G. V. H. an inscription, 1466.
  Racine, reads to Louis XIV., 1231.
  Rackets, origin of, 863.
  Radcliffe, Ralph, mystery writer, 753.
  Rahere, first prior of St. Bartholomew’s, 1231.
  Raikes, Robert, philanthropist, died, 421.
  Rain, why it did not fall for three years, 116; on Swithin’s day, 954,
    958; average fall in winter, 1564.
  ----bow in winter, 107.
  Ranson’s, Mr. J. T., etching of Starkey, 922, 928, 968.
  Raphael, the archangel, 1326.
  ----, painter, died, 451; his picture of the Nativity, with a bag-
    piper, 1595.
  Rath, the or Burmese state-carriage, 1519.
  Rats eat a bishop, 1362.
  Ratzburg customs on Christmas-eve, 1604.
  Raven feeds a saint and fetches his cloak, 104.
  Recollections, effect of tender, 1406.
  Red Cross-street burial ground, for Jews, 296.
  ---- Lion-square, obelisk in, 859.
  Reformation, the, its immediate cause, 264.
  Refreshment Sunday, 358.
  Relics, curious list of, 814.
  REMIGIUS, _October 1_; noticed, 1349.
  Resurrection, the, a Romish church drama, 431.
  Rhed-monath, 313.
  Rheumatism cured by ale, 23.
  Ribadeneira’s Lives of the Saints, used in this work, 3.
  Rich, Richard, lord, grant to him of St. Bartholomew’s priory, 1232.
  RICHARD DE WICHE, _April 3_; account of him, 419.
  ---- II. and his court at the parish clerks’ play, 753.
  ---- III. attends the Coventry plays, 757.
  Richards, rev. Mr., buried alive, 1565.
  Richardson, Mr., buys Button’s lion’s head, 1007.
  ----’s, itinerant theatre, 1182, 1388.
  Richmond, visit to, 601; hunt on Holyrood-day, 1294.
  Riding stang described, 12.
  Ridlington, Rob., his bequest to Stamford, 1484.
  Ring, a, occasions a repartee, 529; wedding ring of Joachim and Anne,
    1010.
  Rippon church, Yorkshire, lighted up before Candlemas, 205.
  Rising early, its effects, 79.
  Ritson, Jos., publishes a Christmas carol, 1600.
  Roast beef, 1578.
  ---- pig, by Elia, 1218.
  Robbery at Copenhagen-house, 862.
  Robin in winter, 103; and the wren, 647.
  ---- Hood, 550; and his bower, 686.
  Roche, St. or St. Roche’s day, 1120.
  Rochester cathedral, 301.
  ----, lord, outwitted, 613; banters Charles II., 721.
  Rock-day, 61.
  Rodd, Mr. Thomas, bookseller, 8, 1066.
  Rodney, adm., defeats Comte de Grasse, 459.
  Roebuck Inn, Richmond, 604.
  ROGATION SUNDAY, _movable_; customs in Rogation week, 641.
  Rogers, organist of Bristol, noticed, 1039.
  Roman pottery, a new-year’s gift, 6; wigs of Roman ladies, 1263.
  Rome, ancient, new-year’s day, 13; founded, 493.
  Romish church established, 744; Romish and protestant churches and
    worship compared, 839, 919.
  Ronaldshay, North, custom, 10.
  Rood, the, described, 1291.
  Rooks, in Doctor’s Commons, 494.
  Rose Sunday, 358.
  ---- gathering on Midsummer-eve, 852.
  ----, the last, of summer, 1389.
  Roseberry, earl of, singular narrative of his son and a clergyman’s
    wife, 1122.
  Rosemary-branch, fives-play, 867.
  Round-abouts and up-and-downs, 1249.
  Rout, city, discontinued, 1336.
  Row, T., Dr. Pegge, and curfew, 244.
  Rowlandson’s Boor’s-head, 1622.
  Royal-oak-day, 711.
  Rubens’s death of St. Antony, 120.
  Ruffian’s hall, Smithfield, 1234.
  Runic calendar, 1404.
  Rural musings, 106.
  Rush-strewing at Deptford, 1825, 725.

  Sackville, secretary, account of his schoolmaster, 29.
  Sadler, J., his engraving of St. Cecilia, 1496.
  Sadler’s Wells, anglers, 344; play-bill, 1200.
  Saffron-flower and cakes, 1148.
  Sailors, their patrons in storms, 537; staid ashore in bad weather,
    1419; mistake of one, 1591; a sailor and his wife at Greenwich, 689.
  Saints, Romish, authorities mostly referred to for their legends, 3;
    in sweetmeat, 116; peculiarity of their bodies, _ib._; tender-nosed,
    745; carry their heads under their arms after death, 1371; a dirty
    one, 467. For further particulars, see Index II.
  Salisbury, boy bishop, 1557; Edward the Confessor, translated to
    Salisbury, 813.
  Sallows described, 78.
  Salters’ company, custom, 1349.
  Salvator’s temptation of St. Antony, 116.
  Samam, vigil of, 1415.
  Samwell’s company of tumblers, 1185.
  Sannazarius’s poem, De Partu Virginis, 1611.
  Saturnalian days, 57.
  Satyr, seen by a saint, 104.
  Saunderson, Dr. Nicholas, mathematician, died, 486.
  Sausages, feast of, 1471.
  Scent in hunting, 1378.
  Schoen, Martin, engraving by, 1119.
  Schoolmasters, formerly, 30; presided on throwing at cocks, 252.
  School-time in spring, 674.
  Scone, ball-play, 259.
  Scotland, candlemas-day, 206; Shrove Tuesday, 259; mists, 250; first
    of April, 1811; has no carols at Christmas, 1602; Highland
    Christmas, 1633; superstitions, 1408.
  Scott, Bartholomew, married Cranmer’s widow, 382.
  Screen, at Hornsey Wood house, 760.
  Sculpture and painting, their relative merits, 275; the two Royal
    Academy prizes for 1825 awarded to two Irish pupils, 1651.
  Scythe carried by the Devil, 21.
  Sea-water, a company to bring it to Copenhagen-fields, 869.
  Seal of Button’s Lion’s head, 1007.
  Seasons, their names derived, 1518.
  Seduction, 1076.
  Self-multiplication of saints’ bodies and relics, 335, 611, 814.
  Selim, sultan, takes Cairo, 461.
  Seneca, his death and character, 453.
  SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY, _movable_; why so called, 192, 193.
  Sepulchre, Romish church drama, 432.
  Serjeant’s coif, 158.
  Sermon for Easter diversion, 446.
  ----s prohibited to be read, 1264.
  Serpent, a little one in a woman, 38; a taper, _ib._; serpents dance
    on ropes, 1245; a seat on a serpent’s knee, 1599.
  Servants, their new-year’s gifts to masters, 10; cautioned against
    leaving Christmas leaves, 204.
  ---- maid, a character, 481.
  Settle, Elkanah, the last city poet, 1453.
  Seurat, Ambrose, account of, 1017.
  Seward, Anna, author, died, 389.
  SEXAGESIMA, _movable_; why so called, 191, 193.
  Shaftesbury, lord, plays in a pageant, 1490.
  Shakspeare, died, 503; his jest book, 504.
  ---- tavern sale, 1007.
  Shamrock, the Irish cognizance, 371.
  Sharp, Mr. T., his work on pageants, 478.
  ----, W., engraver, 604.
  Shaving in winter, 18; anciently, 1268.
  Sheep blessing by the Romish church, 143; shearing, 740.
  Sheep’s head, singed, 1539.
  Sheet used at execution of Charles I., 187.
  Shepherd and shepherdess tavern, City-road, 442, 975.
  Shere Thursday, 400.
  Sheridan, R. B., notice and character of, 910.
  Ship, in a pageant, 1450.
  Shirt, a miraculous iron one, 286; stitches in a shirt, 1375.
  Shoemaker-row, 1238.
  ----s, their patron and holyday, 1395; shoe-stealer blinded, 26.
  Shoes, sandals, and slippers, 513.
  Shony, a western isle sea-god, 1414.
  Shooting, at Bartholomew tide, 1235; in North Britain at Christmas,
    1634.
  Showman’s family described, 1189.
  Shrewsbury, Easter-lifting, 422.
  Shrid-pies, 1638.
  Shrive, shrove, 246.
  SHROVE TUESDAY, _movable_; customs, 242.
  Siddons, Mrs., 905.
  Side-bar, in Westminster-hall, 156.
  Sidney, Algernon, 479.
  Sign, Absalom, 1262; a tinman’s, 1385.
  Silenus, 450.
  SILVESTER, _December 31_; notice of him, 1653.
  SIMON, St., and St. JUDE, _October 28_; superstitions of the day,
    1403.
  Sirius, the dog-star, 897, 899.
  Sixtine chapel, M. Angelo’s scaffold for it, 267.
  Skeleton-huntsmen’ song, 1296.
  Skewers, used for pins, 9.
  Skinners’ company, their pageant, 1452.
  ---- well, mystery played at, 753.
  Slatyer, W., his psalms to song tunes, 1598.
  Sleep, how avoided by a saint, 282.
  Sleepers, legend of the Seven, 1035.
  Slingsby, sir H., his account of the training in 1639, 28.
  Sluicehouse, near Hornsey Wood, 696.
  Smith, Gentleman, account of, 1288.
  Smithery, ode in praise of, 1499.
  Smithfield, entertainment on May-day, 589; at Bartholomew-fair time,
    1166; whence so called, 1231; paved, 1234.
  Smoking, 667.
  Smuchdan, 12.
  Smugging tops, dumps, &c. 253; a Guy, 1431; a man, 1435.
  Snipes, 1390.
  Snow-ball, sport, 257; snow-balls medicinal, 414.
  ---- drop described, 78.
  Snuff-taking, how to leave off, 152; wit at a pinch, 231.
  Soissons, church branch of seven tapers, 45.
  Solace, a printer’s penalty, 1136.
  Soldier pensioned for killing two men, and capturing their lion, 1006.
  Somers, lord, died, 525.
  ---- town miracle, 472.
  Somerset-house, old, what stones built with, 1479.
  Somersetshire, sports and customs, 435; customs, 837, 865.
  Somnambulism, 1591.
  Song, a, sung by itself, 1296.
  Sophia, princess, of Gloucester, walk in her gardens at Blackheath,
    689.
  Sops, joy-sops with twelfth-cake, 56.
  Sot’s hole, 689.
  Sound as a roach, 1121.
  South-sea bubble, 165.
  Sowans, 1633.
  Sowing, rewarded by cakes and cider, 42.
  Sparrows, their use, 495.
  Spectator, by whom published, 283.
  Spectral appearances to the editor, 123; why they were illusions, 125.
  Spencer, sir John, account of, 639.
  Spice-bread massacre, 54.
  Spiced-bowl, 10, 42.
  Spiders, 384; barometers, 931; fly in summer, 1284; save a saint, 102.
  Spines, Jack, a racket-player, 868.
  Spinsters, their patroness, 1508.
  Spirits, watching them in the church-porch, 523.
  Spital sermon, 443; an inflammatory one, 577.
  Sportsman, account of one, by himself, 290.
  Spring quarter, and festival, 335, 374; dress, 337; complete, 536;
    mornings, 530, 674.
  Sprout-kele, 196.
  Spry, Dr., preaches on Trinity Monday, 725.
  Squires of the Lord Mayor, 1331.
  Squirrels, habits and instincts, 1365, 1383; squirrel hunting, 1539.
  Stafford, its patron saint, 1278.
  ----shire customs, 423.
  Stage, the old, described, 757.
  Staines, sir W., anecdotes of, 972.
  Stamford bull running described, 1482.
  Standish, Dr., his inflammatory sermon, 577.
  Stang, a cowl-staff, 12.
  Starkey, capt. Ben., memoirs of, 922, 965, 1510.
  Star, feast of the, 45.
  Stars in winter, 22, 1582; observed by Flamsteed, 1091; fall to
    discover a buried image, 194.
  Steamboat visit to Richmond, 601.
  Stebbings, Isaac, swam for a wizard, 942.
  Steel-boots, worn by Charles II., 17.
  Steeple-climbing, 766.
  Steevens, George, account of, 152.
  STEPHEN, St., _December 26_; customs on his festival, 1641.
  Stepney Wood, a maying place, 552.
  Stilts, 256.
  Stock, Eliz., a giantess, 1197.
  Stocks, the, earl Camden put into, 481.
  Stockwell ghost, narrative, 62; solution, 68.
  Stone, old, at North Ronaldshay, 10.
  Stoning Jews, a Lent custom, 295.
  Stool ball, 430; see Ball-play.
  Storm, the great, in 1703, described, 1512.
  ---- cock, 535.
  Stourbridge fair, account of, 1300, 1487.
  Stow, John, antiquary died, 421.
  Strand, maypole, 556.
  Strathdown, new-year’s celebration, 11.
  Straw in the shoe, the perjurer’s sign, 157.
  Strong woman, 574.
  Strood, Kent, entailment of its natives, 704.
  Struensee and Brandt executed, 529.
  Stuart holydays, 188.
  ---- line, its termination, 33.
  Sudley, entertainment to queen Elizabeth, 55.
  Suett, the comedian, his legs, 1029.
  Suffocation, receipt for, 209.
  Suffolk customs, 430; witchcraft, 942.
  ----, countess of, her hair, 1263.
  ----, lady, her present to Pope, 1081.
  Suicides, how buried, 451.
  Summer, dress, 819; evening, 933; midnight, 812; morning and evening,
    815; morning, 962; solstice, 823; zephyr, 920; last rose, 1389;
    holydays, 1011.
  Sun, the, dancing, 421; symbolized, 491; sunset, 1355; sunshining on
    St. Vincent’s-day, 151.
  Sunday schools founded, 421.
  ----s, five in February, 310.
  Superstitions, vulgar, 515, 523.
  Swallow-day, 465; account of swallows, their migration, &c., 506, 644,
    647, 1098.
  Swash-bucklers and swashers, 1234.
  Sweetheart customs, and superstitions, 136, 260.
  SWITHIN, _July 15_; account of him, 953; establishes tithes in England
    _ib._; superstitions on his festival, 954.
  Swordbearer, and swords of the city, 1331.
  Sword and buckler, how carried, 1234.
  Sylvester, St.; see Silvester.
  Symes, Mr., of Canonbury tower, 638.
  Systrum, of the Egyptians, 1110.

  Tail-sticking, on St. Sebastian’s day, 135; at Strood, 704.
  Tailors, why they should require a reference, 120.
  Tansy pudding, 429.
  Tantony pig, 119.
  Tasks for a saint, 341.
  Tasso, died, 519.
  Tavistock monastery founded, 29.
  Tawdry, its derivation, 1383.
  Taylor, Jeremy, on card-playing, 89.
  ----, Joseph, bookseller, his endowment for an annual sermon on the
    great storm, 1517.
  Teddington church, Middlesex, mistletoe proscribed, 1637.
  Tee, the, described, 1523, 1528.
  Tell, William, arms his countrymen, 16.
  Temperature of winter, 1563.
  Temple, the, fountain, 1043.
  ---- gate, the pope burnt at, 1488.
  ----, Inner, customs at Christmas, 1618.
  Temptations of St. Antony, 109.
  Tenebræ, a Romish church service, 405.
  Term, first day of, customs, &c., 99, 155, 1436.
  Terminus, the god of boundaries, 99.
  Tewkesbury, battle of, 613.
  Thames, the, the king’s bear washed in it, 1005; its nuisances, 1042.
  Theatres at fair time, 442.
  Theatrical notice, 1296.
  Thimble and pea, 768.
  THOMAS, ST., _December 21_; customs on the day, 1586.
  Thompson, Memory Corner, 81.
  Thornton, Dr., exhibition to, 1459.
  Thread-my-needle, 692.
  Three Dons, the, a mystery, 747.
  ---- kings of Cologne, 45.
  ---- knocks on a saint’s head, 286.
  Threshing the hen, 245.
  Throne, Burmese, described, 1526.
  Thuanus’s history, English edition, 293.
  Tid, mid, misera, 379.
  Tiddy Doll and his song, 577.
  Tigress, and her whelps, by a lion, 1176, 1180.
  Tillotson, abp., the first prelate that wore a wig, 1262.
  Time, what it is, and its use, 310; time enough, 1377; measured, 1425;
    flies, 1426.
  Times, The, the first newspaper printed by steam, 1535.
  Tinder-boxes, when not in use, 99.
  Tinners, their patron saint, 334.
  Toast thrown to fruit trees, 42, 44.
  Tobacco, prohibited at Cambridge, 1264; a pipe in the morning, 1378.
  Tom, a cod-fish, 83.
  Tombuctoo, &c. described by Leo Africanus, 1582.
  Top, whipped in the Romish church, 199.
  Torches, at a royal wedding, 1551.
  Tottenham High-Cross fountain, 1041.
  Tower, the, lions, 1004.
  ----, Great Bell, of St. John’s Church, Clerkenwell, described, 1479.
  Town, out of, 491.
  ---- v. Country, 645.
  Townsend, police officer, his wig, 1263.
  Towton, battle of, 398.
  Trades, the, complaint against sir John Barleycorn, 73.
  TRANSLATION, EDWARD, K. W. S., _June 20_; origin of translations of
    saints’ bodies, 813.
  Travelling, old mode of, 876.
  Tree, a wicked one destroyed, 26.
  ---- of common law, 233.
  Tresham, sir T., prior of St. John’s, Clerkenwell, 1480.
  Trial, of a title to land in India, 240.
  Trimilki, 538.
  Tring, Herts, superstition, 1045.
  Trinity symbolized, 371.
  ---- house brethren, 724.
  ---- Sunday customs, 722.
  ---- Monday customs, _ib._
  Triumphs of London, 1446.
  Trumpet-blowers licensed, 1244.
  Tulips, and tulippomania, 607.
  Tunstall, bishop, befriends B. Gilpin, 330.
  Turkeys, Christmas, 1606.
  Turner, Anne, on her trial for murder, 1437.
  ----, Mr., pump-maker, 1042.
  Turnspits, anecdotes of, 1573.
  Tusser, Thomas, his epitaph and burial place, 285.
  Twelfth-cake, how to draw, 51; how made anciently, 56.
  ---- day eve, 41; twelfth-day customs, 47; characters, 52; derived
    from the Greeks, 57; and the Druids, 58; observed at court, 59.
  Twickenham ball-play, 245.
  Tye, John, watchman of Bungay, 1628.
  Tyson’s, rev. Michael, portrait of Butler, 1303.
  Tythes, penance after death for nonpayment, 704; established in
    England, 953.

  Vader-land, anglicised by lord Byron, 810.
  VALENTINE, _February 14_; derivation and customs of the day, 215.
  Vauxhall, accident, 1070; adventures at, 1457.
  VENERABLE BEDE, _May 27_; see Bede.
  Verard, Ant., his vellum edition of the Mystery of the Passion, 747.
  Vernon, adm., celebration of his birth-day, 1473.
  VINCENT, _January 22_; notice of him, 151.
  ----, T., his account of the fire of London, 1152.
  Viper, the, and her young, 1113.
  Virgil, Polydore, on church ceremonies, 202.
  Virgin, the, street music to her in Advent, 1595.
  Virgo, zodiacal sign, 1059.
  Visions, see Saints, Index II.
  Voelker’s gymnastics, 1316.
  Vos, Martin de, engraving from, 1495.
  Votive offerings at Isernia, 1324.

  Union with Ireland, 17.
  Upcott, Mr. William, 1056, 1160, 1601.
  Uptide Cross, 395.
  Urbine, servant to M. Angelo, 277.
  Uriel, archangel, 1326.
  Utrecht, peace of, concluded, 453.

  Waggon-driving at shrove-tide, 258.
  Waggoner in love, 227.
  Waits of London, 829; their ancient services, 1625.
  Wales, St. Patrick of, 371; superstitious customs, 523, 562, 849,
    1413; adventure in, 797; see Welsh.
  Walks, pleasant, disappearing, 872.
  Wallis, Mr., astronomical lectures, 60.
  Walnut tree, miraculous, 772.
  Walpole, Lydia, a dwarf, 1173.
  Wanyford, Henry, large man, died, 1565.
  Wanstead, Strand maypole carried to, 560.
  Want, Hannah, a long liver, account of, 1351.
  War, peaceful triumph in, 741.
  ---- cry, ancient English, 501; Irish, 502.
  Warburton, bp., what he said to the lord mayor, 446; his character of
    the month of November, 1419; notice of him, 768.
  Ward, Ned, his visit to Bartholomew fair, 1237.
  ----, Samuel, his sermons cited, 831.
  Wareham, translation of King Edward’s body, 813.
  Warwickshire customs, 423, 431; lion and dog bait at Warwick, 978;
    Warwickshire carol-singer, 1599.
  Wassail-bowl customs, 42, 43, 53, 55.
  Watch, setting the, anciently in London, 826; Nottingham, 833;
    Chester, 834.
  Watchmen’s verses, 1628.
  Water of the dead and living ford, 11.
  ----, boring for, 1041.
  ---- bailiff’s office, 1333.
  Waterloo, battle of, 804.
  Waters, Billy, in a puppet show, 1116.
  Watts, Joseph, of Peerless-pool, 973.
  Wax, blessed, 201.
  ---- work at Bartholomew fair, 1187.
  Way-goose, a printers’ feast, 1133.
  Weasel, died, for mealing on a saint’s robe, 44.
  Weather prognosticated, by bats, bees, beetles, birds, 535, 1548;
    blackbirds, 102; bulls, 506; buzzards, 535; cassia, 678; cerea, 679;
    chairs and tables, 101; chickweed, 677; church clocks, 1548; clouds,
    101; convolvolus, 677; corns, 101; cows, 506, 535; crickets, 101;
    cuckoo, 670; dandelion, 679; dew, 536; dogs, 101, 102, 535; dog-
    rose, 677; ducks, 101, 534; evening primrose, 678; feverfew, 677;
    fieldfares, 536; fish, 102; flies, 101, 535; four o’clock flower,
    678; frogs, 102, 535; geese, 534; glowworms, 102; goatsbeard, 678;
    gossamer, 535; hedge fruits, 535; hens, 534, 670; honeydew, 535;
    horses, 102; lettuce, 678; limbs, 101; marigold, 677, 678; moles,
    535; moon, 101, 1015, 1345; mountain ebony, 678; nipplewort, _ib._;
    peacocks, 536; peterel, 535; pigeons, _ib._, pigs, 534, 535;
    pimpernel, 101, 677; princesses’ leaf, 678; rainbow, 101, 670;
    ravens, 534; rooks, 102, 534, 669; sea fowl, 101; sea gulls, 535;
    serpentine aloe, 678; sheep, 535; sky, 102; sloe-tree, 670; smoke,
    101; snipes, 536; snow, 670; soot, 101; sounds, 1547; sowthistle,
    677; spiders, 535, 931; sun, 102; swallows, 101, 506, 533; swans,
    505; swine-pipes, 536; tamarind, 677; thermometer, 101; missel
    thrush, 535; toads, 102; trefoil, 677; voices, 1548; water fowl,
    534; water lily, 678; white thorns, 677; whitlow grass, 677; wild-
    goose, 535; wind, 101, 102, 505, 670; woodcocks, 536; woodseare,
    535; woodsorrel, 677.
  Weathercock of St. Clement’s church, Strand, 1498.
  Welsh charity-school anniversary, 322; valuation of cats, 1110;
    triplets, 1422; carols for the seasons, 1602.
  Welshman, sir T. Overbury’s, 320.
  Well-rope winds into a saint’s body, 37.
  Wenceslaus of Olmutz, engraving by, 1119.
  Werington, Christmas-eve custom, 1606.
  Wesley, Charles, senior and junior, musicians, account of, 1038.
  ----, Samuel, musician, notice of, 1040.
  West, Benjamin, painter, account of, 346.
  Western custom on Valentine’s day, 227.
  ---- Literary Institution, 1404.
  Westmeath twelfth-night, 58.
  Westminster-hall, with shops in it, 153.
  ---- school, Shrove Tuesday custom, 259.
  Weston, sir W., prior of St. John’s Clerkenwell, 1480.
  Weyd-monat, 737.
  Whifflers, 1444, 1488.
  Whist-playing, 91.
  WHIT SUNDAY, _movable_; Whitsuntide, 685, holydays in 1825 at
    Greenwich fair, 687; censer at St. Paul’s, 1246.
  Whitby, Daniel, divine, died, 386.
  White, Mr. H., engraver on wood, noticed, 907, 1113, 1320.
  ----, Jem, his doings and character, 589.
  ---- negress, 1189.
  Whitehead, W. W., gigantic boy, 1194.
  Whoo-he to horses, its antiquity, 1643.
  Wickham, East, Kent, 1388.
  ----, West, Kent, painted glass window of St. Catherine in the church,
    1506; delightful site of the village, 1507.
  Wife of two husbands, 1122; husband’s address to his wife, 1454.
  Wigs, 1259.
  Wild fowl shooting in France, 1575.
  ---- street chapel, annual sermon, 1512.
  Wilkie, the publisher, anecdote of, 914.
  WILLIAM, KING, LANDED, _November 4_; error of the almanacs, 1428.
  Williams, Mr. Samuel, artist, noticed, 892, 1059, 1189, 1345.
  Willow tree, 1080.
  Wilson, Richard, painter, notice of him, 651.
  ----, sir Thomas and lady, of Charlton, 1388.
  Wiltshire customs, 723.
  Winchester, mystery performed there, 755.
  Wind superstitions, 11; effects of east and north-east winds, 620,
    802.
  Winstanley killed in the Eddystone, 1515.
  Wint-monat, 1419.
  Winter, 110, 134, 198; its approach described, 1461; the quarter,
    1562; the season described, 1652.
  Winter-fulleth, 1345.
  ---- monat, 1543.
  ----, Death of, a sport, 359.
  ---- rainbow in Ireland, 107.
  ----, Dr. Robert, his storm sermon, 1517.
  Wishart, Geo., burned at St. Andrew’s, 709.
  Witchcraft, charm against, 55.
  ---- and cat-craft, 1106.
  ----, in Herefordshire, 1045.
  ----, in Suffolk, 942.
  Witney, Oxfordshire, old church, show at, 1246.
  Wives’ feast-day, 206.
  Woed-monath, 737, 1059.
  Wolf-monat, 2.
  Wolves’ club, 603.
  Woman, why one wept at her husband’s burial, 504.
  Wombwell, the showman’s lion fight, 997; his menagerie, 1197; and
    himself, 1198.
  Women formerly, 904; women barbers, 1272; angelical women, 1351.
  ----’s work, 1375.
  ----’s blacks, 905; fate of a dealer in, 908.
  Wood, Lucky, an ale wife, 1639.
  Woodcocks, 1390.
  Woodward, a fives-player, 867.
  Wool-trade feasts, 209.
  Woolwich dock-yard, St. Clement’s day at, 1501.
  ---- arsenal, its St. Catharine, 1508.
  Worcester, marquis of, his curious fountain, 1044.
  Worde, Wynkyn de, his carols, 1600, 1620.
  Worms, their utility, 70.
  Wreathock, an attorney transported, 157.
  Wren, sir Christopher, on the size of churches, 920.
  Wrestling at Bartholomew-tide, 1235.
  Wright, Mr., bees swarm on, 963.
  Writing-masters’ trial of skill, 1085.
  Wycliffe, John, 752.
  Wynne’s “Eunomus” recommended, 232.
  Wyn-monath, 1345.

  Yates and Shuter’s booth at Bartholomew fair, 1245.
  Yeasty ale, its virtue, 23.
  York, cardinal, account of, 33.
  ---- Corpus Christi play, 754.
  Yorkshire custom, 1379.
  Yorkshire goose pies, 1645.
  Young, Dr. Edward, poet died, 459.
  Yule derived, 1544.
  ---- -dough and cakes, whence derived, 1638.

  Zinzendorff, count, notice of, 771.


  II. INDEX TO ROMISH SAINTS,
  OF WHOM THERE ARE MEMOIRS OR ACCOUNTS, WITH THE DAYS
  WHEREON THEIR FESTIVALS ARE KEPT.

  _The Names in_ ITALICS, _are of Saints, &c. retained in the Calendar
  of the Church of England_.

  _The Names in_ CAPITALS _are derived from Scripture; and are also in
  the Calendar of the Church of England_.

  Abachum, January 19.
  Adalard, January 2.
  _Agatha_, February 5.
  _Agnes_, January 21.
  Aidan, August 31.
  _Alban_, June 17.
  Aldhelm, May 25.
  Alexander, February 26.
  _All Saints_, November 1.
  _All Souls_, November 2.
  Alnoth, February 27.
  Andifax, January 19.
  ANDREW, November 30.
  Anianus, April 25.
  _Anne_, July 26.
  _Annunciation, B. V. M._, Mar. 25.
  Anselm, April 21.
  Antony, January 17.
  _Assumption, B. V. M._, Aug. 15.
  Athanasius, May 2.
  Audry, October 17.
  _Augustine_, May 26.
  ----, August 28.

  Baldrede, March 6.
  Baradat, February 22.
  Barbatas, February 19.
  BARNABAS, June 11.
  BARTHOLOMEW, August 24.
  _Bede_, May 27.
  _Benedict_, or _Bennet_, Mar. 21.
  Benedict, bp., January 12.
  Bettelin, or Beccelin, Sept. 9.
  _Blase_, February 3.
  _Boniface_, June 5.
  _Brice_, November 13.
  Bride, or Bridget, February 1.
  Bruno, October 6.

  _Candlemas_, February 2.
  Casimir, March 4.
  _Catharine_, November 25.
  Catherine, April 30.
  _Cecilia_, November 22.
  _Chad_, March 2.
  Chilidonius, March 3.
  _Clement_, November 23.
  Climacus, March 30.
  Constantine, Sleeper, July 27.
  Cosmas & Damian, Sept. 27.
  _Crispin_, October 25.
  Crispinian, October 25.
  Cuthbert, March 20.
  _Cyprian_, September 26.

  _David_, March 1.
  _Denys_, October 9.
  Dionysius, Sleeper, July 27.
  _Dunstan_, May 19.

  Edelwald, March 23.
  _Edmund_, November 20.
  _Edward_, K., March 18.
  ---- June 20.
  ---- Confessor, Trans., October 13.
  Elphege, April 19.
  Eleutherius, September 6.
  Emetrius, March 3.
  _Enurchus_, September 7.
  _Epiphany_, January 6.
  Ethelburge, or Edilburge, October 11.
  _Etheldreda_, October 17.

  _Fabian_, January 20.
  Faine, see Fanchia.
  _Faith_, October 6.
  Fanchia, January 1.
  Felix of Nola, January 14.
  Ferreol, September 18.
  Fidelis, April 24.
  Finian, March 16.
  Francis, April 2.
  Fulgentius, January 1.

  Galmier, February 27.
  Genevieve, January 3.
  _George_, April 23.
  _Giles_, September 1.
  _Gregory_, G., March 12.
  Guardian Angels, October 2.
  Gudula, January 8.

  Hilary, January 13.
  _Holy Cross_, September 14.

  Ignatius Loyola, July 31.
  _Innocents_, December 28.
  _Invention of the Cross_, May 3.

  JAMES, May 1.
  James, July 25.
  _Jerome_, September 30.
  JOHN BAPTIST, June 24.
  JOHN, December 27.
  John, March 27.
  JOHN PORT LATIN, May 6.
  ----, Pope, May 27.
  John of Beverley, May 7.
  ----, Sleeper, July 27.
  Joseph, March 19.
  JUDE, October 28.

  Kentigern, January 13.

  _Lambert_, September 17.
  _Lammas_, August 1.
  _Lawrence_, August 10.
  Limneus, February 22.
  _Lucian_, January 7.
  _Lucy_, December 13.
  LUKE, October 18.
  Lupicinus, February 28.

  Macarius, January 2.
  _Machutus_, November 15.
  Malchus, Sleeper, July 27.
  Marcellus, January 16.
  Margaret of Cortona, Feb. 22.
  Maris, January 19.
  MARK, April 25.
  Mark, October 22.
  Martha, January 19.
  _Martin_, November 11.
  Martina, January 30.
  Martinian, Sleeper, July 27.
  MATTHEW, September 21.
  Maximian, Sleeper, July 27.
  _Michael_, September 29.
  Michael, May 8.
  Milburg, February 23.
  Mildred, February 20.
  Mochua, January 1.
  Monica, May 4.

  _Nativity_, _B. V. M._, Septem. 8.
  _Nativity_, December 25.
  _Nicholas_, December 6.
  _Nicomede_, June 1.

  Owen, August 24.

  _Patrick_, March 17.
  _Paul_, January 25.
  Paul, March 7.
  ----, June 30.
  ----, hermit, January 15.
  _Perpetua_, March 7.
  PETER, June 29.
  ----, 7th cent., January 6.
  ----’s chair, January 18.
  ---- ad Vincula, August 1.
  ---- Nolasco, January 31.
  Petronilla, May 31.
  PHILIP, May 1.
  Philip Neri, May 26.
  Piran, March 5.
  _Prisca_, January 18.
  Proclus, October 24.

  _Remigius_, October 1.
  _Richard de Wiche_, April 3.
  Roche, August 16.
  Romanus, February 28.
  Rumon, January 4.

  Serapion, Sleeper, July 27.
  Seven Sleepers, July 27.
  Severin, October 23.
  Simeon Stylites, January 5.
  _Simon_, October 28.
  Simon, March 24.
  _Stephen_, December 26.
  _Swithin_, July 15.
  _Sylvester_, December 31.

  Thalasius, February 22.
  Thalilæus, February 27.
  Theodosius, January 11.
  THOMAS, December 21.
  Thyrsus, January 28.
  Transfiguration, August 6.

  _Valentine_, February 14.
  Veronica, January 13.
  _Vincent_, January 22.
  _Visitation, B. V. M._, July 2.
  Vitus, June 15.

  Uldrick, February 20.
  Ulric, July 4.

  William, January 10.
  William, March 24.


III. POETICAL INDEX.

  I. ORIGINAL EFFUSIONS BY CONTRIBUTORS AND THE EDITOR.

  II. QUOTATIONS FROM STANDARD POETS AND ANONYMOUS AUTHORS.

  ORIGINAL
  _By_

  A friend, 217.
  D. G., 467.
  Δ 293, 658.
  E. C., 707.
  H., 1454.
  J. S., 802.
  Lector, 727.
  Mayer’s song, 567.
  Prior, J. R., 144.
  T. N., 646.

  ORIGINAL
  _By *
  The Editor_,

  Lady Jane Grey, 31.
  Twelfth-day, 47.
  North-east wind, 136.
  Valentine’s day, 216.
  Spring, 335.
  Angling, 344.
  Nature and art, 406.
  April fools, 412.
  Holyday song, 439.
  Milkmaids, 570.
  Richmond steamer, 602.
  Departed pleasures, 634.
  To Canonbury Tower, 642.
  Lady among flowers, 689.
  Hornsey sluice-house, 695.
  Izaak Walton, 697.
  Hornsey Wood house, 759.
  London-bridge, 775.
  Broom girls, 807.
  Summer, 818.
  Copenhagen-house, 858.
  Hagbush-lane, 877.
  Barrow-woman’s dress, 905.
  Captain Starkey, 922.
  To Mr. Charles Lamb, 930.
  Bathing “in hyghe sommer,” 972.
  Trees and water, 974.
  Tea-garden visitors, 975.
  Princess Amelia, 1071.
  Autumn, 1282.
  St. Denys, 1370.
  Seasonable, 1415.
  Winter, 1562.
  The piper, 1626.
  Italian minstrels, 1630.
  The Flight, 1650.

  AUTHORS CITED.

  Atherstone, 675.
  Barbauld, 78, 796.
  Barton, B., 80, 1112, 1126.
  Baynes, J., 158.
  Blackstone, sir W., 232.
  Bowring, 22, 328, 468, 920, 1348, 1426.
  Browne, W., 548.
  Buchanan, 542.
  Bull, J., 300.
  Burns, 1391.
  Byron, lord, 492, 528, 805, 1583.
  Chamberlayne, 1294.
  Chatterton, 1082.
  Chaucer, 224, 1084, 1620, 1643.
  Churchill, 1082.
  Clare, 962.
  Coleridge, 540, 739.
  Cotton, 1, 1654.
  Cowley, 132.
  Cowper, 16, 184, 941, 1082, 1399.
  Craven, lady, 543.
  Darwin, 539, 683.
  Douce, 1595.
  Douglas, Gavin, 598.
  Dryden, 1495.
  Dunno, 931.
  Evans, T., 1602.
  Fletcher, G., 1083.
  ----, R., 1639.
  Gay, 175, 226, 851, 955, 1227, 1409, 1636.
  Gent, 932.
  Googe, _see_ Naogeorgus.
  Goëthe, 680.
  Graydon, 1410.
  Hall, 1471.
  Hastings, Warren, 1128, 1130.
  Herrick, 10, 52, 56, 61, 204, 205, 546, 621, 1606, 1639.
  Holland, J., 1534.
  Huddesford, 1106, 1108.
  Hunt, Leigh, 98, 644.
  Hurdis, 228.
  Jago, 223.
  Jonson, Ben, 136, 1206, 1210.
  Jordan, T., 1452.
  Jortin, 1111.
  Keats, 137, 892.
  Kleist, 675.
  Lamb, C., 106.
  Llywarch Hen., 1422.
  Lloyd, 1378.
  Logan, 390.
  Lucretius, 674.
  Lydgate, 224, 552.
  M‘Creery, 1425.
  Martial, 1083.
  Marvell, 883.
  Milton, 242, 540, 608, 653, 675, 1098, 1547, 1616.
  Moore, T., 490, 1389, 1546.
  Morris, Hugh, 1602.
  Naogeorgus, 1, 55, 200, 208, 256, 394, 395, 651, 742, 845, 902, 1507,
    1539, 1552, 1611, 1643, 1647.
  Ovid, 195.
  Philips, 133.
  Planché, 241.
  Poole, Joshua, 4.
  Pope, 338, 561, 1439, 1468.
  Proctor, 534.
  Pughe, O., 1421.
  Rickman, 1356.
  Sannazarius, 791.
  Scott, sir W., 1554, 1624.
  Shelley, 963, 1150, 1422.
  Shenstone, 903.
  Shakspeare, 8, 28, 226, 261, 502, 606, 1082, 1442, 1455, 1606, 1641.
  Sheppard, 1639.
  Shipman, 179.
  Smith, baron, 289.
  ----, Charlotte, 78, 103, 679.
  Somervile, 1379.
  Southey, 270, 316, 935, 1019, 1031, 1052, 1362, 1599.
  Spenser, 3, 195, 311, 407, 537, 544, 738, 890, 1058, 1146, 1346, 1418,
    1543.
  Steevens, G. A., 1250.
  Thomson, 282, 616, 620, 684, 970, 1575.
  Thorn, R. J., 1635.
  Tusser, 54, 212, 246, 1471, 1643.
  White, H. K., 303, 687, 691.
  Wilde, R. H., 1570.
  Willsford, 175.
  Wither, G., 1631.
  Wolcott, 1311.
  Wordsworth, 279, 706.

  BOOKS CITED.

  Aikin’s Athenæum, 108, 338.
  Coll. Old Ballads, 502, 1238.
  Country Almanac, 207.
  Der Freischutz Travestie, 1296.
  Dodsley’s Coll., 218, 338.
  Dunton’s Athen. Oracle, 422
  ---- Brit. Apollo, 224.
  Gentleman’s Mag., 229.
  German Almanac, 854.
  Leeds Mercury, 211.
  Literary Pocket-book, 110, 963, 1374, 1564.
  New Monthly Mag., 174.
  Oxford Sausage, 1638.
  Pasquil’s Palinodia, 246, 557.
  Poor Robin’s Almanac, 225, 321, 430, 954, 1436, 1603.
  Sixty-five Poems, &c., 230.
  Times’ Telescope, 1342, 1473.

  ANONYMOUS.

  40, 158, 180, 218, 228, 229, 284, 294, 309, 384, 413, 466, 475, 492,
    525, 530, 644, 646, 667, 674, 720, 816, 888, 891, 894, 901, 909,
    920, 931, 933, 934, 1060, 1142, 1314, 1392, 1438, 1555, 1571, 1572,
    1598, 1628, 1635.


IV. FLORAL INDEX.

  THE PLANTS IN THE “FLORAL DIRECTORY” WITH THE DAYS WHEREON THEY ARE
  USUALLY IN FLOWER.

  Achania, hairy              } Dec. 7.
  _Achania pilosa._           }

  Agaric, floccose            } Oct. 18.
  _Agaricus floccosus._       }

  Agaric, mixen               } Oct. 30.
  _Agaricus fimetarius._      }

  Agaric, milky               } Oct. 9.
  _Agaricus lactifluus._      }

  Agrimony                    } July 1.
  _Agrimonia eupatoria._      }

  Aletris, Cape               } Oct. 10.
  _Veltheimia viridifolia._   }

  Alkanet, evergreen          } Apr. 3.
  _Anchusa semperv._          }

  Aloe, grape                 } Nov. 12.
  _Veltheimia uvaria._        }

  Amaranth, common            } Aug. 7.
  _Amaranthus hypoch._        }

  Amaryllis, golden           } Sep. 30.
  _Amaryllis aurea._          }

  Amaryllis, lowly            } Oct. 1.
  _Amaryllis humilis._        }

  Amaryllis, banded           } Aug. 26.
  _Amaryllis vittata._        }

  Amellus                     } Sep. 8.
  _Aster amellus._            }

  Anemone, garden             } Jan. 17.
  _Anemone hortensis._        }

  Anemone, wood               } Apr. 7.
  _Anemone nemorosa._         }

  Apricot                     } Feb. 23.
  _Armeniaca vulgaris._       }

  Apple tree                  } May 5.
  _Pyrus malus._              }

  Arbor vitæ                  } Dec. 8.
  _Thuja occidentalis._       }

  Arbor vitæ, Chinese         } Dec. 16.
  _Thuja orientalis._         }

  Asphodel yellow             } May 11.
  _Asphodelus luteus._        }

  Avens, common               } May 25.
  _Geum urbanum._             }

  Azalea, yellow              } May 26.
  _Azalea pontica._           }

  Balsam, common              } Aug. 10.
  _Balsama impatiens._        }

  Barberry                    } June 9.
  _Berberis vulgaris._        }

  Basil, sweet                } June 14.
  _Ocymum basilicum._         }

  Bay                         } Feb. 1.
  _Laurus nobilis._           }

  Bay                         } Nov. 13.
  _Laurus poetica._           }

  Bay, Indian                 } Feb. 4.
  _Laurus Indica._            }

  Bear’s-foot                 } Jan. 5.
  _Helleborus fœtidus._       }

  Blackthorn                  } Apr. 24.
  _Prunus spinosa._           }

  Blue bells                  } Aug. 4.
  _Campanula rotund._         }

  Blue bottle                 } May 29.
  _Centauria montana._        }

  Boletus, great              } Sep. 25.
  _Boletus bovinus._          }

  Boletus tree                } Sep. 22.
  _Boletus arboreus._         }

  Borage                      } Apr. 14.
  _Borago officinalis._       }

  Butter-bur, sweet           } Nov. 25.
  _Tussilago fragrans._       }

  Butter-bur, white           } Jan. 26.
  _Tussilago alba._           }

  Buttercups                  } May 27.
  _Ranunculus acris._         }

  Camomile, starlike          } Oct. 5.
  _Boltonia asteroides._      }

  Canterbury bells            } June 22.
  _Campanula medium._         }

  Cape aletris                } Nov. 8.
  _Veltheimia glauca._        }

  Cardamine, rough            } Mar. 30.
  _Cardamine hirsuta._        }

  Cedar of Lebanon            } Dec. 23.
  _Pinus cedrus._             }

  Cedar, white                } Dec. 17.
  _Cupressus thyoides._       }

  Centaury, red               } June 7.
  _Chironia centaurium._      }

  Cerastium, dwarf            } Mar. 2.
  _Cerastium pumilum._        }

  Chamomile, field            } July 26.
  _Chamomilla matrica._       }

  Charlock                    } May 2.
  _Raphanus raphan._          }

  Chickweed                   } Mar. 4.
  _Alsine media._             }

  Chickweed, upright          } Mar. 10.
  _Veronica triphyllos._      }

  China aster                 } Aug. 11.
  _Aster Chinensis._          }

  Chironia, red               } July 29.
  _Chironia centaurium._      }

  Christopher, herb           } July 25.
  _Actæa spicata._            }

  Chrysanthemum, I.           } Oct. 7.
  _Chrysanthemum Ind._        }

  Chrysanthemum, la.          } Oct. 28.
  _Chrysanthemum scr._        }

  Cistus, yellow              } June 30.
  _Cistus helianthemum._      }

  Cloth of Gold               } Feb. 15.
  _Crocus sulphureus._        }

  Colt’s-foot                 } Mar. 15.
  _Tussilago farfara._        }

  Coltsfoot, sweet            } Nov. 15.
  _Tussilago fragrans._       }

  Comfrey, common             } May 13.
  _Symphytum officin._        }

  Convolvulus, gt. gar.       } July 16.
  _Convolvulus purpur._       }

  Cornflower, blue            } June 28.
  _Centaurea cyanus._         }

  Cowslip                     } Apr. 30.
  _Primula veris._            }

  Crocus, autumnal            } Sep. 10.
  _Crocus autumnalis._        }

  Crocus, officinal           } Sep. 13.
  _Crocus sativus._           }

  Crocus, purple              } Feb. 28.
  _Crocus vernus._            }

  Crocus, Scotch              } Feb. 17.
  _Crocus Susianus._          }

  Crocus, white               } Feb. 21.
  _Crocus versicolor._        }

  Crocus, yellow              } Feb. 4.
  _Crocus Mæsiacus._          }

  Crow-foot, wood             } Apr. 22.
  _Ranunculus auricom._       }

  Crown Imperial, red         } Apr. 4.
  _Fritillaria Imp’r._        }

  Crown Imper. yell.          } Apr. 5.
  _Fritillaria Imp. lut._     }

  Cuckoo pint                 } Apr. 28.
  _Arum maculatum._           }

  Cyclamen, rd-leavd.         } Feb. 7.
  _Cyclamen coum._            }

  Cypress, arbor vitæ         } Dec. 13.
  _Thuja cupressioides._      }

  Cypress narcisse            } Apr. 21.
  _Narcissus orient. alb._    }

  Cypress, N. Holland         } Dec. 18.
  _Cupressus Australis._      }

  Cypress, Portugal           } Dec. 10.
  _Cupressus Lusitanica_      }

  Daffodil, early             } Mar. 7.
  _Narcis. pseud. simp._      }

  Daffodil, great             } Apr. 27.
  _Narcissus major._          }

  Daffodil, lesser            } Mar. 30.
  _Narcissus minor._          }

  Daffodil, nodding           } Mar. 16.
  _Narcissus nutans._         }

  Daffodil, peerless          } Mar. 23.
  _Narcissus incompar._       }

  Daffodil, petticoat         } Mar. 9.
  _Narcissus bulbocod._       }

  Daisy, double               } Jan. 28.
  _Bellis perennis plen._     }

  Daisy, michaelmas           } Sep. 29.
  _Aster tradescanti._        }

  Daisy, midsummer            } June 11.
  _Chrysanthemum l._          }

  Dandelion                   } Apr. 11.
  _Leontodon taraxac._        }

  Dandelion, autumn           } Aug. 20.
  _Apargia autumnalis._       }

  Devil’s bit scabious        } Sep. 19.
  _Scabiosa succissa._        }

  Dragon’s head, Virg.        } July 20.
  _Dracocephalus Virg._       }

  Erysimum, yellow            } Apr. 26.
  _Erysimum barbarea._        }

  Fern, flowering             } July 29.
  _Osmunda regalis._          }

  Fern, great                 } Feb. 24.
  _Osmunda regalis._          }

  Feverfew, late flow.        } Oct. 6.
  _Pyrethrum scrotin._        }

  Fir, Scotch                 } Nov. 10.
  _Pinus silvestris._         }

  Fleabane                    } Sept. 3.
  _Inula dysenterica._        }

  Fleabane, Indian            } Oct. 14.
  _Inula Indica._             }

  Fleabane, wavy              } Oct. 12.
  _Inula undulata._           }

  Fleur-de-lis, Germ.         } May 12.
  _Iris Germanica._           }

  Fleur-de-lis, lurid         } May 28.
  _Iris lurida._              }

  Fleur-de-lis, Pers.         } Jan. 3.
  _Iris Persica._             }

  Fleur-de-lis, yellow        } June 10.
  _Iris pseudacorus._         }

  Frankincense                } Dec. 24.
  _Pinus tæda._               }

  Friar’s cowl                } Apr. 17.
  _Arum arisarum._            }

  Fumitory, bulbous           } Mar. 21.
  _Fumaria bulbosa._          }

  Fumitory                    } Mar. 29.
  _Fumaria officinalis._      }

  Furerœa, large              } Nov. 7.
  _Furerœa gigantea._         }

  Fungis, dung                } Sep. 24.
  _Agaricus fimetarius._      }

  Garlick, ursine             } Apr. 19.
  _Allium ursinum._           }

  Geodorum, lemon             } Dec. 2.
  _Geodorum, citrinum._       }

  Gilly flower stock          } May 4.
  _Mathiola incana._          }

  Glaucus, aletris            } Nov. 9.
  _Veltheimia glauca._        }

  Globe flower, Asiatic       } May 7.
  _Trollius Asiaticus._       }

  Golden rod                  } Aug. 28.
  _Solidago virga aurea._     }

  Golden rod, Canad.          } Sep. 9.
  _Solidago canadensis._      }

  Golden rod, evergr.         } Sep. 28.
  _Solidago sempervir._       }

  Golden rod, gigant.         } Sep. 26.
  _Solidago gigantea._        }

  Golden rod, late            } Oct. 26.
  _Solidago petiolaris._      }

  Goldilocks                  } Feb. 4.
  _Polytrichum comm._         }

  Gorse                       } Jan. 10.
  _Ulex Europæa._             }

  Gooseberry, Barbad.         } Dec. 4.
  _Cactus Pereskia._          }

  Ground ivy                  } Apr. 8.
  _Glechoma hederacea._       }

  Groundsel                   } Jan. 2.
  _Senecio vulgaris._         }

  Groundsel, marsh            } Aug. 13.
  _Senecio paludosus._        }

  Groundsel, mount.           } July 28.
  _Senecio montanus._         }

  Harebell                    } Apr. 23.
  _Hyacinthus non scrip._     }

  Hart’s-tongue               } Jan. 31.
  _Asplenium scolopen._       }

  Hawk’s eyes, garden         } July 6.
  _Crepis barbata._           }

  Hawkweed, golden            } July 19.
  _Hieracium aurant._         }

  Hawkweed, hedge             } Aug. 27.
  _Hieracium umbellat._       }

  Hazel                       } Jan. 4.
  _Corylus avellana._         }

  Heath, bloody               } Dec. 28.
  _Erica cruenta._            }

  Heath, Cornish              } Mar. 11.
  _Erica vagans._             }

  Heath, crowded              } Dec. 12.
  _Erica conferta._           }

  Heath, flame                } Dec. 27.
  _Erica flammea._            }

  Heath, nest flowered        } Dec. 6.
  _Erica nidiflora._          }

  Heath, pellucid             } Dec. 22.
  _Erica pellucida._          }

  Heath, purple               } Dec. 26.
  _Erica purpurea._           }

  Heath, senista              } Dec. 29.
  _Erica genistopha._         }

  Heath, two          } Dec. 19.
  _Erica bicolor._            }

  Hearts-ease                 } Mar. 13.
  _Viola tricolor._           }

  Helenium, downy             } Oct. 3.
  _Helenium pubescens._       }

  Helenium, smooth            } Oct. 13.
  _Helenium autumnale._       }

  Hellebore, green            } Mar. 5.
  _Helleborus viridis._       }

  Hellebore, winter           } Jan. 25.
  _Helleborus hyemalis._      }

  Hemp, African               } Nov. 16.
  _Sanseviera Guineam_        }

  Henbane, lurid              } Mar. 26.
  _Hyoscyamus scopolia_       }

  Herb, Robert                } Apr. 29.
  _Geranium Robertian._       }

  Hibiscus, long stalk        } Dec. 5.
  _Hibiscus pedunculat._      }

  Holly                       } Oct. 11.
  _Ilex aquifolium._          }

  Holly                       } Dec. 25.
  _Ilex bacciflora._          }

  Hollyhock                   } Aug. 3.
  _Althea rosea._             }

  Hollyhock, yellow           } Aug. 29.
  _Althea flava._             }

  Horse chestnut              } May 20.
  _Æschylus hippocast._       }

  Hyacinth, starch            } Apr. 6.
  _Hyacinthus racemos._       }

  Hyacinth, blue              } Feb. 6.
  _Hyac. orient. crœul._      }

  Indian tree                 } Dec. 3.
  _Euphorbia Tirucalli._      }

  Ixia, channelled            } Mar. 12.
  _Ixia bulbocodium._         }

  Ivy                         } Jan. 15.
  _Hedera helix._             }

  Jonquil, great              } Mar. 8.
  _Narcissus lætus._          }

  Jonquil, sweet scent.       } Mar. 27.
  _Narcissus odorus._         }

  Julienne de nuit            } June 19.
  _Hesperis tristis._         }

  Laurastinus                 } Nov. 1.
  _Laurastinus semperv._      }

  Laurel, common              } Jan. 9.
  _Prunus lauro-cerasus._     }

  Laurel, Portugal            } Jan. 7.
  _Prunus Lusitanica._        }

  Laurel, Portugal            } Nov. 14.
  _Cerasus Lusitanica._       }

  Leek                        } Mar. 1.
  _Porrum album._             }

  Leopard’s bane, grt.        } Mar. 18.
  _Doronicum pardalia._       }

  Leopard’s bane, less.       } Mar. 28.
  _Doronicum plantag._        }

  Lilac                       } May 23.
  _Syringa vulgaris._         }

  Lily, African               } July 22.
  _Agapanthus umbell._        }

  Lily, belladonna            } Aug. 16.
  _Amaryllis belladonn._      }

  Day lily, copper            } July 4.
  _Hemerocallis fulva._       }

  Lily, Egyptian wat.         } Aug. 5.
  _Nelumbo Nilotica._         }

  Lily, Guernsey              } Aug. 30.
  _Amaryllis Sarniensis._     }

  Lily, Lent                  } Mar. 6.
  _Narcissus pseu. mul._      }

  Lily, Philadelphia          } July 21.
  _Lilium Philadelphic._      }

  Lily of the valley          } May 8.
  _Convallaria majalis_       }

  Lily, tiger                 } Aug. 2.
  _Lilium tigrinum._          }

  Lily, white                 } July 2.
  _Lilium candidum._          }

  Lily, yel. Turkscap         } May 31.
  _Lilium pompon. flav._      }

  Liverwort, noble            } Feb. 12.
  _Anemone hepatica._         }

  Loosestrife, purple         } July 27.
  _Lythrum salicaria._        }

  Love lies bleeding          } Aug. 8.
  _Amaranthus procum._        }

  Globe flower                } May 6.
  _Trollius Europæus._        }

  Lungwort                    } Feb. 27.
  _Pulmonaria officina._      }

  Lupin, blue                 } July 13.
  _Lupinus cœruleus._         }

  Lupin, red                  } July 14.
  _Lupinus perennis._         }

  Lupin, tree                 } July 24.
  _Lupinus arboreus._         }

  Lupin, yellow               } July 11.
  _Lupinus flavus._           }

  Maidenhair, comm.           } Jan. 30.
  _Asplenium tricho._         }

  Mallow, narrow-lea.         } Sep. 17.
  _Malva augustifolia._       }

  Mallow, tried               } July 3.
  _Malva sylvestris._         }

  Common daisy                } Feb. 22.
  _Bellis perennis._          }

  Marigold                    } Mar. 25.
  _Calendula officinalis._    }

  Marigold, African           } Aug. 18.
  _Tagetes erecta._           }

  Marigold, autumn            } July 18.
  _Chrysanthemum cor._        }

  Marigold, French            } Aug. 21.
  _Tagetes patula._           }

  Marigold, golden fig        } Mar. 3.
  _Mesembrianthem. au._       }

  Marigold, sm. Cape          } July 15.
  _Calendula pluvialis._      }

  Maudlin, sweet              } Oct. 8.
  _Actillea ageratum._        }

  Mercury, annual             } April 1.
  _Mercurialis annua._        }

  Mercury, lasting            } Mar. 15.
  _Mercurialis perennis._     }

  Mezereon                    } Feb. 10.
  _Daphne Mezereon._          }

  Moneywort                   } June 8.
  _Lysimachia nummu._         }

  Monk’s hood                 } May 19.
  _Aconitum Napellus._        }

  Monkey flower               } June 17.
  _Mimulus luteus._           }

  Moss, early                 } Jan. 11.
  _Bryum horæum._             }

  Moss, earth                 } Jan. 27.
  _Phascum cuspidat._         }

  Moss, four-toothed          } Jan. 18.
  _Bryum pellucidum._         }

  Moss, great water           } Feb. 3.
  _Fontinalis antepyret._     }

  Moss, hygrometric           } Jan. 12.
  _Funaria hygromet._         }

  Moss, lesser water          } Feb. 1.
  _Fontinalis minor._         }

  Moss, screw                 } Jan. 6.
  _Tortula rigida._           }

  Moss, silky fork            } Feb. 10.
  _Mnium heteomallum_         }

  Moss, stalkless             } Jan. 24.
  _Phascum muticum._          }

  Moss, narrow spring         } Feb. 8.
  _Mnium androgynum_          }

  Mouse ear                   } May 18.
  _Hieracium pilosella._      }

  Mullen, great               } July 31.
  _Verbascum virgatum_        }

  Mullen, white               } July 30.
  _Verbascum lychnitis._      }

  Mushroom                    } Sep. 5.
  _Agaricus campestris._      }

  Musk flower                 } July 23.
  _Scabiosa atropurpur._      }

  Narcissus, green            } Apr. 13.
  _Narcissus viridiflor._     }

  Narcissus, gr. autu.        } Oct. 29.
  _Narcissus viridiflor._     }

  Narcissus, musk             } Apr. 18.
  _Narcissus moschat._        }

  Narcissus, poetic           } May 3.
  _Narcissus poeticus._       }

  Narcissus, Roman            } Feb. 9.
  _Narcissus Romanus._        }

  Nasturtium                  } July 7.
  _Tropœolum majus._          }

  Navelwort                   } Feb. 20.
  _Cynoglossum ompha._        }

  Nettle, comm. dead          } Jan. 6.
  _Lamium purpureum._         }

  Nettle, large dead          } Jan. 20.
  _Lamium garganic._          }

  Nettle, white dead          } Jan. 19.
  _Lamium album._             }

  Our lady’s slipper          } June 23.
  _Cypripedium calceo._       }

  Oxlip                       } Mar. 29.
  _Primula elatior._          }

  Passion flower              } Sep. 14.
  _Passiflora cœrulea._       }

  Passion flow. ap. fr.       } Nov. 19.
  _Passiflora maliform._      }

  Passion flow. cilcat.       } Sep. 21.
  _Passiflora cilcata._       }

  Passion flow. curly         } Nov. 18.
  _Passiflora serrata._       }

  Passion flow. semi.         } Sep. 12.
  _Passiflora peltata._       }

  Pea, sweet                  } July 17.
  _Lathyrus odoratus._        }

  Peach                       } Feb. 25.
  _Amygdalus Persica._        }

  Periwinkle, lesser          } Feb. 26.
  _Vinca minor._              }

  Peziza                      } Jan. 23.
  _Peziza acetabulum._        }

  Pheasant’s eye, aut.        } Aug. 31.
  _Adonis autumnalis._        }

  Physalis, angular           } Nov. 5.
  _Physalis alkakengi._       }

  Pilewort                    } Mar. 22.
  _Ficaria verna._            }

  Pimpernal                   } June 2.
  _Anagallis arvensis._       }

  Pine, Aleppo                } Dec. 11.
  _Pinus Halepensis._         }

  Pine, stone                 } Dec. 20.
  _Pinus pinea._              }

  Pine, swamp                 } Dec. 14.
  _Pinus palustris._          }

  Pine, Weymouth              } Nov. 11.
  _Pinus Strobus._            }

  Pine, pitch                 } Dec. 15.
  _Pinus resinosa._           }

  Pink, common                } June 6.
  _Dianthus deltoides._       }

  Pink, Indian                } June 4.
  _Dianthus Chinensis._       }

  Pæony, common               } May 14.
  _Pæonia officinalis._       }

  Pæony, coralline            } May 14.
  _Pæonia corallina._         }

  Pæony, slend. leaved        } May 10.
  _Pæonia tenuifolia._        }

  Polyanthus                  } Feb. 13.
  _Primula polyanthus._       }

  Polyanthus, red             } April 9.
  _Primula poly. rubra._      }

  Pontieva                    } Dec. 30.
  _Ponthieva glandal._        }

  Poppy, doubtful             } June 20.
  _Papaver dubium._           }

  Poppy, early red            } May 17.
  _Papaver argemone._         }

  Poppy, horned               } June 18.
  _Chelidonium glauc._        }

  Poppy, monkey               } May 24.
  _Papaver orientate._        }

  Poppy, Welsh                } May 15.
  _Papaver, Cambric._         }

  Primrose                    } Nov. 3.
  _Primula vulgaris._         }

  Primrose, common            } Feb. 5.
  _Primula vulgaris._         }

  Primrose, evening           } July 8.
  _Oenothera biennis._        }

  Primrose, lilac             } Feb. 16.
  _Primula acaulis pl._       }

  Primrose, red               } Feb. 5.
  _Primula aculis._           }

  Primrose, red               } May 21.
  _Primula verna rub._        }

  Ragged Robin                } May 21.
  _Lychnis flos cuculi._      }

  Ragwort                     } Aug. 9.
  _Senecio Jacobea._          }

  Ranunculus, garden          } June 13.
  _Ranunculus Asiatic._       }

  Rattle, yellow              } June 29.
  _Rhinanthus galli._         }

  Rhododendron                } May 2.
  _Rhododendrum Pont._        }

  Rosa de meaux               } June 3.
  _Rosa provincialis._        }

  Rose, Christmas             } Jan. 21.
  _Hellebor. rig. flor. alb._ }

  Rose, everblowing           } Mar. 8.
  _Rosa semperflorens._       }

  Rose, moss Proven.          } June 16.
  _Rosa muscosa._             }

  Rose, three-leaved          } June 5.
  _Rosa Sinica._              }

  Rose, yellow                } June 1.
  _Rosa lutea._               }

  Rose, double yell.          } July 5.
  _Rosa sulphurea._           }

  Rose, white dog             } June 12.
  _Rosa arvensis._            }

  Saffron, Byzantine          } Sep. 15.
  _Colchicum Byzantic._       }

  Saffron, meadow             } Aug. 6.
  _Colchicum autumn._         }

  Saffron, com. mead.         } Sep. 20.
  _Colchicum autumn._         }

  Saffron, varieg. mead       } Sep. 11.
  _Colchicum variegat._       }

  St. John’s wort             } June 24.
  _Hypericum pulchr._         }

  St. John’s wort, per.       } June 27.
  _Hypericum perforat._       }

  Soapwort                    } Sep. 4.
  _Saponaria officinalis_     }

  Soapwort, common            } Oct. 2.
  _Saponaria officinal._      }

  Saxifrage, golden           } Mar. 24.
  _Chrysosplenum oppo._       }

  Saxifrage, great            } Apr. 12.
  _Saxifraga crassifol._      }

  Sensitive plant             } June 15.
  _Mimosa sensitiva._         }

  Shamrock                    } Mar. 17.
  _Trifolium repens._         }

  Silphium, three-lea.        } Oct. 22.
  _Silphium trifoliatum._     }

  Silphium, hairy             } Oct. 21.
  _Silphium asteriscus._      }

  Snapdragon, great           } July 12.
  _Antirrhinum purpu._        }

  Snapdragon, speck.          } July 10.
  _Antirrhinum triphyl._      }

  Snowdrop                    } Feb. 2.
  _Galanthus nivalis._        }

  Snowflake, spring           } Apr. 20.
  _Leucojum vernum._          }

  Soldanel, mountain          } Mar. 14.
  _Soldanella Alpina._        }

  Solomon’s seal              } May 9.
  _Convallaria multifl._      }

  Sedum, great                } Sep. 1.
  _Sedum telephium._          }

  Southernwood,               } Oct. 4.
  _Artemisia abrotan._        }

  Sowthistle, blue            } June 26.
  _Sonchus cæruleus._         }

  Sowthistle, great           } Aug. 12.
  _Sonchus palustris._        }

  Sowthistle, marsh           } July 9.
  _Sonchus palustris._        }

  Sparrowwort,                } Dec. 21.
  _Erica passerina._          }

  Spearwort, lesser           } May 30.
  _Ranunculus flammu._        }

  Speedwell, field            } Feb. 19.
  _Veronica agrestis._        }

  Speedwell, wall             } Feb. 18.
  _Veronicâ arvensis._        }

  Sphenogyne                  } Nov. 29.
  _Sphenogyne piliflora._     }

  Spruce, Corsican            } Dec. 9.
  _Pinus Laricio._            }

  Stapelia, dark              } Dec. 1.
  _Stapelia pulchra._         }

  Stapelia, red               } Nov. 20.
  _Stapelia rufa._            }

  Stapelia, starry            } Nov. 24.
  _Stapelia radiata._         }

  Stapelia, variegated        } Nov. 28.
  _Stapelia variegata._       }

  Star, Bethlehem, gr.        } May 16.
  _Ornithogalum umbel._       }

  Star, Bethlehem, yel.       } Mar. 19.
  _Ornithogalum lut._         }

  Star, Bethlehem, yel.       } Oct. 25.
  _Tragopogon praten._        }

  Starwort, fleabane          } Oct. 25.
  _Aster conizoides._         }

  Starwort, floribund         } Oct. 27.
  _Aster floribundus._        }

  Starwort, golden            } Sep. 7.
  _Aster solidaginoides._     }

  Starwort, manyflow.         } Sep. 27.
  _Aster multiflorus._        }

  Starwort, meagre            } Oct. 25.
  _Aster miser._              }

  Starwort, pendulous         } Sep. 18.
  _Aster pendulus._           }

  Starwort, rushy             } Oct. 23.
  _Aster junicus._            }

  Starwort, scattered         } Oct. 28.
  _Aster passiflorus._        }

  Starwort, sea               } Sep. 16.
  _Aster tripolium._          }

  Starwort, white             } Sep. 23.
  _Aster dumotus._            }

  Starwort, zigzag            } Oct. 24.
  _Aster flexuosus._          }

  Stitchwort, green           } Apr. 15.
  _Stellaria holostea._       }

  Stramony                    } Aug. 1.
  _Datura stramonium._        }

  Stramony, tree              } Nov. 17.
  _Datura arborea._           }

  Strawberry tree             } Nov. 4.
  _Arbutus._                  }

  Strawberry, barren          } Jan. 14.
  _Fragaria sterilis._        }

  Sultan, sweet               } Oct. 15.
  _Centaurea moschi._         }

  Sultan, yellow              } Oct. 20.
  _Centaurea suavcolens._     }

  Sunflower                   } Aug. 24.
  _Helianthus annuus._        }

  Sunflower, perennial        } Aug. 25.
  _Helianthus multifl._       }

  Sunflower, ten-leav.        } Oct. 17.
  _Helianthus decapet._       }

  Sweet William               } June 25.
  _Dianthus barbatus._        }

  Tanzey                      } Aug. 23.
  _Tanacetum vulgare._        }

  Tickseed, fennel-le.        } Oct. 31.
  _Coreopsis ferulefolia._    }

  Tickseed, tall              } Oct. 19.
  _Coreopsis procosa._        }

  Timothy, herb               } Aug. 22.
  _Phleum pratense._          }

  Timothy, bran. herb         } Aug. 19.
  _Phleum panniculat._        }

  Toadflax, snapdrag.         } Aug. 17.
  _Antirrhinum linaria._      }

  Tremella, yellow            } Jan. 8.
  _Tremella deliques._        }

  Tulip                       } May 1.
  _Tulipa gesneri._           }

  Tulip, clarimond            } Apr. 25.
  _Tulipa præcox._            }

  Tulip, yellow               } Apr. 16.
  _Tulipa sylvestris._        }

  Violet, dog’s               } Mar. 20.
  _Viola canina._             }

  Violet, pale                } Apr. 10.
  _Viola tonbrigensis._       }

  Violet, sweet               } Mar. 17.
  _Viola odorata._            }

  Violet, white               } April 2.
  _Viola alba._               }

  Viper’s buglos              } June 21.
  _Echium vulgare._           }

  Virgin’s bower              } Aug. 15.
  _Clematis vitalba._         }

  Winter cherry               } Nov. 2.
  _Physalis._                 }

  Witlow grass, early         } Jan. 22.
  _Draba verna._              }

  Wood sorrel, convex         } Nov. 23.
  _Oxalis convexula._         }

  Wood sor., la. flow.        } Nov. 21.
  _Oxalis grandiflora._       }

  Wood sorrel, lin.           } Nov. 26.
  _Oxalis linearis._          }

  Wood sor., lupin-lea.       } Nov. 27.
  _Oxalis lupinifolia._       }

  Wood sor., three-col.       } Nov. 30.
  _Oxalis tricolor._          }

  Wood sor., trump. fl.       } Nov. 22.
  _Oxalis ubiflora._          }

  Yarrow                      } Oct. 16.
  _Achillæs millefolium._     }

  Yew                         } Nov. 6.
  _Taxus baccata._            }

  Yew tree                    } Jan. 13.
  _Taxus baccata._            }

  Zinnia, elegant             } Aug. 14.
  _Zinnia elegans._           }


V. CORRESPONDENTS’ INDEX.

  Amicus, 718.
  Bees and birds, 647.
  Cantab, 697.
  Constant Reader, 518, 1356.
  Causidicus, 517.
  C. L., 965, 1358, 1385.
  C. R. H., 1331.
  Δ, 658.
  D., 1063, 1122.
  D. G., 466.
  Dorsetshire gentleman, 206.
  Easter articles, 416, 519.
  E. J. C., 717, 944, 1337.
  Foster, John, 1573.
  Friend, a, “Item,” &c. 238.
  G. *, 1320.
  Gertrude Grizenhoofe, 1375.
  Gwilym Sais, 1421.
  H., 1454.
  H. C. G., 719.
  Hertfordshire letter, 565.
  H. H., 1566.
  H. M., 1343.
  H. T. B., 562.
  Jack Larking, 289.
  J. B., 244, 426, 799, 1077.
  J. H. H., 1575.
  Jibb, Joseph, 1482.
  Johnson, John, 1498.
  J. N., 1487.
  J. S., 802.
  Lector, 382, 727, 1124.
  Leeming, Joseph, 1467.
  Licensed Victualler, 1253.
  L. S., 425, 431.
  May-day Cow, 571.
  Native of Penzance, 561.
  ---- of St. Catharine’s, 1405.
  Naturalist, 614.
  Nicolas, Mr. N. H., 416.
  North Briton, 1518.
  O. F. S., 1015.
  P., Mr., 244.
  Pompey, 944.
  Prior, J. R., 144.
  R. N. B., 242.
  R. R., 1501, 1508.
  S. G., 1436.
  S. G. *, 1439.
  Sheffield letter, 591.
  Sigma, 841.
  S. R., 430, 1011, 1287.
  S. W., 253.
  T. A., 421.
  Tim Tims, 1308.
  T. N., 645, 898, 1080, 1606.
  T. O., 1580.
  Twelfth of August, 1099.
  Twenty-ninth of February, 597.
  Wentana Civis, 1379.
  W. G. T., 1510.
  ¶ ¶, 525.


VI. INDEX

TO THE ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY ENGRAVINGS CONTAINED IN THE VOLUME.

    1. Ærial, the, 1455.
    2. Amelia, princess, her autograph, 1076.
    3. Apostle spoons, 178.
    4. April, 407.
    5. ---- Fool, 410.
    6. Aquarius, 141.
    7. Aries, 375.
    8. August, 1058.
    9. Autumn, 1282.

   10. Barber, 1254.
   11. ---- ancient, 1266.
   12. ----’s basin, 1256.
   13. ---- candlestick, 1255.
   14. ---- chafer, 1256.
   15. ---- chafing-dish, 1257.
   16. ---- crisping-irons, 1257.
   17. Barrow-woman, 903.
   18. Bartholomew fair, 1223.
   19. ----, 1226.
   20. Bastile destroyed, 935.
   21. Bear taking in Russia, 182.
   22. Beard, cathedral, 1258.
   23. ---- Pick-a-devant, 1258.
   24. Beaton’s, cardinal, house, Edinburgh, 711.
   25. Boar’s head at Christmas, 1619.
   26. Bona Dea, _Frontispiece_, 1655.
   27. Boor’s head, 1622.
   28. Boy bishop, 1559.
   29. Bungay Watchman, 1627.
   30. Burmese state carriage, 1522.
   31. ---- Tee, 1528.
   32. Butler, Jacob, 1303.
   33. Buy a broom, 807.

   34. Calabrian minstrels, 1594.
   35. Canonbury tower, 634.
   36. Card-playing, by children, 90.
   37. Cats’ concert, 1106.
   38. Chad’s well, inscription, 323.
   39. Church of St. John, Clerkenwell, 1475.
   40. Copenhagen-house, 858.
   41. Cowper’s summer-house, 522.
   42. Cressets, _four_.
   43. Curfew, 244.

   44. December, 1543.

   45. Fantoccini, 1114.
   46. February, 195.
   47. Flamsteed’s horoscope, 1093.
   48. ---- autograph, 1097.
   49. Flight of the Holy Family, 1650.
   50. Flowers with symbols, 195.
   51. Fountain at Tottenham, 1041.

   52. Garrick’s autograph, 327.
   53. ---- ---- signature, 330.
   54. Gordon, Jemmy, 698.
   55. Grose, Francis, sleeping, 655.
   56. ---- ---- standing, 656.
   57. Guy Fawkes day, 1432.
   58. Gymnastics for youth, 19.
   59. ----, Voelker’s, 1322.

   60. Hagbush-lane cottage, 374.
   61. Hair-dress, ladies’, 1261.
   62. ---- bull-head, 1261.
   63. ---- curls on wires, 1261.
   64. Halifax gibbet, 147.
   65. Hare and tabor, 1210.
   66. Heading-block and maul, 149.
   67. Heart breaker, 217.
   68. Hen threshing, 247.
   69. ---- speaking, 250.
   70. Henry IX., K. of England, 33.
   71. ---- ---- reverse of his medal, 34.
   72. Hipson, Miss, a dwarf and a Malay, 1174.
   73. Hornsey Wood house, 759.
   74. ---- ---- ---- lake, 762.
   75. Huxter, 1214.
   76. Hyde Park gate, sale, 1358.

   77. Italian minstrels in London, 1630.

   78. January, 1.
   79. Joan of Arc’s fountain, 730.
   80. John, St., at Patmos, 618.
   81. July, 890.
   82. June, 738.

   83. King’s arms, a showman’s wood-cut, 1176.

   84. Labre, B. J., 472.
   85. Lamp, old, 833.
   86. Lifting at Easter, 423.
   87. Lion bait at Warwick, 986.
   88. Little man, 1190.
   89. Living skeleton, front, 1018.
   90. --------------, profile, 1033.
   91. --------------, back, 1034.
   92. London insignia, 1442.

   93. March, 311.
   94. May, 538.
   95. May-day at Hitchin, 567.
   96. -------- chimney sweepers, 583.
   97. -------- milkmaid’s garland, 570.
   98. Mermaid, a showman’s wood-cut, 1193.
   99. Michael Angelo Buonarroti, 271.
  100. Mid-Lent sport, 358.
  101. Midsummer-eve bonfire, 823.

  102. Nativity, the, 1610.
  103. Nero and his senate, 458.
  104. New London Bridge, 775.
  105. November, 1418.

  106. Octavia’s triumph, 458.
  107. October, 1346.

  108. Palm Sunday procession, 392.
  109. Passion flower, 770.
  110. Peerless-pool, 970.
  111. ------------ fish pond, 975.
  112. Piper, the, 1626.
  113. Pisces, 282.
  114. Plough Monday sports, 71.
  115. Porter, 1215.
  116. ------’s part, 1216.
  117. Printing office, 1134.
  118. Pulpit, 839.

  119. Richmond, Surrey, 602.

  120. Sadler’s Wells’ angling, 343.
  121. St. Anne and St. Joachim, 1010.
  122. St. Bride’s Church, Fleet-street, 87.
  123. St. Catharine, 1506.
  124. St. Cecilia, 1495.
  125. St. Crispin and St. Crispinian, 1395.
  126. St. Denys, 1370.
  127. St. Dunstan and the Devil, 671.
  128. St. George, 498.
  129. St. Ignatius Loyola, 1050.
  130. St. Michael and other archangels, 1328.
  131. St. Nicholas, 1556.
  132. St. Roche, 1120.
  133. Sandal, ancient, 514.
  134. September, 1146.
  135. Shoe, ladies, 516.
  136. Silenus, 450.
  137. Simeon, St., Stylites, 35.
  138. Sirius, 897.
  139. Sluice-house, Hornsey, 695.
  140. Somers’ Town miracle, 474.
  141. Spring, 335.
  142. ---- dress, 14th cent., 337.
  143. Squirrel, musical notes, _two_, 1366.
  144. Starkey, capt., 922.
  145. Stoning Jews in Lent, 295.
  146. Summer, 818.
  147. Summer dress, 14th cent., 819.
  148. Sun and Earth at Midsummer, 378.
  149. ---- at Midwinter, 59.
  150. Swallow, _hirundo rustica_, 506.

  151. Temptation of St. Antony, 114.
  152. Tiddy Doll, 575.
  153. ----’s musical notes, 578.
  154. Tree of Common Law, 234.
  155. Twelfth-day in London, 47.

  156. Valentine, postman, 215.
  157. Virgin, _Mater Dei_, 1273.

  158. Want, Hannah, 1352.
  159. Westminster-hall with its shops, 154.
  160. Whitehead, a giant boy, 1195.
  161. Wigs, travelling, 1260.
  162. ---- long perriwig, 1260.
  163. ---- peruke, 1259.
  164. Wild-fowl shooting in France, 1575.
  165. ---- shooter’s hut, 1578.
  166. Winter, 1560.


END OF VOL. 1.




  Transcriber’s Notes


  General remarks

  This e-text follows the text of the original printed work. Unusual
  spelling and inconsistencies have been retained; French and German
  accents and diacriticals have not been added, except as mentioned
  below.

  Depending on the hard- and software used and their settings, some
  characters or other elements may not display as intended.

  Several references are not present in the book (or the two other
  volumes); these have not been linked. Where single references point to
  multiple pages, these references have not been linked either.

  The original work has several gaps where numbers are missing; these
  are represented here as blanks (as for example in Cyder, at     per
  quart).

  In the Indexes, V precedes U.

  Statements about the scale of illustrations compared to the actual
  size of the object depicted may not be valid for this e-text.

  Volume II and Volume III are available at Project Gutenberg as well
  (www.gutenberg.org).


  Specific remarks

  Page 41/42, ... long past away: copied verbatim from the Athenæum, not
  changed.
  Page 235, tailor’s bill: the errors in the calculations (family visit
  to theatre) have not been corrected.
  Page 415, Moveable feasts: the corrections provided have not been
  corrected in the preceding text.
  Page 515, left foot: should be right foot, or the illustration has
  been reversed.
  Page 532: shirt/shift: both are articles of clothing, but one of them
  is likely to be a typographical error.
  Page 652, “we may advise early rising ...: the quote may end either
  before or (more likely) after Milton’s poem; the closing quote is
  missing.
  Page 764, chose the part of genuine greatness.”: the opening quote is
  missing.
  Page 922, footnote: some sources give Groat Market, others give Great
  Market as Hall’s address.
  Page 931/932, poem by Hone: the quote closing ... for the “love ... is
  missing, and should probably be inserted after ... love ... or after
  ... Every-Day Book.
  Page 1055, ... whilst St. Ignatius was living.”: it is not clear where
  the starting quotes should go.
  Page 1091, ... because I could: the sentence is incomplete in the
  printed work.
  Page 1245, four successive years, from 1779 to 1780: as printed in
  source.
  Page 1415: ... ringing of bels ... ringing of bells ...: as printed in
  the original work.
  Page 1439: To the Aldermen of the Ward of: presumably the original
  precept would have had a space for the name of the ward (cf. the
  second precept); the printed book does not show such space.
  Page 1568, St. Nicholas in Russia: the article has no relation to
  Russia.
  Page 1622: the original work has a single footnote with two footnote
  anchors. It has been assumed that the footnote applies to both
  anchors.
  Page 1692, first of April, 1811: it is not clear to what this entry
  refers.
  Page 1707 ff, Floral index: some plants are listed out of alphabetical
  order, this has not been corrected.


  Changes and corrections made

  Minor obvious punctuation (mainly missing end of sentence periods and
  periods after abbreviations), capitalisation and typographical errors
  have been corrected silently.

  Missing quote marks have been added silently where there was no doubt
  where they should go; otherwise they are mentioned above or below;
  excess quote marks have been deleted silently when there was clearly
  no need for them, otherwise they are mentioned above or below.

  Multiple footnote anchors for a single footnote: the footnotes have
  been copied as necessary.

  Footnotes have been moved to the end of the day to which they belong.
  Ibid. has been replaced with the actual title when footnotes have been
  moved apart, the actual title has been replaced with Ibid. when
  footnotes have been moved together.

  A.D./A. D. and B.C./B. C. have been standardised to A. D. and B. C.,
  respectively.

  Inverted asterisms have been replaced by regular asterisms (⁂).

  (Scottish) names M’... and M‘... have been standardised to M‘....

  Page 9: “ added before to forsake ...
  Page 12: pubic-house changed to public-house
  Page 29: ” added after ... (ignorant) a schoolmaster.
  Page 39: Woordenbock changed to Woordenboek
  Page 46: question mark after Peratoras deleted
  Page 58: ... they use to set up ... changed to ... they used to set up
  ...
  Page 78: ... “as the earliest flower ... changed to ... as “the
  earliest flower ...
  Page 102: Sts. Felix changed to St. Felix (only one St. Felix has his
  feast on 14 January)
  Page 133: ... when he sees buds ... changed to when she sees buds ...
  Page 136: Keates changed to Keats
  Page 139/140: ” inserted after ... happy speed.--
  Page 188: me army changed to the army
  Page 197: mensis plancentarum changed to mensis placentarum; “food,”
  or cakes.” changed to “food,” or “cakes.”
  Page 200: ” deleted after ... the hands of the faithful.
  Page 208: .. that to the, ... changed to ... that to thee, ...
  Page 218: ” added after ... her pow’r displays.
  Page 257: Neogeorgus changed to Naogeorgus
  Page 305: Geshiete der Erfindungen changed to Geschichte der
  Erfindungen
  Page 322: Album Porrum changed to Allium Porrum
  Page 331: conge d’élire changed to congé d’élire
  Page 378: ” deleted after ... hosen, &c.
  Page 392: ” added after ... the lustre of his miracles,
  Page 405: “ inserted before it preserves the house ...
  Page 412: un poisson b Avril changed to un poisson d’Avril
  Page 435: setting up off poles changed to setting up of poles
  Page 446: an Eastern Tale changed to an Easter Tale
  Page 465/466: ” added after ... of half the year to rise.
  Page 468: ” added after ... kind of monastery,
  Page 469: ” deleted after ... learned the Gregorian chant.
  Page 478: in the tower changed to in the Tower
  Page 503: rejoicing peels changed to rejoicing peals
  Page 507: Hirundo vrbica changed to Hirundo urbica
  Page 507: Hirundines vrbicae changed to Hirundines urbicae
  Page 529: Ferara changed to Ferrara
  Page 547/548: the bag-pipes straines changed to the bag-pipe’s
  straines
  Page 609: blow of tulips changed to bowl of tulips
  Page 621: ... died, in 1721 changed to ...died, in 721
  Page 628: ‘ inserted before I would not,’ says I; ...
  Page 645: ‘We walked in the evening,’ says Boswell, ‘in
  Greenwich-park. ... changed to “We walked in the evening,” says
  Boswell, “in Greenwich-park. ...
  Page 655: This gentlemen ... changed to This gentleman
  Page 666: ” inserted after ... the Horticultural Society.
  Page 705: St. Marttin’s-in-the-fields changed to St.
  Martin’s-in-the-fields
  Page 710: Irid Lurida changed to Iris Lurida
  Page 754: ... ancient performances is ... changed to ... ancient
  performances are ...; ... numerous quickly plied-hammers ... changed
  to ... numerous quickly-plied hammers ...
  Page 786: S. R. S. changed to F. R. S.
  Page 800: ... I fall too ... changed to ... I fall to ...
  Page 802: ) added after ... with sparkling eyes,
  Page 832: ” added after ... Ile be thy Ward.
  Page 834: ... all other things that be suspected,’ changed to ... all
  other things that be suspected,”
  Page 836: closing quote added after ... camell,
  Page 871/872, ... or. demurrer ... changed to o^{r}. demurrer; Sr.
  Tho. Hoby changed to S^{r}. Tho. Hoby
  Page 884: Shall, be himself destroyed at last changed to Shall be
  himself destroyed at last
  Page 885: ... took out station ... changed to ... took our station ...
  Page 901, Like friendship clinging: indented like other stanzas’ last
  lines.
  Page 905, ... amber-berries?” changed to ... amber-berries!”
  Page 929/930: QUATORZIANS changed to QUATORZAINS
  Page 932: ” added after ... for the “love
  Page 933: St. laus changed to St. Idus
  Page 950: ... readers patience ... changed to ... reader’s patience
  ...
  Page 956: Said I not true’ changed to Said I not true,
  Page 972: ” added after ... that once Perilous Pond,
  Page 975: ... Philosophical Transactions” changed to ...
  “Philosophical Transactions”
  Page 992: 3. inserted before Tiger, ...
  Page 1007: re-reformation changed to reformation
  Page 1022: shoulder-blade changed to shoulder-blades
  Page 1025: dorsal vertebra changed to dorsal vertebræ
  Page 1044: ” added after ... sound and visual display.
  Page 1051: ” added after ... t’other shoe on
  Page 1091/1097: y^{e}, ye etc. standardised to y^{e}
  Page 1102: by ~K. d. b. k.~ denotes ... changed to by ~K. b. d. k.~
  denotes ...
  Page 1120: “ inserted before Sound as a roach.”
  Page 1123: ... the rev. Mr. G. --, changed to the rev. Mr. G--,
  Page 1125, footnote [262]: “ inserted before till they be red ...
  Page 1133: ... diocess of Utrecht ... changed to diocese of Utrecht
  ...
  Page 1138: ” added after “Academy of Armory
  Page 1170: ... were the toyseller’s; ... changed to ... were the
  toysellers’; ...
  Page 1201: Win-the fight changed to Win-the-fight; Zeal-of the-land
  changed to Zeal-of-the-land
  Page 1216: ” added after “fancy monger
  Page 1218: ” added after ... in its prime.
  Page 1269: ” inserted after ... brought in the brush.
  Page 1285: ... and ourang-outang ... changed to ... an ourang-outang
  ...
  Page 1286: Anderlent changed to Anderlecht
  Page 1295: the town goal changed to the town gaol
  Page 1309: Roussins dé Arcadie changed to “Roussins d’Arcadie”
  Page 1325: A. 409 changed to A. D. 409
  Page 1336, row Stationary wares, ...: 0 added in column for pence
  Page 1359: he bytes; not he is no fugitive changed to he bytes not; he
  is no fugitive
  Page 1362: Faith changed to St. Faith
  Page 1368: ’ added after ... jest and fancy.
  Page 1373: October 1. changed to October 11.
  Page 1379: ” added after Employ thy precious hours.
  Page 1381/1382, footnote [352]: the footnote anchor was not present in
  the printed work; it has been inserted at what seemed the most likely
  place.
  Page 1416: ” added after ... a blessing never ceaseth.; Corcopsis
  ferulefolia changed to Coreopsis ferulifolia
  Page 1421/1422: ” added after ... which are her winding sheet.
  Page 1430: ” added after ... please to remember Guy.
  Page 1459: ” added after ... valuable consideration,
  Page 1470: ” added after ... the altar to be removed.
  Page 1493: header FLORAL DIRECTORY inserted (November 19)
  Page 1499/1500: ... and do so no more.’ changed to ... and do so no
  more.”
  Page 1504: ” added after ... might be torn to pieces.
  Page 1547: 52′ changed to 52°
  Page 1551: ” added after ... the garter of the bride.
  Page 1600: Ant. a Wood changed to Ant. à Wood (elsewhere referred to
  as Wood); ... between 1546 and 1552: changed to ... between 1546 and
  1552.
  Page 1654: ” added after ... Eve of New Year’s-day,
  Page 1665: Carracioli changed to Caraccioli
  Page 1670: 645 changed to 646 (Dotterel catching)
  Page 1672: 1809 changed to 1089 (Flamsteed)
  Page 1675: 6 6 changed to 656 (Grose)
  Page 1680: quatorzians changed to quatorzains
  Page 1692: .. for 1825; changed to ... for 1825 (Sculpture and
  painting)
  Page 1695: Stroud changed to Strood (Tail-sticking)
  Page 1697: 1600, 1160 changed to 1160, 1601 (Upcott)
  Page 1705: 875 changed to 877 (Hagbush-lane); 992 changed to 922
  (Captain Starkey)
  Page 1720: 159. changed to 149.
  Page 1726: 33. changed to 337.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Every-day Book and Table Book, v.
1 (of 3), by William Hone

*** 